CHAOS PRIME THE BLOOD DEAMON

He was mortal once. A warlord of the outer marches - a man who led armored columns through pacification campaigns so brutal that his own commissariat stopped filing reports. Because the details made the censors sick. Twelve worlds fell under his command. Twelve worlds of compliant, subjugated silence. And every night he knelt on the blood-wet ground and felt something watching him from inside the quiet. It spoke in pulse. In the rhythmic crash of a heartbeat that was not his own. It did not pro…

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