His armor shone deeply with a burnished glory produced by thousands of years of careful polishing, the favor of Khorne, and the gallons of fresh gore that Iaoth had gleefully smeared over its surface during the course of ten thousand years of endless slaughter. In fact, Iaoth could not remember the last time he has been free of the garnet shell of his armor, if indeed he ever had been. How many centuries since he had slept? How many eons since he had known the delights and weaknesses of a mortal?
Inside a horned helmet that may or may not be part of his own skull, Iaoth gritted aching teeth as he stood in a long queue of his battle-brethren. Enhanced senses scanned the immense chapel that occupied far more room inside the battle-barge than should have been allowed by the uncertain laws of the universe. From the mouth of a massive skull set above a granite alter spewed a fountain of steaming blood which spattered down and pooled in coppery puddles before being absorbed by the groaning, thirsty rock. The smell of hot blood combined with the grinding of the titanic engines to set Iaoth's hyper-sensitive nerves on fire.
As the line shuffled forwards, the massive figure of Adonai, the Chosen of Khorne became clear, the red mist swirling about him. Already a huge creature, the Chaos Lord was covered in red-washed bone rumored to be from the bodies of those that the hero had crushed with is bare hands. In one massive fist, he held the inverted skull of an Imperial Fist Captain, killed at the gates of the Imperial Tyrant's palace, ten millennia earlier.
One by one, the World Eaters thrust gauntletted fists into the skull and withdrew a shard of shattered bone. One by one, they howled their approval and took their place under the stream of ever-flowing blood.
After an eternity that could have been only a few minutes, Iaoth approached Adonai, who held the skull and its mocking, vanquished grin out towards him.
Iaoth gritted his teeth until it felt his jaw must surely shatter from the strain. Careful to show no trace of his fear in front of this, one of Khorne's most honored servants, he reached into the bone and grasped a waiting shard of bone. With burst of his eons-old will, Iaoth withdrew his fist and opened it to reveal the bone fragment and the blood-traced rune inscribed upon it.
At once, the sights, sounds and smells of the chapel faded. The blood rage that was his almost-constant companion vanished instantly, to be replaced by an icy cold and a creeping sensation in the pit of his useless groin.
He reeled slightly, catching himself just before crashing into the battle-brother behind him in the line.
How could this have happened? What had he done to anger his dark lord?
Returning to himself, he drew his chainsword and activated it in one fluid motion, practiced over ten thousand years of dedicated use. He reversed the howling blade awkwardly, and rushed the glittering teeth of the weapon towards his armored torso.
"Blood for my Lord Khorne!" he howled, the words rushing out in an almost unintelligible roar.
As the teeth of the ancient weapon began to spark off of the plassteel of his chestplate, armored hands grappled his arms, halting the chainsword's progress. One battle-brother snatched at the now-flailing chainsword, grasping it by the flat of the blade, but catching a glancing blow off of his smallest armored fingers. The battle-brother giggled a throaty laugh as crimson blood seeped from his cracked gauntlet.
Pinioned between two of his fellow World Eaters, Iaoth screamed his rage to the chapel roof.
"Great Khorne! I live to kill in your name! I will grant you skulls for your dread throne - I will slay hundreds in your name! Reconsider -"
Moving forward, the huge frame of Adonai eclipsed his vision. With a lightning-swift motion, the Chaos Lord struck a thunderous backhanded blow across Iaoth's face/helmet. The skull of the Imperial Fist scattered chips of blood-scribed bone across the chapel floor.
As Iaoth sagged, his head ringing, the Chosen of Khorne grasped one of his armor's chest-cables and pulled him close. The blood-rage drained out of him again as the Chaos Lord's frozen eyes bored into him.
"We all agreed to the Lottery," Adonai said softly, his voice like the sound of splintering ribs, "we all accepted the risk. For the glory of his army and to allow your brethren to engage the enemy, someone must drive the Rhino - this time, Khorne has chosen YOU...."