Gods existed, but the form of their existence was beyond the comprehension of mortal minds.
Only those who had truly transcended could glimpse even a fragment of it.
He stopped and allowed that thought to fill his body and mind, bringing him comfort.
This simple acceptance of divinity brought him such warmth and solace, as though some miraculous elixir had purged every ailment that had plagued him for nearly a year.
He smiled, then discovered that the pen in his hand had unconsciously begun to scratch across the paper before him.
Silas released it in surprise, but the pen continued writing on its own. He lowered his head and looked at the words it had written.
It needs you.
Icy terror seized him, but it was immediately soothed away, replaced by a reassuring trust and affection that filled him.
Hallucinatory images appeared in his mind of their own accord: a tall, powerful white Ork clad in newly forged, gleaming silver armor, with Gork's iconic smiling face shining upon it like coal in a furnace.
Then claws extended from the Ork's gauntlet, and a dark green halo lit up around his gorget. Under that glow, his face looked as terrifying as a demon's.
"No..."
Silas gasped. The dreadful sight filled his mind with a powerful, indescribable horror, yet the instant it appeared, it was replaced by another vision—
A god of war with lava-like blood flowing through his body charged howling at the pale Ork, while four purple arms wrapped around the Pale Tyrant from behind. They belonged to a writhing creature that was neither male nor female.
Its appearance scattered all fear. Silas felt his love and reverence for this goddess's messenger fill him like pure, magnificent light.
Just as he smiled in delight, the vision abruptly darkened.
Arc-wreathed claws