They will die.
They will all die by my hands and the hands of my brothers. Like the creatures born of wrath that they are, they charge headlong towards the foe. No clever tactics or discipline, just an unyielding need to rend and maim. Howling screams herald our arrival, both from my frothing brothers and our terrified enemy.
I charge at the front as the tip of a blackened and jagged spear, hungrily thirsting for the righteous slaughter. At last we plunge into their ranks, ripping and tearing with hammer, sword and gauntleted fist. My crozius connects a enemy in a upward strike, cleaving the ribcage in two and sending his head flying towards the ashen sky.
Another strike smashes the heads of two more, coating the serrated chapter symbol on my shoulder in brain, blood and bone. It is then that I see their leader. A demigod such as myself, a Astartes clad in crimson and brass. A menagerie of trophies cover his waist, skulls. Skulls claimed from friend and foe alike, my kind can no longer discern between the two. I charge at him with my Crozius raised above my head, my hate bellowing out in a war cry torn from my throat.
"By the Blood of Sanguinius, Kill them all!"