Name this whatever you will Zahariel, if this offering so pleases you.

In one of the Webway's many, many obscure corridors, two armies watch in silence as their warlords address one another.

Cain's mind, choked with terror, can muster only two lines of thought. The first is that he should fall to his knees and plead for his life. The second is an intrusive and unflattering aesthetic assessment of the helmet the sorcerer wore. And in his desperate attempts to smother that thought before the psyker before him detected it, his fear-addled synapses misfire and blend that offensive idea with his attempt at begging for his life.

"Look man, frak the helmet."

Ahriman's gorge rises. His pulse quickens. He feels insulted.

"By the ashes of Tizca….." Ahriman breathes out in offended shock, before it warps into rage. "FRAK THE HELMET?! Is that what you just said to me? I can't BELIEVE you just told me to frak the helmet!"

The transhuman then begins gesturing at his ornate warhelm as he continues. "So I should just… just… take this helmet I am wearing an-and FRAK it, right?!"

One of Rubric Marines looks away from Ahriman, we an act that goes unnoticed by all as the latter keeps going. "Engage in sexual intercourse with a Mk II Tharsis-Approved Power Armor Helmet right here in front of you, because you told me so? In the Webway?" He punctuates his statement by gesturing at the un-walls around them. "RIGHT HERE? IN THE WEBWAY?!"

He steps closer now, the USA watching in awe as their leader does not so much as flinch at the space marine's approach, quite blind to the fact that Cain's body was so tense from fear that he would void his bowels the moment he dared to relax.

"GIVE YOU A LITTLE…. WEBWAY-ASTARTES-HELM-FRAKSHOW?!" He tears off his helmet at this point, letting Cain gaze into whatever passed for his face these days as he leans in to give an icy whisper. "Is that how you see me?"

In an adjacent, even more obscure corridor of the Webway, hidden behind powerful illusions, hundred of Eldar Harlequins howled with laughter in their seats, wishing the sorry spectacle would never end.

"Cegorach's Bells." One wheezes as she records the show

"Let me in! LET ME IIIINNNNNN!" Shouts a latecomer, trying to force his way through the warded portal.

All watch with rapt attention, whatever its cause, waiting to see what would happen next, but it had grown terribly quiet at last.

Then, the sound of sobbing.

Cain, remembering how his eyes work, blinks as he sees a superhuman killing machine, on the wrong side of ten thousand, his face a black hole bloated with stress-repressing sorcery and warp knows what else, not so quietly crying.

"This… this isn't about the helmet. Is it?" Asks Cain

"….No." Replies Ahriman