[@Wraithblade6][@Snarfulblast]
Silently, Valentus recited a prayer under his breath, as he faced the Daemonic assault on his mind. Even as despair beat at the doors of his mind his faith did not waver, his resolve did not break. He stood tall, his eyes those of a furious deity, glowing up from under his helmet to burn literal holes in the walls. Flames raged around the pair, clashing and battling for dominance as two infernos collapsed into one another, the fury of the stars raging on Earth. A hellscape formed between the two, as Rex was forced backwards by the ever-increasing heat and waves of molten stone. The ground beneath their feet heated up and melted, and as Valentus made his way forward he marched through a marsh of molten concrete and steel.

In ten thousand years, there had been only war. An era of death, an era of denial, as humanity stood on the brink of extinction. Every moment of it's existence stood atop a mountain of corpses, billions fighting and dying for the glory of the God Emperor. The inscrutable God of the Imperium, guiding all from his place atop the Golden Throne. For a thousand years, Valentus had fought. For a thousand years, Valentus had served. He had torn through armies, and faced Daemon of great power and cruelty. He was a legend in the flesh, a warrior of ancient battles come to serve once more. Perhaps in some way his mind was as broken as that of Mithias, forged in the heat of battle, and filled with the purity of the Emperor himself. He was His divine will incarnate, a raging angel of divine retribution forging a path through the heretical impurity of this imperfect world.

Mithias struck, as Valentus had known he would. And yet his blades never struck plasteel, the titanium alloy coming to a halt against the force field that surrounded Valentus. The force of the Iron Halo was designed to weather Bolter Fire with relative ease, and Mithias found it close to impossible to break through it. The Daemonhammer came from above, with the force of a nuclear weapon behind it. Mithias was forced back, as an explosion marked the great weapon's contact with the ground. And yet even as it touched the floor it bounced back up, Valentus contorting body and armour to abuse the weapon's momentum. It swung in a graceful arc, moving around Valentus' body with seemingly impossible speed and accuracy. Blow after blow shot towards Mithias, and he found himself barely able to dodge them. Calculating and quick these attacks would shatter through any parry, and were calculated to change course at a moment's notice.

It was a technique that had been forged in a thousand years of warfare, tested in the crucibles of battle. It was grace, it was destruction, it was death. There was but a single imperfection, as the weapon swung around and around once more. For Mithias was able to barely sidestep the swings, forced back by the impossible rapid attacks. Valentus' weapon of choice was the Nemesis Force Glaive, with greater speed and reach than his current armament. Perhaps this was all that kept Mithias alive, facing an opponent with greater skill, greater speed, and far greater defence, unable to parry even a single attack for feat of shattering his weapons. He found himself outmatched in melee, his years of sword training unable to prepare him for a foe that could not be harmed and fought with the grace and skill of a million-year-old vampire. For he fought a prodigy among prodigies, a champion among champions. He fought a Paladin of the Grey Knights, a warrior of unparalleled skill, strength and speed.