"Who do you think is closer to Ynnead—you, the coward who has held five swords for so long yet refused to unite them, or me, the 'failure' who can sacrifice all the Drukhari of Commorragh?"
Yvraine's face grew ever paler. She already understood what Vect meant by those words. Vect, meanwhile, took great interest in appreciating Yvraine's frailty, slowly releasing the power Ynnead had passively granted him and crushing both her body and soul.
"Mm... What exactly are you doing this for..." Yvraine barely held herself up under the crushing pressure, her face ashen and drenched in sweat.
"What for? Some people just want to watch the world burn, and I am one of them. Isn't it only natural for slaves to hope for the Imperium's destruction?" There was no deranged smile on Vect's face as he said this, only a calm certainty. That made Yvraine understand even more deeply just how insane Vect truly was.
Vect had grown tired of toying with Yvraine. With a mere snap of his fingers, he sent both Many-Faced and Yvraine flying far away. Then he walked step by step toward the last Cronesword embedded in Biel-Tan's wraithbone spine.
Yvraine, thrown through the air, slammed hard into the ground. The insidious Vect had even deliberately stirred the Death God's Power within her into a violent vortex. Weakness and nausea assailed Yvraine's body at once.
"Cough, cough..." Yvraine spat out blood mixed with ice shards. The power of the dead had always been known for its cold, chilling nature. Despair rose in her heart; she could not think of any way to stop Vect.
Vect's appearance had been far too sudden. Not just anyone could enter a Craftworld's wraithbone spine—the countless forbidden spells outside would annihilate any intruder. Yet those spells remained silent before Vect's