Countless Drukhari, residents dressed in sumptuous robes or sleek fighting gear, had pale, eerily beautiful faces and eyes glittering with cruelty and hunger.
Now they poured out of their twisted towers, bloody arenas, decadent courts, and hidden torture chambers. Some crouched behind flickering windows, some stood on the edges of precarious skybridges, and others hid in cracks between the shadows, staring fixedly at a spectacle unfolding somewhere in the City that surpassed every twisted imagining they possessed, their gazes mingling horror, greed, revulsion, and a deeper tremor of fear.
Two utterly different yet equally soul-searing auras of terror were erupting without restraint deep within their "home"!
To these fallen Aeldari, who had abandoned psychic energy to indulge in physical sensations and the extraction of souls, psychic energy itself, along with its source, the Warp, was the oldest, deepest Incubi and taboo embedded in their genes.
They shunned any psychic disturbance that might draw the gaze of "She Who Thirsts" as though it were venomous.
In this City built from ultimate suffering, endless grief, and naked terror, they drew on the extreme emotions of their kin and slaves like addicts sucking down poison, using this "nourishment" to briefly stave off the ancient, soul-devouring hunger that haunted their every step.
Commorragh was the twisted, cruel refuge they had fashioned for themselves, and an endless, vicious revel in which the suffering of others paid for their own survival.
Here, they believed in the strong devouring the weak, admired exquisite torture and betrayal, and delighted in manipulating life and death and collecting suffering.
They considered themselves the "purest" predators and hedonists in the Galaxy, superior to those "lesser" races that relied on feeble psychic energy or crude violence.
Until now.
Until these two monsters stormed into their "paradise" in the crudest, most direct, most