And you are right to fear it. [ As the sweetness and awe in Eridanus' gaze enfolds him, his fingers press around the back of his consort's neck, clawed fingertips resting over the throbbing pulse in his jugular. Again, his thumb traces the opaline scar carved into the stony flesh of his cheek, as if it were a jewel to polish to gleaming. ] I don't envy the wretches that find it their permanent abode.

[ His return from death is a genuine perdition, to be sure—and his own chest swells with hot pride at the way Eridanus regards him with the wonder he deserves for it. If he were unable to bear it, he supposes he would no longer be worthy of shouldering Slaanesh's name; and yet, here he stands, unbent beneath a weight that would render most a far more pitiable sort of insane than he is.

Eridanus' question is a good one, and now that he thinks of it, Lucius isn't sure he knows the answer. He supposes they must remain tethered to him; after all, he has never lost a single soul on his deathly travels. And yet, every time he has made that journey, he has felt nothing but alone.

There is one exception, he supposes, but that is only because he does not truly recall it. ]

But I have experienced the cold nothingness you spoke of as well. [ His aggrandized smile dims, only a shadow of it remaining at the edges of his mouth. ] After my first taste of death, there was simply blackness until I woke up upon an apothecarion slab.

[ Even now, when he thinks of it, he wonders: was that void where Slaanesh first laid His mark upon his soul? The moment where it had seemed that death simply hadn't wanted him—had that been a recognition of his promise? The expression that settles across his visage appears more contemplative than it is flattered by the thought. ]