The battle outside raged on, and the armies outside would keep fighting until every piece of scum was dead - af least Aethald would. The man continued to laugh for a bit, the laughter eventually dying down to a chuckle. He felt great. He felt alive. He felt like a damn Space Marine. He scanned over the battlefield, eventually resting his Death Gaze on a Deamonette. He grins underneath his helmet, and raises his Chainsword off the ground, letting out roar as he charged the Deamonette - yet, he didn't cut the poor Deamonette in half. Oh no, he let his Chainsword's roar die out as he slid it into a makeshift sheath on his back. He then leaped at the Deamonette, and used gravity and his sheer strength to ram the Deamonette in the face with his armoured fist of fury, the force behind it being enough to send the Deamonette into the ground, its head breaking open with a loud 'crack'.