Who am I?
Where am I?
Where did I come from, and where am I going?
What am I having for lunch today?
Countless questions churned through Mortarion's mind. If a Great Unclean One of Nurgle dipped in a finger and sucked it clean, it would surely praise the muddled flavor of confusion.
Mortarion stood motionless, feeling everything before him grow increasingly unreal. In the end, his unfocused eyes conveyed only one message: This had to be Tzeentch's scheme! It had to be!
The Emperor's body grew increasingly solid. After a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and slowly rose from the Golden Throne. He was no longer as strong and valiant as before. The ten thousand years he had spent exhausting himself for the Imperium of Man upon the throne had worn away much of his strength, while the dissipation of the God-Emperor and the sealing of the Dark King had gravely wounded his mind. Were it not for the Emperor's will far surpassing that of ordinary men, such experiences would have been enough to leave him paralyzed upon the throne like a vegetable.
The Emperor had a thousand faces for a thousand people. His immense psychic power allowed him to present the perfect form before anyone; only the Sisters of Silence, completely isolated from psychic power, could see through that psychic veil and behold the Emperor's ordinary face.
Lin Fan had always found this ability rather objectionable. If the ideal image in the mind of a warrior received by the Emperor happened to be some goddess, then wouldn't the Emperor appear to him as something like an empress?
It could only be said that once psychic power entered the picture, many things could no longer be bound by ordinary ethics and morality.
The Emperor walked through the silence