[You subconsciously want to throw away the power axe in your palm, the newly corrupted Frost Fang now an abhorrent thing. The feel of the Chaos runes against your glove is a physical violation.]
[But your rationality, the stubborn core of your Astartes loyalty, makes you hold the 'Frost Fang' that has become a Chaos weapon tightly. It is still a formidable tool, and discarding it would be foolish in this hostile realm.]
[You slowly get up from the ground, the effort of standing heavier than it should be, a subtle shift in the physics of your body.]
[You vaguely feel that the Astartes body covered under the fine power armor has become stronger out of thin air, every muscle fiber subtly denser, every bone slightly heavier. The enhancement is undeniable, sickeningly earned.]
[You first glance at the active volcanoes standing around, their smoke plumes mixing with the scarlet sky, then lower your head and ponder for a moment, the heavy helmet shielding your expression.]
[You were forcibly infused with the blessing of Khorne, the taint washing over you, but you still maintain your loyalty to the Emperor, a cold, hard ember of faith in the furnace of the Blood God's domain. Your soul screams a silent refusal.]
[You narrow your cyan wolf eyes slightly, and a grin, a grim, battle-hungry expression, gradually reveals the fangs in your mouth. The rage is useful.]
[You raise your arm, carry the Chaos weapon 'Frost Fang' on your shoulder armor, the blood-red jewel pulsing against the dull ceramite, and begin to walk forward with a renewed, grim purpose.]
[As you continue to go deeper into the volcanic landscape, the number and scale of countless volcanic eruptions gradually increase, the ground trembling constantly under the fury of the daemonic world.]
[For the first time, you also see those brass skulls that keep rolling and tumbling in the depths of the hot magma, their hollow eye sockets facing the sky.]
[Those brass skulls, the currency and obsession of Khorne, surge into the scarlet sky along with the erupting magma like grotesque cannonballs, and occasionally penetrate an invisible barrier high above and disappear completely, swallowed by the Warp.]
[You urge the broken fine power armor, which groans under the strain, to jump over the lava river that flows freely like a river of slow fire.]
[The number of bloodletters you meet along the way increases exponentially, their challenges becoming constant and relentless.]
[After each battle, the violent surge of power arrives as promised, strengthening every inch of your flesh and blood, a tide of stolen strength.]
[And the warp fire, the innate psychic protection in your soul, burns and squeezes immediately, completely emptying the blessing from Khorne, pushing the tainted energy back into the Chaos weapon.]
[With this accumulated, forced exchange, even the 'Frost Fang' in your hand undergoes profound and drastic changes, absorbing the ejected power until it is almost unrecognizable.]
[The size of the power axe seems to have become larger and heavier, its shape swelling to the proportions of a two-handed weapon, requiring all your enhanced strength to wield effectively.]
[An old, pitted brass skull appears at the end of the axe handle, fused with the metal, and two lines of endless scarlet tears flow from its empty black eye sockets, dripping onto the ceramite floor.]
[The originally smooth and bright metal axe surface seems to gradually emerge with fine lines like blood vessels, pulsing faintly beneath the dark power.]
[Every time your axe blade slashes at a bloodletter, the power axe emits an extremely piercing and terrifying scream, a sound of agony and raw power that chills your soul, even as it destroys the daemon.]
[After a long time, the continuous, sickening shriek becomes too much to bear, and you have to stop swinging the Chaos weapon, using your huge, armor-covered fist to deal with the remaining Khorne daemons, relying purely on the physical strength you have gained.]
[At the same time, the daemons you encounter become more powerful, matching the terrifying strength you are rapidly accumulating.]
[First, the quality and number of bloodletters increase exponentially, their ranks swelling with ever more veteran fighters.]
[From a maximum of fifty, the enemy force gradually breaks a hundred with each encounter.]
[The hell blades and combat skills of these bloodletters have been strengthened and honed for countless years, their movements fluid and deadly, which are enough to cause great trouble for you, forcing you to fight with calculated brutality rather than mere fury.]
[If you say that endless fighting and fighting can be dealt with by will and courage, your faith holding strong against the mental fatigue...]
[Then the gradually damaged fine power armor, strained past its limits by your enhanced movements and the daemon's blows, cannot be restored to its original state, the ceramite shattered and the internal workings failing.]
[And with the increase in the number of battles, and the complete destruction of the power armor's systems—including the internal heating and motive power...]
[You can only rely on your physical strength, far superior to the past, to forcefully drive the scrapped fine power armor, treating the cracked suit like heavy, cumbersome clothing rather than a life support system.]
[Soon after, some huge scarlet smoke columns rising from the largest erupting volcanoes attract your attention, columns so massive they seem to pierce the ceiling of the realm.]
[You change your route without hesitation, sensing a greater power or resource at their base.]
[You unexpectedly discover a number of forges belonging to Khorne, vast pits of molten brass and iron where daemons labor without end.]
[You take off the Chaos weapon, now truly the 'Khorne Axe', which is as large and heavy as a two-handed power axe, from your back, shifting the immense weight easily.]
[You lower your head and remember the 'Frost Fang' that has long disappeared, its sacred purpose overwritten by the mark of the Ruinous Powers.]
[You rush towards the nearest forge, the sight of any kind of manufacturing process spurring your hope for repair.]
[You encounter a huge flesh hound that looks like a massive canine, but its body is covered with metallic scales and has three huge, snapping heads, blocking the entrance to the forge.]
[You launch a fierce charge toward the flesh hound, a blur of battered silver and raw power.]
[You wield the 'Khorne Axe' with one hand, a feat of inhuman strength, the massive axe blade slicing the air with a terrible shriek.]
[The blessing of Khorne, forcibly extracted after countless battles, has brought your physical strength to a terrifying, unsustainable state.]
[Your feet stomp heavily on Khorne's territory, cracking the volcanic rock, and your mouth, with bared fangs, roars for the Emperor in defiance of the land you stand on.]
[The terrifying scream of the axe passes through the air, too fast for the beast to react fully. The jumping flesh hound tries to dodge, but the corrupted axe still chops off a huge head, separating it from the scaly neck in a fountain of boiling daemonic blood.]
[Then, before the hound can fully register the damage, you swing the "Khorne Axe" hard, using the momentum of the first strike, and chop off one of the flesh hound's remaining heads again.]
[You face the constantly spurting daemon blood, letting it wash over you, and your broken shoulder armor hits the chest of the flesh hound heavily, driving the massive beast back.]
[Accompanied by the painful roar of the daemon, you raise the "Khorne Axe" expressionlessly and completely end the opponent's life, bringing the axe down on its last skull.]
[You stare at the huge body of the flesh hound slowly dissipating, dissolving into wisps of red energy, as if returning to the scarlet sky.]
[You know that it will return, reforged and sent back into the eternal conflict, as a Khorne daemon.]
[You also understand that your endless killing, however effective, is just useless in the grand, endless design of the Warp.]
[But at the same time, you also think that the Emperor may have his own arrangements, his guidance leading you through this torment for a higher purpose.]
[The only thing you can do is to try to survive before that, maintaining your will and fighting on until the purpose is revealed.]
[You carry the huge 'Khorne Axe', slinging it over your shoulder with an easy motion.]
[After the battle, the blessing from Khorne comes again, the hot, invasive strength surging into your muscles.]
[You slowly raise a palm and aim at the 'Khorne Axe' on your shoulder, channeling your inner strength.]
[With the rising and burning of wisps of warp flames, your innate psychic power flares. A trace of the blood-red surging power is squeezed out of your tough body and continuously poured into the Chaos weapon, the only way to purge the taint without destroying yourself.]
[You can now barely direct the warp flames in your body, the continuous fighting having forged a primitive, desperate control over your power.]
[You unexpectedly discover that Chaos weapons are extremely afraid of warp flames, the psychic fire of humanity's potential a potent counter to the daemonic artifacts.]
[You narrow your cyan wolf eyes slightly and bare your fangs, a plan forming in the face of this new resource.]
[You swagger into the foundry that is currently in operation, the heat and noise immense, the daemons inside ignoring the death of the flesh hound.]
[You grab a Bloodsmiths, a bulky daemon whose skin is like iron, who has no time to escape his station, and ask him, in the language of the Warp, if he can make power armor.]
[After getting a negative answer, the forger shaking his horned head...]
[You grin at him, an expression devoid of mercy, and crush the twisted skull of the Bloodsmith with your five fingers, the ceramite of your glove splintering bone easily.]
[The headless corpse falls heavily to the ground, splashing molten brass onto the obsidian floor.]
[You shake the sticky juice from your hand, your attention already moving to the remaining daemons.]
[Your cyan wolf eyes stare at the other forgers who are holding crude, unfinished weapons and roaring in mindless fury, and you bare your fangs, preparing for another quick, brutal fight.]
[Soon after, you hold up the last Bloodsmith, this one smaller and clearly terrified.]
[The other party trembles violently, his form flickering, and points out to you the forging factories that can cast power armor, giving up the location in a squeal of fear.]
[You put him down gently and pat his shoulder to comfort him, a gesture of ironic appreciation.]
[You grin and swing the 'Khorne Axe', splitting the relieved, momentarily hopeful forger in half, his usefulness expended.]
[You are about to turn around and leave, heading for the location the daemon indicated.]
[You unexpectedly see a bunch of crude, unfinished bolters on the flowing production line, assembled haphazardly but made of thick, heavy brass.]
[You step forward to inspect them, picking up two bolters, their mass reassuringly heavy, and hang them on your waist, an augmentation to your primary weapon.]
[You carry the 'Khorne Axe' and walk out of the empty foundry, the air of the forge already beginning to heal the damage you inflicted.]
[At this moment, a gray and dim passage suddenly appears on the volcanic rock ground not far from you, the same tear in reality you saw earlier.]
[The strange Astartes Brother you met a long time ago, the one in hrey, reveals his tall figure, stepping out of the passage and into the crimson light.]
[However, the other party's eyes, like bright stars, just notice you, taking in your scarred, chaotic armor and the giant, throbbing axe on your shoulder.]
[The Nemesis Force Sword, which he holds in one hand, is instantly raised, the ancient, blessed weapon pointed directly at your chest, and a very powerful psychic light bursts out, shimmering around his armored form.]
["Fallen... die!"]