"Indeed. But I'll not be using my bolter. Just blade against blade." The way it was in the Vengeful spirit's sparring cages. Like the old days, really, he muses to himself.

He moves to the court, drawing his chainsword and taking a two-handed grip. Waiting for her to take her stance, almost statue-like in his stillness. The Berserker curse far from him, now, not because of suppression but because of the utterly ritualized nature of this challenge. He clings to the old ways because they are his anchor, what he knows. He clings to these connections to his old life. In a way... Signum is one of those anchors, though he'd never admit it on a conscious level. A bridge to the time of Legends and larger than life demigods.