Die, Daemon.

Kabanha had been in an advantageous position, yet he was still looking down on and taunting Guilliman.

The Greater Daemon pulled its face into an arc that human facial muscles could never manage, baring a mouthful of jagged fangs in a savage grin.

The Butcher's Blade rotated halfway in its palm, smashing the Primarch back again. Lava dripped from the axe blade onto the rocky shell, sizzling as it released wisps of white smoke.

It looked down at Guilliman, who had regained his balance several meters away, and could sense the delay of the old wounds flaring up in the Imperium's regent growing longer.

After every clash of sword and axe, Guilliman took longer to rise, and his steps grew weaker.

Hahaha.

Kabanha forced a mocking laugh from its chest, slung the Butcher's Blade over its shoulder, folded its batlike wings halfway, and slowly paced halfway around Guilliman.

"Imperial Regent."

The daemon's burning eyes swept over Guilliman from head to toe like it was sizing up prey on the verge of death. Its voice rolled softly from deep in its throat, malicious and profane:

"After lying down for ten thousand years, you seem to be getting worse and worse since waking up."

Guilliman's response was to raise The Emperor's Sword level again, face it, and restore the rhythm of his breathing.

Kabanha stopped.

It raised the Butcher's Blade and pointed at Guilliman from afar with the axe tip. "You weakling. You're a weakling. Fighting you is an insult to my status as a Greater Daemon. No wonder your brothers all look down on you."

Guilliman's lips pressed together slightly, but his blue eyes held neither anger nor evasion. He continued staring at the Greater Daemon through his faceplate, calm and unmoved.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of The Emperor's