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Aristotfies Carvellan advanced through the gloom. Muzzle flare strobed, enough to dazzle and disorient lesser combatants. Carvellan was untroubled, his superior senses compensating in a manner that even an Adeptus Astartes combat helm could not have.
Xenocultists spilled from tunnels and burst through sundered membranes in shrieking masses. They were less than nothing to him. Carvellan whipped his blade through the air to knock aside bullets. He wove away from the beams of their lasers then lunged amongst them like a predatory beast. His blade licked out again and again, and every time it took another head or limb, spilled another mess of purple entrails, spitted another abomination.

Shadowthrone