Page 77 of Honor Bound

Coleridge’s lips curled into a grim smile. The message he had sent would reach Andri soon enough, along with the names of every Legion officer who had shown even the faintest trace of disloyalty. It would sow chaos, mistrust, and fear within the very heart of the Legion. If he couldn’t see Andri fall with his own eyes, at least he could ensure that the seeds of his destruction were planted.

The soldier’s voice cut through his thoughts. “General… please, we can still?—”

“We’re already dead,” Coleridge said, his voice cold and final. His eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction as he turned to glare at the soldier. “And soon, so will be the rest of them.”

The floor beneath them shuddered violently, another explosion rippling through the structure. The door to the lab buckled, opening just enough for light to stream in. Soldiers outside redoubled their efforts to pry it open, but Coleridge’s eyes remained fixed on the dark liquid inside the containment unit.

His mind wandered again, drifting to his final conversation with Roan—the defiance in his son’s eyes, the unwavering resolve. Coleridge had underestimated him.

The soldier at his side shouted something, but Coleridge barely heard him. His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse was slowing. His grip loosened around the communicator until it fell from his hand.

Another violent tremor rocked the lab, sending sparks and debris raining down. Coleridge closed his eyes, a slow, satisfied breath slipping from his lips.

“If I go down… I’ll take the rest of you with me,” he vowed in a hushed voice.

The door to the lab burst open just as the charges set in the weapon’s room detonated. Heat and light engulfed the room, a wall of fire rushing toward him in a blinding crescendo. For a split second, Coleridge saw everything in perfect clarity—the containment unit shattering, the soldiers caught in mid-motion, the lab collapsing around him.

Then it was gone.

A flash of brilliant white, a wave of obliteration—and silence.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

The walls of the conduit groaned as the fireball surged toward him, the air was blistering and thick with smoke. Roan’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the Gallant staff tightened. There was no time to second-guess. He swung the staff, slicing clean through the wall. Sparks flew as the blade carved a jagged hole in the metal.

“Come on… come on!” he muttered, slamming his good shoulder into the panel. It groaned before giving way just as the fireball roared past him, the heat searing the edges of his clothes. He stumbled forward, landing hard on the deck of the corridor beyond.

For a heartbeat, everything was silent.

Then he looked up—straight into the shocked faces of six Legion soldiers.

They stood frozen, blinking at him in disbelief. One soldier’s mouth fell open as he straightened to his full height, his hand halfway to his laser pistol.

Roan’s lips curved into a wry grin, despite the sweat dripping from his brow. “Well… this is awkward.”

A hiss sounded from above, and jets of fire retardant sprayed down from the ceiling. The mist cloaked the corridor in a thin white haze, giving Roan the precious seconds he needed.

The soldiers snapped out of their stupor, raising their weapons. Roan had already rolled to his feet, pivoting on instinct as red bolts of energy flashed toward him. The Gallant staff hummed, absorbing the shots before crackling to life. He thrust the staff forward, releasing the stored energy in a concentrated blast that sent the soldiers sprawling.

Roan stood there for a second, blinking at the staff in his hand. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, his voice laced with surprise. “That was… impressive.”

More shouts came down the corridor. He snapped back into motion, tightening his grip on the staff and sprinting forward. His pulse pounded as the deck tilted beneath him, throwing him off balance. He ducked under a beam that crashed down from the overhead, the sharp smell of burning metal stinging his nostrils.

Another explosion rocked the ship, nearly sending him flying. He threw out a hand, bracing himself against the wall as debris rained down around him. His breath came in short bursts, his muscles were burning from the exertion.

Ahead, the lift doors gaped open—revealing nothing but an empty shaft. Roan zoned in on the maintenance ladder on the far side.

“Figures.” He exhaled sharply and sprinted toward it.

The ship groaned, the hull shuddering as warning sirens wailed. Roan leaped for the ladder, his fingers curling around the cold metal rung. His feet slipped on the slick surface, his body swinging dangerously for a heartbeat before he caught himself. The Gallant staff jostled against his side, nearly slipping from his grip.

“Not today.” Roan gritted his teeth, tucking the staff inside his shirt. The hard edge pressed against his ribs, but he didn’t care. His focus locked onto the top of the shaft, his muscles flexing as he began to climb.

The corridor below flickered with bursts of fireballs as more explosions lit the lower levels. His heart raced and his palms were slick with sweat. Each rung felt further away than the last, his were arms screaming in protest, but he pushed through the pain.

The ship’s structure groaned, metal twisting under the strain. Roan’s eyes flicked upward, the curved conduit just visible beyond the top of the shaft. He forced himself to keep climbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Almost there.

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