The thundering sound rolled through the thawing vaults of Processional Two-Twelve. Fists and palms, beating at coffin hoods. The sleepers were waking, their frigid bodies trapped in their caskets. I could hear footsteps above the screams. Eyclone was running. I ran after-, passing gallery after gallery of frenzied, flailing forms. Me screaming, the pounding... God-Emperor help me, I will never forget that. Thousands of souls waking up to death, frantic, agonised. Damn Eyclone. Damn him to hell and back.
THE INQUISITION moves amongst mankind like an avenging shadow, striking down the enemies of humanity with uncompromising ruthlessness. Inquisitor Eisenhorn faces a vast interstellar cabal and the dark power of daemons, all racing to recover an arcane text of abominable power - an ancient tone known as the Necroteuch.
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