The Real MVP of Damage Output

Vokes calmly swung his scythe.

After enough battles, fighting had become instinct, like a heartbeat, like breathing. He no longer felt joy at every swing of his scythe, nor fear when an enemy blade grazed his face.

He simply fought—and then chopped off his enemies' heads.

Vokes's gaze was calm, as calm as if he were reviewing official documents, and his opponent was clearly enraged by his expression.

Lucius let out an embarrassed, furious roar, the fleshy cord on his right arm lashing toward Vokes.

To be fair, Slaanesh's forces were faster, while the Death Guard were slower.

Vokes did not even acknowledge him. His long scythe flashed coldly, knocking aside Eidolon's thunder hammer as Lucius's whip lashed toward Vokes's breastplate.

A lash powerful enough to tear open a Space Wolves warrior! Yet it left only a white mark on Vokes's armor.

Vokes did not even look. As he drew back his scythe, he casually smashed a Daemonette's head open with the blunt end.

There was not even contempt on his face. This further enraged Lucius, who bared his black gums as the sword in his hand danced into elegant afterimages.

But what infuriated him was that sluggish-looking Vokes somehow blocked every one of his attacks with his scythe!

From the corner of his eye, Vokes saw the Death Guard veterans already locked in fierce battle with Slaanesh's forces. They had all survived Nurgle's Garden.

Other than him, who had received emergency treatment from Hades, the remaining Death Guard veterans all bore more or less inhuman features. Their armor had become bony, and insect-like eyes showed through their shattered helmets.

But they were strong enough.

Slaanesh's lesser troops were like weeds before the Death Guard's scythes, their heads severed before they could scream. The Death Guard advanced silently in perfect