Why is it, I wonder, that Sigmar felt compelled to burden you with such poor imaginations? Very well. Judicate me, if you can.

Sentinels died and wards fade, but I am everliving.

You have achieved nothing. Do you not see? Nothing. We scurry through time, like the rats in Fizqwik’s wheel. Over and over the same mistakes. I am glad to be done. I am sick of it.

I think the Horned Rat prefers his children blind or we would surely have the world now. And he knows we would betray even him if we could.

See-smell, man thing. Hear us, touch us. We are broken. Many times we die-die. Change bodies to burn and still back we come. Many times, again, and again, and again, forever-ever.

He ground his teeth and pushed hard. His muscles screamed from the effort. But where he pushed, the legions of the Damned pushed with him. They were innumerable, thousands upon thousands. There were farmers, fishwives, merchants and priests. And there were warriors. Felix saw the outline of armour and axes, Magnus's army, the shades of those that had once battled Chaos and would now battle it once more at Felix's side.

All who ever lived. All who ever died.