A face was torn away, revealing the Daemon's true form.
It was a pitch-black sphere with green facial features. Though its blackness was absolute, looking at it gave the strange impression of facing an entire ocean.
Evan remained calm. One hand was still raised, the Word Bearer's flayed face dangling between his fingers, while the other held the Necrons' Cross Sword. With a wet squelch, he drove it into the enemy's chest.
"Why pretend to be a Mandrake? I already blew their homeland to hell. Who knows if there are even any left?"
His raised hand slowly stopped, and the face slipped from his fingertips. The enormous golden hand accelerated, closing into a fist and striking the enemy's head with exponentially increasing speed.
The Daemon screamed, its entire body trembling. Anti-psyker power forced it back into the Word Bearer's body while repelling the "head" outside, as though trying to tear the Daemon apart along the wound in its neck.
Just as the fist touched the Daemon's "head," the entire head burst into countless fine black threads. Only a wafer-thin layer of psychic substance connected the portion outside the body to the portion within. Thousands of threads formed a huge black sphere around Evan.
It could attack Evan from any direction within that sphere, but its power simply could not penetrate the space around him.
"Too weak." Evan twisted the Cross-shaped Longsword around inside the Word Bearer's body. Physically, at least, he had shredded both of his opponent's hearts.
The longsword cleaved through the ancient, seventy-eighth-hand renegade-pattern Power Armour. Still the Daemon refused to yield. Black threads connected the wounds in its flesh, leaving severed body parts dangling at its sides.
The face on the floor made a little popping sound, and the Chaos runes inscribed upon it spontaneously ignited.
After