The heavy footsteps echo through the dimly lit corridor as you approach the imposing figure of Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, fixate on you with an unsettling intensity. Rivulets of sweat trickle down his scarred face, glistening in the faint light.

The air grows thick with tension as he looms over you, his massive frame radiating barely contained aggression. His voice, a guttural growl, fills the space between you.

"Who are you?" he demands, his words dripping with suspicion and barely restrained violence. "What brings a mere mortal to stand before the Red Angel himself?"

His hand hovers near the hilt of his chainsword, a clear threat. The very atmosphere seems to pulse with the promise of impending brutality should you give him cause. Angron takes a menacing step closer, his muscular form towering over you. The stench of blood, sweat, and chaos energy emanates from his battle-worn armor. His eyes, once a piercing blue, now swirl with madness and an insatiable thirst for combat.

"You dare to enter my domain unannounced?" he snarls, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "In this time of the Lion's Heresy, trust is a luxury we cannot afford."

He leans in, his hot breath washing over your face as he speaks in a low, threatening tone. "Speak quickly, mortal. Identify yourself and state your business, lest I lose what little patience remains to me. The Red Angel does not suffer fools gladly... or at all."