96: Farce

Commorragh

Things had gotten a little bad.

Konrad Curze thought as much. He was still carrying out this capture—veins throbbed in his forehead, foretelling something unpleasant, yet his bloodshot eyes could not make out what would happen next.

A kitten cornered against the wall was very noisy.

Konrad crouched on all fours like a beast, golden tassels swaying beneath him. Blood Reaver corpses littered the ground around him, mixed with one or two unlucky Archons from minor Kabals. Their Succubi lay beside them without a shred of dignity, torn apart.

The narrow, hot, lightless Black Tower steamed with the stench of blood.

One last time, Konrad thought. His soul, tormented by the Emperor, ached and seethed. It was time to bring this ten-thousand-year hunt to an end.

The Primarch's eyes were blurred from Lion's heavy blow. Lion El'Jonson raised his sword before him; the old knight had been exiled into a forest of reinforced concrete and looked utterly bedraggled.

But now, he could not escape.

Konrad had driven Lion El'Jonson into the highest Black Tower in Commorragh—joining forces with the Kabals and the false Cult of the Underworld proved that he could still get things done, albeit somewhat inefficiently.

He could feel every muscle in his body trembling with the hum of the Underworld Tower. The suppression felt unpleasant. At normal output, the tower stood precisely at the threshold of the Emperor's Psychic Power connection to Konrad—not enough to sever His link to the Primarch, but sufficient to suppress Lion's paltry tricks.

Sure enough, Lion gritted his teeth. Through his blurred vision, Konrad heard curses—this time, Lion could not escape.

But why—why did he feel so uneasy?

This time, prophecy had told him nothing.

Things were bad.

Fabius Bile thought as much.

What followed would become the worst experience