The Gathering

Lox surveyed the surroundings. The decks of the Vengeful Spirit were shrouded in dense fog.

Everything around them was a blur. Time could not be distinguished, nor could space be perceived. The warped darkness could send someone down the wrong path at any moment, leaving them trapped forever.

This was not even the Warp, but some deliberately crafted ritual altar meant to accomplish a particular purpose.

Without the Emperor's light to guide them, even if Lox and the others escaped the trial created by the Dark Gods, they would not have been able to find the right direction within the limited time available.

Lox released a small psychic bubble, enveloping himself and Curze to shield them from the effects of the unknown environment outside.

Suddenly, he sensed something swiftly passing by his side, yet he could not make it out.

"Lion? Jaghatai? Or an enemy hiding in the dark?"

Lox did not dare lower his guard. He suppressed their presence to avoid fighting in this voidlike environment.

Only when solid ground once more touched his feet did Lox's tense heart ease slightly. Once the fog dispersed, he finally saw who those unknown presences were.

One of them was Rogal Dorn. Though he bore no obvious wounds, his mental state looked utterly dreadful.

The Imperial Fist seemed exhausted, as though he had endured centuries of endless slaughter.

He stood alone in a corner, gripping an intact Storm's Teeth, his expression dazed yet wary.

"I'm back?" Dorn murmured.

Only when he saw Lox and Curze did a sharp gleam suddenly flare in his dim, lightless eyes.

Yet the chainsword in his hand did not relax for even an instant. He lowered his guard only after truly confirming their identities.

"Dorn!" Lox called out. The dense, brutal aura emanating from the other man