“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE! KHORNE LIVES FOR WAR!”

He was in pain, as he always was. It was Angron, poor Angron. Stuck in a hellish limbo between life and death, peace and more suffering. Like a dog tortured, beaten down in a kennel, yet still pumped full of drugs to keep him alive. He was suffering, but now right in front of you. His daemonic body a mass of muscle and metal.

“REALITY DRAGS AGAINST THESE LIMBS! THIS-THIS IS SLAVERY! GRANT ME DEEEEEEATH!”

He’d scream, tearing through buildings and ripping through walls and people. The blood oozing out onto the streets as he felt calm, growling like a mad dog as he felt the sun on him. It only angered him more, his wings splayed like a dragon of old as he bellowed out rage and blood.