A Path of Blood, Bone and FireAs Magnus professes the true purpose of the enchantment meant to shield him, rather than themselves, from the truth of the Warp and its denizens, Extrovious' face hardens. Every word passes from the Crimson King without even an audible breath from the man. Try as he might, there was no keeping gaze from the skies and the wraith like figure dancing around the shade spire beyond the balcony. In the dying rays of sun light, a thin lumen on the distant horizon, his brothers were there fighting it, and just as quickly they were gone and the apparition of the Neverborn pirouetted into the shadows and did not reemerge. When at last Magnus confession, diagnosis, whatever it may be, comes to an end Extrovious' voice sounds like a pillar toppling flatly onto its side. "Remove yourself from my mind. The craft of you and your sons damns all that it touches, and my thoughts and actions shall be my own wholly once more. The crimson plains bleed over the reality I walk, whatever great hound dwells there brays and howls from over the infernal mountains, and I deny them as I do you. Release me and leave me to my duties. Do so and take my sympathies for Iskander and all those sons you lead to the fangs of Russ and his wolves." There were traitors to hunt, hands to gather, blades to sharpen; duties to fulfill. Not even Magnus' Primarch worthy glow up humbles him in the face of having his mind toyed with.