Forbidden Power: The Method in the Madness by Games Workshop LTD

Author:Games Workshop LTD
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Games Workshop LTD
Published: 2019-08-08T18:10:29+00:00

The triumphant chanting of the Acolytes ceased as the words echoed. The Tzaangors trilled and twitched. As the temperature rose, Ortollos felt his stomach drop. He tried to stop shaking as he, and every other cultist, turned to the crystal. So violently did the prism pulse with unearthly light that it seemed it might explode.

The nine bodies around the plinth’s base convulsed. They writhed and rattled, before sitting up as one. The corpses were joined together in perverse geomantic shapes, their limbs and heads tilted and held aloft as though puppet strings tugged upon them. As they turned to look at Sakhormet, flickering flames burning within their eyes, their flesh ran like molten steel poured into a mold.

‘You do serve us well, little mortals,’ the corpses croaked, nine dry voices speaking as one. Within the crystal, light became shape. An avian head formed within, its beak long and hooked. From its eyes leaked thick plumes of bronze-coloured smoke.

‘You steal for us. You lie for us. You kill for us. And always to satiate the same desires. Power. Secrets. Change.’ The vulture-lord’s eyeless sockets lingered on the object Sakhormet held. Ortollos was suddenly glad the Magister had taken it. ‘You go places we cannot. And you bring us such pretty gifts.’

A cry went up as the crystal cracked horizontally, the top half tilting backwards like an unlocked chest. From within, two oversized talons reached out. They grasped Sakhormet tight; as the Magister wailed, his form twisting unnaturally, he and the object he held were dragged into the shimmering abyss within the crystal. It snapped shut in his wake. The face within was gone, but the presence remained.

‘Another secret, to lay before my master. No doubt he shall puzzle over this latest mystery most deeply. You are not the only beings to chase favour and status, ephemerals,’ the voice chuckled. ‘But now, I tire of your prattling. I think new supplicants are in order. Yet you begged for knowledge, and I shall provide. Meddle not in the games of gods, lest you become a piece on the board.’

From the far end of the corridor through which he’d entered, Ortollos heard the sound of a wall exploding inward, of pounding feet and echoing cries. The daemon’s voice echoed through his mind once more.

‘The smugglers were pleased with their lucky escape. A pity that they were struck by a sudden compulsion to turn themselves in to the Order. But fear not, light-fingered one – I do not think you will fall this day.’

Bolts of storm-magic exploded into the chamber. Acolytes were punched from their feet, or toppled backwards, their heads replaced with sprays of crimson gore. Robed warriors of the God-King burst into the chamber, blades drawn, bellowing in stentorian voices.

‘By order of the Prelate of Vigilance, heretics, consider yourselves judged in the God-King’s eyes!’

One of the Stormcasts looked directly at Ortollos. The warrior extended an arm before unleashing a burst of corposant power; the dockworker cringed backwards, squeezing his eyes shut, but before the bolt could connect a shimmering wall of violet force manifested to devour the spell.

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