"Hugerson! Hugerson!"
Inside the warlord's tent in Shadow Valley, the Chosen of the Hunting Lord once again heard that deep, ethereal call in his sleep. It was like sailing across a dark sea, with nothing but gloom in every direction and only a single ray of light ahead guiding him toward the far shore of faith.
Hugerson awoke within the dream.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a world drenched in blood. A road and staircase strewn with corpses stretched beneath his feet, leading straight to the skeletal throne at the far end.
How many times had he faced this scene?
The Chosen Grand Warlord couldn't help asking himself.
Over the past while, this vision of faith had been steadily eroding him, sinking its teeth deeper into Hugerson's mind and tugging at it, as if calling him to merge with this blood-soaked world of slaughter.
Any other gnoll would have long since fallen prostrate before the crimson giant seated upon the skeletal throne. But Hugerson was different.
Lord Phile had told him that, as a blood descendant of the Bonechewer King, he possessed stronger Warp resistance than other gnolls. Until recently, Hugerson had been able to think and carry out his plans without interference. But now, even that innate resistance was being eroded.
The increasingly frequent dreams of faith were proof enough.
The Hunting Lord was urging His Chosen to act as soon as possible. As a god who had yet to awaken, this was the limit of His influence over the material world.
He had His flaws, too. At this stage, He couldn't directly turn a wavering Chosen into a butcher who would slaughter the world.
However, the Hunting Lord's power was growing by the day.
Hugerson could feel it clearly. He suspected it was connected to the