The centurion came at Thelio again and the Ultramarine stumbled, evading the swing only by a hair’s breadth. In the same motion the traitor brought the chainblade up for a one-handed overhead attack. The Ultramarine was down on one knee and he had not the time to get up and dodge again. The axe came down fast and hard, going for the skull of its prey, but the execution strike was halted by Thelio’s fist as it launched up to grip the descending weapon hand. The XII Legion berserker paused for a heartbeat, enough time for Thelio to hastily take aim and fire his boltgun into the traitor’s reinforced chest plating. The second shell penetrated the ceramite and flesh and detonated within the legionary’s chest, sending him to the deck with a loud crash and a bark of hatred and agony. The combined odours of spent gunpowder, machine lubricants and spilled gore drifted in the recycled air of the corridor space. Thelio rose from his crouch and walked to stand over his downed would-be killer. The World Eater was still alive, pinned to the floor by his failing muscles, the gurgling sound of a madman raving and choking on his own blood emitting from the helmet’s vox speakers with a metallic echo. Thelio ended his twitching with a neck-breaking stomp on the head. If not for his battle helm, he would’ve spat upon the turncoat’s corpse.