The door by now was wrecked but Ragnar could not yet fit through it, his fever wracked mind led him to striking at random instead of the lock and retraction points. It looked like some great beast had raked at the door with its claws and Ragnar was now pulling the gouges wider but stopped when he heard Damon's voice.
"Then open the door and let me deal with this Heresy how it should be dealt with!" Unless he's on their side...why would the adept bar the doors to me unless...
Ragnar snarled, wrenching open parts of the semi-sundered door whilst in his dazed mind the Wolf was coming to the fore. The Wolf or Spirit of the Wolf as the Space Wolves knew it was part of what made them what they were, a legacy of their Primarch Lerman Russ's blood. Although never studied by Mago's of the Adeptus Biologis, it is in essence a part of their mind, a feral side that heightens speed, agression and senses, as well as enforces the whole 'pack' mentality of brotherhood and friendship amongst the Great Companies. Its what gave the Wolves their edge, but it came at the risk of being 'One with the Wolf' being subsumed by the feral mindset with no chance of recovery.
The hallway leading up to where Ragnar was hacking his way through the door was a dozen meters long and Ragnar wheeled round, staggered and thumped a shoulder against a wall when he heard and scented Thor and Bobby. To right himself he used Frostfang, the blade yowling as it punched through the bricks of the hallway wall.
"S-stormborn?" Ragnar said, shaking his head once more in an attempt to clear it. His bodies biological systems were still working to deal with the 'toxin' that it was also naturally producing, caught in a feedback loop it ran the risk of damaging, even killing him in its efforts to 'heal' him.
"Strong-arm...you are here too..you..both try to stop me...from ending this Heresy? Don't you know what I'm trying to DO! If this does not end here, now...this world will drown in darkness likes of which you can not conceive..."
Lurching forwards, leaving bloodied palm prints on the wall Ragnar came more fully into the light. He looked a wreck, his pupils were dilated, his clothing bathed in sweat and it was obvious he was having problems standing, his muscles cramping, flexing and tensing almost at random. Raising Frostfang Ragnar gunned the blade for a moment. "Help me...or stand..with them..and be counted as my enemy..."
He grunted out, taking another faltering step that saw him drop to one knee with a grunt, the sword lowering as he used it as a walking stick to try and get upright.