Azrael relaxed his entire body and mind, controlling his thoughts and driving out the urge to fight brought on by his surging adrenaline.
His opponent's eyes burned as fiercely as the flames on his back. All Azrael could see in them was anger.
The Emperor's Champion's eyes were like the obsidian sword in his hand: cold, dark, and incomparably sharp.
The Secret Sword was held horizontally high above his head, so close that Azrael's bent arms had almost reached the limits of his Power Armour.
The battle-axe crashed into the blade. It had to crash into the blade.
The Eightbound leader's strength was like a mountain, like a surging tidal wave, like lava that swallowed everything.
The grav-axe had only one target: his head, the offering that would please the Skull Throne most.
He was too close. The hot, foul breath the Chaos traitor spat out filled the loyal heart with disgust.
The sword trembled. Azrael released his grip, and the point where axe and sword met became a pivot around which the blade spun.
The grav-axe began pulling Azrael toward it. Its corrupted machine spirit had already transformed that force into psyker power, and the Emperor's blessing wrestled against it.
The Emperor's Champion took a step back. If his opponent kept chopping downward like this, he could only tear open Azrael's hardened breastplate.
The Eightbound leader had to take a step forward as well.
The Secret Sword revolved around the axe, its hilt swinging upward from the lower right until it finally reached a point above the axe.
Azrael caught the hilt with his left hand.
Khorne's follower took a step forward.
As though offering his head to Azrael's blade.
Azrael unleashed a horizontal slash as fast as he could. The blade in his left hand lay above the