‘We are the storm, its sevenfold winds are our sire, and we its children. Where it carries us, we go. We are its voice. It took us from the graveyard of ships in its heart, took us and gave us life again, and so we come to speak for it.’

‘The warp…’ breathed Volk. ‘It is… in them.’

‘The storm is within all,’ said Khalek.

‘What did the storm send you to say?’ asked Perturabo.

‘It sent us to make you an offer. There is a throne for you, Lord of Iron,’ said Khalek, and he shivered as he spoke. Volk noticed a flash of red on the paper-dry lips. ‘A throne that weeps with the tears of your enemies. And with the throne, a crown that once on your brow will make the iron of your blood eternal. You are rotting, Lord of Iron. You layer metal on your skin and bind the killing edges closer to you, because they make you feel the strength that is bleeding out of you. You feel this truth. You know it in the fever-tremble of your skin.’

Khalek’s body was moving, his shoulders heaving, as though the muscles inside his armour were writhing even as his voice held steady. ‘The Sixfold Prince has bitten deep and feasted long. The wound festers within your soul. You are dying. Your iron is rust.’

Perturabo did not move, but Volk thought that the shadows deepened in the hollows of his face.

Khalek’s convulsions ceased. His chin was wet with blood.

‘You resist,’ said Khalek. ‘You fight, but that only steals more from you. You seek the Son of Blood, the Dog of Bones snapping in its brass collar. Father Storm sees this – it sees and knows that if you find the Hound of Red Sands, you will die. You are weak, and he is beyond your weakness. He will not yield. He will not obey. He will test your metal, and it will be wanting. The Father sees, the Father knows.’ Khalek took a rasping breath and bowed his head. ‘You can rise, lord. You can be eternal, unbreaking, unbreakable.’


Slave to darkness에서 나오는 요 대화들 말하는거 같은데

상태 안좋아보이긴 함