Abial the Undaunted sat astride his Flesh Hound at the edge of the Deep Pit, watching the Khan below with amusement.
His gaze followed the white figure still standing amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. He watched him swing his greatsword among the Chaos Warriors surging toward him like a tide, watched him rise again and again from hopeless predicaments, watched him wield his enemies' corpses as weapons and smash the brains out of the Chaos Warriors who drew near.
Then, before long, amusement gave way to admiration.
For he saw tens of thousands of Chaos Warriors rush at the Khan like a tide, only to fall like one.
Every one of those Chaos Warriors was a veteran who had fought across countless worlds for centuries. Every one had spilled the blood of countless souls. Every one was a warrior Khorne could take pride in.
Yet before that white figure, they fell in swathes like straw.
The Khan held his sword in one hand, the Tiger-Head Greatsword tracing an unbroken succession of silvery arcs through the air, cutting approaching enemies in half at the waist, cleaving them in two, and taking their heads.
His other hand gripped the corpse of a Chaos Warrior, wielding it as a weapon. He swept it in every direction like an enormous warhammer, smashing the enemies trying to approach from his flanks into mangled masses of broken bones and torn flesh.
A circular barricade of corpses had already risen around him. The bodies lay piled in layers, forming a dark red wall half a man's height.
"Magnificent."
Abial's blood began to boil.
He could feel the craving for battle and slaughter that belonged to a chosen of Khorne blazing within him, churning in his chest like a volcano on the verge of eruption.