Rogal Dorn’s colossal chainblade, too weighty for any but an elite sisterhood, raised from infancy to adore the Leviathan at his disposal, expands ever outwards, to onlookers, less a flesh length but rather some unstoppable agency of the sire of the Imperial Fists made manifest. Woman after woman incapacitated or stunned. Dorn’s phenomenally resilient organic requiring specialized medical and alchemical equipment to prevent and ever-greater death toll. Mounting from each MASSIVE BLAST of his equipment, dozens of women requiring extensive augmetic rebuild per engagement. Not even death can stay the breathtaking Torsion Crusher beneath the Auric Armor. Indeed, the blood of martyrs only strengthens the resolve of Dorn, making it hard on his war gear to the point of overstraining the armor’s exoskeleton.