Dense golden walls of sand tore at his clothes as he staggered on. Even the thick shoes he wore couldn’t protect his feet from the scorching grains beneath them, but he resolved to carry on. He knew that to die out here would be to fail his master.

And to fail his master, would be a fate worse than death.

He was close now; so close, and yet so far away. Finding it was one thing, but opening it was quite another. He ran his parched tongue across his dry, cracked lips in anticipation, opening the wounds only for them to seal almost instantly as his blood dried in the heat. Every part of his body felt as if was melting. In the beginning, he could barely stand the torture, but he’d slowly gotten used to it. Now, every second he didn’t spend in pain was agony. He lived only for the anguish; it spurred him onward in search of more.

Through a tiny gap in his headscarf, he though he saw shapes in the sand; figures dancing gracefully through the storm. They slinked through like gold-swathed wraiths, paying the storm no more heed than if it were but a passing breeze. He couldn’t quite tell, but it appeared that they were watching him. Instinctively, he turned to follow them.

“Ignore them.” Pain. It blossomed through him and he drank it in like a parched plant as His voice rang through his mind once more.

“Master, what beings are these? Some form of desert spirit?”

“They are unimportant. They seek only to lead you astray.” His eyes rolled in their sockets; so long had he been without any real torment. His master did indeed provide all he needed, as promised.

“What if they approach me? What am I to say to them?”

“You will know what to do, when the time comes. You are stronger than the others.”

“Others, master?”

His master laughed a regal, all-knowing chuckle that ran up his spine in bone-shattering waves. He shuddered in blissful agony. “You shall see, in time.”

He stood trembling after his master left his mind. He had been unprepared for the conversation, but that only served to increase what he felt. Imbued with purpose once more, he strode further into the storm, ignoring the figures as best he could.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see them stalk him. They did not do so with the intent to remain hidden, but with the arrogance of predators who wish only to remind you that you still live because they will it. But he was unafraid. He wished they would come to him, that he might experience what his master had promised. However, they kept their distance, preferring to watch from afar.

Beneath his feet, he felt sand give way almost lazily, but his purposeful steps carried him over before he could stop. His vision tumbled, as if he were inside a snow-globe being violently shaken. Under normal circumstances, the steep side of the dune would’ve been visible, but the storm had masked its presence. He landed with a thump at the bottom. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and he swallowed, feeling a solid lump slide down his throat, leaving a salty trail behind it. His tongue didn’t feel whole, and he laughed at the realisation that he’d bitten off half of it during the fall, and promptly eaten it.

Pulling himself up, he realised first that the storm had not followed him down the dune, yet was still raging eagerly high above his head. All around him were the sun-bleached bones of others who had perished in the very spot where he now stood defiantly alive, albeit missing half a tongue. He noticed a lone golden obelisk protruding from the sand in the distance. It pointed skyward as if to threaten the very heavens, and emitted a definite aura of mysterious power. The sun somehow caught it through the storm, and beams reflected off it in every direction. It was then saw that the figures had finally decided he needed to die.

They stood before him, tall, sleek and resplendent in armour that blended in perfectly with the desert. In their hands they each held a pair of scimitars, the shimmering blades of which looked almost to have been made from gold, but they were far too thin and light, even without the soft metal making poor armour or weaponry. Each of the pommels was encrusted in what appeared to be gleaming Tiger’s Eye jewels. Sparks leapt across the edges of the weapons like deadly dancers.

The centre one, its tall helmet adorned with runes that, although he could not read, he knew to be powerful in meaning, strode up to him, stopping a goodly distance away. “If you turn back now, human, you will be spared. This is your one and only warning and offer.” Its voice was male, but effeminate, and carried with it an air of arrogant authority. And lies.

“You would strike me down as soon as I turn my back. You have not revealed yourselves lightly.” He replied.

It seemed taken aback by his comment, as if it didn’t know how he already knew of them, but quickly regained its posture, “Then you already know that you must die here.”

He felt it: the power running through him. It pounded around his body like a raging bull. He watched as the leader of the group made to leap at him. He pondered why it moved so slowly, how it had barely moved a handful of inches when, by all rights, he ought to have been cut to ribbons by now. He glanced up at the sandstorm, noting that it still raged furiously at full speed above him. Yet these things moved sluggishly, as if they had all the time in the world. He laughed; only he had all the time in the world, and only he controlled it.

He took a few steps closer to the leaping enemy, admiring the posture as it made its unhurried leap. The others, too, were in mid-movement. He wandered over, stroking their armour which was cool to the touch. He wished they could see what he could do, and the power inside him changed. Speed returned to the warriors’ limbs, and they completed their movements within a second, quickly noting that he was no longer where he ought to have been.
 
They turned to face him, and made their final mistake. Pointing a finger at the closest one, he took a firm grasp of the power within him, and flung it outwards, releasing a screaming lance of flame from the tip of his finger. It struck the warrior with a deafening blast, incinerating it just slowly enough for him to hear its pained howls.

“You know not what you wield, human.” The lead warrior spat, “You will single-handedly doom us all!” It darted at him as quick as a flash, but not quick enough. He cast his power forth once more, and blasted the warrior back with a solid wall of air; he could hear its body crushed and armour splintered by the impact. The others were almost upon him, though, and he had to act quickly. Something told him to focus on the obelisk, and focus he did. The warriors became unimportant as he wrestled again with his power, and fired it at the obelisk.

A flash preceded an horrific crash of thunder when the power struck the golden structure. Lightning lashed from its tip, violently striking the petrified warriors with bolts and casting their bodies far across the desert.

He watched with a grin across his face as the obelisk glowed a brilliant blue. Its sides started to melt and writhe, as if they were joining the living. It twisted, pulling itself free of its sandy tomb until it floated several feet off the ground, spinning slowly in random arcs. It was a magnificent sight, and he had done it all. Staggering over to it, his legs now as jelly, he marvelled at the images wandering across its surfaces.

One image above all graced the surface as he neared. It resembled a crescent on its back, only the top-most tip waved like the tail of a fish, and at its heart it held a large circle.

“Most excellent.” Came his master’s voice, more powerful now, “You have succeeded where others have failed, and you have done so masterfully. My only regret is not having chosen you sooner.”

He smiled through the wonderful pain, “Thank you, master. It was an honour to serve you.”

His master laughed, “Was? I said nothing about our partnership ending. No, you will always serve me. However, your recent success has warranted some form of… Reward.” The image on the obelisk solidified, and bidden by its power, he approached it, “Gaze long and hard, my champion, for you have earned my favour this day. Come, take a glimpse at what I see through my eyes.” The circle slammed open revealing the shifting eye beneath, and he shrieked in agony; sweet, rapturous agony. He felt his mind come close to exploding, but his power contained it. He saw a great many things. He knew he could not sleep again for fear of nightmares. He knew now that nightmares were all too real. He also knew how to weave them.

Knowledge poured forth into his ignorant mind, filling the reservoirs of his brain with liquid understanding. He knew that he had just slain ancient protectors. He knew the protectors to be Eldar. He knew many things that he felt ashamed not to have realised beforehand. He knew what the obelisk released, and why it must be released. He knew he would be opposed, but above all, he knew that he would emerge victorious.

The eye slammed shut again, and he focussed his mind. The pain, for once, could wait. Calling forth power he now knew just how to wield; he aimed the obelisk downwards, and threw it like a spear at the sand. Reality, now punctured, tore open uncontrollably. Ethereal winds whipped across the desert as the warp was opened to the physical dimension.
 
Sand melted away to reveal a small portal containing churning, tumultuous energy held between two further obelisks, each tens of feet tall and yards apart. Using knowledge unknown to most, he gripped its edges and pulled them across to the obelisks where they locked in place. Bolts of warp lightning lashed out from the portal, scorching the desert where they landed. The entire place smelled of brimstone and carried a distinctly sour taste.

But all that was immaterial now. The deed had been done, and there was nothing that could be done to stop the inevitable. Even the Eldar, with all their knowledge of fate and the future, were powerless to even prevent it. Such was the power of Tzeentch, and, by extension, himself.

Given time and good reason, all would fear the name of Maelquoth, the Nightmare Lord. It was just as well that Maelquoth had plenty of both to donate.