In the Paradoxical Prison, the silence was always a horror.
The coffins had been torn wide open, their bindings unraveled, and the entities once trapped within were nothing more than vapor and digesting resonance. Mighty beings, some marked by the gleam of Primarchy, others holding the flickering grandeur of Originus Venerant distinction- all gone. Consumed!
What remained of them pulsed like distant echoes clinging to the moist walls, and at the center of the room, it writhed.
The Inevitability.
A mass of ever-churning tentacles, multicolored and immense, pulsing with the vibrant horror of finality.
It shifted with slow hunger, each limb glowing in impossible hues, feeding upon the residue of power it had been given- scraps of titanic existences torn from their chains and devoured as if they were nothing more than broth.
Through the broken arch of the Prison's gateway, Thauron entered.
