Mikail was not surprised din the least when the guardsmen turned out to be heretics. He simply wasn't. They never laughed at his jokes, nor did they actually look like normal people, but the former was forever more important to the Valhallan. With a fluidity of motion that no man should ever be capable of, he did as he'd been taught all his life. He affixed his bayonet, a wicked piece of serrated steel that was a full eight inches long and perfectly suited for stabbing into the unprotected flesh of another human, though he didn't charge, not yet. He shouldered the immense shotgun, racking the slide before squeezing the trigger once.

A hail of shot flew from the angry maw of the gun, hitting one of the knife-wielding heretics squares in the head, the man's brains splattered across the wall behind him, as blood squirted in an arc of vitae whilst the corpse simply slumped to the floor in a tangled heap. With a roar of victory, Mikail screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged forth at the other member of the former pair. An immense “Uraaaaaa!” Bellowed forth from the man as he charged forth and jammed his bayonet into the fleshy innards of the chaos heretic. The man didn't die but instead doubled over in immense pain from the wound.

“WITH ME! TO GLORY!”