A poem about World Eaters

 In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium's reign,
Amidst the chaos, a legion's brutal name.
They are the World Eaters, a wrathful tide,
Bathed in bloodlust, their rage amplified.

Khorne's chosen warriors, an unstoppable force,
With axes and chainswords, their enemies disgorge.
Angron, their primarch, a relentless warlord,
Leading his legion, where bloodlust is adored.

Their armor painted in hues of crimson red,
World Eaters charge forth, where bloodshed is spread.
Berserkers, their chosen, relentless in zeal,
Feasting on violence, their foes forced to kneel.

Skulls adorned their armor, a grim testament,
To the lives extinguished, in every battle spent.
No mercy, no remorse, their mantra echoes loud,
As the World Eaters charge, a berserkers' shroud.

Within their veins, the Butcher's Nails reside,
Pain and fury fused, their minds defied.
They crave the slaughter, the thrill of the fight,
Bathed in carnage, their purpose takes flight.

Khorne, the Blood God, their allegiance sworn,
Their hatred for weakness, a battle-cry reborn.
World Eaters, relentless, their frenzy untamed,
A storm of violence, where honor is maimed.

But amidst the fury, a tragedy is found,
Their brotherhood fractured, their sanity unbound.
The whispers of the Heresy, a legion betrayed,
By chaos' lure, their unity frayed.

Yet still, they charge, in the name of the blood god,
Leaving naught but destruction, where their footsteps trod.
The World Eaters, a legion consumed by strife,
Forever cursed to live a violent life.

In the grim darkness, their legacy remains,
A legion of berserkers, driven by bloodstains.
World Eaters, a testament to chaos' might,
In the Warhammer 40k, where darkness ignites.