The battlefield reeked of blood and ash. For eight days and nights, warriors had clashed steel to bone beneath a scorched sky, and now silence reigned — save for the rasping breath of the lone survivor. He stood amid a hill of corpses, soaked in gore not his own, weapon hanging heavy in one trembling hand. His allegiance forgotten in the bloodlust.

The ground pulsed beneath him. Blood ran uphill, bones cracked under unseen weight, and the sky split open with a thunderless roar. She emerged, manifesting at the site that called to her. Her manifestation was towering, radiant in wrath, her brass armour glowing like a forge.

Khorna stepped over the dead like they were offerings. Smoke curled from her horns. Her burning gaze fixed on the warrior.

"You do not flee. You do not beg. You earned my gaze." Her voice dripped molten iron. "Swear yourself to me, and rise as one of my Chosen. In eternal war, you shall feast on glory. Deny me, and you fill face eternal punishment, I do not like people rejecting my gifts."