Tor Garadon pulled his power fist out of the demon's body.
That word was the best description of the violence he had carried out.
The Third Company Captain of the Imperial Fists knelt half on the ground, struggling to breathe the air purified by the Walking Titan. The Glyph Array worked without pause, restoring his strength, but it was only a drop in the bucket.
His vision had already begun to blur. With every breath, his lungs hurt as if they were being stabbed by thousands of needles. The pain came from a wound that could not heal.
He knew the reason, but he did not want to recall that Bloodletter's vicious attack again. It had hidden behind a mass of cannon fodder, leapt out from the befouled air of the Throne Room, and driven its Hellblade into one of his lungs with a shriek. That thing had been wreathed in a curse from Khorne, one capable of absorbing a human soul.
The Walking Titan had stopped it from doing so, at the price of near overload in a short period. The Glyph Array had protected his soul at the cost of almost burning itself out, dispersing the curse and allowing him to stand once more and fight on without rest.
He still protects us, he thought.
The Third Company Captain stood up, and a tide of surging data swept across his retinas.
The Walking Titan continuously reported his physical indicators and the battlefield situation to him. Only an Astartes could process such complex data under these circumstances. A massive number pulsed on the display, now turned a soft green.
He rose to his feet.
"Our mission is complete, brothers."
Garadon's voice rang out over the vox channel, and he could hear the echo he created. But that was not