Boltthrower vividly recalled the sting of pity he'd felt then, witnessing his brethren descend into what he'd believed to be madness. He'd stood amongst the crowd, a knot of fear tightening his gut, as the afflicted were dragged away, their desperate pleas echoing in the cavernous halls. Now, a horrifying realization dawned within him: he was experiencing that same unsettling shift. Was he, too, succumbing to the dreaded "demon-taint"?
But a fierce, instinctive denial clawed its way through his despair. This wasn't madness. The energy he sensed felt undeniably real, a tangible presence vibrating in the very air. And then, a horrifying confirmation. He saw it coalesce, a swirling vortex of the same strange energy gathering at the maw of a hulking daemon. A guttural roar ripped through the air, and a searing torrent of fire erupted, washing over the ranks of nearby ratmen. Their armor, forged in the heat of the forges, buckled and melted like tallow in the inferno.
