Drach'nyen's mindhax is powered by Drach'nyen. He's the concept of murder amongst humanity given form. It's because he exists that this idea exists throughout time. He's not shooting mind lasers at someone to try and paralyze them or some shit.
Relevant quote:
"Behind the veil, the scream takes a carnival of forms, riotous and infinite in variety. The frail laws of physics that so coldly govern the material universe have no power ― here, those binding codes fracture into their separate fictions. Here, time itself goes to die.
On and on it plunges, crashing and dissolving and reforming in the endless storm. It ruptures a cloud-burst of other screams that haven't yet been cried aloud. It punctures the fire-flesh of shrieking ghosts, adding to the torment of those lost and forsaken souls. It knifes through a disease that was rendered extinct by man-made cures twenty-six thousand years before.
And on. And on. And on. Clashing with moments that haven't yet happened, that won't happen for half an eternity. Grinding against events that took place back when the earliest Terran creatures exhaled water and ― for the very first time ― raked in lungfuls of air.
Behind the veil, there is no when and then. Everything is now. Always and eternally now, in the shifting tides of an infinite malignance.
Lights shine in that malignant black: the lights of sentience that draw the darkness closer. The same lights flare and shriek and dissolve at the merest touch from the forces around them. Dreams and memories take shape only to shatter amidst the claws and jaws manifesting within the nothingness.
The scream plunges on through every whisper of hatred that will ever be spoken by a human mouth or thought by a human mind. It cracks like lightning above the sky of a dying civilisation that will expire before ever grasping the wonder of space flight. It breaks the stone city-bones of a culture gone to dust thousands of years ago.
From its genesis in breath and sound the scream becomes acidic nothingness, then fury and fire. It becomes a memory that burns, a whisper that rends and a prophecy that bleeds.
And it becomes a name. A name that means nothing in any language spoken by any species, living or dead. A name that carries meaning only in the strangled, misfiring thoughts of humans breathing their last breaths, in that precious and terrifying moment when their spirits are caught between one realm and the next.
The name of a creature, a daemon born from the cold rage of one traitorous soul in one treacherous second. Its name is the deed itself, the first murder and the death rattle that followed.
In the creature's shrieking journey across the warp, it touches the minds of every human who ever was and will ever be, from the long dead to those yet to be born. The daemon is tied to the species with such primal intimacy that every man, woman and child knows its caress ― deep in their blood and bones ― even if they know nothing of its name.
Billions of them stir in their sleep across the many ages of man, writhing against the unwanted touch of the creature's birth back in the mists of time.
Millions of them wake, staring into the darkness of mud huts, palatial bedchambers, housing complexes and any one of the countless other structures that humans build for themselves across a million worlds and thousands of years." - The Master of Mankind
