Why?
If Slaanesh died, their people would never again have to fear the agony of their souls being devoured.
If Slaanesh died, their people could completely unleash their suppressed psychic gifts and restore the dormant relics within the craftworlds.
If Slaanesh died, their people could freely pursue pleasure instead of silently living under the oppression of the Path...
Looking at the Cronesword in her hand, Yvraine recalled Slaanesh's utterly unconcerned expression.
"Even if you can kill the Aeldari side of me, the side born of biological desire will remain... Besides, the Aeldari gods have merged with me. If you stab me to death, you'll be stabbing them to death too... Woohoo! How thrilling! Stab me! Hurry, stab me!"
Casting Slaanesh's abnormally flushed, excited face from her mind, Yvraine sighed and lowered the Cronesword she had raised.
"So, what did that strange Joker say?"
"A vague prophecy."
"Wonderful. We can pretend this never happened." Perturabo curled his lip, having lost all interest in Cegorach, that clown-like god.
Seeing Rogal Dorn's rigid expression, Perturabo approached, half gratified and half wistful. He pointed at the golden Saint Roka and Celes, with her pure white wings.
"Everything popular throughout the Imperium now follows the theories Lorgar once boasted about... And compared to what he wrote in his books, I'd say Lorgar was still rather naive. I have a copy of the Book of Holy Words worshipped in Ecclesiarchy churches here. Interested in taking a look?"
Rogal Dorn's hand, which had never trembled before, accepted the book Perturabo offered. The moment he touched its cover, a wave of revulsion rose from the depths of his heart.
"What is this made from?"
"The skin of devout believers, processed through one hundred and eighty purity inspections and blessings to create this collector's edition. Look at the Aquila