‘You feculent, cantankerous, oafish excuse for an Astartes. My eyes are stinging from your disease-ridden aura alone, and you want me to join my mind with yours? Is your brain as riddled with holes as your armour?’

Deep, gurgling laughter bubbled from a corroded vox plate.

‘It’s never a dull day when you’re blessed with the company of a son of Magnus.’

‘Blessed? Neither of us is here by choice. You are lucky I haven’t ended your pitiful existence and rid myself of your odorous stench.’

‘But my friend, you know you need me to escape this prison.’

‘Do not call me friend, you boorish, lumpen-’

‘Yes, yes, I know you scorn the Grandfather’s gifts. I can assure you, cousin, I am equal to you in mastery of the warp, though I may wield it in a different way.’

‘Ha! When a Death Guard is my equal, I will give up my armour and title of Exalted Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons.’

‘Then I look forward to that day, cousin.’

The Death Guard stretched out his hand, bloated and oozing liquids from both this world and the next.

‘Prove your mastery over me then,’ said the Death Guard, ‘or let us escape together. Three minds would be best, but two should be sufficient.’

A silence of sorts fell over the two figures, marooned on a barren outcrop, floating impossibly within an abyss of wan, grey light. One wheezed, the other paced anxiously.

‘Abasi’

‘What?’ said the Death Guard.

‘My name. If we are to do this, then you should know my name.’

‘Then you agree?’

‘Do not make me regret this.’

The Death Guard nodded slowly.

‘I am Festulous Grubgrot of the Pallid Shroud.’

‘Of course you are.’

Abasi closed his eyes and slipped into well-practised thought patterns, reaching his consciousness out into the Great Ocean. It was quiet here, a pocket of calm within the roiling currents of the immaterium. He could feel the tug of the warp, distant and quiet. It called to him as it always did, and he longed to be back in its embrace. Beside him, he could sense inky, oozing tendrils coiling out from Festulous into the forgotten void where they were trapped. It was crude magic, but the Death Guard was right, he was powerful.

+Aeldari. Old,+ said Festulous, his mind-voice squelching and popping like a bog of bodies rotting in the midday sun.

Abasi winced at the mental onslaught.

+Yes,+ he affirmed, +a bubble of webway, unattached to anything else. Sigils mark the outer surface, no doubt allowing passage in, but not out. They are weakened but still holding. Our best chance of egress is to focus an attack where the bubble is weakest, at the zenith.+

+An aeldari oubliette,+ Festulous chuckled to himself, +that’s a new one.+

+Do you take anything seriously?+

+I understand our predicament well enough, cousin, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find joy in the situation, no matter how dire. You should try it some time, it’s good for the choler.+

+Do you have to smear your fetid mind juices quite so excessively while you do it?+

+Yes.+

Abasi snarled in frustration.

+Let us get on with this. The sooner I can be rid of your befouled and odious company, the better.+

+Give me a moment to gather my power. There’s not much to feed off in here.+

Abasi nodded.

+We will focus there.+ He pointed above them, through the gentle wisps of greys and blues, to the edge of their becalmed bubble. Arcane symbols glowed orange where the currents of the empyrean battered against them, flickering like candles in the wind, but enduring. The one he pointed to guttered under the onslaught more than the rest.

+The Unsleeping Eye,+ said Festulous, black-green clouds beginning to amass around his form, +an older rune not often seen.+

Abasi stared at the Death Guard openly.

+You still underestimate me, cousin.+

The green clouds boiled and buzzed. Abasi huffed and began his own preparations, arcs of violet lightning cracking between his armoured gauntlets. He allowed his power to expand into Festulous’ burgeoning smog. It felt like untold multitudes wriggling on his soul, taking root, growing, strangling. He shuddered at the touch but forced himself to relax. It was still the power of the warp, he told himself. He could stand it, and he needed it.

They concentrated together until they were surrounded by a roiling thunderhead the colour of stagnant water, flickering with neon lightning.

+Ready?+ asked Festulous, amusement lacing his mind-voice like a wet chuckle.

+Ready,+ intoned Abasi.

Together they rose, uneasy and staggered.

+Keep with me cousin. Steady.+

+How about you speed up, you sluggardly boor.+

+We must work together.+

Abasi stifled his retort.

They channelled their energies towards the weakened glyph, and it flickered wildly.

‘You’re not using all your power,’ shouted Festulous over the roar of the ether-storm.

‘Neither are you.’

‘We must.’

‘Then I will be at your mercy, should you choose to double cross me,’ said Abasi, ‘You first.’

‘After you, cousin.’

The swirling vortex pulsed erratically, boiling black and icy blue. There was a long, drawn-out screech like glass breaking and machinery grinding. And then silence. 

Abasi looked up as the fog cleared. He was still in the prison, the rune glowing brightly, unaffected by their efforts. There was no sign of Festulous.

‘That malodorous, worm-brained, traitorous, no good-‘

‘Cousin? I can hear you, but I can’t see you.’

The Death Guard’s voice sounded close. Too close, as if he were-

Abasi looked down.

His sapphire and gold armour was beginning to rust and flake. At his stomach, where once there had been filigreed and enamelled plate, now a gaping maw yawned, tongue lolling, lurid green saliva dripping from jagged teeth. It belched, and a single fat fly buzzed lazily out of the orifice.

‘Festulous? No…’

Deep, gurgling laughter erupted from the orifice.

‘It seems we’re stuck with each other now, cousin,’ said the mouth.

And Festulous laughed and laughed.