Zhufor of the World Eaters watched the four drop pods plummet out of the sky. Somewhat a rarity among fellow Khorne worshipers, Zhufor was known for being both calm and tactically astute, and what he saw troubled him in its senselessness. No sane man would dare attack 60 World Eaters and 500 cultists with a mere 4 drop pods, and the corpse-god’s followers had never struck him as being suicidal. Shouting directions to his champions, his six squads of berzerkers spread out in combat ready, their bloody chainaxes and bolt pistols raised, eager to spill loyalist blood. Zhufor hefted his daemon-bound rune axe in one hand and his mighty power fist in the other, and let loose a bloodcurdling cry that was taken up by his forces. ‘Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!’ The drop pods smashed into the ground at nigh on 500 miles an hour. Ramps opened like the petals of a flower, and the Flesh Tearers emerged. 30 battle-brothers, consumed by the Black Rage, an unstoppable tide of fury who would kill until everything around them was dead, led by their commander, a figure in deep red, brandishing a mighty sword longer than he was tall. Zhufor roared in delight, singling out the enemy commander as his World Eaters charged. He parried his foe’s overhand chop, twisted out of the blow and threw out a backhand slash that would have taken the commander’s head off if he hadn’t brought his sword around inhumanly quickly to block it. All around, Flesh Tearers were ripping the cultists and World Eaters apart, with 5 of Khorne’s chosen falling for each loyalist. Zhufor snarled. This commander was fast, almost too fast, and he was expending every ounce of skill and fury he had just to stop himself from being cut in half. He wasn’t sure if his unholy Terminator armor would stop his foe’s chainsword, and he had no wish to find out. Bludgeoning the sword aside with his power fist, he aimed a high cut at the commander’s neck, but his foe simply ducked and swept Zhufor’s feet from under him with a kick. Landing heavily on his back, he rolled the one side, avoiding a massive down stroke that would surely have ended the duel there and then, a desperate swipe of his axe forcing his opponent away long enough for him to get up. In Terminator armor, he was simply too slow, too lumbering for his power-armored foe. Looking around, he saw that most of the other combatants, World Eater and Flesh Tearer alike, were dead or dying. With a roar of hate, Zhufor hurled himself at the commander with axe held high. With a cry that matched his own in savagery, the commander smashed Zhufor’s axe from his hand with a mighty swipe, and sent a thunderous backhand follow-up through his neck, before plunging his sword through his chest. Zhufor was dead before he hit the ground. The Flesh Tearer commander wrenched his sword out of Zhufor’s corpse and spoke into his vox. ‘Seth to fleet. Landing site secure. Commence drop.’