"I am the mountain that stands against the wind, I am the cliff that breaks the rising waves..." The white armoured giant intoned to himself as the tide of mutation and heresy smashed into him. Nearly toppling him backward from the sheer press of bodies he could only bend his knees and lock his armour for a moment until he regained his full balance. 

At this point all semblance of fighting had deteriorated in the span of half a second. he still pulled the trigger of his rifle. Pumping point blank bolt rounds that ripped with such brute force at such a range as they would pass through two or three bodies before finally losing enough raw momentum to properly detonate their explosive charges. But soon that magazine ran dry and his rifle became little more than an unwieldy club. Frankly it a sad roll for such a beautifully crafted weapon. 

“I am the shield that halts the arrow's flight.” 

He continued. Raising his voice louder, his vox speakers amplifying the effects of his booming voice and his recitation of an old tribal litany. Repeating these words helped keep his mind focused and reminded him that he needed to stay put for the plan to work. But trapped in this claustrophobic press of bodies with barely enough room to swing his arms, was the most literal personification of hell for one of his people. 

Each swing of his arms either sliced nearly eighteen inches of near perfectly crafted steel deep through tainted flesh and warped bone, or shattered limbs and pulped skulls with his rifle. Soon enough his armour was barely white. The top half was a mess of scratches and scorch marks while his lower half was practically painted in gore and bile as each kill splashed against him. Already the trench began to fill with a pool of blood that would have risen to a mortal man's ankle, and was only going to get deeper. 

“I am the stone that splits the stream.”

Cholon knew that the strange soldiers with the skull masks were moving backward. He wished he could join them but he knew his place. He could only make himself an even bigger target to buy them a safer retreat. Trying to bring up his knife let his see two crazed heretic woman clinging to his arm, their weight slowing him down enough so that he couldn't block the great metal wrench from smacking him in the knee from behind. Causing that leg to buckle briefly, before he could right himself another heretic jumped on his back and stabbed a rusted blade against the soft armour of his neck. Though the spirit of his armour was stronger than poorly maintained steel. It snapped before it could pierce through though it didn't stop the crazed man from trying. 

“I am the thunder that breaks the horde!” 

He roared, tossing his rifle forward, it cracked into the chest of other heretic who fell wheezing to the ground, clutching his broken ribs and freshly pierced lung. “I am the fury of the Khan!” Letting himself fall to one knee he grabbed the man on his back by the neck with his now free hand and squeezed, crunching his pathetic spine and allowing the corpse slump down his back. Dozens of blows from all manner of weapons rained down on him, but still the flash of steel and bright ceramite white carved its way through whatever tainted flesh strayed too close.