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ACT 1 THE DISCOVERY In the 41st Millennium, 900.M41, 100 years before the opening of the Great Rift: Inquisitor Hector Rex of the Ordo Malleus receives reports of a planet emerging from the Warp in the Draxis system, the new planet being designated as Draxis Tertius. Hector arrives at the system, consulting the Emperor’s Tarot which indicates this mission will bear great importance to the future of Mankind. Observing the planet from orbit, the world looks to be a nonsensical mass of spires, twisted metal, and rock in the shape of a sphere. As the landing ships approach, it is revealed the illogical scene from before is some kind of daemonic architecture crudely imitating that of a cathedral world of the Imperium. Upon landing on the world, the Inquisitor and his retinue are immediately set upon by an army of well-equipped human cultists. These cultists have clearly been mutated from their extensive time in the Warp but also carry advanced weaponry comparable to hellguns carried by the elite Imperial Guard. Hector draws Arias, a power sword of great strength, and readies his shield as the maddened cultists rush forward with their chain weapons to meet the retinue in close quarters. Hector notices three cultists approaching from the left, chain swords revving in their hands. He waits for them to close the distance before pivoting his heavy frame and armor with surprising speed. Cleaving the cultists in half with one wide swing, their tainted blood drenches his grey armor the tint of rage. The bisected heretics’ cries are quickly drowned out by an onslaught of lasfire that rains down upon Hector. He crouches, raising his shield in a protective guard before lunging forward into a sprint, blindly charging towards the source of the fire, his shield still raised. As Hector runs, he crashes through what he can only assume were more heretics before arriving at the source of the fire: some kind of fully automatic lascannon emplacement. The Lord Inquisitor slams his shield into the emplacement, his momentum and weight behind him, throwing the heavy gun and its operators high into the air where they crash into a cathedral, some being impaled upon the architecture while others are turned to a red smear upon the flat walls. Hector quickly turns to see his retinue fending off the last of the attack, only losing a few of his number. Proud of his force for surviving the onslaught, he returns to the landing craft and sets up a fortification perimeter around their position. Detecting a daemonic presence, Hector requests Grey Knight reinforcements before beginning to explore the planet. The Inquisitor and his retinue discover cathedrals with murals, statues, and libraries depicting the history of an ancient warrior clad in power armor slaying entire armies of daemons and even toppling what appear to be titanic Greater Daemons. They delve deeper into the records within the libraries, learning the warrior is dubbed under one name: The Doom Slayer. The Inquisitor becomes thoroughly intrigued. As his 15 Grey Knight Space Marines entrusted to him swiftly arrive, the bolstered Imperial force begins purging more of the surface and delving further into these records, discovering that this entire megastructure was constructed as a form of temple prison by an ancient race known as the Makyrs. Hidden within the Warp since the 3rd Millennium, this planet was both designed and consecrated as a prison for the Doom Slayer. Murals reveal it is structured in five concentric layers, each descending closer to the core and each more heavily defended than the last. Hector realizes: they’ve only just landed upon Layer One. The prison is watched over by a cult once devoted to the Makyrs though over time, their faith has been twisted by the Chaos Gods, with daemon allies also guarding the world at the lower depths, protecting the Sarcophagus of the Slayer, held at the core of the world. Hector decides that it is imperative to recover the Doom Slayer, as this warrior if real could prove a valuable asset against Chaos. He rallies his entire force, and over the next decade, the Inquisitor makes this planet his primary concern. The plan was to attack each layer of defense, making their way to the center where the Sarcophagus lay. Each layer they would set up a fortification for easier return to the surface. They would carry five teleport homers for the Sarcophagus to be deposited back on the ship, needing only one to transport it but keeping the rest for any artifacts of note. With his full retinue, Hector, hundreds of loyal Guard, and his 15 Grey Knight warriors assembled, they began their descent. The second layer was an empty cathedral hallway that seemed to stretch forever. The retinue walked for hours, their reflection in the polished silver floor their only company, as they had not encountered a single change in scenery or enemy force. Then the air seemed to change. The pillars holding it up started to bend, angling downwards as reality strained. Arcane whispers filled the air, penetrating into the retinue’s minds. Some of the mortal Guard clutched their skulls so tightly they ripped their skin in a disturbing display of mutilation, the scene driving them to insanity. Hector too began feeling the psychic pressure swell before a Grey Knight stepped forward, holding his hand out in a warding gesture, shouting a litany. The room’s distortion slowed and the whispering quieted slightly as the Grey Knight commanded reality to assert itself. His commands quickly turned to screams as he exploded into a blinding flash of light. Opening their eyes, the Inquisitor and the retinue beheld the petrified remains of the Grey Knight, turned to a silver statue matching the floor of the room. He gave his life to save the group. In front of him was a gigantic black door, the end of the layer. Pushing it open revealed the stairs to the next level. Slowly but surely they progressed through each layer of defense, whilst stripping the libraries of all their knowledge on the Slayer. Layer Three beheld daemonic hordes which assailed the force relentlessly, slaughtering the mortals like cattle. Erecting a fortification at the entrance and exit of the layer, the retinue moved further downwards into Layer Four. For years they fought across Layer Four, fending off daemons from every Chaos God, even encountering strange servitor-like constructs that hovered above the floor with metallic tentacles protruding from below their cloaks. During an intense battle, one of these constructs silently descended from the ceiling, wrapping its appendages around another Grey Knight warrior before hoisting him away into a crowd of daemons, to be rent apart. Layer Four became his tomb. The retinue slaughtered hordes of cultists, daemons, and drones across Layer Four, every inch gained measured in the blood of dozens. Finally, the horde seemed to cease. As the final daemon lost its head to Arias, Hector turned exhausted and assessed his remaining force, which had slowly dwindled, losing hundreds of his retinue and only having 13 Grey Knights remaining. Finally, they reached the last line of defense: Layer Five. Climbing down a gigantic spiral staircase that looked to have been made for a Warhound Titan of Mars, the retinue came across another gigantic black door. Requiring the strength of the last 13 Grey Knights and Hector to shift its weight, the retinue entered a massive space resembling an amphitheater. The ground trembled as a ginormous cybernetically augmented Greater Daemon appeared. Hector Rex, in all his years, had never seen a creature of its ilk before. It towered above them, wielding a gigantic mace in its left hand, with its right arm converted into some kind of mechanical cannon. Its left leg had also been modified, clearly cybernetic. Its horns scraped against the ceiling as a smile contorted onto the daemon’s features upon seeing the insects before it. The creature roared before charging and swinging its mace, knocking three Grey Knights across the hall like ragdolls, killing them. Ten Grey Knights charged at the daemon, bellowing war cries to avenge their fallen brothers. Hector ordered them to stop, but their honor outweighed any sort of authority. The cannon arm of the beast raised, smoking and glowing with orange light before unleashing a torrent of unholy hellfire, turning the proud Space Marines to statues of ash resembling their former selves. The daemon flapped its ginormous wings, blowing the once ancient, legendary warriors away in a cloud of still-smoldering dust, leaving nothing behind for their Chapter to venerate. Hector, furious, ordered the retinue to retreat as he advanced upon the creature. Even though this creature outmatched them, he had a plan. As the daemon approached, raising its cannon directly at the Inquisitor, Hector raised his shield and charged once again before quickly jumping aside. The daemon fired at where Hector once was, not expecting such agility from a man bedecked in heavy armor. Hector peered back at where he once was, a gaping hole in the floor too deep to see into. He closed the gap quickly to avoid that weapon again. The creature was as a giant, lifting its cybernetic left leg to stomp on Hector. Just as he lifted his shield, the blow almost crushed him. The creature put all of its weight onto Hector as his armor whined, struggling to hold up the leg. Alarms blared and red warning indicators flashed up in his mind. His armor was failing fast. Thinking quickly, Hector rolled a grenade out from under his shield. The force of the explosion temporarily shifted the daemon’s immense weight, allowing Hector to slip out from under its foot. He shoved a small teleport homer into its leg. Its destination not yet set, it would take the daemon to the Warp but wouldn’t kill it. He moved away as fast as his broken armor would allow. The daemon, roaring in rage as its prey escaped its grasp, turned and aimed its cannon at Hector. It began to charge before, in a flash of blue light, the daemon vanished. The only evidence of its existence was the crushed imprint of hooves on stone where its immense weight once stood. With great effort and every muscle in his body on fire, Hector stood up. His armor bent and broken out of shape in many places, it no longer looked like the battle plate befitting one of the Emperor’s Inquisitors. Approaching the stone doors that contained the Sarcophagus, Hector used his remaining strength to push them open. Entering the Sarcophagus chamber felt like stepping out of summer heat into a cool room. Hector took in a breath of untainted air, as it became apparent that unlike the rest of the planet, this place was unexpectedly free from any Chaotic influence. They recovered the Sarcophagus using the last few homers, teleporting back to the ship in orbit. Returning to his landing vessel, Hector pondered on what he had seen on this planet and if this effort and the lives spent would indeed be rewarded. If this campaign was not worth it, he would have not only human but Grey Knight blood on his hands too the Chapter would demand retribution. Once aboard his main ship, looking over the planet, it no longer resembled the temple it was on the surface but was once again an ugly blot on the galaxy. Hector ordered Exterminatus immediately by cyclonic torpedoes to cleanse and destroy the planet completely. On investigation, the Sarcophagus was covered by unknown runes which, while active, made the Sarcophagus sealed with no way to destroy or open it. Hector, approaching the coffin, could sense the Slayer’s slumbering presence, an immense psychic aura which appeared to repel Chaos or Warp taint. After confirming there was indeed a being inside, Hector then delved into the thousands of records from the planet for an answer to open the Sarcophagus. He discovered in an ominous piece of text that the Sarcophagus will only open when “the sky is split asunder.” This vague and foreboding riddle infuriated Hector. Unable to accept this to be the answer, he ordered the coffin to be opened immediately. Hundreds of attempts, including brute force, rituals, and incantations led to failure as the Sarcophagus refused to open. Frustrated, the Inquisitor stored the Sarcophagus in a protected chamber. Hector prepared to face sanction from the Inquisition for his loss of important assets. Personally, he met with other Inquisitorial Lords, who were outraged at his needless expenditure of their resources over a decade-long campaign. Hector quickly rebutted that the Emperor’s Tarot had led him to this conclusion and that he had indeed been rewarded with a Sarcophagus containing a being of intense might. The Lords again scoffed at this, expressing that the Emperor’s Tarot can be inaccurate and Hector should not rely on it so thoroughly. As well as this, he had returned with an un-openable coffin, with no proof the being inside was truly powerful. In the end, Hector’s forces were depleted, his fleet reduced in size, and his authority lessened. He would remain a Lord and his resource pool would still be large, but he had now stained his record and no longer had the willing support from the Grey Knights. For the next 90 years, the Sarcophagus remained silent, quickly falling into obscurity amongst Hector’s collection of macabre daemonic artifacts. ACT 2 THE SLAYER AWAKENS As the Cicatrix Maledictum split the galaxy asunder, Lord Hector Rex’s fleet was navigating through the Immaterium before being thrown by the impact of Warp storms created by this new catastrophe. Quickly they emergency-transitioned into realspace at great cost, damaging the fleet’s ships and killing their main Navigator. As well as this, they had no idea where in the galaxy they were. Landing on the nearest habitable body to assess for damages, they quickly discovered they had arrived on a moon orbiting the Planet of Ghalmek inside of the Maelstrom. Hector knew of Ghalmek. It was a Word Bearer-controlled hellforge world, producing Daemon Engines, Soul Grinders, and other weapons for the heretic armies to deploy. The moon’s defense stations quickly deployed a host of daemons, Chaos Marines, and cultists alike to begin assailing the damaged fleet, breaching the ships and beginning to slaughter all those inside. Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex quickly realized they would not survive this encounter and began preparing for a last stand against the heretics and daemons. Before sacrificing himself in the name of the Emperor, the alarm from the room housing the Slayer blared, indicating it had been breached. Hector rushed down to the room, he could not let the heretics get their hands upon the Sarcophagus. If the legends were true, the Slayer was too important to lose. He arrived only to find the Sarcophagus empty. Tracking the psychic signature of the occupant to the armory, he found the Doom Slayer, an unarmored beast of a man butchering cultists and Space Marines with unmatched ferocity, ripping them apart with his bare hands and whatever weapons he could find. If Hector didn’t know better, he would have thought the Slayer a Space Marine due to his stature. Hector quickly joined the fray. Together they slaughtered the heretics by the hundreds, purging each ship and pushing the remaining forces back. The Slayer, seeing Hector in combat, recognized him as a powerful ally; likewise did Hector to the Slayer. Without time to lose, knowing another more organized attack would be coming in days, Hector led the Slayer to the armory and began the process of custom-fitting power armor to his frame. The forge-chapel of Hector Rex’s flagship groaned with the sound of industry. Red-robed Tech-Priests moved in solemn processions, their censers trailing smoke heavy with sacred incense. Choirs of servo-skulls circled overhead, the Canticles of Mars in distorted voices. At the heart of it all stood the Slayer, stepping upon a slab of sacred stone, shackles being affixed to his arms by servitors to hold him in place for the ritual. His head lowered but his body strained against the chains that pulled his arms out, mimicking the Vitruvian Man. “In the name of the Emperor, let the rite commence,” intoned Rex. His voice was calm, but the knuckles that gripped his holstered sword were white with tension. The chest plate was brought forward by a pair of chanting Magi. Its green surface was smooth except for a symbol of the Inquisition emblazoned upon it, carved from the stone of the Slayer’s Sarcophagus to ward away daemonic influence. As it was lowered onto the Slayer’s frame, the Tech-Priests pressed their mechadendrites against the seals, hissing binary litanies. Sparks erupted and the plate fused with living flesh as if it had always belonged there. The Slayer gave no sound, only a slow exhale through clenched teeth. Piece by piece, the warplate was built upon him. His legs were bestowed armor fashioned in the way of the Grey Knights, his left greave etched with a ward of strength, the inscription reading ETERNAL. His right arm was next, every plate sliding and locking into place with a sharp hiss, fitting perfectly to the Slayer’s frame. Each addition was blessed with holy oils, the rites a seamless blend of the most sacred Grey Knight traditions and darker practices the Adeptus Mechanicus would never admit to. A psyker choir sang as every piece was fitted, their voices cracking under the strain of keeping the armor’s machine-spirit subdued. His left arm remained bare aside from a spiked shoulder plate and an unassuming leather glove, on its inside hiding arcane symbols etched by an ancient sorcerer which granted unspeakable power. The heretical measures soon became clear. As the Power Pack was lowered to meet the Slayer, cabling of forbidden black-steel surged forward from it, writhing around in random motions before finding the port in the armor and swiftly pulling the pack into place with a firm metallic clang. The right shoulder plate descended from the darkness, held aloft by a mechanical arm. The glowing red mark of the Slayer burned upon its black metal. The arm brought it downwards as the plate began to shake like a rabid animal, attempting to escape from its confinement. It finally broke free, flying to the empty slot on the Slayer’s right pauldron. As it impacted, a surge of argent red lightning pulsed across the armor. Hector winced at the profane display as the burning red electricity faded, allowing his old eyes to refocus on the ritual. The final component was brought forth, the helm. The forge-chapel shook. Its faceplate was wrought in the likeness of a knight from legend, its lenses two burning embers. A Tech-Priest read aloud the Benediction of Armouring, while another whispered a proscribed formula that caused nearby candles to gutter and die. The helm was lowered onto the Slayer’s head. For an instant, silence consumed the chamber. Then the Power Pack’s engine roared to life, filling the chamber with its rage. Chains snapped as though made of wax as the Slayer fell to one knee, punching both of his fists into the slab below him, creating deep dents and cracks in the ancient stone. For a brief few moments, he knelt before rising, towering, each step a thunderclap on the iron floor. The armor moved as though it were an extension of his own will. “Inquisitor…” one of the Magi rasped, awe bleeding into his vox. “The machine-spirit… it does not resist him. It obeys.” Rex met the Slayer’s burning eyes and, for the first time in years, felt uncertainty gnaw at him. The rites were complete. The beast was armoured. And nothing would ever restrain him again. Among the armory, the Doom Slayer picked an ancient monolith chainsword of legend. It had sat amongst Hector Rex’s collection for as long as he could remember, inheriting it as a gift from the Imperial Palace after his personal audience with the Emperor. This truly ancient weapon is said to date back to before the days of the Great Crusade. Its auramite teeth are said to be infused with a sliver of the Emperor’s power, enabling it to cut through any armor and banish any daemon. It was almost as if this brutal weapon was crafted for the Slayer himself. The Slayer then equipped himself with an Umbra-Pattern storm bolter, favoring its double barrel. This weapon had been modified to fire sanctified scattershot boltshells. Being especially effective against hordes of the corrupted, propelling fragments of blessed metal in a wide radius, it could slay multiple enemies with one shot. With the fast fire rate of a storm bolter, this was a formidable weapon in anyone’s hands, in the Slayer’s hands it was death incarnate. The Slayer then picked out an array of blessed grenades and toxic items to hurl at his enemies. Armed to the teeth, the Slayer was prepared to rip and tear. Hector set up a defense around the fleet as it was repaired. Hordes of Word Bearer forces assailed the fleet, and the Doom Slayer moved to meet them, massacring the enemy, even chasing them back to their own territory. The Doom Slayer began going on lone operative missions, taking strongholds on the moon for Hector’s forces to occupy and fortify. Verok, the current overseer of Ghalmek, seeing his forces being pushed back, came to the moon to assist his forces in killing the Imperials and hoping to take Hector Rex’s head for himself. As he arrived, one of the strongholds was attacked by the Slayer. Verok witnessed some of his best men and daemons slain with little to no effort. He ordered the stationed Reaver Titan to be deployed to destroy the Slayer. Its hulking frame exited from the gates housing it, a twisted abomination. Perhaps once it was an Imperial God-Machine, but now it looked alive. Gigantic yellowed eyes bulged from its metal sockets, rotating madly before focusing on the Slayer below. It angled both of its attached melta-cannons downwards, firing at the Slayer’s position. As the dust cleared, nothing was left. This moment of triumph was cut short as the Slayer stabbed his chainsword into the flesh-metal armor of the monster, beginning to climb as dark blood oozed out of the inflicted wound. The Titan bellowed in pain and panic, attempting to shake off the insect upon its skin, but the Slayer held fast, plunging his weapon deeper with each stab and gripping tightly onto the artery-like wires that hung from the titans legs, as he slowly climbed towards the head of the beast. Finally reaching the faceplate, the eyes of the creature once again whirled in panic. The Slayer plunged his sword through its left eye before unloading his whole magazine of boltshells into the empty socket. The Titan’s screaming was cut short as its brain was annihilated. Stumbling and falling to the ground with a crash reverberating across the moon, it lay dead. Verok was stunned to see this Daemon Engine laid low by a single man, not only that, but a Daemon Engine of Ghalmek’s making! He decided enough was enough and went to face the Slayer himself. Taking his head would surely reward him a great bounty from the gods. Verok descended from his parapet, borne aloft on a cloak of writhing shadow. His vox-distorted voice echoed around the square. “So this is the beast who threatens my forges?” The Slayer said nothing. He stood, chainsword dripping black ichor from the Titan he had felled, watching the Word Bearer with cold, unblinking rage. Verok, irritated that his taunt didn’t incite a reaction, extended his staff, its head a daemon’s skull wreathed in sickly green flame. The ground split open, spilling forth writhing chains of warp-lightning that lashed towards the Slayer. With inhuman speed, the warrior leapt aside, the arcs of sorcerous energy charring the stone where he had stood. “Your silence mocks me!” Verok snarled, weaving another incantation. A tide of spectral hands clawed up from the earth, grasping at the Slayer’s legs. For a heartbeat they bound him, dragging him towards the ground, their ghostly nails piercing the flesh of his left arm until the Slayer tore free with raw strength, his roar shattering the phantoms into mist. Verok’s composure faltered. He conjured a storm of warp-fire, hurling it down in a cascade that would have incinerated a squad of Astartes. The Slayer charged straight through, flames licking at his armor, his lenses glowing like a furnace. Verok tried to retreat, summoning a shimmering barrier of daemonic force, but the Slayer’s chainsword howled, biting through the warp-shield as if it were glass. In desperation, Verok unleashed his most blasphemous weapon: a bound daemon, screaming from the pages of his grimoire. The entity surged forth, a horror of teeth and wings shrieking as it dove. The Slayer met it mid-air, catching the beast by the throat and driving his sword up through its skull. The daemon dissolved into black ash as the Slayer continued his momentum, closing the distance. Before Verok could utter another word, his left hand was severed, tumbling from the sky in a spray of warp-tainted blood. His concentration broke, his psychic wards collapsed, and panic twisted his face. The Slayer, landing upon the ground, pushed off again, lunging for the kill. But in his desperation, Verok cried out to the Dark Gods. Warp-light flared, and he vanished in a purple blaze of sorcerous teleportation, his screams of humiliation echoing around the square as his taunt once had. The Slayer landed once more, shaking with rage, the hand of the coward sorcerer laying at his feet. ACT 3 RIP AND TEAR Arriving back to his sanctuary on Ghalmek wounded and embarrassed, Verok quickly seals the seeping wound to his arm, it seems Hector Rex is no longer the main threat. After the Slayer returns bearing the hand of Verok, Hector recognises a great opportunity which could come with a great risk. Once the ship is repaired they could escape the Maelstrom and return to Imperial space. Or they could attempt to destroy Ghalmek, depriving the Word Bearers of their primary forgeworld. It would be a massive gamble but with the Slayer as an ally it could be done. Dark Apostle Verok Ranasar and the Dark Mechanicum rulers of Ghalmek quickly recognise the growing instability of their moon, Verok orders they withdraw all remaining forces on the moon and begin preparing defences against the Slayer, hoping to kill him as part of a pact with the Gods to return to him his left hand, settle his newfound rivalry and avenge the loss of his hand which is now replaced with a daemonic augmetic. Deploying Titans as well as their whole stationed army of cultists, marines, daemons and sorcerers to defend their world, Verok also calls for aid from Erebus and other forces to assist in the destruction of the Imperials. With Chaos forces withdrawn from the moon Hector, the Slayer and his forces regroup preparing to take the world of Ghalmek. The fortress they must take is at the heart of the world’s infrastructure and is composed of three walls. The outer wall is arrayed with anti-air turrets as well as parapets for artillery to shoot down from. The second wall acts as a close quarters killzone where the majority of the Titan Legion is deployed to kill anything that moves through to the second gate. Finally the third gate is where all of the most powerful daemons and creations of the world are waiting, ready to defend the central bastion where the rulers reside. After a few days of consolidation Hector and the Slayer, along with the fleet, launch a full-scale attack on Ghalmek. Hector and his mortal guard appear in blue flashes of light atop the first wall ,using teleport homers to take the enemy by surprise, destroying any anti-air artillery and slaying all of the menial enemy. Verok watches from his tower at the center of the fortress, noting the slayer is absent from the combat below. After all the artillery is destroyed Hector is free to deploy his Titan Legion from orbit. Twelve Titans in total break through the atmosphere and land within the second gate ready to face the thirty chaos titans waiting for them. Verok is confused on where the Slayer is until it becomes very clear where he was the whole time. A Warlord-class Titan, painted hastily in green, quickly dispatches two Reivers with its power claw quicker than they could react to its presence. It is clear the Slayer is experienced in all forms of warfare, even piloting Titans. Pushing the Warlord to its limit, its joint servos screaming as it practically runs across the battlefield, with its warhorn blaring the enemies’ doom, the Slayer annihilates all daemon engines in his path. Even the mighty newly forged Warlord Titans stand no chance. As the Slayer clears a path through the Titans and barricades of the fortress Hector and his men clear out bunkers and any stragglers left behind. Finally the Slayer meets the gate of the third wall. He overcharges his plasma cannon and turns the gate to molten slag moving through. Hordes of daemons and Soul Grinders are awaiting his arrival. Though there is one specific Daemon which catches his eye, an ancient foe. The infamous CyberDaemon itself stands there leading the army, sneering with a gigantic mace still clenched in its left arm and its other arm the cybernetic cannon, outstretched glowing with unholy energy. The Slayer manoeuvres the Titan to dodge the shot but it’s too late. The hellfire round lands true, punching straight through the armour and chassis of the Titan, destroying its power core. The Titan falls to the ground, its metal frame whining as if in pain. The Slayer, enraged, exits to face the CyberDaemon. The horde parts upon seeing the Slayer, leaving a clear path to their leader as the legendary warrior walks to meet it. Hector’s forces arrive behind watching as these two ancient enemies prepare to clash. The Slayer leaps with furious speed slamming round after round from his bolter into the colossus. As this happens the daemons surrounding this duel charge Hector’s forces as a massive battle ensues, blade meets claw as bolts meet fire. The tide of the battle seemingly decided by who has the upper hand in the duel. The Slayer swings his monolith chainsword, its teeth hungrily biting for the un-flesh of the Daemon’s neck but are left roaring and tearing into thin air, their hunger unsatiated, as the CyberDaemon slips from reality reappearing behind the Slayer striking him in the back with its mace. The Slayer slams against the ground, blood pouring through his clenched teeth. CyberDaemons have never been able to teleport before but this new trick will not catch him off guard again. He quickly rolls to the side dodging where a hellfire blast would have surely ended him, as it did his Titan. Jumping to his feet he fires two bolt shells into the Daemon’s face, carving craters where its piercing yellow eyes once were. The CyberDaemon roars in fury swinging its mace blindly as its eyes quickly reconstitute. The Slayer wastes no time and jumps forward dodging the mace by an inch, he slices his chainsword into the Daemon’s thigh, rending a massive chunk of flesh out of it before sticking a Psyk-out grenade into the crevice. He swiftly jumps away as the grenade explodes with golden light, seemingly disappearing the leg of the Daemon from the thigh downwards, the CyberDaemon clatters to the ground on its remaining knee. Roaring again, it turns to face the Slayer who is jumping towards it once more in a spinning motion, his brutal weapon swinging to take its head. The Daemon again disappears, reconstituting behind the Slayer poised to strike once more. The Slayer uses his backpack vent, shooting compressed air out, orbiting him round faster to meet the Daemon. Looking into its face, seeing what can only be an approximation of shock, he slams his growling weapon into its neck with a wet slapping thud. The chainsword catches in the thick hide, its teeth beginning to chew through the muscle veins and sinew. The CyberDaemon roars as blood gushes from the wound being inflicted, it drops the mace reaching for the Slayer, who quickly yanks the sword out again. Pushing off of the creature’s chest and pirouetting in the air, he slices off the Daemon’s clawing digits, before clubbing the fangs of the sword back into the gaping neck all in the same motion. Sawing through the monster’s throat, the Slayer is sprayed with blood, the teeth of the chainsword hungrily devouring flesh in a roaring cacophony of death. As the cracking and snapping of the spine being severed is heard, the Slayer again yanks out the sword, grabbing the horns protruding from the forehead before twisting and pulling with all his might. The motion and force splitting the head from the body as the remaining flesh strains and stretches, desperately clinging to the skull, like an old man far beyond his days clinging to life. Nevertheless this life ends as the head is rent from the body, the flesh tearing under the Slayer’s might. The warrior leaps downwards landing effortlessly. The impact of the ginormous body hitting the ground turns heads from all directions as the Slayer raises the head up high for all to see. Verok, the daemons and even the Imperial forces are all shocked at this display of power. Seizing this moment of pause the Slayer again leaps into the fray turning this battle into a meat grinder. Like new life has spurred within him, his fury ends the hordes of Chaos as he rips and tears. Such a display shocks Verok as he realises there is no escape for him. He is next on the proverbial chopping block.