The demon horde charged forth. This was the most formidable enemy the Space Marines had encountered on their campaigns. Not only did they have to push their physical potential to its limits, they also had to arm their minds to keep the demons' lewd voices from tainting their souls.
Yet mental preparation alone was not enough. Chaos corruption did not always need to seek out flaws in one's thoughts. So long as the gods behind them willed it, brute force could smash through anything; forcibly tearing open the barriers of a soul was hardly impossible.
Wicked winds surged, and the demons' laughter grew ever louder. The warriors' minds were put to the test as Slaanesh's demons wove illusions with shimmering light and exotic fragrances, urging them to embrace the emotions they had kept suppressed.
You are Space Marines...
Such whispers sounded beside every warrior's ear.
You are demigods of the battlefield. Mere mortals cannot possibly keep pace with you, can they?
Illusions gradually took shape before their eyes.
No one can stop you, and no one is worthy of standing on equal footing with you. Those weaker than you should serve you as their masters. Why should power be handed over to the weak?
The warriors' breathing gradually quickened. Their hands clenched tight, as if they were beginning to waver...
Then a thunderous voice rang out, scattering every whisper drifting through the air.
"Do you truly believe weak mortals should become the servants of the Astartes?"
The icy question broke the wavering warriors out in a cold sweat. They sensed that such thoughts were wrong, yet did not know how to answer, for the voices in their ears still relentlessly pressed a single idea upon them.
"The Astartes are the heroes of the Great Crusade. You have bled and toiled