And the Eternal Crusader and Imperial Hand, veterans of Csilla’s campaign, providing support for this limited task force, a mere sample of what House Haskler had managed to garner in terms of assets. The Proudheart, a fine dagger launched into the great void of space. The Pride of the Emperor, always there to crush Dark Side cultists, menacingly imposing in its bright-red hue. With a flare and a deep tremble on the whole bridge, the Tormentor escaped hyperspace, quickly followed by his escort ships. He had already fainted and the black spots had become a black curtain. Blinking several times, the young Imperial tried to say something. As he continued to get up stupidly, the bar fell from his shoulders. Immediately, black spots began to dance in front of Gallius's eyes.
Hidden behind a cataclysm of pain, a broken shoulder bloodily connected an insensible and unresponsive arm to a very well sensitive body. And with the " crack" came the feeling that his left arm had ceased to exist. With a " ha!" of pure will, Gallius tried to rise higher than ever. The sole weight of the bar should have broken both his shoulders but still, he was trying to lift it up. Gallius's heart was racing to sustain the effort he was trying to make. And yet, anyone who was not trying to get up was beaten to death by the instructors. Kneeling in the centre of a court, the aspiring officers were trapped under heavy iron bars, unable to rise.
The joy of living for eternal warfare: This is what shapes us all." The unchained violence of amoral desires, For you must purge yourself of weaknesses. And, in the midst of this folly, a distinct voice, sharp like a scalpel.
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