Dars saw each vessel with his own eyes, and was repulsed at the amount of decor each had been created with. Gallivanting throughout the galaxy in something so aesthetic was, to almost all Sontarans, one of the more childish things. A game for half-forms and under developed tribal cultures who worshiped their gods with outlandish works. Like Humans and their cousin species.
Though the Corporal could not even begin to realize how real the heretic's gods were. True beings of absolute disorder that reigned over the anti-reality. By extension, these death seekers were limbs of the Blood God and his insatiable thirst for war. Though by merely looking at the enormous desecrated Tryanid husks impaled upon one hulking vessel's bow, that was pretty obvious.
The first ship in the incursion was blazing through space between like a massive radioactive meteor. It's dim outer glow shifted aft into the twisting inferno of the main engine, looking as though it utterly radiated it's occupants anger. Small laser fire burst from the Sontaran ship's main port turrets whizzed by it, and the Sontaran sphere's raced around as they began the primary attack.
The commander had ensured not a single available spacecraft was still in the hangar, and had even ordered his own personal escort to be in the front assault on the intruders. In total, the force numbered 483 pods. In most cases, Sontarans would require only a fraction of this to mount a successful counter-attack. However, this mighty contingent was merely a fraction of what they'd actually require to quell a chaos invasion.
There was a sudden, and rather hypnotic burst of light that emulated from the Infernal Sin as it sprinted towards Dars's War-Wheel Cruiser. A rolling volley of laser fire struck, but did not slightly hinder the deamon vessel's accumulated momentum. Dars hardly noticed his captain, who stood sternly and stuck is arm out in salute.
"Sontar-Ha! Sontar-Ha!" He hollered as the light-show of his pilot brethren being vaporized by turrets around aboard another of the heretic ships begun.
The rest of the crew could not resist joining in, and soon the battle-cry began to resonate across the entire ship, "Sontar-Ha! Sontar-Ha! Sontar-HA! Sontar HA!"
The Captain began to sneer at the display of unwavering loyalty in the face of the snarling beast that the Sontarans were renowned for.
"Sontar-Ha, Sontar-Ha, Sontar-Huahhhhhh."
The chant turned to a cry of agony, inspiring dulled dread in every clone warrior aboard the cruiser. From the severed skull of the Captain stuck forth the serrated teeth of the Khorne's mighty will forged blade. It's wielder, a horrific personification of all rage. Though only lesser deamons, the bloodletters still struck terror into anything they were set upon. Their beady black eyes filled with greed and desire to take as many skulls as they could, purely so that they might only be rewarded with intelligence and favour by their god.
The warp portal had exploded into the main bridge so quickly that no-one had even had time to see it. Dars had been closest, and took his close sidearm, a rheon carbine, to point-blank on the emerging monster and fired madly. It's head boiled and melted, evaporating into a cloud of crimson residue. The carcass burned for a moment, then was gone fast as it came. The portal snapping shut behind it.
"Prepare yourselves for boarding then." Dars hissed, taking one last look at his bisected master's head.
But little did Dars or any occupant of the ship realize, that bearing down on them was the ten thousand writhing faces of Infernal Sin. Who's fifth company's tactics of melee attacks were not restricted to personal battle, as Tarrus proved by commanding his corrupted techpriests to engage the primary engines for a rapid jump right into the prey cruiser.
The ship split away in a trail of light as it slipped through the chaos realm and back into realspace at intangible speeds that were not even possible in reality. As physics took hold, the blur of the ship subsided to an unstoppable trot of boiling power. The bow barely even shuddered as it cleaved through the cruiser's enormous port disc and lodged itself in the central body.
This had been completely an unconventional tactic, but totally compliant with World Eater philosophy; make everything bleed, from pierced veins to ruptured fuel tanks. When frenzied there is no such thing as brother or foe. Everything is a bag of meat ready to spill glorious gore and flood the world with the stench of battle. Blues, reds, greens, all creatures had their own special pallet of eviscerated entrails that the Berserkers would free.
Who needs strategy when you have anger? Who needs artillery while you still have nails on your hands to dig into an opponent's face? Nothing existed that could comprehend Tzeech's magic. Not one creature could feel Slannesh's ecstasy. Only the dead could savor the immortality in Nurgle's blight.
But all beings know anger, and violence, and the satisfaction that comes out of seeing your turncoat sibling a pile of smoldering bones. And that is why Khorne is the oldest of all. Because beyond pleasure, curiosity, and plague stands hatred. Hatred and it's hot and sweltering madness.