Lin Fan dragged the daemon shadow into the secret chamber by its ear. He stared grimly at the silent daemon, cold light blazing in his eyes.
The daemon trembled violently. Even the eyes growing from its body did not dare look directly at Lin Fan. The mortal before it was simply too terrifying—Khorne, Slaanesh, Nurgle, and the sun's aura were all mingled within him, yet they showed no conflict.
"Speak! How long have you been lurking? What were you doing clinging to Krippman?"
"I swear upon the Warp, I haven't even had the chance to do anything yet. I only possessed him three or four months ago!"
Seeing that Lin Fan still did not believe it, the daemon burst into tears and clung desperately to his leg, refusing to let go.
"Chosen one, spare me! It was hard enough for me to escape the Formless Wastes. I haven't even had time to do any evil!"
Watching the sobbing daemon, Lin Fan was somewhat puzzled. The Formless Wastes? What kind of place was that?
Lin Fan frowned and thought for quite a while before recalling what that name represented.
"You mean the region within the Warp that is not ruled by the Four Gods?"
"Yes, yes, that place. The home of all daemons not belonging to the Four Gods. A purely random and delirious realm. Beneath crimson skies, rivers of black tar flow through petrified forests. Enormous stairways rise into the heavens, joined in endless cycles, standing beside fortresses made of bone and souls. Pillars of fire rage across the land, and every dream, nightmare, and fantasy ever possessed by every sentient race in the Milky Way manifests in the Wastes. Ah! My beautiful homeland!"
As the daemon spoke, it gradually slipped into recitation. Lin Fan found its dramatic cadence amusing