"Now, I have a question. Does eating Orks actually work?"
The Chaplain climbed to his feet and scanned his surroundings, wavering between killing himself and tying himself up to await his brothers' support.
"Oh, oh, oh, sorry. I still haven't figured out the boundary between thinking and speaking. You know how it is. Once you don't even have a body anymore, that distinction gets rather hard to make."
Evan had come to understand one thing all too well: where you sat determined how you thought. Whatever position you occupied, your thoughts followed it. Now he couldn't stop thinking about how to strengthen himself, yearning for it. Just like the Four Gods, his hunger for power was endless. Souls were power, so the corruption of other souls never ended.
He wanted so badly... so badly to devour this soul.
Normally, he would have shown this legendary Chaplain nothing but respect. Today, though, he really was doing his best to restrain his desires.
"Everything I see is an illusion. Holy Malcador will utterly destroy you!"
The Chaplain was even closer to breaking down than Evan. What he had witnessed went far beyond shocking. Another world, almost identical to his own-and this fellow had actually managed to get the one on the Golden Throne back on his feet.
It wasn't that he didn't want to accomplish such a monumental feat. He simply dared not imagine it, dared not believe it. It was too great, too beautiful. Not even the most legendary warriors in the history books could have achieved it. It was as beautiful as a dream.
Then I must wake from that dream! The battlefield is right here. The comfort of dreams cannot overcome the cruelty of reality. What I need is greater courage and purer faith.
"Oh, stop shouting. Speaking of