[You don't have time to dodge. The attack is too fast, too sudden, and delivered by a peerless warrior of the Imperium.]
[A holy psychic flame, pure white and searing, violently hits your chest, impacting the already fragmented ceramite of your breastplate.]
[A terrifying blow, one that is enough to annihilate ordinary daemons, only makes your fine power armor more damaged, cracking the plating further and sending a massive surge of kinetic force through your frame.]
[You don't seem to be hurt at all, the sheer physical enhancement provided by the extracted Chaos taint shrugging off the impact. Your battle-hardened body barely registers the trauma.]
[You narrow your cyan wolf eyes, the surprise of the attack receding instantly, and your snow-white fangs appear in your mouth in a silent snarl of instinctive aggression.]
[Your reason, however, the Astartes discipline holding tight, stops your impulsive desire to meet the challenge with violence.]
[You slam the 'Khorne Axe' from your shoulder into the molten ground beside you, the act a loud, deliberate statement of non-aggression.]
[You slowly spread your hands towards the tall figure, who is already accumulating psychic energy again, preparing a second, deadlier strike. The gesture is open, showing you mean no harm.]
[You quickly express your loyalty to the Emperor and your contempt for Chaos to the other party, the words precise and clipped, projected from your vox-grille.]
[As the hostile psychic light gradually extinguishes, the immense pressure lessening...]
[The other party looks at you carefully, his ancient, star-like eyes performing a deep, soul-level assessment, hiding the shock of your resilience and the power you radiate.]
[The Astartes warrior, satisfied with your sincerity, drops his heavy weapon hand. He then walks toward you, his massive Terminator armor barely disturbing the cracked earth.]
["Kaldor Draigo... Grand Master of the Grey Knights, a wanderer in the Warp blessed by the Emperor..." The Astartes, whose deep eyes are like stars, puts down the huge and heavy storm shield, letting it thud against the obsidian. He stretches out a palm to you with a slight, genuine smile.]
["Space Wolf... a servant of the Emperor." You also grin, a raw expression that reveals your fangs, and your palm, covered with broken, scorched armor, clasps with the other party's, the grip firm and respectful.]
[At this moment, Draigo's eyes suddenly fall on the 'Khorne Axe' you threw beside you, its pulsing, blood-red glow an obscenity in the silver-clad agent's presence.]
[The expression on his old face gradually becomes solemn, the smile vanishing, and he begins to advise you, his voice grave.]
[He warns that unpurified daemon weapons are not magic weapons; they are chains. The power of chaos will affect your mind all the time, constantly prying open your weak heart, and eventually devour your soul, leaving nothing but a host for Khorne's wrath.]
[You pat the broken power armor on your body with a helpless, resigned expression, explaining to the other party that this is just an emergency option—a temporary necessity for survival in this cursed realm.]
[You also believe that the Emperor blesses you, pointing to the power of the Warp fire within you, and Chaos can't take advantage of you, confident in your faith and will.]
[Draigo, with his white beard, shakes his head slightly, a gesture of profound experience, and he seems to let out a slight sigh, recognizing the arrogance of youth and power.]
[Then, without a word, he hands you the Titansword in his other hand, a blade of gleaming Nemesis metal, its hilt warm with latent psychic power.]
[You subconsciously want to refuse the immense gift, the weight of the sacred weapon daunting, but the other party's deep eyes, like stars, stare at you without blinking, demanding compliance.]
[You take the other party's weapon with a solemn expression, the cold, pure metal feeling utterly alien and wonderful in your hands.]
[You still choose to carry the 'Khorne Axe' on your back, strapping the massive, unholy artifact securely. It is a necessary reservoir of strength and a lightning rod for the taint.]
[Draigo doesn't say much about this, merely observing the grim practicality of your choice.]
[He picks up the huge storm shield standing beside him and asks you about your next plan, eager to know the intentions of the agent who survived his blow.]
[You subconsciously look at the other party, seeking counsel from the vastly more experienced veteran.]
[Draigo explains to you with his eyes narrowed, scanning the volatile environment.]
[The warp is treacherous and changeable, and full of dangers, but Khorne's domain is by no means an ordinary poor mountain and bad land. It is a focus of unimaginable power and hostility.]
[Although you and he will not be afraid of any challenge from any daemon, the best solution is to get away as soon as possible, before a true Lord of the Brass Citadel takes notice.]
[You hesitate, the thought of leaving your only chance for power armor behind an unwelcome prospect.]
[You explain to Draigo the simple idea of recasting the power armor, the necessity of replacing your failing suit with something that can endure the journey.]
[Draigo blinks, a flicker of appreciation for your pragmatism in his ancient eyes, and agrees to your request. He understands the necessity of survival tools.]
[The two of you carefully identify the direction, using the towering smoke columns as landmarks.]
[You quickly walk towards the largest foundry in the erupting, tall volcanic landform, moving with the synchronized, purposeful stride of two elite agents.]
[Along the way, you tell the curious Draigo about the cause and effect of being ambushed by the Lord of Change and accidentally involved in the warp, omitting nothing of importance.]
[Draigo smiles after listening to you with a gentle expression, and his fleeting smile seems to carry a trace of nostalgia for the past, a connection to the world you just left.]
[He smiles and assures you that if you want, he has many ways to send you back to the physical universe, his words carrying the weight of ancient, potent knowledge.]
[You look at Draigo with curiosity, but the question dies on your lips.]
[But the other party says that you need to recast the power armor before you can proceed, the physical vessel needing preparation before the warp journey can be attempted.]
[Soon after, the two of you come to the outskirts of the foundry, the heat intensifying, the air thick with the metallic tang of daemonic forging.]
[Thousands of bloodletters wielding hell blades rush towards you in a red wave, alerted by the continuous fighting. Dozens of flesh hounds with only one head also rush out of the shadow of the black rock, snapping and baying.]
[You bare your fangs and take a deep, focusing breath, accepting the inevitable battle.]
[You and Draigo, who is now smiling faintly, a hint of battle-lust in his eyes, look at each other, a wordless agreement passing between two masters of war.]
[You both launch a magnificent battle charge, the silver Terminator and the battered Space Wolf closing the distance with terrifying speed.]
[You swing the Titansword vigorously, the Nemesis blade feeling perfectly balanced, an extension of your will.]
[Wisp after wisp of scorching warp flames, your carefully cultivated psychic energy, continue to flow from your body into this ancient greatsword.]
[A ten-meter-long psychic flame, impossibly bright in the crimson light, slashes out from the cold and shining blade and rushes into the oncoming bloodletters.]
[In an instant, dozens of bloodletters do not even struggle or howl; the holy fire annihilates their essence, and they completely turn into handfuls of falling black ashes.]
[You subconsciously open your cyan wolf eyes wide, realizing the terrifying potential of pure, focused psychic power channelled through a sacred weapon.]
[Your mouth curls up into an arc, a true, joyous warrior's grin, and your snow-white fangs gleam with a cold luster.]
[You once again wield the Titansword, and the fierce psychic flames annihilate countless daemons like harvesting weeds, cutting vast swathes through the enemy lines.]
[At the same time, Draigo, who has just withdrawn his sight from your attack, has his gray beard trembling slightly, and his deep eyes reveal admiration for your raw power.]
[He rushes into the group of daemons without flinching, and swings the heavy storm shield violently, using its massive surface and reinforced edge as a blunt weapon.]
[A flesh hound that pounces on Draigo is smashed into pieces by a powerful, psychic force inherent to the shield in the blink of an eye, scattering its raw energy back into the air.]
[Then, Draigo's gray beard trembles, and he raises a huge armored palm with a solemn expression, concentrating his immense mental fortitude.]
[The wisps of leaping psychic energy burst into fierce light, and circles of terrifying psychic flames erupt violently with him as the center point, a beacon of holy fire.]
[The next moment, the bloodletters and flesh hounds within a radius of dozens of meters all howl in despair, realizing they are facing a true master of the Empyrean, and quickly burn into charcoal and ash, swept away by the Grey Knight's power.]
[As time passes, the foundry grounds are silent except for the roar of the volcanoes. You crush the head of the last flesh hound with the heavy soles of your power armor, ending the skirmish.]
[Draigo, with a gentle smile on his face, slowly walks to your side, his armor pristine despite the fierce fighting.]
[He blinks his deep eyes and praises your fighting style and your skillful use of psychic power, acknowledging your blend of feral ferocity and focused mental strength.]
[He used to think that the Space Wolves would not have any psykers, the old lore drilled into his mind.]
[Now it seems that maybe he has been wandering in the warp for too long and is ignorant, a humble admission from a Grand Master.]
[You can't help but blink your cyan wolf eyes, the unexpected compliment and the correction of lore a confusing anomaly, and you nod awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the praise.]
[Then, you continue your journey to the foundry to kill the remaining defense daemons, stepping over the piles of cooling ash.]
[However, your excessive killing has aroused the extreme vigilance of the foundry's defense forces, the death toll too high to ignore.]
[Even the scarlet smoke that continues to rise above the foundry seems to be much thicker, a sign of rising internal activity and preparation.]
[Accompanied by the roar of countless volcanic eruptions, a metal door covered with brass rivets is pushed open heavily, screaming against the hinges.]
[A huge, five-meter-tall Slaughter Beast rushes out of the factory, a monstrous, daemonic engine of war covered in crude armor.]
[On the opponent's broad back, which is full of hell blades jammed into its flesh, stands a giant bloodletter that has grown several times larger than the others, an armored colossus.]
[It seems to be a bloodletter that has experienced countless battles and has reached the peak of its combat skills and terrifying brute force, a challenge worthy of a hero...]
[The Herald of Khorne.]