79. The Wager

"Forward, forward, forward!"

The Chaplain's roar could almost be heard without the vox-channel. His bellowing was even more frenzied than the demons'—perhaps that was a little blasphemous to say, but with their Primarch present in person, the Blood Angels really were far more insane than the demons of Khorne.

"Morale was high" was no longer enough to describe a scene like this. After all, their Primarch had just flown over their heads in the flesh.

Ten thousand years of confusion were all released in this moment. Take Ibit, for example. As a member of the Sanguinary Guard, he should have been killing enemies with peerless skill, with the same elegance people associated with the Blood Angels. But what he was doing now was using his Warhammer to smash every demon skull in sight.

"Demons—!!!"

His voice was utterly hoarse, terrifying as an echo from a nightmare. Ibit roared madly and hurled the Warhammer in his hand after a Bloodletter. The thing's head instantly turned into a puddle of pulp, and its body toppled, twitching.

But Ibit still did not think it was enough. Known in the past for his considerable grace, he now looked exactly like a Berserker—he covered the distance in a few long strides, picked up his hammer, turned, and created another headless corpse.

"Demons—!!!"

He roared wildly again, then leaped back into the Bloodletters' battle line and went on slaughtering.

What was happening to Ibit was only a small part of the whole. Just a few steps away from him, a veteran was beating a lame Bloodletter with the butt of his gun. The thing wailed as it tried to fight back, only for the veteran to hack off its hand with a Chainsword the moment it lifted it, then continue swinging his Bolter.

Sanguinius saw all