Khayon's gradually fading soul realm blossomed with a glimmer of light. When he saw that the figure before him was the renowned Fateweaver Carlos, his surprise only deepened.
"A deal with a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch?" Khayon sneered. "I've seen more than enough cautionary examples. I will not sign any terms with you."
"Cautionary examples? Hahaha... They signed in haste without fully understanding the contents of the agreement. Everything we did was in accordance with the terms. Don't think so terribly, terribly badly of us."
Khayon had no interest in Carlos's explanation. Greater Daemons of Tzeentch always had reasons and excuses to absolve themselves. It would have been strange if they could not produce any.
Carlos moved closer to Khayon's soul, holding a rolled ancient contract in one hand and a crystal-clear orb in the other. He asked Khayon, was he not curious about Cadia's situation?
Khayon said there was nothing to be curious about. Abaddon would win. The Imperium had no fighting force capable of contending with the Blackstone Fortress. They could only delay their own destruction by a minute or two.
Without mocking Khayon's optimism, Carlos handed over the crystal orb. The sight of the Chaos legions being driven into a desperate corner entered Khayon's eyes.
Before Khayon could question whether it was a lie, both of Carlos's heads spoke first. "If there is even the slightest falsehood in what is shown here, may my great master have his head split open by the Lord of War! May he be ridden and toyed with by the Lord of Excess! May he be force-fed soup and shit by the Lord of Decay!"
Khayon's eyes widened involuntarily. Since becoming a psyker, this was the first time he had heard such a terrifying oath from the mouth of a daemon of