The demon is battered, forced back. Wounds cover it, wounds that have rent it's false tendons and shattered it's unreal bones. How? Why? To this berserk creature, these thoughts were unable to articulate themselves. But it found its rage ebbing, and an alien, unknown feeling flowing. It could see a golden light, shining from every orifice of its opponent, a light that was as hateful to it as the scent of Slaanesh.
Again, and again, Grendel pushed forward, screaming wordless cries of rage. The demon is falling, slipping in the remains of the sacrifices. It's attempts to attack fall short, it's attempt to defend brushed aside. With a final cry, Grendel rushes forward, arms outstretched. The dagger flies forward, propelled by this enraged servant of the Emperor, glinting with the polluted blood of the daemon. It spears the creature's monstrous head, stabbing through it's gaping mouth and plunging into it's unholy brain.
Grendel doesn't feel the teeth, or hear the unholy death-screams that seek to curse him and destroy him. All he feels, at last, is a sense of peace and knowledge. He knows where he will go now, what he will do. He will remain with the retinue, support it, fight for it when needed. He is no longer afraid to face the world, hiding away from it behind the shield of beauracracy. No, he will confront it, and fight it wherever and however he can, because he knows now.
The Emperor does not care if you are young or old, fat or slim, hiver or ag-worker or low-land slummer. He takes all men beneath his banner, for he needs all men. Whatever you can contribute, you must, lest the forces of the heretic and the xenos gather the strength to destroy mankind. So he won't fear any more, he won't be afraid.
'Let them come, and face my wrath in the Emperor's name.'
(Yeah, I don't play Dark Heresy or Tabletop RPG's, so sorry for errors and forgetting daemon should be used instead of demon. It's done, as requested.)