Maloghurst quietly vanished from the court of the Vengeful Spirit. No one cared about his departure; Abaddon, Aximand, and Fabius Bile's argument continued without end.
They were always like this. When Horus was around, they still restrained themselves somewhat, but now? It was already a sign of calm that they had not twisted each other's heads off.
"How am I supposed to save my master while surrounded by brainless vermin like these?"
"How laughable. The truly capable ones in the Legion are either dead or gone, leaving only these humanoid creatures behind."
"How had things come to this?"
The Twisted still carried the Legion banner Horus had personally bestowed upon him. It was the anchor of his spirit and a symbol of his boundless loyalty to Horus.
The upper ranks of the Sons of Horus usually looked down on Maloghurst as a cripple, but among the ordinary Legion warriors, no one dared show disrespect to the gloomy and strange attendant of the Warmaster.
The Justaerin Terminators along the way saluted Maloghurst. The irritable Twisted ignored them and headed for the ritual chamber aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
This was his private domain, as well as the place where he communed with The Empyrean.
Several mortal slaves parasitized by daemons trembled in the corners. Their daemonic hosts made strange hissing noises, while faint, lingering, dreadful laughter echoed through the chamber.
Maloghurst had long grown accustomed to such things. Warp daemons loved frightening others so they could feed upon emotional energy.
Every one of them was a parasite feeding upon intelligent life. They seemed powerful, but they were nothing more than that.
Blasphemous eight-pointed Chaos star runes covered every surface of the chamber. Vast quantities of bizarre sacrifices had been placed in their designated positions, giving off a foul stench and an aura