Mephisto had ventured deep into The Warp more than once. Sometimes it had been to protect a ship during a voyage, sometimes for prophecy, and sometimes simply because his gift affected him in his sleep.
The scenes within The Warp were forever changing, and no words could describe that quality. At times it was a swollen vortex filled with the faces of the dead; at times it was simply nothingness.
It could not be defined, could not be shut out. The unformed dreams of mankind and other living beings drifted within it, while phantoms peered at their food, waiting for the day they could leap free and kill as they pleased.
In the past, he would have ignored them and focused entirely on his own business. But now, they scattered and fled.
Scorching light vaporized everything, leaving a trail of destruction through The Warp. It went straight toward its destination with flamboyant, savage violence. Mephisto tightened his grip on Saul Tarvitz's and Bjorn's hands, and he heard their screams.
When he glanced sideways, their helmets would vanish, and their faces would be stretched into irregular lines. The vision was blurred and filled with terrifying imaginings, but it was only imagination. He knew what they looked like. Four hands gripped one another tightly, and some kind of will surged endlessly through them, making all unease fade away.
He should have felt unsettled at witnessing such a scene, but now there was only a simple sincerity in his heart.
+You are burning.+
Mephisto whispered to the one carrying them.
+I glimpsed it for an instant, fragments of thought and pain. I am certain I saw it, my lord. You are burning.+
+That is none of your concern, Librarian.+
That voice answered coldly.
+But you understand me, do you not?+
+I understand.+
Mephisto,