The battle raged across the planet, more and more territory being reclaimed from the tower.
Julius: "Damn it, they control the whole tower! We can't make them come down!"
The counter-attack was a steamroller of metal and will, but the Orks did not yield an inch of ground without turning it into a slaughterhouse. The battle raged with renewed intensity around the governor's tower, which had become the symbol of resistance. The surrounding streets were now just fields of craters, smoldering wrecks, and intermingled green and human bodies.
Julius, his blue armor smeared with soot and xeno blood, stood behind a barricade of rubble, his lightsaber extinguished for the moment. He observed the tower through his helmet's binoculars. The Orks weren't just besieging the base. They had infested the structure, from the ground to the upper levels. Flashes of fire from makeshift weapons shot from the windows, and sporadic explosions shook the facade.
"Damn it, they control the whole tower," he growled, frustration in his voice. "We can't make them come down. They have the high ground."
Colonel Strom, at his side, his face tense, nodded. "Our attempts to dislodge them have failed. They turn every floor into a fortress. And they're using the civilians who were trapped inside as shields."
The situation was a tactical nightmare. Assaulting the tower floor by floor would be a bloodbath for his troops and the hostages. Using heavy artillery risked collapsing the entire structure.
Suddenly, Nova's voice resonated in his implant. "Commander, analysis of transmission patterns. We have located the source of the orders coordinating the Ork defense inside the tower. Level 45. There is a Warboss up there. A big one."
A Warboss. That was both the problem and the solution. Killing the boss would break the Orks' coordination inside, making them disorganized and easy to clean up.
"I can't risk a full assault team," Julius said, his mind racing. "The elevator is a death trap. The stairs are a nightmare."
"We could force an entry via the roofs with the Dropships," Raynor suggested from orbit.
"Too noisy. They'd be waiting for us."
It was then that Julius's gaze fell on his lightsaber, then on the tower's facade. An audacious and terrifying plan germinated in his mind.
"Nova, Colonel Strom," he said, his voice suddenly calm. "Concentrate all fire on the base of the tower. Divert their attention. Make noise."
"Commander? What are you going to do?" asked Strom, perplexed.
Julius ignored the question. He concentrated, drawing from the burning reservoir of his Beta-level power. It wasn't to project a lightning bolt or lift an object. It was for something far more precise, far more dangerous.
He aimed for a window on level 44, just below the Warboss's lair. He closed his eyes, the external world fading. He visualized the space, the distance, the structure. Then, he projected himself.
It wasn't teleportation. It was a psionic displacement, a leap into the unknown. A sensation of being ripped from reality, stretched like caramel, then recomprehended with brutal force.
BZZZRT- VACUUM- CRUNCH
The world exploded in a flash of violent purple light and a sound of reality tearing. Julius landed brutally on a concrete floor, staggering, his head buzzing. He was inside. In a dark, devastated corridor on level 44, the smell of psionic ozone and Ork rot filling his nostrils.
Grunts of surprise answered him. Three Orks, posted in the corridor, stared at him, stunned by his sudden appearance.
Without a sound, his lightsaber ignited with a vengeful vwoom. The deadly dance began.
Down below, Strom and his men, following orders, had unleashed a massive suppression fire on the Ork positions at the foot of the tower. The din was deafening.
And at the top, isolated and surrounded by enemies, Julius Braveheart began his bloody ascent, a solitary blue flash in the dark bowels of the tower. The Warboss did not yet know he had just lost the battle.