XANTHITE

Xanthites hold that Chaos is a weapon, and a weapon has no loyalty, only a wielder. Why burn a daemon-blade when it could burn your enemies? Why fear the Warp when it could be harnessed, carefully, by minds strong enough to hold the leash? You have thought this thought: just a little of the Warp, for the right reasons. You are still thinking it. It is thinking about you too.

Your method is controlled exposure: the forbidden text read 'for context', the artefact kept 'for study', the ritual observed 'for intelligence purposes'. Each step is small, reasonable, documented in a hand that trembles slightly more each year. The leash, you tell yourself, is holding. The thing on the other end is patient.

It ends in tentacles. It has always ended in tentacles: for the great Lord Xanthus himself, and for every disciple since. Your red file already has a cell number on it, the cell has excellent warding, and the tribunal keeps it warm. They know you're coming. You know it too. That's rather the tragedy of you.