Daemon Psyker

I reached up with on hand to take the xenos Necroteuch from its shelf – and found myself unable to move. Some enormous psychic force froze me rigid.
‘So perish all heretics indeed,’ said a voice. ‘Turn him so he can see me.’
Involuntarily, I swung round, my hand still raised in the act of reaching out. I saw Midas, also paralysed and rigid, his dark features locked in a rictus of dismay.
…
I tried to answer, but my mouth refused to obey me. Spittle bubbled between my clenched teeth.
Molitor looked around at his cowled companions. ‘Let him speak,’ he said.
The psychic constraints on my voice slackened. Speech was still an effort. ‘W-what are you d-doing, Molitor?’
…
‘B-b-b-bastard...’ I fought with my mind to break free, but it was impossible. This was not Molitor’s hold on me. One of his retainers, or all three in concert, supremely powerful.



“Xenos”, Chapter Twenty Five