I felt they had always been there, hanging in my shadow, lingering over my minor cruelties. I was a petty thief, a minor speck within the iris of eternity, but I knew I could do things for these presences. I felt a shiver run through me, despite the ever-present heat. I remember looking into the tarnished glass of the altar-mirrors, and seeing not one reflection, but a fractured four. I found myself saying things, and meaning them.I remember being in the vaults of that old mud-brick temple, tending to the tapers and tasting the aroma of hot blood on my lips. I'd spent so much time with all those books, and all that chanting, and all those homilies on the old patterns of pain and redemption, that I somehow neglected to be cynical about them. He says in Child of Chaos that he began simply as a grifting cynic who joined the Covenant for the power and material wealth it would bring him (Erebus isn't even his real name, it is the name of the first man he killed and impersonated), but then came to believe:Īnd then the strangest thing of all happened. He is the true believer, the fanatic who will do absolutely anything or commit any atrocity because he believes it has the sanction of the Gods.
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