As Tamaki twerked down the hall, Kyoya's voice beeped on his transmucommmunicator. "You're running out of time." He bleeped, watching from his tomb-throne for which he could do little but observe the madness of the world as his diabetes-wrought body died a thousand deaths every nanosecond, but unable to approach the great beyond due to an abominable wedding of flesh, magic and technology.
Tamaki picked up his pace, running along the dramatically long hallway with such speed that the air molecules in front of him had no time to get out of the way and lingered in front of him and his sexually attractive body smacked against them, compressing them into burning orbs of plasma, which chiseled his stomach into 15-pack to prepare for the coming fight before flying off to the sides and destroying the Isshu region, destroying the Meiji Government.
Tamaki drew his sword, Uramasa, the very force of which cut the dreams of a magnitude of children in half. As their dirges sounded off the very, very, very sharp edge of the blade, Tamaki closed his eyes to think about every step of his path that had led him up to the point. Destiny, and love, and hate, and love were ahead, and even the slightest failure would damn him and his entire planet. He readied his sword and prepared to enter the laboratory.
