Limbs fell like rain as he churned through his enemies, his face a grisly mask of wrath without his helmet. Out of the corner of his eye, Antiges saw another of Rorgath’s kin decapitate a cohort officer trying to ram home the charge and extol his warriors to greater fervour. Others disappeared in clouds of red mist and the dreadful din of chainaxes rending bone. Yet, despite the relentless carnage wreaked upon them, the lowly cohorts refused to break, and the killing ground became mired in blood. ‘They’re fanatics,’ grumbled Rorgath, burying his blade in the face on an oncoming cohort. ‘Drive them back,’ snarled Antiges through gritted teeth, smashing an enemy with the blunt force of his duelling shield. About to redouble his efforts, the Ultramarine fell back, as two or three bodies flew at him. In the madness, he dropped his short-blade, but as he foraged for it in the sea of pressing bodies, he found the hilt of his chainsword. Tearing the weapon loose, Antiges cut a path through bone and flesh to free himself.
