[A few minutes later, the air thick with the stench of burned flesh and daemon ichor, and accompanied by the terrible, final howling of the huge slaughter beast being burned by the terrifying psychic flames...]
[You carry the massive, long-horned head of the Khorne Herald, the weight easily manageable, and slowly walk to the closed, heavy door of the foundry. Your breathing is deep and steady, the physical exertion barely registering.]
[You casually throw the bloody head at the metal door, the impact ringing out like a gong against the brass-riveted surface, signaling your arrival.]
[You narrow your eyes slightly, feeling the now familiar, continuous infusion of Khorne's blessing—the raw strength—and the immediate, continuous expulsion of the warp fire, a spiritual purging cycle that leaves you immensely powerful yet mentally taxed. You grin with fangs in your mouth, savoring the dreadful power.]
[You take a deep breath, the sulfurous air filling your lungs.]
[You announce an important news to the Bloodsmiths hiding behind the metal door, your voice amplified by the broken vox-grille, booming through the brass.]
[Any forger who helps you recast the power armor can get the privilege of having their life spared. It is a simple, mercenary transaction in the name of the Blood God.]
[Maybe you can also get a little praise from the Lord of Slaughter, you add, a cynical twist to the message.]
[Of course, you also welcome the last holdouts to attack, but the attackers will need to undergo a spiritual fire to reform themselves, you warn, referring to the psychic immolation that just cleared the area.]
[As long as the other party can barely survive the cleansing, then you will leave without saying anything, guaranteeing their eventual release to Khorne.]
[The heavy metal door in front of you gradually opens with a grinding screech, revealing the cavernous interior.]
[One after another, the Bloodsmiths, daemons with distorted expressions and eyes blazing with fanatical zeal for craftsmanship and bloodshed, kneel down to you, prostrating themselves before the strength you displayed.]
[They keep chanting Khorne's slogans and prayers, their submission immediate and absolute.]
[At this moment, Draigo, holding the storm shield in one hand, drives the Holy Shield Terminator close to your side, his heavy boots echoing on the metal floor.]
[His gray beard trembles slightly, a sign of his unease, and he squints his eyes and scans the Chaos believers who are gradually entering a state of fanaticism, sensing the spiritual danger.]
["Young one, perhaps it was a wrong decision to let you come here to recast the power armor..." Draigo suddenly sighs heavily, the sound a low hiss in his armor's speakers, and whispers to you.]
[You frown slightly, turning your eyes to look at the other party, sensing his concern is genuine.]
[Draigo, with a solemn expression, explains his worry. He thinks you should follow him for the time being, arguing that this foundry is too close to Khorne's center of power.]
[Khorne's concentrated attention may bring you unexpected, terrifying crises—the kind even a Grand Master fears.]
[There are still countless mysterious areas in the warp that the four gods cannot touch, he explains, areas of true un-alignment.]
[For example, in the chaotic and disordered Formless Abyss, there are numerous foundries of the Dark Mechanicum that worships Chaos alone, specializing in hardware rather than bloodlust.]
[He repaired his power armor and replenished his explosive bombs by going there to randomly rob a factory and put an end to the heretics there, using the opportunity for maintenance and cleansing.]
[You lower your head and think for a while, considering the pragmatism of his suggestion.]
[You stare at the Titansword tightly held in your palm, feeling its reassuring, cold weight.]
[You feel the warp flames in your body that have not yet subsided, the psychic energy running hot and ready.]
[You politely reject Draigo's kind proposal, your determination fixed on seeing the power armor completed here. Leaving now feels like surrender.]
[Draigo nods slowly, accepting your choice with the wisdom of age, and he does not forcibly stop you from doing what you want.]
[He then asks to help you purify the daemon equipment once it's finished, offering his service to sanctify the unholy materials.]
[You agree without hesitation, knowing his psychic power is far purer and stronger than your own volatile abilities.]
[You and Draigo pass the Chaos believers kneeling in prayer and enter the vast, noisy foundry, the heat from the forges immediately oppressive.]
[One after another, the Bloodsmiths with fanatical eyes stand up, their expressions shifting to intense focus, and surround you, ready to work.]
[With their exquisite technical means, honed by millennia in the Warp, they use only simple metal tools—hammers, tongs, and knives—to dismantle the damaged equipment on your body.]
[You let the Bloodsmiths remove the broken and scarred fine power armor, piece by piece, until you are standing almost bare in your black undersuit, and the two unfinished grenade launchers you picked up.]
[At the same time, your two hands also grasp the Sword of Vengeance and the Khorne Axe, the twin weapons held ready, your focus absolute.]
[You plan to kill if you find anything wrong, ready to unleash your power at the first sign of treachery.]
[However, these fanatical Bloodsmiths do not make any overstepping actions; they are dedicated only to their craft and your immense power. They move with efficient, desperate haste.]
[They begin to measure your body shape and ask you about your requirements for the power armor, their voices raspy with excitement.]
["Requirements? My only requirement is extreme sturdiness and durability. After all, killing daemons also requires protection..." You narrow your cyan wolf eyes and grin, the fangs showing in the heat, your demand simple and direct.]
[A dozen Bloodsmiths swallow subconsciously, intimidated by the casual mention of continuous daemon slaying, a monumental, terrifying task.]
[They speed up their movements, quickly complete the calculation of their bodies, and quickly turn away from you, returning to their blazing forges.]
[You stare at the huge daemon furnace in the distance, a vast, pulsing heart of fire where blood-red flames gradually rise, and you seem to hear the roar of countless hammers hitting metal, the creation process fully engaged.]
[You pass the Bloodsmiths who are getting busy, satisfied with their speed and terror.]
[You come to Draigo, who looks solemn and seems to be ready to eliminate the daemons in the next second, his huge frame a silent sentinel against treachery.]
[You ask him about the method of purifying daemon equipment, eager for the knowledge.]
["If you were in the physical universe, I would suggest you find a priest in the chapter, arrange complicated rituals and continuous prayers, but now we are in the warp, so the method is much simpler..." Draigo, with his gray beard trembling slightly, smiles at you, a knowing look in his deep eyes.]
[He slowly raises his huge armored hand, and a ray of pure psychic flame suddenly appears above his fingertips, flickering intensely.]
[You suddenly realize it, the truth stark and obvious.]
[Since the fire from the Emperor can burn daemons, it can naturally expel the chaotic power entrenched in weapons and equipment, purging the physical taint with spiritual fire.]
[You lower your head and stare at the "Khorne Axe" in your palm, the pulsating red jewel a temptation.]
[You temporarily give up the idea of trying to purify it yet.]
[You still need a sturdy container—the power armor—to hold the blessing of Khorne, the pure strength you are channeling and purging daily.]
[You patiently wait for the new power armor that belongs to you, standing calmly amidst the frantic activity.]
[At this moment, countless Bloodsmiths shuttle back and forth between the roaring daemon furnaces and production lines, their movements precise and rapid.]
[The surging metal lava, molten brass and iron, continues to flow, and massive metal parts emitting a scorching breath are carefully cast one by one.]
[Every time a part is cast, the Bloodsmiths gather around and chant prayers to the parts, infusing them with the raw power of the Warp and the Blood God's essence.]
[You do not stop any of their actions; the corruption will be dealt with later. What matters now is the sheer sturdiness of the materials.]
[You stare at a Chaos Power Armor that is far more powerful in both defense and function than before and gradually takes on its basic shape—a massive, reinforced suit designed for a non-stop war.]
[As time passes, the last blood-red metal shoulder armor, a huge pauldron covered with terrifying horns, is installed on the power armor.]
[Draigo, who has been silent all the time, suddenly raises his hand and pats your shoulder, signaling the moment has arrived.]
[You nod slightly, acknowledging his readiness.]
[You and Draigo walk to the front of the Chaos Power Armor, which has a hideous and terrifying shape. Sharp horns are installed on the heavy armor of the shoulder armor, elbows, and even knees, a design perfectly suited for Khorne's domain.]
[You take a deep breath, preparing for the painful process of linking with the new, tainted suit.]
[You follow Draigo's instructions and gradually guide the warp fire in your body to spread toward the Chaos Power Armor, intending to start the purification yourself.]
[The psychic flames from Draigo's palm gradually rise, his mind focused, ready to assist your efforts.]
[He carefully helps you purify the Chaos Power Armor, guiding his powerful psychic energy into the metal to burn away the ingrained daemon essence.]
[However, at this moment, you feel that the warp fire in your body suddenly surge, reacting violently and uncontrollably to the focused psychic input.]
[Endless warp fire overflows from your pores and completely envelops your entire body, turning you into a figure wreathed in roaring, cyan flame.]
[The terrifying flames quickly erupt violently toward everything around, the raw power of your psyche exploding outward.]
[In an instant, countless Bloodsmiths who have no time to escape are completely burned to ashes, their bodies dissolving on the spot in the holy-yet-untamed fire.]
[Only Draigo, who can't help but open his eyes wide in astonishment, is unharmed, shielded by his own immense psychic defenses and Aegis armor.]
[At this moment, the warp fire that is still spreading everywhere suddenly shrinks, drawing inward rapidly.]
[A three-meter-tall, huge but headless phantom slowly condenses behind you, composed entirely of raw, seething psychic energy, its form a mirror of an ancient, terrible agent.]