>The savage attack was over in a heartbeat. The brutalised legionary fell to the floor, and Khârn rose swiftly, turning, blood dripping from the axe. In the same movement he tore clear the gladius impaling his first victim to the wall. Blood bubbled from the wound. He wasn’t quite dead, not yet, but Khârn finished him, stomping down hard on his neck, ending his pitiful gurgling.

>With axe and gladius in hand, he turned to face the last two living World Eaters locked in the cell with him. He spun the two weapons, loosening his wrists.

>They came at him from both sides, rounding the iron throne in the centre of the cell. Khârn looked straight ahead, keeping both of them in the periphery of his vision.

>They attacked as one; a chainsword roaring in to cut him from shoulder blade to hip, a power maul sizzling in a downward arc to crush his skull.

>Khârn broke left, avoiding the screaming chainblade and blocking the downward swing of the maul with the short-handled axe, simultaneously ramming the gladius up through the already compromised armour covering the legionary’s stomach. The downward force of the power maul drove him to his knees.
Hearing the wailing roar of the chainblade sweeping in behind, Khârn threw himself into a roll to the side, leaving the gladius embedded in the legionary’s gut. The chainsword caught him a glancing blow, ripping up the flesh of his shoulder, churning it instantly to the bone, spattering blood.

>The warrior lifted the roaring blade to finish him, but Khârn came up quicker, sweeping up a bolt pistol lying on the deck. He planted the barrel of the gun under the legionary’s chin and fired. The top of his helmet exploded, drenching the ceiling with blood and brain matter.
One left.

>Khârn swung around, levelling the bolt pistol on the last remaining member of the Bloodborn kill-team. He squeezed the trigger.

>Click.

>The chamber was empty, the clip dry.

>The warrior swung at him, roaring. Khârn caught the haft of the power maul in both hands, dropping his throwing axe. The
two warriors fought for control of the weapon, struggling against each other. Unarmoured, they might have been of equal strength. Bedecked in full war-plate, his already prodigious strength considerably augmented, the Bloodborn warrior vastly out-muscled Khârn.

>He turned, driving Khârn up against the cell wall, a grinding roar crackling from his snarling vox-grille as he pressed the haft of his power maul into Khârn’s throat. He lifted the unarmoured warrior off the ground, driving his weight against him. Khârn’s face began to turn purple, the veins in his neck and temples bulging. He tried to lift his legs to thrust away, but the Bloodborn drove in close, not giving any room for leverage.

>The warrior’s snarling helmet was only centimetres from Khârn’s head. Drawing his head back, the legionary slammed his armoured forehead into Khârn’s face, smashing his nose into a bloody smear. A second headbutt fractured his skull. Khârn roared his defiance, spittle and blood spraying his opponent’s faceplate.
Khârn reached to his side, tearing free the dagger embedded in his flesh, and drove it up into the gap under his enemy’s armpit. The legionary hissed in pain, the sound emerging from his vox-grille like a burst of static, and his grip loosened, dropping Khârn to the floor.

>Khârn broke free, and turned his hips into his opponent. In the blink of an eye, he flipped the World Eater, driving him to the deck. He went down with him, driving his knee hard, pinning him down. Scant centimetres away, on the other side of the armourglass, Dreagher watched the final moments of the shocking, brutal fight. Khârn’s face was twisted into that of a beast, all traces of humanity gone. His teeth were bared, stained red with blood.
He tore loose the knife embedded in the legionary’s body, and stabbed it down into his opponent’s neck, both hands clutched around its blood-slick hilt. The legionary struggled to grab hold of his arms, but dark, gene-rich blood coated his skin, making purchase difficult.

>The knife came down again and again. Finally, the legionary managed to catch a hold of the blade in one of his gauntleted hands, twisting it away from Khârn’s grip, but the damage had been done. Blood was pooling beneath them.
Shifting his weight, Khârn’s scrabbling fingers caught the release catch of the legionary’s helm and, with a roar, he tore it off, hurling it aside. The face within was ruddy and broad-featured, eyes burning with the madness of the Butcher’s Nails.
Pinning the warrior down with his knees, Khârn began to pound at his exposed face, raining blows upon him in a berserk flurry.

>Five blows and his skull gave way. Three more and he was unrecognisable. Another four, and his enemy was still, the front of his skull caved in.

>Khârn continued to strike, roaring, blood dousing his face as he pounded the legionary’s head into pulp. He knelt over him, lifting both fists high into the air, his chest rising and falling with each fast breath, then brought them both down together, crushing the last of the warrior’s head like a sodden, rotten fruit.
The whole violent episode had taken less than thirty seconds from start to finish.
For a time, Khârn did not move. Finally, he lifted his head. His gaze locked on to Dreagher, staring unblinking through the blood-streaked armourglass.

>He looked barely human. His refined, angular face was covered in blood, making the whites of his eyes stand out, like twin moons against the void. Those eyes contained such violence, such fury, that they made Dreagher’s breath catch in his throat. He was lost to the Nails, utterly, completely. - Eater of Worlds