The las bolts streaked into the room like glowing triphammers scything into the apparitions. The las weapons blew craters from the creatures and skin and clothing blackened and burned like heated canvas. It staggered them but did not drive them back. The air stank of ozone and burning organics as the fusilade slackened. Silvana didn’t bother to add to the gunfire with her transvassuer, it had already proven itself unreliable instead she reached out with her mind.

The process was painful, the psychic shock of the auto-seance had been considerable and the edges of the Immaterium were jagged and bleeding here. Tendrils of raw power snaked and searched for something to to latch on to, to prolong their limited time in the material realm. Each of the paint daemons trailed a tendril they snaked backwards into the room and through a small door off the main bedchamber. In her mind she could see the impressions of the place she had gleaned from the echo of poor Leopold Sarkonad. It was a store room filled with jars of paint and vials of dry pigment. There was a confused impression of him searching desperately for the right shade. Flashes of him walking markets and artistic districts, even grinding some of his own from rare and expensive ingredients. With deliberate brutality she sheared the link. It was dangerous to touch another's obsession it was too easy to get drawn in, even when the Warp was not involved. The paints were the source. They had to be tainted somehow, making Leopold’s creations into vessels for the things that gibbered and scratched at the walls of her mind.

“Adept Blademar!” she yelled over the screams and curses of the Arbites as they pulled spent power packs and slapped fresh ones into their weapons. The nearest of the creature, unrecognisable under the las burns as anything other than a female figure, was nearly in the door frame. They leaned into the storm of fire like men walking into a strong wind.

“The source of the infection! It is in the cupboard at the rear of the main room. She shoved a mental picture of it at him. It wasn’t polite but she wasn’t going to die because she observed every formal Astra Telepathicus courtesy. 

“We need to destroy it!” Though just how they would do that, with a wall of hell infused golems between them and their objective, she hadn't the faintest notion.
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