It takes years of training to really master Sororitas power armor. They start them off in the scholam, making them wear it everyday while they eat, while they sleep, while they pray. After a few hours I managed not to crash into anyone as we rushed after Vorn. I was greatly aided in this by the natural reaction of the pilgrims, which was to fling themselves as far out of the way of a charging Battle Sister as they could manage. I mostly managed to account for my momentum as we rounded the corner and half ran, half flew down a broad flight of stairs into a massive cloister. Enormous stone effigies of the sons who stood faced down equally massive stone representations of the traitor Primarchs with an enormous stylized galaxy between them in tessellated tiles the size of my finger nail.
 
Vorn stood by a statue of Vulkan calling something into a communicator. He lifted a bolt pistol and cracked off three rounds as we dived for cover. Pieces of the ornamental foliage that wrapped the edge of the cloister exploded in all directions as the bolts detonated. I swung my own bolter, more or less in the direction of Vorn, and let off a long ripping burst that did considerable damage to the elaborate glaive held by Magnus the red but missed the renegade inquisitor entirely. I scrambled behind a plinth a moment ahead of a rain of cracking detonations. Overhead I could hear the scream of shuttle engines beginning to build. My mind balked at the idea, but I realized the cloister might be big enough for small shuttle to land.
 
“He has a ship coming!” I yelled to Hadrian and popped out. Something hammered my breastplate and knocked me on my ass. I cursed and scrambled back into cover, fumbling with a replacement magazine for the unfamiliar weapon.