Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20170510201147/@comment-32198720-20170616061608

Mycos shrugged whistfully as he followed the Skitarii to the second floor, striding forward as his more squeamish comrades applied gas-masks to themselves, as if that could halt the blessing of the Grandfather. Mycos' heart warmed as he saw the choking mortals, veins bulging as they breathed their lasts and their bodies crawled with hatching parasites. He found it such a thrill to be the host for dozens of new flickers of life, and it made him happy to share the blessijng with others.

Still, work came first, and he selected the closest mortal, regretfully ending the obvious euphoria on his face with a ceramite fist. Two more hits and the skull split like a rotting egg, and Mycos unlocked the hermetic seals on his helmet, pulling the corroded metal free of his corpse-like face with strande of necrotic mucus clinging to the resperator. His lips had long rotted away, but his teeth were visible as a grinning rictus beneath the rotting flesh. Mycos scooped some of the pulped brain, like pinkish egg, from the mortal's head and swallowed it with relish. He enjoyed the crunch of brain matter and waited for his Astartes physioogy to filter intel from the dead mortal's neurons to his own.

Wherever the Tzeentchian was hiding, Mycos would find him.