Do Wizards Feel Pain?
"Sizzle—"
Eileen's cheeks flushed as the short sword embedded deep within the plague fly's abdomen began to tremble.
The daemon was already dead.
The sword was not.
It was feeding.
Old Huang's voice echoed lazily in her mind, as if reclining after a satisfying meal rather than having just survived a battlefield.
[This oversized plague fly may be revolting, but the warp energy inside it is surprisingly pure. For our current 'low-power' state, it's practically a supercharger. It'll even give your body a minor boost.]
A burning sensation spread across Eileen's right palm.
Not heat—something deeper.
Filtered.
Refined.
Still violent at its core.
The energy surged up her arm.
If an ordinary human—or even an Astartes—attempted to directly absorb the warp essence of a daemon of Nurgle like this, the result would be catastrophic. Flesh would warp. Organs would liquefy. Corruption would bloom instantly.
But within Eileen—
The golden vortex at her core stirred.
Like a star collapsing inward, it devoured the tainted energy without hesitation. It crushed, purified, and refined it into a steady current of warm, radiant light.
"This… is charging?" she asked weakly in her thoughts.
[Close enough. Tastes terrible, though. Like overly greasy pork trotters. But it works.]
Old Huang gave a satisfied mental "burp."
[Now that I'm fed, let's get to work. The fog's too thick. Time to open the windows.]
Eileen's eyes brightened.
This time, no crushing exhaustion followed.
Old Huang didn't push the energy into her fragile mortal body. Instead, he used her as an anchor—redirecting the purified force outward.
"Get—out—!!"
Her head snapped up.
The golden halo in her eyes no longer rotated defensively.
It expanded.
Wildly.
Whoosh—!
An invisible psionic shockwave erupted from her position in a perfect ring.
It wasn't simple force.
It was rejection.
Order expelling Chaos.
A correction imposed upon a warped reality.
The viscous green mist tore apart like shredded cloth before the golden pulse.
Whoooosh—
Within a five-kilometer radius, the fog, plague spores, and even the sickly stench were violently swept away.
The battlefield became clear.
Sicarius and Colquan stood amid shattered plague fly carcasses and slain daemons. As visibility returned, both warriors turned sharply toward Eileen.
"The warp effect has been dispelled?" Sicarius asked, blade raised, scanning for secondary threats.
"Old Huang said he wasn't finished," Eileen replied quietly.
She looked toward the distant cliffs veiled in shadow.
[That little psyker insect is still hiding.]
Old Huang's tone shifted—mocking. Amused.
[You think you can toy with my people from a distance?]
"Eileen," he said.
"I'll be right back."
Something shifted.
Eileen felt a strange lightness, as if a fragment of her soul had been cleanly separated.
At a speed beyond mortal perception, a golden phantom emerged from her body.
It left no physical disturbance.
It simply transcended distance.
---
The Cliff
Plague Chanter Gurg clutched his chest and coughed violently.
"Cough—! Pffft!"
Black phlegm splattered against the stone.
The forced dispersal of his warp-mist had rebounded upon him.
"Impossible… that was just a mortal child…" he wheezed. "And that power… it was magnitudes greater than before…"
He gripped his bone staff, trying to reweave defensive sorcery—or open a warp rift for escape.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
A figure stood before him.
Not flesh.
Not matter.
A humanoid shape woven from pure golden light.
Its features were indistinct. It wore radiant armor of impossible craftsmanship, light cascading across its contours.
It looked down at him.
Gurg had felt the rage of Khorne, the excess of Slaanesh, and the scheming currents of Tzeentch within the warp.
But this—
This was colder.
It was the gaze of something higher.
As if observing a stray animal and idly considering whether to end it quickly… or experiment.
"You—who are you?!" Gurg shrieked, staff blazing with virulent green light. "I am blessed by the Father! You cannot—"
The golden figure did not speak.
It simply extended one finger.
The air cracked.
Temperature plummeted.
Impossible.
As a servant of decay, blessed by Nurgle's gifts, he could not feel cold.
Yet he did.
Fear crept into his thoughts.
Behind the golden figure, black flames ignited in the void.
Not fire of this universe.
From within them—
Four towering shapes stepped forward.
Astartes power armor.
Black as void.
Decorated with bone-white ribs and skull motifs.
From their armor seams and visors burned silent psychic flame.
No breath.
No heartbeat.
No war cry.
Only execution.
Gurg's mind broke.
"No… impossible… how could this place attract—"
His sorcery disintegrated before it formed, burning away like insects cast into a star.
The golden figure descended and crouched before him.
Though faceless, Gurg sensed a smile.
Cold.
Amused.
"Hey," the voice echoed directly within his soul.
"Let's play a game."
A finger wagged lazily.
"You plague scholars always boast that the Father's blessing removes pain. That decay is joy. That suffering is transcendence."
The black-armored warrior pinned Gurg's leg beneath a burning boot.
"Sizzle—!"
Rotting flesh ignited.
"Aaaaaah! It hurts! It hurts!"
"Oh?" The golden figure tilted its head. "So you can feel pain."
It rose casually.
"Maybe the dosage was too low."
"Or perhaps this fire is… special."
It clasped its hands together theatrically.
"Next question."
"1000 minus 7."
"What's the answer?"
Gurg stared in disbelief.
"What—?"
"Can't calculate?" the figure sighed. "That's fine. These instructors will help you. Use your fingers. Subtract one by one. Until you get it right."
It turned away dismissively.
"Take your time. Let him experience… mercy."
The four warriors activated their burning chainswords.
Not a swift execution.
Measured cuts.
Precise.
Surgical.
"993—AAAAAAH!"
"986—No! Please! Kill me!"
The screams carried across the cliffside, echoing even toward the distant battlefield.
The golden figure rose skyward in a streak of light.
[Teacher Tang wasn't wrong. Mathematics truly is universal.]
And then—
It was gone.