"I can help free you." John's voice rang directly in Vulkan's mind.
"I understand your pain—crossing the gulf between life and death again and again, enduring the torment of a twisted mind. Break free, Lord Vulkan. Let me help you."
Vulkan's eyes resembled the boiling furnaces of Nocturne. John forced himself to meet his gaze, feeling his psychic touch brush against a piece of iron blazing in the forge.
That was the psychic power of the Lord of Drakes, the projection of a Warp entity into the material universe. John had once heard that the Cabal's upper ranks had secretly studied the Emperor's creations—the unbelievable primarchs.
They had mentioned that the tyrant had seized the essences of twenty primarchs from the Warp, then used his psychic power and genetic technology to infuse those essences into the primarchs' bodies in the material universe.
Even the Cabal, with its long history, did not dare imagine the difficulty and technical sophistication involved.
Even the servants of the Warp gods, those great daemons of the Warp, had to rely on sacrifices and rituals to enter the material universe—or simply manifest within the region covered by the Eye of Terror.
Yet the Emperor's primarchs could walk the material universe wholly unrestrained. They were beloved children of both the physical realm and the Sea of Souls. Even the great powers of the Warp wished to possess one.
In the current state of the galaxy, each of the Four Gods had acquired a primarch, achieving a certain balance. But they still craved more.
"Other than Roboute Guilliman, who refused to accept his own psychic power. That stubborn Macragge native's naivety made him reject anything outside the Imperial Truth, so he believed he had no psychic power—and truly showed no signs of it."
"What does he have to