Chapter 239: For This One, You Have to Use Low Heat
First daemon confirmed. Kian pressed Silentium to move on immediately.
The second sacrifice was mounted, the ritual performed, the wait begun.
Fifteen minutes. The eyes opened — purple irises.
This one didn't panic about the missing limbs. It assessed the room methodically, noted the two humans, and smiled.
"Oh, two very appetising young men~"
Its attention went to Silentium first — the stronger soul, more interesting. A subtle cast went out before either of them noticed.
Silentium's eyes went unfocused. In his vision, the limbless figure on the wall underwent a transformation — rough features softening, proportions shifting, an achingly beautiful woman looking back at him with eyes that seemed to understand everything about him.
He was staring. He was aware he was staring and couldn't stop.
Then he blinked, administered two sharp slaps to his own face, and the sanctified amasec in his system helped the rest. The illusion broke.
He looked at the daemon with considerably more wariness.
The daemon redirected to Kian. The working took hold immediately — Kian's expression went slack and dreamy, a smile spreading across his face, something very private playing behind his eyes.
"Oh that's... yeah... that's really something..."
Three seconds later the daemon cancelled its own working and shouted:
"What is wrong with you?! You absolute degenerate!!"
Kian came back to reality with the expression of a man who had just had something wonderful taken away.
"Could've let that run a little longer. That was rude."
Silentium looked at him with complicated emotions.
"It showed me an impossibly beautiful woman. What did it show you?"
Kian worked his jaw thoughtfully.
"A Glory-class battleship doing a very specific dance."
He raised the flamer and pulled the trigger. The Slaaneshi daemon received the full theological treatment.
Mission progress: 2 of 10.
Clean up. Mount new sacrifice. Perform ritual. Wait.
The third sacrifice opened its eyes and simply stared at them.
Silentium nudged Kian. "Which one is this?"
"Can't tell yet. It hasn't done anything."
Both of them stared at the daemon. The daemon stared back. This continued for an awkward length of time.
Silentium said: "Lines. Say your lines."
The daemon examined the room with quiet curiosity.
Kian cleared his throat.
"Friend — what organisation are you with?"
The daemon looked at him and smiled in a way that suggested business.
"Both your souls are robust specimens. If I deliver them to the soul-forges, I could power a magnificent engine."
Kian nodded and turned to Silentium.
"This one is the Entrepreneur of the Void. The Warp's Foremost Small Business Advocate. Techno-Industrial District Founder. Subscriber to the 0.5 Chaos God Newsletter."
He pulled the trigger. The Tzeentchian commercial spirit received its review.
Mission progress: 3 of 10.
Clean up. Mount. Ritual. Wait.
During the waiting period, Silentium looked at Kian with undisguised admiration.
"How do you know all this? You can identify any entity in the warp just from a few seconds of observation."
Kian lit a lho-stick and blew out a measured stream of smoke.
"Broad reading. A well-rounded education. The Imperium doesn't build itself."
The latest sacrifice made a sound — something between a groan and a hum. Incoming.
Kian sat forward with visible enthusiasm.
"This one — the moment it opens its mouth I'll know exactly which patron it serves. Watch closely."
He waited, ready to deliver the identification with maximum showmanship.
The daemon did something none of the others had done. Instead of speaking or casting, it directed all its energy inward — into the body it had taken. The skull began reshaping: brow ridge elevating, eye sockets deepening, the cranium flattening and extending backward. The ears widened and rounded.
After about forty seconds, the body had been remodelled into something that occupied an uncomfortable space between human and great ape.
Silentium stepped back involuntarily. Something about this one produced a visceral revulsion that the others hadn't — a wrongness that bypassed rational analysis and went straight to instinct.
The transformed daemon looked at both of them and spoke.
"I have a question for you. Why is it that humans are the only animals we're not allowed to eat?"
Silentium stared at Kian.
Kian's smile had gone very cold.
He adjusted the flamer nozzle down to its minimum setting. The flame reduced to barely larger than a cigarette lighter's.
"Oh you ABSOLUTE—"
He took a breath.
"LOW HEAT," he announced, with the conviction of a man making a culinary and moral stand simultaneously. "For THIS one it has to be LOW HEAT. Slow cooking. One hundred and eighty days minimum. GET COMFORTABLE."
[End of Chapter 239]
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