Khorne was pleased.
Forged in the flames of hell and tortured by the baying of 888 flesh hounds, these weakling men were now something pure and filled with the burning light of Khorne's rage.
Weapons still gleaming and smoking with sulfuric fire. Armour crackling and shifting like cooling magma at the volcano's edge. Burning rage made real.
Eight there were, and eight there would always be. Red Butchers turned into priests of Khorne's message to humanity. Wreathed in pain, anguish, fire and magma, the Earthblood was born.
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