Ferrus did not believe Rogal Dorn's explanation. During his years of waging war in the Warp, every daemon that wove traps had said the same thing.
The first tens of millions of times had been real—could this time possibly be fake? Beat him up first and talk later! Drag out the damned daemon!
With that thought in mind, Ferrus broke free of his restraints. With a violent sweep of his arm, he scattered countless still-burning Aeldari webs at Rogal Dorn. In the instant Rogal Dorn raised his shield to block the attack, Ferrus charged forward with his warhammer in hand.
For a Warp entity, using special movements to concentrate the strength of one's entire body into a single point was clearly superfluous. Yet Ferrus still instinctively chose the posture that allowed a creature of flesh and blood to exert the greatest force.
He swung his arm in a full arc, the hammerhead carving a graceful curve through the air. Then he stepped forward hard in the direction of the swing, smashing the massive hammerhead viciously into Rogal Dorn's shield.
Caught off guard, Rogal Dorn was driven back several meters, his boots scraping ugly grooves across the floor. Even after knocking Rogal Dorn back, Ferrus pursued without mercy, hammering against Rogal Dorn's shield again and again until Rogal Dorn could barely keep his footing.
At that moment, Ferrus was the blacksmith and Rogal Dorn was the iron ingot. No matter how the ingot shifted upon the anvil, the seasoned smith could always seize upon its weakest point and strike down hard. The thunderous roar of forging shook the hall itself, and countless sparks sprayed across the ground.
Under those devastating blows, Rogal Dorn grew increasingly passive. Just as his scattered steps threatened to send him crashing to the ground, Jaghatai moved.