You didn't have time to dodge.
A surge of holy psychic flames struck your chest with immense force.
A blow powerful enough to obliterate an ordinary daemon merely left your master-crafted power armor in even worse condition.
You seemed completely unscathed.
Your azure wolf-like eyes narrowed as a grin revealed your Frostfang.
Your rational mind suppressed your primal instincts.
You drove the Axe of Khorne into the ground.
Facing the towering figure gathering psychic energy once again, you slowly spread your arms open.
You quickly expressed your unwavering loyalty to the Emperor and your utter disdain for Chaos.
As the psychic glow gradually dimmed, the figure scrutinized you carefully, hiding the shock deep within his gaze.
The Astartes warrior, lowering his weapon, strode toward you.
"Kaldor Draigo… Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights, a wanderer of the Warp under the Emperor's protection..." The Astartes, his gaze as deep as the stars, lowered his massive storm shield and extended a hand toward you with a smile.
"Space Wolf… a coin of the Emperor." You grinned as well, grasping his hand firmly, your battle-worn armor creaking under the strain.
At that moment, Draigo's gaze suddenly fell upon the Axe of Khorne lying beside you.
His aged face turned solemn as he offered a word of caution.
An unpurified daemon weapon is no sacred relic. Chaos will forever seek to erode your mind, pry open your weakest defenses, and eventually consume your soul.
You sighed and patted your damaged power armor, explaining that wielding the axe was merely an emergency measure.
You believed the Emperor's protection was absolute—Chaos could never find a way in.
Draigo's white beard shifted slightly as he shook his head, releasing a faint sigh.
Then, without hesitation, he extended his other hand, offering you the Blade of Vengeance.
You instinctively wanted to refuse, but his star-like eyes remained locked onto yours, unwavering.
With a solemn expression, you accepted the weapon.
Yet, you still chose to carry the Axe of Khorne on your back.
Draigo said nothing about it.
Lifting his massive storm shield, he asked about your next course of action.
Your gaze instinctively shifted to him.
Draigo, eyes half-narrowed, explained the nature of the Warp.
The Immaterium was unpredictable and filled with peril, but Khorne's domain was no mere barren wasteland.
Though neither of you feared any daemonic challenge, escaping quickly remained the wisest course of action.
You hesitated.
You told Draigo about your plan to reforge your power armor.
Draigo blinked once and agreed to assist you.
The two of you oriented yourselves and swiftly made your way toward the largest forge within the volcanic expanse.
As you traveled, you recounted the circumstances that led to your entrapment in the Warp—the ambush by Tzeentch's trickery and your subsequent misfortune.
Draigo listened, his expression gentle, and after a moment, he smiled. A fleeting, wistful look crossed his face, as if recalling something long past.
He assured you that, should you desire, he had numerous ways to return you to realspace.
You looked at Draigo in curiosity.
Yet, he said nothing more—only that you should first complete your armor's restoration.
Before long, the two of you reached the forge's perimeter.
Hundreds of Bloodletters brandishing hellblades charged toward you, followed by dozens of monstrous Flesh Hounds emerging from the shadows of black volcanic rock.
You bared your Frostfang and took a deep breath.
Exchanging a glance with Draigo, you both charged forward, unleashing a thunderous assault.
You swung the Blade of Vengeance with all your might.
A surge of searing Warp-flame erupted from within you, pouring into the ancient greatsword.
A ten-meter arc of psychic fire cleaved through the horde of Bloodletters.
In an instant, dozens of daemons disintegrated into plumes of black ash, unable even to scream in agony.
Your azure wolf-like eyes widened in surprise.
A smirk crept onto your lips, Frostfang gleaming coldly.
Once more, you swung the Blade of Vengeance, and torrents of psychic flames scythed through the battlefield, incinerating countless daemons.
Draigo, having just shifted his gaze back to you, twitched his white beard slightly. A look of admiration flashed in his deep eyes.
Without hesitation, he waded into the daemon horde, raising his massive storm shield.
A Flesh Hound lunging at Draigo was instantly reduced to pulp by a devastating blow.
Then, Draigo solemnly raised a massive, armored hand.
Tendrils of raw psychic energy crackled and surged, unleashing waves of purging flames in all directions.
The next moment, within a radius of several dozen meters, every Bloodletter and Flesh Hound howled in despair before turning to smoldering ash.
As time passed, you crushed the last Flesh Hound's skull beneath your power-armored boot.
Draigo approached, his face adorned with a gentle smile.
His deep eyes gleamed with appreciation as he praised your combat skill and mastery over psychic energy.
He admitted that he had once assumed the Space Wolves lacked Librarians.
But perhaps, he mused, he had simply wandered the Warp for too long and lost touch with reality.
You blinked awkwardly, nodding in response.
Then, without hesitation, you both pressed onward toward the forge, continuing your daemon-slaying crusade.
However, your relentless slaughter had drawn the full attention of the forge's defenses.
Even the crimson smoke billowing from the factory's chimneys seemed to thicken ominously.
With the deafening roar of volcanic eruptions, a colossal metal gate—studded with brass rivets—was thrown open.
A Slaughterbrute, standing over five meters tall, thundered forth from the depths of the factory.
Perched upon its hellblade-ridden back stood a massive Bloodletter, its body several times larger than its kin.
A veteran of countless battles, possessing unparalleled combat prowess and monstrous strength…
A Herald of Khorne.