Atropos's Blade-Alvin Wasn't Underhanded? He Was the Most Underhanded of All!

That simple sentence nearly shattered the Daemon Prince's faith.

He had toiled and slaughtered billions, sacrificing one Hive City after another, all to seek the great Blood God—even if it meant earning only a sliver of his gaze and attention.

But what had happened?

Someone else had easily received the attention he had desperately sought but never won, and didn't even seem to care.

Wasn't that just another kind of NTR?

Only he knew the bitter sting of it.

"Shut up!"

Seragrim growled. He refused to believe that the great Blood God could be so biased, and even less that a mere human who had never offered anything to the Blood God could receive his favor and gifts.

He would prove to the Blood God who was the greatest Champion of the Khorne Legion, Lord of Skulls, god of slaughter, and mightiest of his chosen!

"Your very existence is an insult to mighty Khorne! I've decided—I'll take your skull and prove to my god who his mightiest Champion is!!!"

Every syllable carried the power to tear through the soul, and his war cry sent the air surging!

Seragrim's massive fist smashed through the air barrier. Like a cannonball, it dragged the wails of billions of souls behind it, raising vast, rolling waves of Blood Qi!

His enormous body became a streak of brass and crimson lightning, ripping through the air with the force of a mountain-shattering cataclysm as he charged at Alvin!

The air shrieked!

His fist, clad in black armor like molten rock, carried sulfurous heat enough to evaporate steel and a bloodthirsty killing intent nearly solid enough to touch. Even space wailed and twisted beneath it!

Alvin stood at the very center of that storm of destruction.

His gaze was calm as he watched the fist come crashing