Part Two
Graj'ok concentrated. He envisioned blood flowing and the chaos of perfect violence. He placed a bowl of recently (and violently) spilled blood beneath the eviscerated body of one of his followers, as he completed his incantations. He dipped his hands in the blood and painted the Mark of Khorne. Beneath that he used blood to make an 88, a sacred number of Khorne. He focused all his will diverting the effects of his ritual to the village of Denwap. He smiled.
Meanwhile…
Brother Shuriel opened fire from his strategically selected vantage point. His wrist-mounted storm bolter erupted spraying .75 caliber psi-rounds into the house sized daemon. It howled as dissonant counterpoint to Shuriel's staccato rhythm, played on his instrument of death. This will not take long, thank the Emperor for our pre-emptive initiative. Ironically this was his last thought. A punctured helmet is not conducive to life.
The blood letter howled as its sword passed through the space marine's helmet. It continued to run forward but stopped after its legs were sheared of by a psi-bolt. The battle had begun. The Eighty-seven blood letters stormed and made ready to hack, slash and stab through the high ground. Philostratus swore. Warpspawn! An army of Daemons, as though the Thirster were not enough!
The Bloodthirster stood up, dizzy from the onslaught, but now ready for carnage. It howled into the heavens as it prepared itself to destroy the humans. Its brothers were everywhere, swarming onto the armored marines. KILL! It howled as it cut a fully armored terminator in half with one swing. SLAUGHTER! It clove a marine down the middle. BLOOD!