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It was a cold night before the battle. There was a troop of Chaos Space Marines, of the Word Bearers legion, standing in the cold, psyching up before the battle. Lord Pherax smiled under his helmet's respirator. He could already taste the blood of his enemies. His daemon weapon, the Accursed Crozius named Dhrazad'Kul, could sense its master's feelings, squirming in his hand, ready to kill. Pherax settled his weapon, and looked at his battalion. Following his leadership were a squad of Obliterators, six twenty-man squads of Word Bearers Marines, his retinue of Chosen, a squad of Possessed, a Havoc squad and a Dreadnought. He turned to his accomplice; a Chaos Sorcerer named Cryrix Ophion, and spoke through his respirator.

"Have you made the agreement with Thun'vanal?"

"Yes," responded Cryrix Ophion, "And he seems very pleased that we will be spilling blood for the glory of Khorne."

"It is not just for him," said Pherax, almost at a whisper, "It is for the glory of all the Chaos gods."

He turned around to his battalion, and yelled, "The time for us to kill is now! We must obliterate the Imperial fools! THEY WILL FEEL THE POWER OF CHAOS!"

Thousands of war cries went up, and the Dreadnought bellowed. The Imperial Space Marines thundered to where the cries were going up, and soon there was a gigantic battle ensuing.

Lord Pherax sated the daemon inside his Crozius, by killing all enemies within reach. Cryrix Ophion was blasting away with his plasma pistol, and he shouted, "Pherax, the blood level is high enough. I'll initiate the summoning!" He got away from the Space Marines, and gathered all the psychic energy into one pulsating light. He shouted, "Blood for the blood god!" and suddenly holes into warp space started appearing all over the battlefield. Horned, humanoid creatures, holding giant axes imprinted with the mark of Khorne, walked out of them. One of the Chaos Aspiring Champions started screaming in agony, as a pair of horns burst from his head, and leathery wings sprouted from his back. He grew taller, and more muscled. His face contorted with agony, slowly forming into the shape of a bull's face. His power armour burst open, revealing where he had carved the mark of Khorne deep into his chest beforehand, and his feet mutated into hooves. His power weapon morphed into a gigantic axe of Khorne, and his plasma pistol changed into a giant, spiked whip. He finished, and had formed into Thun'vanal, a Bloodthirster of Khorne. He roared, and ran straight into the Loyalist Marines, sacrificing their spirits for the blood god as he went. He slammed into the side of a Land Raider and toppled it over, creating a giant explosion. The Possessed Marines, already driven insane by the daemons habiting them, went completely bestial, and ran into squad after squad of the Space Marines loyal to The Emperor, tearing at their power armour, and rending their flesh, as the Bloodletters that had been summoned tore through the Loyalist forces with their axes of Khorne. The Obliterators morphed Lascannons from their flesh, and blasted the command squad of the Imperial Marines to pieces. The havocs used their Autocannons to do the same, and the Dreadnought bellowed, slamming its crackling powerfist into the squad of Loyalist Terminators. Lord Pherax struck down the enemy commander, and said to Cryrix, "Do you want to do the honours?"

"Gladly," responded Cryrix Ophion, and he pointed his staff at the enemy commander. "No, youˇ­you wouldn't." said the commander, and Pherax replied, "Never defy the powers of Chaos." Cryrix sent a blast of energy through his staff, and shot it at the Loyalist commander. The commander screamed in agony, his skin bubbling and melting. His power armour burst, and spikes started ripping through his flesh, tearing at his insides, and slicing through his skin. Spikes burst from the commander's eyeballs, and his chest exploded, ripping his ribs open and exposing his internal organs. His head exploded, and caved in. He became no more than a spawn of the warp.

As the spawn was taken away, and the battlefield was searched for useful equipment, Pherax was only thinking one thing. A smile curled up under his respirator, and he thought, "One step closer to daemonhood, one step closer."

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