Lucius hissed, looking down to the shattered remains of his blade, and then the bloody body of the captain that lay before him. He heard the whispers coming from the man's lips, and with a shriek, he'd bring up his whip, unleashing his anger upon the marine. With a crack, the coiling lash would spring into the air, before coming down. Again and again, the cuts would spread across Maximilian's figure. The duelist, irritated by the loss of his blade, his pride, inflated to inhuman levels, tainted by the defiance of a loyal soul, would be enraged to the point where, instead of moving along, he'd dedicate himself towards dismantling this being before him. By the time Lucius would leave the underground chamber, sliding off to cause havoc behind enemies lines, Maximilian would lay in a pool of his own blood, terminator armour broken and shredded to shards of ceremite, limbs flayed, muscle torn, flesh flensed.