Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20180205202802/@comment-33521582-20180224013741

Searing pain. Even the genemods can't stop it. Laser cuts through his flesh and he's back there again.

The Black Judges. Their massive forms charging into his brethren, howling their deranged cries of bloodlust and despair. He loses his arm, and his leg, all over again, in swathes of radiant light. He was one of the first Havocs. He was sent to cut them down. There, mutilated, he stood his ground and tore into them.

Daon stands his ground. Through the pain and the fury, he turns his body to place his left side, his iron side, to the fore. He'll take the brunt of the damage on his implants. He cannot fail in his duty, he cannot fall, he cannot falter.

The voice of the sergeant is a distant crackle in his ears. He sees the legionnaire that hailed him, the Thousand Son, striding forwards amidst a halo of power. He brings his autocannon to bear, it's barrel the dull red of slow heating, and unleashes it on the right flank, clearing away the laser emplacements for his advancing brothers.

He doesn't hear it, but his voice rings out. "FROM IRON COMETH STRENGTH".