Chronicle of Isha, the Goddess of Life (Warhammer 40,000)

[Nidhog153]

Victory or Death♪

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In the unreality of the realm called the Sea of Souls, an eternal war is drawing to a close.

A pantheon of gods, formed by the gestalt minds of the Aeldari, creators of the greatest empire to arise from the astral armageddon known as the "War in Heaven" do battle with the nightmares of deceit, war, and despair.

Morai Heg, also known as the Crone or Crow Goddess, manages the strands of fate for all mortal souls in her rune skinned pouch, while battling the Chaos god Tzeentch; the Raven lord and self-styled Master of Fate.

Asuryan, the Phoenix King and Lord of the Pantheon has his legions of silvery sentinels slay the barbarous bloodthirsty hordes of Khorne.

At his side his brother, Khaine the Lord of Murder, does battle directly with the Chaos god of skulls, blood, and brass called Khorne the Blood God who sits upon a Skull Throne.

Meanwhile, Isha the Goddess of Life and mother to the ancient Aeldari holds back the foul gardens of Nurgle the Plaguefather and Lord of Decay.

For eons, the Aeldari pantheon has won every battle against these ruinous powers with runes, blades, and divine knowledge. Yet, now the very Aeldari that brought them into being have begun to undo them.

A fourth Chaos god gestates in the heart of the Aeldari empire and shall take form using the flesh and blood of their gods.

It is a god of excess in all things, born from the uninhibited decadence of a people free from want, suffering, even death.

Slaanesh, who is neither male nor female, for Hir titles are both She who Thirsts and the Prince of Pleasure.

As the birth of a new Chaos god draws ever closer, the three older Chaos gods storm the borders of the Aeldari pantheon, eager to rob and ravish the doomed gods themselves before Hir birth.

Seas of greater daemons gather at the call of the Tzeentch, Khorne, and Nurgle.

Avian Lords of Change circle overhead, like vultures above dying carrion. Their azure feathers cover only their back and wings, with pale white scales of a snake's underbelly covering their stomachs and chest. Long goose-like necks hang crooked from their shoulders, supporting a beaked head that opens periodically to let out a hoarse screech or cry made by their twisted throat and the wriggling worm-like tongue in their mouths. Their taloned hands hold stolen scrolls and scepters of foul magics, while golden amulets adorn their breast.

Flame belching horned Bloodthirsters, crimson in color and covered in bulging muscles, spread their tattered bat-like wings to dive hooved feet first upon their enemies with flaming swords and rage filled roars.

Great Unclean Ones guffaw as foul flatulence is expelled from their gargantuan obese gangrenous bodies as they raise rusted cleavers covered in pox and plague above their heads while clouds of flies and maggots erupt from their ever rotting flesh.

Nameless daemons from the still gestating Slaanesh emerge from thin air within the pantheon. Ghostly mockeries of the graceful Aeldari, they flit in and out of the shadows, preying on anything they can sink their crab-like claws and sharp nails into.

Doomed by their own believers, surrounded on all sides, the entire pantheon except one holds its ground for the final battle.

The Mad Clown God, Cegorach, ever laughing jester of the divine has disappeared from the Sea of Souls with its mortal followers into the labyrinthian Webway; a space between space that hides the First Fool from the hungry eyes and thirsty jaws of Chaos.

The death of an age and empire draws close as fated doom comes.
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'I never wanted this.' Lilieath, Goddess of Dreams and Visions, thought to herself as she sat upon the right shoulder of her giant one handed grandmother, Morai Heg.

The Crone stood silently before the shapeless ever shifting azure horror that was Tzeentch. Both were locked in a battle of plan against plan before the other's even began. Neither could move, for to take a step forwards would mean a step not taken back. Thus, the fates available to the one who moved first would be lesser than the one who moved second. So, the two gods were locked in eternal combat of prediction and counter-prediction. An endless staring match between the blind eyes of the Crow Goddess, and the infinitely opening and closing sight-orbs of the Raven Lord.

Lilieath would usually assist her grandmother with whispers of visions and dreams of possible futures, helping to sway the battle in their favor. However, Tzeentch was uncharacteristically quiet this time, doing only the bare minimum to keep Morai Heg occupied. For although its daemons swarmed above them, the Chaos god itself merely bided its time, waiting for its inevitable victory that was to be brought by the hands of the Ruinous Powers' newest member.

The lull in the battle between them allowed Lilieath to cast her eyes away from it, and look back onto their pantheon and the Aeldari's empire; stepping back into her mind's eye to see all that was and would be, waking from reality as a dreamer does from a dream.

Upon the massive patrolling crows of Morai Heg her thought-sight rode, and everywhere she looked war raged.

Her mother sat at the center of her domain, bound to a living wooden throne with the silvery light of Asuryan's edict; the all-binding order preventing gods from communicating to mortals. Around her lay the landscapes of every environment imaginable, taken from several hundred planets reborn by her hand and the Aeldari. All of these lands were beset on all sides by the youngest and oldest Chaos gods within and without.

Nurgle's Heralds and Plague Bearers groaned and gargled at the borders, waving rusted bells; counting the souls owed and the moments left before entropy and disease claimed everything. Great Unclean Ones stomped over the trees deserts and tundras, waded through her lakes and rivers, or floated upon the deep blue oceans on the rotting carcasses of ancient ships carrying great rusting cleavers to hack their way to her.

Rot flies and Plague Toads flew and flopped ever forwards as the infantile Nurglings sang and rolled in balls and piles of pus and phlegm, scattering feces wherever they went so the slug like bodies of the Beasts of Nurgle had easy passing over the slop of mucus and filth.

Meanwhile, inside the woods and rivers of Isha's realm, mockeries of her mortal children cavorted through the trees. They strung up the wild animals that she gave life to; grasping at their feathers, fur, and fins, gutting them from tip to stern, and gouging out their still living eyes. Flowers and grasses were thrown into purple pink flames to make horrid musky incense, and the trees bringing nature's bounties fell as the daemons carved Hir blasphemous name into them again and again.

The forest.
The desert.
The arctic tundra and the humid swamp.
The pond, the lake, the deep blue of the ocean.

The daemons of two gods young and old, marched and swarmed, skipped and slogged.

Then there was a scream.

A mother's cry; the high pitched roar of a lioness finding an empty den, the howl of a she-wolf of stolen cubs.

And Isha's realm shook, as her voice ripped through it like the shockwave of an ancient nuclear bomb.

The forest grounds burst as ancient roots, newly grown, tore out the very ground beneath the daemons. Thousand year old trees emerged from thin air, swatting the fat and skinny alike with hardened branches that bent like young yews.

Peat bogs made of the non-existent matter of the immaterium swallowed agents of entropy and pleasure seeking pawns alike, filling every orifice with thick mud, robbing them of everything but the ability to live.

Striped of sanity, sentience, and even sense; those who came to feast on her misery became eternal food for her gardens of life.

In the desert, harsh winds raged, whipping up sand storms that ground chitinous claw and sticky fat to dust. All the while, arctic blizzards froze her foes in a shower of diamond dust.

Floods, big and small, drowned the enemy in her water ways. Smashing them against rock and pebble, shredding shell and meat, rendering their incorporeal forms into food for even the smallest shrimp to have a meal.

Upon the oceans, great sucker-covered arms surrounding beaked maws reached out and dragged both ship and daemon beneath the waves.

New blooms grew at the boundary between grandfather Nurgle's garden and hers. Pitcher plants with potent digestive juices sprang up as ferocious beasts with cruel claws and ferocious fangs descended upon the bell holders and tally makers of rot; grabbing them with teeth and claw, dragging them to the bubbling innards of hungry plants where their flesh burned and boiled with acids and enzymes to break down their cancers and cankers both.

Carrion birds came to snag the walking dead, for even in the real world they snacked on polluted flesh, turning it into natural fertilizer for future life.

Lo the Great Grandfather's servants died in droves, and the Prince's pawns perished in the rugged wild lands that would not tolerate their excess.

But Lilieath saw the whole of what was to come.
She felt Hir beneath her eyelids, inside her pores, under her nails, as Hir sharp tongue pressed up inside her ear.

Her mother was the antithesis to Hir. A goddess of life in balance opposed to that of excess. She could survive the coming of the Prince of Pleasure, even if it meant in a lesser state.

They, the other gods of the pantheon, would not be so fortunate.

Even now the Prince of Pleasure perverted their essence, stealing their myths, and polluted their legends.

In the far corner of their Pantheon, Khaine and Asuryan, brother gods, did battle with Khorne; God of War.

Silver shielded sentinels, mortal Aeldari heroes who had been elevated to god-hood before Asuryan's edict, slew wave after wave of Khorne's horde, with skill and silver blade.

But…

Lilieath saw Hir corruption there, for with every slash and slice, their moves became less precise.

What was a simple stab became a stab and twirl. Single steps became slight skips and hops. Meaningless flaunt entered their form. Although it did nothing to stop their slaying of the daemons, Lilieath could see the perversion of their purpose growing as the mortal Aeldari dived into further decadence and depravity.

Suddenly, there was a roar and the ground shook. Khorne stood from atop the bone white and blood red mountain of skulls that rose far in the distance. It was the place the Blood God had first arisen from; the fabled Skull Throne. Its literal seat of power was fed by the mortal mass-murderers in its service who screamed its name for every successful slaughter.

Armored in black smoking metal, and carrying a great sword as long as the Taker of Skulls was tall, it leapt onto the battlefield, crushing its minions underfoot.

Khaine, the Aeldari god of war, stepped forth with his ever burning blade. Orange armor engraved with runes of murder and death sheathed his burning body as blood flowed endlessly from the god's uninjured hands; the mark of unforgiven sin for his murder of the hero Eldanesh, first of all the Aeldari and friend to the gods.

The two Gods of War charged at each other. Khorne trampled and crushed Bloodletters and Bloodthirsters underfoot, as Khaine leapt over the lines of Asuryan's sentinels in a single bound.

Khaine's spear met Khorne's sword, and the shockwave shattered the earth upon which they stood, smashing Khorne's daemons into bloody chunks.

But, Khorne cares not from where the blood flows.

Gore and bone are sucked into the black smog coming off its blacker armor, and Khaine shifts backwards as Khorne's sword grows heavier.

With a single step back and well placed kick to the knee, Khaine forces Khorne to stumble forwards, and in that moment twirls to deal the death blow that tears off the black helm of Khorne.

As the black smoke that forms Khorne fades away, Khorne stares down from its Skull Throne, never having left it in the first place. Bitterness builds up in the red glowing lights it has instead of eyes.

NO!

Its wordless roar flattens its minions before him, crushing them to bloody pulp.

NO!

The great sword of Khorne stabs into the mountain of skulls, sending blood, bones, and flames in a gout of black smoke like the pyroclastic flow of a raging volcano.

NO!

The God of War does not speak, but its roars of anger leave little room to doubt its meaning.

Khaine grimaces up at the black god, before looking down at the faint motes of purple, sparking beneath his armor.

Just as Khaine could feel it, Khorne could see it too. The corruption of its eternal enemy, the perversion of a prize that belonged to Khorne.

In ages past when they fought, Khaine would not have twirled. He would have stabbed Khorne straight through the chest and pinned the Blood God to the ground.

Meaningless flaunt infected Khaine as well, for there was no point in trying to kill Khorne.

Eons ago, Khorne was nothing but a smokey sword wielding shadow that screamed and roared as Khaine stepped on its form. But, war and slaughter never ends, and as the primitive races of the galaxy wept and cried for all the death and destruction they wrought upon themselves they screamed, 'Why?'

The Aeldari gods heard those calls, even before Asuryan's edict when they could have answered it. But, being Aeldari gods, they gave no answers to the beings who didn't believe in them.

So, Khorne gave them meaning for their meaningless deeds.

Killing for the sake of killing.
Glory for the sake of glory.
Rage to rage further on.

And those cries of 'Why?' dimmed, only to be replaced by its clarion call.

"Blood for the Blood God!" Khorne's mortal champions cried as buildings burned around them.

"Skulls for the Skull Throne!" They yelled with grime covered sword, spear, or ax raised high.

Slaughter begat slaughter, and doubt and misery was replaced by simple rage.

So now Khorne sat, as tall as Khaine, armored in black steel and dark smoke on a Skull Throne.

Endless armies flowed at its feet, made from those freed of reason, guilt, and filled with the Truth of Khorne.

Khaine looks up at Khorne on its mountain once more; from the blood spattered burnt plains that they have fought upon countless times.

And Khorne roars again, as it charges down from the Skull Throne it eternally occupies. Rage and spite spur it on, for it knows it has been denied its rightful prize.

'I never wanted this.' Lilieath thinks to herself again, as the great black wings of the crow flap, carrying her back to the center of the Pantheon; to the white pillars of the parliament where she spoke the words that doomed them all.

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"Grandfather." Lilieath called out to Khaine, while standing midway up the white steps of parliament. He was slowly walking up the steps, far later in attendance than all the other gods.

"What is it?" The God of War replied irritably, orange armor glowing faintly with annoyance. He was bitter and bored from the long peace that came after the War in Heaven.

"I had a dream." Lilieath grasped her left arm, shivering at the memory of the nightmares she saw of what was to come. However, to stay silent was to see worse things come to pass.

"What dream?" Khaine said, stopping on the steps to look down at her. Orange eyes narrowed, yet burning with both curiosity and expectation. If the Goddess of Dreams and Visions had come to the God of War, surely it meant that a great enemy was to come, and battle was what he was made for.

"I saw your death, grandfather." Lilieath spoke, and Khaine's eyes widened a little before laughing at her.

"I am the God of War. granddaughter." Khaine finally spoke, wheezing a little from laughing so hard. "Death is a part of me. Tell me, what foe dares to strike me down, and will I take it down with me?"

"No grandfather." Lilieath shook her head. "You will not die a glorious death."

"What?" Khaine's voice was calm, but she could see the rage burning in his eyes as the shards of the Reaper, an ancient scar he received as his reward for slaying a Star God, rose to the surface blackening the orange and red of his armor.

"You will die by the hands of mortals." She said, and the blackness grew across Khaine. "Torn apart by the Aeldari, we will all die in depravity."

Then and there, with only words, she gave herself and her people to Slaanesh.

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'I never wanted this.' The thought echoed in her head as it had for the past several thousand years.

It had echoed when Khaine stormed from the Sea of Souls and became the Lord of Murder; slaughtering the very people he had spilt his divine blood, and spent thousands of years protecting.

It had echoed when her crying parents, Isha and Kurnous, begged the Phoenix King Asuryan to let them speak to their mortal children.

It had echoed when that same Phoenix King, furious at the betrayal of his order by her mother and father, gave them to Khaine to torture and blame for their future deaths.

Echoes and echoes of the same thought rang as civil war raged between gods.

When her grand-uncle, the Smith God Vaul, bargained for her parent's freedom.

When Khaine beat and broke Vaul for breaking his promise, before binding him to his own flaming anvil.

When fair Eldanesh took up Vauls's sword, only to be run through by Khaine's blade in cold blood.

Even now, the dark path she had started them on had not ended.

Visions of her mother forced themselves before her eyes. She would be one of the last remaining gods of the Aeldari, stripped bare and kept in a rusted cage. Her head, shoulders, knees, and toes were all curled in pain as blood spilt from her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose.

Nurgle's poisons ate away at her insides and clogged her lungs. Meanwhile, boils gathered together to form pustules on her pearly skin. Throughout all this, fevers fried thoughts and memories from her mind.

All of the blemishes and blood disappeared with time, cured by the divine essence of the Goddess of Life. But, all this was for nought, for once she was healed, the fleshy vines of rot and ruin would reach through the bar and seize her golden hair and arms, and force her mouth open for Nurgle's pox and plague filled ladle to pour another putrid concoction from his cracked and broken cauldron.

'I never wanted this.' She thought to herself as she looked down on their patheon; still a glorious beautiful city of bone white buildings and extravagant tapestries; organic lines and curves in every part of its architecture.

But, to stay silent was to endure far worse.

The Aeldari would whisper that it was her lust for her father's attention that drove her to speak to Khaine.

'Better a defamatory lie than the terrible truth.' Lilieath thought to herself, for it was not her father that forced her to speak, but her mother.

Isha was the Goddess of Life, and life was a constant state of balance and change.

The polar opposite of what the Aeldari had become.

In her dreams, Lilieath had watched her mother beg and plead with her mortal children; to turn them from their evil ways. Some would listen, but most would mock and spurn her warnings, instead demanding more of nature's bounty to feed their ever growing thirst.

Then, on one unknowable night, Isha would come with fatal song and silent voice to take back what she gave.

Daughter to Khaine and Morai Heg, Isha carried within her two different stories of death. When she could bear it no more, her cries would become a banshee howl.

Isha was the mother of the Aeldari, and the mother of all that they needed to be. She gave life not only to them but the plants that they grew and the beasts that they hunted. And in the wild the mother not only gives but takes.

No matter how hard an injured cub cries, the lioness sinks her teeth into its stomach to take back the flesh and blood she gave in order to feed the other starving cubs with warmer healthier milk.

Parent birds pluck the smallest squealing chick from the nest, and cast it down to the ground to find more food for their larger healthier children.

So, Isha would take back what she gave to her sons and daughters, so new life could live once more.

However, Isha was not a wild animal.

Every life she took, each child undone by her voice would bring misery and mourning to her eternal heart.

And after eons, a new Goddess would be born; more terrible than serendipitous Slaanesh, self-defeating Tzeentch, rage-filled Khorne, or despondent Nurgle.

A sane self-loathing goddess of merciless culling and terrible purpose; the Miserable Mother. A goddess that would take from the weak and the strong in equal measure, to balance out the mourning she would spread. A new reaper of souls that kept all things in balance while seeking to tip the scale to one side at the same time. An internal hypocrisy that would see her torn apart by her own two hands.

Lilieath's visions ended there, and she did not wish to see any further. The endless black tears streaming down her suffering mother's face was enough to choose Slaanesh over her.

It would be easy to blame the Aeldari. Many times she had cursed, writhed, even had tantrums at their folly. No matter how many visions of death and despair she sent their way, her dreams never changed. Some had listened, becoming outcasts and drifters. Some even reverted to the wild, letting nature curb their instincts.

But, the majority either ignored her warnings or took them as unavoidable prophecies, further descending into madness in order to shut her out; imbibing in psychedelics, stimulants, and blasphemous mental sensations so they no longer dreamed or even slept.

A stabbing sensation drove into her gut, and her mind returned from the back of the crow to the perch on her Grandmother's shoulder.

Morai Heg's already bent back collapsed even further, as if she too could feel some unescapable pain.

'It has begun.' Lilieath thought to herself, and although she had seen and felt this very moment for tens of thousands of years, dark terror froze her blood and crept around her shoulders like an icy blanket or a stranger's arm.

Before them, Tzeentch sprouted 9 crooked mouths, each containing only 9 teeth and 9 different tongues. It whispered 9 heretical hymns, with 9 nauseating noises, each containing 9 sinister secrets. 9 different glyphs from 9 dead races appeared, and 9 baleful glows filled the room.

Outside Isha's garden, three Heralds climbed atop a massive molting maggot and rang their bells 7 times.

Khorne roared at Khaine, and charged him with its great sword in hand.

8 different blows fell; the head, the eyes, the neck, the wrist, forearm, upper thigh, behind the knee, with a final slash between the ribs.

Every blow, bar the final one, was deflected or dodged. When the final strike dug into Khaine's armor, he answered in turn; stabbing Khorne through its chest and binding the two giants of fire and smoke in a bladed embrace.

Lilieath gasped as the pain stabbed through her again a second time, then a third, then a fourth. Each sensation of suffering grew, spreading across her skin like lascivious eyes ogling at her body; imagining the dark torments it could inflict upon her fair flesh.

Then, the fifth pain closed like a vice around her throat, as if some ghostly hand had dug itself underneath her skin; like the hand of a stingy shopper searching at a fruit seller stall, finally finding the most succulent one of them all.

Then the 6th pain came, and tore out her throat.

Beside her, Morai Heg buckled, and blood burst out of her back followed by her ancient spine.

Across the Pantheon, the invisible forming hands of Slaanesh stole from the gods one by one; tearing off beautiful Atharti's skin, ripping out watchful Hekarti's eyes, pulling out Asuryan's heart and as many other organs as she could from the Phoenix King's broken body.

Khaine buckled as Slaanesh tore at his muscles and sinews, thirsty for the physical perfection of power and violence they contained.

As his body began to tear, the Lord of Murder rose, lifting up his spear still buried in Khorne's body before throwing the God of War off of its tip back to his Skull Throne. Then, the ever bleeding hands of Khorne took his spear and stabbed it into his gut.

A fire pillar formed, incinerating Slaanesh's taint, but also burning out Khaine's own body.

Drawing deep from his legends of bitter training and endless effort, Khaine focussed on all his different aspects and legends; driving out the flair and flamboyance that had been growing inside him. However, it was not enough. She who Thirsts still snatched at the torn tendons her earlier ravagings had revealed, and tugged at them tearing muscle away from Khaine's bones.

With a hoarse cry, Khaine stabbed his spear deeper into his gut. As his cheeks sagged and eyes sunk into their sockets, he drew out the aspect of the Reaper; turning black and charred like the living-mental monstrosity he had slain so long ago.

But, before Khaine could finish his battle with Slaanesh, Khorne stood over him; giant sword by its side.

As its eyes glowed red, Khorne lifted its sword above its head, and struck Khaine with a titanic two-handed blow.

With the aspect of the Reaper so close to the fore, Khaine shattered into countless shards, just as the Star Gods had been in the ancient past.

And Slaanesh screamed with Lilieath's throat.

"MI~NE!" She sang, still wrapping stolen organs with stolen skin. "MI~~~NE!" Nailless fingers pointed at Khorne, accusing the thief that stole her prey.

Khorne merely stared at the remains of Khaine before raising its head to the blood and gore that twisted and twirled around Slaanesh; reforming into pink-purple flesh, claws, nails, and horns. The giant sword groaned as the black gauntleted fist of Khorne clenched around its handle, before being raised horizontally to point at Slaanesh.

The new god shriek-cackled, and leapt forward with its new elongated legs. Hundreds of hands grew and shrunk from its back and sides as the minds of mortals went mad with Hir birth; shifting and churning Hir nightmarish form into new horrors and terrors.

Then a bulbous putrid fist back-handed the new god, sending Hir crashing through decaying buildings and crumbling arches.

Nurgle, oldest of them all, stepped forward from within the Warp; carried by its own two legs as much as the sea of Nurglings that spilled from his fat folds, eager to bury themselves underneath the Plaguefather's sloppy green backside in order to lift his girth with the billions of others beneath him.

Nurgle laughed as Slaanesh writhed in pain and shame, before casting a backward glance to Isha's domain.

The once vibrant lands wilted and died, drained of life by Slaanesh's ever growing thirst; giving free passage for the forces of Nurgle to trample over them. The Grandfather's minions sloppily flowed forwards, guffawing and giggling as they stumbled and slogged forwards, only stopping periodically to grab the dying beasts and birds so they could cover them with vomit, phlegm, and flatulence.

Isha herself was unharmed, her nature protecting her from Slaanesh's thirst.

Freed from the silvery light of the now dead Phoenix King's edict, she sang Wraithbone into armor and spear as Nurgle's minions drew near.

Nurgle smiled as his minions surrounded the Goddess of Life on all sides. Then a crab-like claw cut into Nurgle's face, tearing into the soggy meat and already softened skull of the Plaguelord's head.

Nurgle giggled and reached out with meaty paws, only to have Slaanesh dance away from him as Khorne's blade slammed into the other side of the Grandfather's face.

Ruinous Powers they may be, but they were as alien to each other as to anyone else. With the mouth watering Aeldari gods gone, they now turned to the less tasty prey that was each other.

As the three fought in the open palace of the Aeldari Pantheon, before the broken bloody body of Asuryan barely held together by his silver armor, Lilieath crawled forwards toward Morai Heg's body as Tzeentch's spells undid the wards around them. Bleeding from the throat, and no longer able to sing the Wraithbone, she pulled herself up by her staff; made from the pitch black quill of one of her Grandmother's birds.

Cawing filled the room as the murder of crows returned to their master, squawking and swooping endlessly, eyes wild with anger.

Then the Raven Lord's spell struck Morai Heg's minions; who had all drawn near to protect their master one last time.

Evil intelligence grew in their eyes, and thirst for knowledge filled their hearts. Their body's grew as their high pitched caws turned to dull croaks.

Lilieath watched in horror as Morai Heg's crows became Tzeentch's ravens, and they descended upon their previous master's body, hungry for the knowledge contained in her divine blood.

Lifting her staff, Lilieath began a silent spell of sleep, hoping that she could undo Tzeentch's spell by putting their minds to rest.

But, Tzeentch saw her and with 9 different barks ordered the ravens to attack.

Black beaks descended upon her, and stabbed into the ground she had been standing upon.

Stumbling forward, unable to breathe properly with a torn throat, Lilieath swung her staff; shooing the ravens away from her Grandmother.

The giant ravens hopped backwards and forwards surrounding her, letting their siblings dart forwards while she was distracted. Slowly, the black forms drew closer and closer as Lilieath choked on her own blood; body sweat drenched from exertion.

Black feathered bodies darkened her surroundings, as cold unblinking avian looked down at her.

She swung at the head of a raven that had snapped dangerously close to her face, forcing it to flap backwards, but the swing was too much for her and she stumbled forwards.

Then a black beak closed around her left wrist and bit.

Whispery gasps escaped her throat as she tried to scream in pain, then there was shake and a pop, and she was flung away from the flock of birds surrounding her.

Lilieath lay there gagging as the croaks of ravens filled her ear.

Finally, as the exertion finally left her, she pushed herself up off the floor, only to stumble into a pool of blood.

Her blood, for as she looked down in shock at her left shoulder, she saw nothing there.

A raven croaked, and she looked upwards. There, above her head, her own arm was pinched in a black beak like the leg of a half-swallowed cricket.

The raven spat out the arm and returned to the flock; already sinking their beaks into their previous master's body, sucking out the blood like vampire finches.

Shame, rage, and hopelessness filled her eyes with tears as the ever mutating form of Tzeentch finally stepped into their broken domain.

An azure 9 fingered arm sprouted and reached for the rune skinned pouch of Morai Heg; the pouch that contained the fate of all mortals, only to be suddenly bitten by one of the ravens.

Tzeentch grew a face to face the flock and the angry birds croaked in unison, not having had their fill.

Frowns of different sizes formed, and furrowed brows with eyebrows but no eyes creased across the Raven lord's formless blue flesh.

Then Tzeentch shrugged, and floated upwards to join the battle of the other Ruinous Powers.

In the proverbial sky above the Pantheon, purple clouds gathered. The Sea of Souls roiled as carnage, hedonism, and complacency tore and bit at each other.

Tzeentch's true minions, the Lords of Change circled in these treacherous skies as clouds of Chaos let loose mad lightning upon them; frying some of their number leaving nothing but black ash and monstrous screams.

These blue and purple daemons had taloned hands and vulture-like necks which held up beaked heads with beady eyes. Great feathered wings carried their scaly frames, as they all carried stolen artifacts of other primitive gods around their necks.

Masters of magics all, they spread out to 9 different points, centered around the Chaos gods below. Flying in obscene patterns, trailing floating feathers behind them like disgusting ink; they drew black marks and curses for Tzeentch's great spell.

As Tzeentch took center stage, it lifted 9 arms and made 9 glyphs.

Chaos lightning gathered above the Chaos gods, and the three below shielded their eyes from the blazing light that haloed the horrid Tzeentch.

Then all 9 hands thrust downwards at the other Gods, followed by roaring thunder and flashing bolts.

Khorne shouldered its sword, and swung back at Tzeentch with all its might.

Nurgle belched, coughed, and then vomited green bile gas and stench.

Slaanesh opened its toothy mouth, and screamed with the twisted stolen voice of beings that sang matter into reality.

As the Four struck at each other, their individual Truths shifted the Warp; twisting, cutting, corroding, and corrupting the very fabric of reality.

Tzeentch's spells swayed the laws of the Warp and physical realm to his side.
Khorne's sword smashed the space between real and un-real.
Nurgle's rancid breath spread and stank; rusting and rotting the walls between thing and not-thing.
And Slaanesh's scream shattered the thin shell of sanity that held the now roiling madness of the Warp behind the veil of dreams and nightmare.

Where the Four's blows met, the Sea of Souls shook, and then space opened.
Like the eye of a mad-man awakened from a fever dream, empty space split open letting out the Chaos and cruelty of the deepest reaches of the mind into the world.
Fear and hopelessness. Terror. An eye filled with the Terror; of knowing the Primordial Truth of this new world.

Madness.
Violence.
Despair.
Selfishness.

The Four's Neverborn screamed and roared as the very Warp poured out into the materium, like air from a hull-breached void ship, dragging their non-existent being into reality.

Billions upon billions of unprepared daemons were dragged to their doom; to dissipate as their very essence spread out like steam from raindrops on red-hot steel; fogging the minds and sight of psykers in a thick cloud of panic and horror.
Bloodletters howled as Plaguewalkers groaned. Pink and blue horrors screamed and Daemonettes laughed as their bodies broke apart, burning and bubbling as their non-flesh fell away into the nothingness they truly were.

In that moment as laughing Nurglings rolled past Great Unclean Ones, who clung to their crusty cleavers with blades dug deep into the remains of Isha's domain, barely holding on as the Eye of Terror spilled daemons in never-ending tears, Lilieath saw her mother. Clothed in nothing but her broken armor and torn shift, the Goddess of Life took one last look at the remains of their Pantheon before cutting her rooted feet from the land that formed her body and home.

Weakened and silently weeping, Lilieath watched as all that made her mother launched herself into the howling winds and fled to the world of the living; towards a golden blood-stained path bordered on both sides with deep ditches, brimming with billions upon billions of dead and suffering mortals.

Nurgle roared, his prize denied. A horrid sound, like the concerted bubbling flatulence of corpse gasses passing from bloated cadavers in a mass grave. It was an alien sound for the God of Despair; for rage and anger were Khorne's domain. In-turn Tzeentch laughed as secret visions it had never seen came to pass as it knew they always would. Khorne brooded, feeling itself become more cunning; plans for future conquests forming in its skull. Slaanesh slumped, giggling softly to Hirself; the slow pleasures and gentle whispers of addiction and avarice filling Hir mind like fumes from an opium pipe.

As Chaos struck at itself, they had infected one another. Traits from their siblings polluted the purity of purpose they possessed when battling the Pantheon. Then, the moment passed and they were as they had always been. For in the Warp, what happened tomorrow would happen yesterday. Siblings of cause and causality chasing the other's tail only to find it was its own brother.

Even as the Four realized a change that had happened before they had been born, the broken form of the Crone goddess stirred. The ravens drinking her blood shimmered, shedding off illusions of madness and ditching the greedy look in their eyes for the cold intelligence of the avian companions of Morai Heg.

As one the murder of crows flew upwards, disappearing into the Webway before reappearing above the Lords of Change with small mortal forms on their backs, followed by the echoing ghosts of laughter.

Cegorach, the First Fool and Mad Clown, played his last joke for the Aeldari gods. Being of trickery and showmanship, Cegorach could not resist the irony of deceiving the Warp creature that called itself the Great Deceiver.

Black beaks and talons tore the wings off of the Lords of Change as Harlequin riders jumped from their backs, floating down with Flip-Belts onto Tzeentch's daemons to deliver painful death with the Harlequin's kiss.

"The Laughing God's Faithful have arrived, and Death and Fate have taken the stage!" Cried one of the masked crow riders, leaping from its mount towards one of Tzeentch's Greater Daemons.

Too close for magic, the daemon opens its mouth to bite the foolish mortal in two, but snaps short as the Aeldari performer backflips in midair, before falling past its shut beak, wrapping its legs in checkerbox tights around the daemons long neck.

"Feel my kiss, and despair!" the Harlequin cried, stabbing the sharpened tube attached to its wrist down into the daemon's breast. Coiled monofilament wires burst and danced within the chest cavity of the demon; liquifying its innards, forcing it to cough up blood and gore before falling from the sky.

Pulling back the monofilaments into her gauntlet with a click, the Fool's follower kicked off from the dissipating daemon, landing back onto her crow steed before firing into the eye of a different Lord of Change that had begun to flank them with thousands of monomolecular blades from her Shuriken pistol while simultaneously throwing a Star-Bola to wrap around the beak of another daemon looming behind them.

Below them, the Four turned to Morai Heg, for the Crone cackled as she lifted her spineless, blind, beak mark covered body with her right arm stump and left hand.

With a single motion of her stump, the shards of Khaine rose, then flew to the waiting hands of even more Harlequin, who tucked them under arm, before disappearing in flashes of blinding color as Mirage Launchers fired from positions hidden by Holo-Fields.

"MI~~~~NE!" Slaanesh screamed, more of its prey stolen by a lesser god, and raised its scythed hands to slash apart the Crone.

But, before it could take a single step, silver chains wrapped around its face; for the broken form of Asuryan was replaced by a being of silvery flame, donned with his shining armor. New edicts rang, binding Slaanesh; frying its disobedient skin and treacherous limbs.

Built from the Gods of the Aeldari Pantheon, Asuryan's orders held some sway over She who Thirsts; part of the reason the Chaos god stole so much from the Phoenix King in the first place.

The youngest Chaos god screamed, shattering the Wraithbone walls and ground around it.

Silvery flames spread across its form, as the Fire of Asuryan grabbed the ends of the chains that formed his edict, and yanked Hir to the ground.

Khorne and Nurgle looked on as their youngest member struggled; then they fell upon Hir with cunning and greed.

What morsel could this last ember of a dead god provide, when compared to the succulent full form of their youngest sibling?

However, the most horrified of them all was Tzeentch; for it watched with all its ever-forming eyes the loss of the greatest prize.

For before Morai Heg was a single Aeldari warrior, bowed before her bent bleeding form.

The Crone Goddess reached down with her wrinkled left hand, and picked up the Aeldari between thumb and forefinger.

Then, she raised up their armored form above her head, where the last shard of Khaine hung.

And with a cracked voice passing through cracked lips, the Goddess of Fate pronounced them, "Young King."

Fire and fury burst from the shard, swallowing the Aeldari's form; consuming all that they were, are, and would be in an inferno of hate.

As the ashes of the Young King fell from Morai Heg's grasp, the awful, giant, full form of Kaela Mensha Khaine rose once more for one final time.

Tzeentch screamed, for it knew all was too late, but in its maddening self-defeating schemes, it could not stop itself from casting a spell it could only ever cast once.

9 newly formed mouths cast 9 terrible spells in 9 damned dialects. Each spell more powerful than the one before formed a cyclical ring of ever growing mind manipulation and madness. However, each and every spell was just as impotent as the last.

With a banshee cry Khaine swung his burning blade onto the broken bones of the Crone's last outstretched hand. The hand that held the rune skinned pouch of Morai Heg; the pouch that contained the fate of all mortals.

Sword then spell hit Morai Heg, and the cackling goddess of crows vanished from sight under azure flames; burning her form and memory from both Warp and mind. Consuming all her myths and legends; leaving only the Black Library and faded runes in forgotten temples to remember her name.

Even in the Webway Tzeentch's spell was felt, for the Harlequin carrying the shards of Khaine stumbled, mission forgotten, purpose lost. Then, they began to dance. In practiced form, all in sync with a performance planned by the Laughing God, they moved forwards. For binding every hand and every limb was a strand of fate grasped by the Clown God's hand.

The floating god sniggered, puppeteering its troupe in both Webway and Warp with its last gift from Morai Heg. Although its fellow gods were dead and its followers damned; the last laugh would always be the Mad God Cegorach's.

As the ashes of Morai Heg drifted away with the last spent shard of Khaine,
her severed hand flew, straight and true, like a spear,
Through tainted air, beyond beak and claw, with not a single fear
For nothing could deny its destined course.
To spill the contents it carried, and let mortal backs bend under fate's cruel weight.

Tzeentch's minions rushed to block the hand's path and seize all mortal fate in order to deliver to their master's infinite hands. But, the crows of the Crow Goddess swooped down upon them, having thinned the herd of Tzeentch's Lords of Change.
Blessed with the blood of Morai Heg, willingly given, they saw all fate; avoiding daemonic blows and magic blasts, while casting counter-spells to all of their curses with cacophonous cawing cries.
"This dance is our last, so make it our finest!" Cried one of the Harlequin, for though she no longer knew why she was here or what she was fighting for, her God's script ran in her mind.

Throwing another Star-Bola at a Flamer of Tzeetch, she leapt from her mount without a second glance at the plasma charged conflagration that incinerated the triple mouthed daemon.

Landing on the head of a Pink horror, she pulled out her Fusion Pistol and blasted it through the head with superheated force.

Torn in two, the two pink halves turned blue and two new Blue horrors wrapped their many hands around her legs.

With a twirl, she slammed one horror against the other before smashing them both into the side of a manta ray shaped Tzeenchian screamer, squashing both stunned daemons underfoot.

"In war there is poetry. In death release!"

Pulling her power sword from its sheath, she buried it between the many eyes and fangs of the Screamer's head and twisted the blade, driving herself and the Screamer straight into the path of Tzeench's magic.

The Chaos god screamed as another one of its minions ran headlong into blue and purple flames; once again defeated as Harlequin and crow covered the hand's path. Slaying daemons and sacrificing themselves to shield Morai Heg's pouch from the self-styled Master of Fate.

Swarms of Horrors, Screamers, and Flamers hurtled after the hand.
Like clouds of locusts, they blackened the land.

Forsight can only cover so much, for although the crows saw all they were only one.
So one by one they fell.
Torn to shreds by seas of Horrors.
Shattered to pieces after being surrounded by Screamers.
Burned to cinders, steed and rider, as Flamers filled their path with purple conflagrations.

"Long ago, Lilieath foretold this day." The last Harlequin spoke as it rode upon the very hand it was to protect; firing Shuriken pistol and Neuro Disruptor at the two closest targets among the thousands that chased them.

Purple bolts fly towards them, and with one last look at the swiftly approaching portal between reality and nightmare, the last Harlequin summersaults from the hand directly into the path of the magic.

"Like Cegorach, I laugh at fear and pain."

And laugh she did, all the way; as she plunged feet first into the purple bolts of Warp energy.
Foul power shattered her feet and legs like sticks, cauterized her midriff until it was as brittle as dried plaster before it incinerated the rest of her body; leaving only a spinning mask that sunk silently into the Webway, just as daemonic claws swiped at the Warp where it was.

Then, with a silent rip the bag was gone and the deed was done. Infinite strands of fate flew out into the mortal space between the stars, forever out of Tzeentch's reach; who shrieked with 9 frustrated howls and beat the ground of 9 different realms with 9 balled fists.

Meanwhile, Slaanesh, who had been stabbed and stepped on by Khorne and Nurgle returned their blows in kind; stabbing them both with scissor-like claws before kicking them away with purple hooved feet.

Grabbing the chains that bound Hir with Hir multiple hands, the Chaos god wrenched them causing the flaming figure in silver armor to stumble forwards.

Smiling, the Prince of Pleasure wrapped the chains around Hir chitinous forelimbs; dragging the struggling remnants of the Phoenix King closer towards her.

With one final yank, Asuryan stumbled forward, right into the outstretched pincers and claws of She who Thirsts. Those limbs that attempted to grab the flaming body passed right through the fire, but the claws that grabbed the silver armor found purchase there, and they crushed and pried the metal like a lobster with a clam.

Bit by bit, the armor warped and the flames that formed Asuryan sputtered and shook like a campfire in strong winds. Finally, his knees buckled sending his armored helm into one of Slaanesh's hands.

For one moment, the metallic creaking and grinding of claws crushing metal stopped as Slaanesh tilted the helm upwards, stroking the flaming figure's ethereal chin with a soft finger even as Asuryan's flames burned the digits all the way to the bone.

Then a sadistic grin spread across Slaanesh's beautiful face, and she raised 6 scythed limbs before stabbing and slicing the silvery helm from 6 different sides.

The silvery flames of the Phoenix King sputtered once before being snuffed out, leaving only smoking silvery ruins behind as well as grinning Slaanesh. But, as the ruined helm of Asuryan fell from Hir grasp, a single spark flashed in the rubble, then detonated with apocalyptic force.

Slaanesh, Khorne, and Nurgle were consumed by flames that wiped Asuryan's palace from the face of the Warp, and those same flames burned through the very fabric of reality, falling down to real-space where mortal hands could find them someday.

As three of the Four shrieked, roared, and groaned while the fourth continued its terrible tantrum, the Eye of Terror twisted.

The echoes of Slaanesh's screams had tainted it.

What was a gaping wound became a hungry maw that swallowed entire worlds, licking them up like grains of rice with countless purple tongues. The Aeldari empire, filled with the sacrificed, died a second time as the remains of Hir voice fell upon them.

Daemons took form on their wicked worlds, descending upon the damned.

As the screams and cries of billions of voices left from torn throats on millions of worlds, the victorious yet defeated Chaos gods rose. Each of the Four glowered at the others, cursing and blaming them for their lost prizes and stolen prey.

With a shriek, a shout, a mocking laugh, and a cursed spell; the battle between them began anew. Keepers of Secrets formed from the thick musk of Slaanesh's pores, descending upon the winged Lords of Change flying upon winds of magic. Great Unclean Ones guffawed as their fat flabby fingers grappled with enraged Bloodthirsters spitting fire and fury with every breath. Seas of lesser demons charged forward, eager to draw the new borders of their god's domain.

It was a sick parody of the Eternal War fought moments before.

No, it was no longer a war. No side could win. Whether it be Khorne's rage, or Nurgle's despair; Tzeentch's madness, or Slaanesh's hunger.

They were Chaos. The Four; Evermore.

No One would best the other.

The Eternal War had ended… and The Great Game had begun.
Lilieath woke from her vision dream, similar yet different in detail.
Cautiously, she whispered into her Grandmother's ear with cupped hands to hide what she said from Tzeentch's ever present gaze.

A twinkle appeared in Morai Heg's eye, but she remained as still as she had always been, giving no reason for Tzeentch to suspect anything.

'So, Isha, you have another path ahead of you, daughter.' The Crone thought to herself. 'Whether it's for better or worse, my blind eyes can't see at this time, but let my blessings be upon you and all your children,'

A slightly strained crease crossed across her face as she gave a sideways glance at her little Lilieath on her shoulder.

'I'm sorry that I can't say the same for you, Granddaughter.'
—----------------------------------------

Lilieath woke in the dark palace of the Prince of Pleasure; to the sucking sound of meat off bone.

Her body remained as ruined as it was at Hir birth. Left arm missing. Throat still torn out.

In the darkness, the source of the sound was hunched over the remains of a different Aeldari god, mutilated beyond all recognition, greedily sucking off the remaining flesh; digesting marrow while it was still in its living victim's bones.

Then the sucking sound stopped, and Hir head rose and turned towards her; baleful eyes glowing like those of a great cat in the dark.

The many hands and claws of She who Thirsts waved like reeds in the wind, before reaching forwards to crawl sickly and sensuously; like a mix between a bug and predator of the night.

Finally, it reached her, and cupped her cheeks with hands softer than silks, as the nails from those same hands dug into her skull like the prongs of a fork does to a juicy steak.

The beautiful, yet disgusting face of the newest Chaos god cooed softly, a sweet dove sound. Then she smiled; so gently.

A smile so sweet that spread and spread, splitting cheek and ear, before going around the back of Hir head.

The corners slithered between the horns that were there instead of hair.

Crossing the brow, the bridge of the nose, before joining up again at the top lip.

Hir mouth opened like a burst vomit bag, turning the face inside out, revealing a maw filled with teeth, tongues, tongue covered teeth and teeth covered tongues.

Some were spikey and serrated to stab and slice.

Others were flat and hard to gnash and grind.

All covered in a thin layer of gristle; the grime of its first meal, the remains of her family.

It lunged forward, and darkness swallowed her.

The last thing she heard… was the crackle and pop of a thousand teeth piercing her skull.

But her silent suffering had just begun.

 

[Nidhog153]

Isha's armor fell apart as she fell from the Sea of Souls, upwards into the Great Rift in space-time.

Bitterness and anger raged in her breast as winds of warp energy propelled her into the materium.

She watched as the scar turned purple, and the smokey trails of loose Warp energy turned into massive hungry tendrils of the Warp consumed entire planets; smothering worlds in the thick smog of suffering and Chaos that it has become.

One of the tendrils took notice of her, and approached with the illusion of slowness created by its interstellar size.

Even now, she saw gas giants and their satellite rings of moons fall through the tendril, consumed in seconds; showing the sheer scale of the monstrosity and the speed at which it moved.

Twisting away from it in the semi-real space that now existed between the materim and immaterium on the border of the Eye of Terror, Isha thought furiously as to where she could go.

The Webway was one option, but in the dark space between the stars, no portals were available for her to enter its labyrinthian walls.

The Warp was no escape; the equivalent of running down dark alleys of sin infested cities while shadowy stalkers followed at every corner. At best, it would be a treacherous run through horror and nightmare. At worst, it would be a desperate last stand followed by eternal torment.

Isha grimaced as a third option passed through her mind.

It would be painful; and a great shame that admitted her powerlessness. However, at the very least it would throw off her pursuers, and buy time for her to consider her options.

With a twirl of her finger, the Goddess changed the direction of her fall; onto a familiar desert planet where ancient foes had sought to undo them all.

'The dark pylons of the Necron should hold back the Warp to some degree.' Isha thought to herself as she approached the dead desert planet, before laughing to herself. 'To think that the weapons that were made to kill all that lived provide me with the opportunity to survive.'

It was a cruel irony. Necron pylons were the blackstone weapons built with the intention of stripping her and her allies of their greatest advantage, the magics of the Sea of Souls. A bitter irony in itself, for it was Vaul who forged the first blackstone alloys in his mighty forge; providing the materials for the construction of his Six Talismans of Vaul that decimated Necron starships and Star Gods alike.

Having stolen many stores of her allies' treasures, the Necron in turn mixed the psycho-active blackstone with their own deadly technology; converting entire solar systems into mobile barriers to push back the interstellar armies of her psychic children, and their even more powerful Old One overlords.

Flashes of green lightning followed by torrents of emerald energy struck out from gauss lightning arrays and particle whips; all positioned behind the detestable resonance generated by these Dark Pylons that echoed with others of similar make on other dead planets orbiting dead stars. Unfearful of the psychic repercussions that would usually follow, they fired again and again; shredding void ships apart, spilling the bodies of her children and their allies into the cold dark space.

Now, unpowered and unmaintained, with many of the once desiccated worlds restored by Isha's own hands, and many more by the hands of her mortal children, this one planet's pylons should not bar her from entering.

It would however, serve as a temporary ward against the far more disorganized essence of the Warp and Chaos.

Isha gathered all the energies that remained inside her, and prepared to penetrate the Dark Pylon's field, purple tendril slowly swallowing planets behind her.

Pain hit her as she hit the anti-psychic field. Nerve endings fried, as what felt like baleful electricity criss crossed her skin. Through gritted teeth, Isha forced herself forwards, and began to reinforce her body to prepare for planetary impact.

Behind her the tendril swayed, suddenly having lost sight of its prey, the barrier hiding Isha's divine essence; like thick rain washing away scent. So it returned to the Aeldari coreworlds, to suffuse more souls in the Warp's sadistic suffering.
—-----------------------------------
Isha woke upon the planet's surface. Pain covered her; partially from the ever present pylon field, but also from the force of her landing. She looked back at the crumbling mountain top she had punched through, as well as the long trail of superheated sand she had left when she had skidded to a stop. Only her perfect skin and hair had protected her, remains of clothing and armor mostly gone.

With a sigh, she sang thin Wraithbone into a simple shift. Although a refugee, her race's pride prevented her from walking across even this supposedly dead planet with no one to see her in the nude.

Climbing out of the crater she had left, she shook her head. The pylons passive presence messed with her mind and Warp sight, randomly dimming and blurring as her essence pushed back against the field's suffocating presence.

She stumbled as her vision lost focus.

'My children…' she thought, suddenly understanding where the dizzy spell came from.

The Aeldari were dying across their Core worlds, and with every death her power waned. The consumption of their souls by She who Thirsts, drained her; like an open bleeding wound.

Clutching her stomach, she collapsed into the dry sand, and curled into a ball; weeping.

'Mother of the Aeldari' she thought bitterly. 'What mother runs from the monsters that consume their children.' But there was nothing she could do for them; only weep as she heard them suffer and cry, even though all of this was nothing but karmic retribution.

As the tears touched the surface of the sand, small brown plants began to grow; the precursor to desert weeds to provide shade and suck moisture trapped deep beneath the ground, the very beginnings of terraforming this dead planet.

Looking at the plant with blurry eyes, Isha sniffled, before climbing to her feet once more.

'I am sorry.' She thought, both to the plant and her children. They both had a harsh destiny ahead of them, but there was no choice for either of them. They would either overcome it or die. Whether it be from drying out in this desert, or extinction at daemonic hands.

'I must move on.' Turning away from the plant, Isha focussed on her Warp sight once more.

This planet hid her presence, but Chaos would eventually come. It would be easy for a mortal mind to calculate her vector and speed to determine the star-system she landed in. Even for the chronically insane minds of Chaos, Tzeentch at the very least would eventually determine where she was.

Searching for a Webway gate, Isha walked on through the sand flowing between her toes and over her bare feet. Harsh sun and heat, reflected off of her pearly skin; like natural sunscreen.

Day and night she walked, above the Dark Pylons buried beneath the sand, under the small moon and dual-sun of this harsh land; all throughout hearing the voices of the damned.

On the 10th day, Isha collapsed. Her Warpsight had cleared somewhat, thanks to the wards she remembered using during the War in Heaven, but the mental strain and fruitlessness of her search had drained her mind and soul of all their energies.

As she lay in the sand, barely breathing, a faint burst of binaric static sounded from beyond the dunes, followed by the sound of heavy boosts wading through shifting sands.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: There are mentions of body horror and vivisectoin in the next part. Please read carefully.

It was the clinking of chains that woke Isha next, and for one panicked moment, she feared she had been captured by the mortal agents of Chaos.

However, the binaric static that came from around her quickly told her otherwise.

Keeping her eyes closed, she felt out from herself, grasping the dimensions of the room she was in.

It was made of metal, and very dark. Gears turned and thick pipes shook with the rushing sound of promethium flowing through them. Steam whished from unknown contraptions; covered in gears, levers, buttons, and the half-mechanical skull of the Mechanicus.

'Mon-keigh fanatics' She mentally huffed. A better captor than she had feared, but equally hostile.

Heavy chains bound her arms and upper torso to a cross shaped slab held up against the wall; hardly the welcoming preparations given to a guest. Heavy blast doors kept the room shut, and two white robed figures clinked and clacked across the floor, waving the mechanical tentacles they called mechadendrites around picking up various broken instruments such as circular saws, laser cutters, and plasma torches.

The blast doors clanked, and internal locking mechanisms unbound from each other, as the massive gears on the door spun; whether it was decorative or for practical purposes, Isha could not say.

As the doors opened, a third robed figure entered the room, and the blast doors slammed shut immediately behind her.

Binaric static filled the room once more, and Isha reached out to their minds to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Their method of communication was strange, always with an identifier, and very little respect for the common gothic grammar their species often shared. A strange mish-mash of mathematics, scientific jargon, and religious references; almost a reflection of what their culture was.

Quartermaster Xhal: Risk assessment result requested.

Magos Khmash: Risk assessment overturned. Unrecorded nature of subject = Potential for new information on Xeno species. Classified Eldari. All risks < Acquisition of new samples.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Recovery possible by Class F servitors. Therefore, nascent risk of target deemed to be 0.0000000001%

Quartermaster Xhal: Addendum, recovery possible by only Class F servitors. All other partial or non-lobotomized servitors and Skitari report neotenic regression in mental state. 45 mind wipes were carried out, increasing task flow by 32% past daily median. Request reassessment of effect on servitor, Skitari maintenance efficiency and propose re-schedule of vivisection to post-mortem dissection.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Request denied. Servitor, Skitari maintenance = class 10 process. Canticle 3.251 of Maintenance Hymn Version 45112. "Decrease importance of task = Decreased necessity to improve until loss of efficiency > Rate of acquisition of information from new Xeno sample."

Quartermaster Xhal: Parsing quote… String association within local cogitation network… [[[Error]]] File not Found. Inference: Quote has been truncated through intended or accidental omission. Suggestion: downgrade importance of all further suggestions from Xenobiologis Tirevola using multiplier of 0.05.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Insult detected: 0.05 = communication priority of Class D servitor with only 25% of original brain matter and 0 cogitation augmetics.

Quartermaster Xhal: Warning: Statement does not generate sufficient task importance to cogitate response. Automated binary warning sent: Reformat cogitation banks and recalculate statement importance before decreasing unit efficiency through repeated binary communication requests. Failure to comply = Reprocessing of augmetics for decorative functions due to inferred inherent production fault. Therefore, probability for successful augmetic recycling = <0.0005

Magos Khmash: Enough. Reset all binary communication priorities to default values according to standard communication protocol. Psychic interference requiring all operating teams working on subject to have undergone either total lobotomization or compartmentalization of emotional sensors into cogitation vault is identified as subject risk for target. Counter point: The path laid by the Omnissiah is not an easy one. Risk has been noted, but potential information has been deemed to outweigh risk. All future binary discussions will now be prioritized towards cogitation of vivisection methodology for subject.

Quartermaster Xhal: Resetting cogitation priorities. By the will of the Omnissiah.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: May knowledge show the path forwards. Suggestion 1: assemble neuro-sympathetic link to trauma cogitation vault. Quote: "Know thy enemy as thy self." Greatest method of knowing the enemy = empathy. Therefore, empathetic attachment to subject nervous system during vivisection = highest efficiency method for data extraction from target.

Quartermaster Xhal: Usage of neuro-sympathetic link documented to decrease unit personal negative feedback response by [Data Redacted]. Additional documentation suggests 30% increase in unit wear and a 50% increase in time spent for maintenance leading to a net decrease in user optimization. Addendum: Quote not found.

Magos Khmash: Agreed, projected required increase in data quality exceeds statistically probable outcome. Previous records also provide data that, on average, decrease in subject survival times by 40±5% upon use of neuro-sympathetic link. Current subject importance dictates best course of action would be to increase survival time for longest period of data acquisition.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Usage of data acquired from neuro-sympathetic increases personal unit serotonin levels by median of 250%. Increased motivation = increased efficiency in subject preparation and future data acquisition tasks.

Quartermaster Xhal: Inquiry: has usage of neuro-sympathetically acquired data been confirmed to be addictive.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: [[[Error]]] Inquiry has been deemed to infer on unit worth and faith in the Machine God. Response not generated.

Magos Khmash: Xenobiologis Tirevola, command priority 5-499. Submit to full functional reassessment once current subject vivisection schedule has been completed.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Understood. All responses withheld until full functional reassessment has been completed. Switching mechadendrites to remote manipulation.

Quartermaster Xhal: Magos Khmash, primary reports indicate dermis of subject and cranial follicles were resistant to standard vivisection equipment. This behavior is not reported in previous subjects. Possible explanation?

Magos Khmash: Osseous samples of previous Eldar subjects reported to be several times stronger than plausible from material construction. Similar trait plausible to be extended to other tissues in some individuals.

Quartermaster Xhal: If dermal intrusion = impossible. Then alternative method of intrusion possible is through mucosal membranes. Key targets; oral cavity, nasal membrane, oculi, colon, and genitalia.

Magos Khmash: Latter two options are undesirable. Increase in necessary post operation cleansing rituals should be avoided.

Quartermaster Xhal: Expression of personal relief. Options provided in preferred order of attempts. Personal note: removal of colon and genitalia logged as greatest gift from the Machine God in personal maintenance logs.

Magos Khmash: Similar description found in personal logs. Conjecture: increase in comfort level of subject during procedure leads to minor increase in subject survival time. Therefore, removal of colon and genitalia first = increase survival time for subject?

Quartermaster Xhal: Negative. Log 311510 indicates removal of subject genitalia generated great distress and almost immediate expiry of subject due to shock.

Magos Khmash: Unfortunate. Then the procedure begins with the oral cavity. Prepare for cauterization of tongue and removal of dental protrusions.

Xenobiologis Tirevola: Breach of previous statement made due to change in subject eye movement. Vivisection target is awake.

Isha chuckled to herself, ruse found out as the three augmented Mon-keigh turned towards her.

"Identify yourself and purpose." Demanded the one labeled Magos Khmash as it barked at her in a synthetic voice.

"You demand to know what I am?" She spoke quietly as the rage built inside her from listening to how casually they spoke of brutalizing her children.

As her eyes began to emit a silvery glow, a long forgotten feeling of terror grew in the Tech Priests' mechanically enhanced minds, even with the emotional cogitators physically holding apart brain matter from synapse; preventing the electric signals that would have formed fear.

"Then know me you shall." Her head rose, and the chains binding her creaked and groaned as they snapped apart from a flex of her limbs.

"I am the mother of murdered children. Inheritor of a stolen birthright. The winds and waters of worlds birthed the beings which swam and strode across them at my command."

"I am witness to the War in Heaven. Victim of foolish laws and the Lord of Murder. Betrayer of my uncle and the King of Gods."

"I am the consort of the hunt. Mother to dreams. The daughter of two deities of death. Now, hear the cry that drove my father's blade into my mother's arm!"

Raw awful knowledge rushed into the mind, as the keening wail of the goddess washed over them.

Life, and the place of all creatures within its great cycle, was revealed.

They could see it now, the strands that tied their own mortal fire to the smallest embers in an ant, and where their ashes would go when the final flame died.

To hear her voice was to know one's place in the universe. To see the smallness of all that encompassed their being, and the beauty of belonging to the eternal taking and giving of that which animated them all.

When Isha's voice ended, all that stood before her collapsed; mind and mechanical substitutes, burned out by divine knowledge. Broken were their dreams of grandeur, their faith in the Omnissiah, as the bitter truth of life as they had always instinctually known it; the sheer meaninglessness of their struggle in the grand scheme of things, permeated their every thought.

For in their glazed, opened eyes; the smallest gnat was of equal importance to the very leaders' they had pledged allegiance to. And the damnation of the Goddess of Life robbed them of all their mortal pursuits, for to know the sufferings of the sickest slave, snuffed out all the taste and odors of the finest wines gifted by the greatest lords.

Isha slumped forward, torn chains rattling to the floor, panting with exertion and self-loathing. Cursing mortals was abhorrent to her; even those not under her protection. Furthermore, that cry did not end within this room. Across the planet, servitors, slaves, and Skitarii buckled to their knees while the Tech Priests' binary babbling fell silent in their noosphere as her voice wracked the local Warp.

The Four would surely take notice, no matter how strong the pylons of the Necrons were.

Though her curse had neutered the populace's Warp presence to the point where they could not provide sustenance to the Four, they would provide pitiful protection against the mortal agents of Chaos.

Shaking off the remaining shackles, Isha strode past her slumped captors. The sight of them sickened her, for though it was her curse that brought them low, she hated it. Life was not meant to be lived like this. For as much as what she had shown was the truth, true life was always oblivious to it. No predator would kill a prey if it felt its own teeth pierce its own skin. No tree would drink from the dirt with the knowledge that they were feeding on the fecal matter and corpses of other plants and animals. This was a truth she was supposed to shoulder, not them.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, as the thick blast doors bent beneath her fingers, before she wrenched them out of her way.

She had to hurry. Whether it was by Warp or Webway, she needed to leave. Although she may have damned this world to her pursuers, all would be lost if she were captured.

Then she felt a great golden heat open in the void. The blazing glow of a burning star, scouring the very Warp of all its denizens as it passed. Her wide eyes gazed up into the inky sky, just in time to see the faint flash of a closing warp portal; a brief purple glow among the far brighter stars.

A growing sense of dread approached. Visions of grim death and necessary suffering flashed across her mind, as the burning man-shaped thing came towards her in a massive gold and red Void Ship. A ship so far away that it could not be seen by the naked eye, yet fully in rage of the batteries of guns that lined either side; capable of penetrating the crust of planets.

The Anathema came, and she could not run. For in its awful glory, the very Warp receded at its touch. The faint feeling of the Webway was washed away, only to be replaced with golden walls and wards of righteous hate and conviction.

Isha's Warp sight crossed with the Emperor of Mankind's; both of their brow's furrowed. Then, with a great bitterness in her heart, she bit her lip and bowed her head and knee.

'To struggle free from one set of chains; only to dive into the bindings of another.' Isha thought to herself 'Surely, Cegorach would have found this most amusing.'

 

[Nidhog153]

Isha waited as the ship of the Emperor approached; head and knees bowed. Hours passed, but she could feel the ever present weight of his gaze on her.

Meanwhile, her ancient mind cast out to remember what she could of the so-called Master of Mankind.

There were whispers that the Three, now Four, had always spoken of an Anathema to their existence. A thing that rejected them entirely, but was at the same time not seen as important as the Aeldari Pantheon.

It was a topic of small conversation among the Aeldari gods. A minor curiosity, a new primitive god thing of another newborn primitive race.

The one oddity it had was that it was not ever-present in the warp. There was no fiefdom of mankind in the Sea of Souls, no minor settlement.

'Lucky for the both of us that was.' Isha thought to herself, for with the Aeldari Pantheon gone the Sea of Souls was now the paradoxical Warp; nature changed by the shift in rulers from Pantheon to Ruinous Powers. Any lesser gods were most likely consumed by the Four, if they hadn't been eaten already. The Pantheon had lost interest during the long time of peace; the endlessly appearing and disappearing deities of lesser races quickly becoming repetitive and droll. Some of those more primitive gods were almost certainly devoured before the Three brought themselves to the Pantheon's gates.

Perhaps it was this tendency, to remain in the materium, that gave it so much power here, Isha mused.

Being eons older than humanity itself, Isha found the overbearing power this Emperor had to be confusing. With more followers, and greater age, her strength should have been above his. However, although far less terrifying than the aura Khaine gave off, she didn't dare to fight with the creature approaching her lightly.

Was it because of some sort of specialty? Some inherent nature to purge un-real from real? Did it find some artifact from the War in Heaven to empower itself?

'Does it even really belong to humanity?' She wondered, as there were many deceivers and usurpers who would take the myths and legends of others, eternally switching from one minor race to another, sucking them dry before moving to more numerous stocks.

'No.' She shook her head, thousands of years of memory playing through all at once. The Master of Mankind was a fickle being; appearing and disappearing at seemingly random moments in time, but usually appeared when mankind needed it most. Therefore, its nature was one of protection, or at least it should be. Its strange disappearance, during the Sundering of humanity and the loss of their artificial intelligence during the period they called the Old Night, did not fully fit its description. However, the Ruinous Powers and their minions had mysteriously reduced the number of attacks on the Pantheon during that time. Perhaps it was preoccupied preventing even greater threats?

The ship entered into geosynchronous orbit above her, and a lump built up in her throat as she remembered the infamous planet-killing weapons humanity has seemed to almost enjoy unleashing on one another.

'At the very least, this time it would be justified.' Isha thought to herself sardonically. What better place to kill an alien god? A dead world, with living dead citizens; victims of the psychic attack of that very god.

Then she felt the Emperor's presence shift to a much smaller transport vessel; still capable of carrying legions of soldiers, but magnitudes smaller than the orbiting dreadnought.

'At the very least, he seeks to meet me, face to face.' Isha allowed herself a small breath of relief, but she could still feel the oppressive walls and wards of psychic energy closing down around her. If anything, they were getting smaller, like a net being pulled in around her.

The way his power dodged the Necron pylons' effects concerned her. Surrounding the planet with wards was something she was able to do, before the Fall. But, to pull it in so tightly with no flutter or failing through the pylons' disruptive field was something she had never seen before. At the very least, it showed a much higher understanding of this ancient technology than her. Perhaps, it was that knowledge that granted him so much power outside the Warp.

A vestige of memory tugged at her mind; some rumor or tale that she's heard Khaine or Kurnous talk of somthing that happened near humanity's home. However, her attempts to remember were cut short as the Emperor's transport flew into view, a golden vessel with barely aerodynamic wings, held aloft by clunky grav-generators, jet engines, and noisy turbines.

Isha felt the proverbial hairs rise on the back of her neck. The hostile intent radiating from the Emperor had continued the entire way down. Was this some way to cow or threaten her?

Well, she snorted, the Master of Mankind had its specialities, and she had hers. If this was the only way it could think to bargain, then there ways to survive under it; undesirable as they were.

Dust and sand flew up as the vessel landed in front of her, and the side of the ship opened to reveal the golden forms of the Emperor's own soldiers in suits of bulky armor. A red tassel decorated their helm and the Imperium's mark, the aquila, was gilded onto their massive pauldrons.

Bolter-spears held in both hands, the Emperor's Custodes marched around her, surrounding her on all sides, before banging the butt of their spear into the ground in a united salute.

CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP

The footsteps of the Emperor echoed from the ship, before appearing from the top of the hatch. Only the bottom of his armored greaves were visible to Isha's lowered head.

But, all Isha could feel was her dilating pupils, and the small muscles under her skin tense; pulling up skin in goosebumps, as her heart began to race.

THUD THUD THUD

Metallic clanging turned into dull footsteps as the Emperor's feet stomped across the sand towards her.

As the Emperor approached, Isha's instincts screamed. Even as she bowed the knee and hung her head, she could sense no ceasing of his hostile intent.

'What would conflict between us serve?' She thought wildly to herself. Surely, it was better to parlay with her than slay her.

She lifted her head to lock eyes with him once more, and in that grim visage, she knew what he intended to do; and remembered the mocking voice of Khaine telling a story on some backwater planet.

—----------------------------

In the ancient past, before mankind had even reached the stars, an ancient enemy of all who lived awoke on the only planet man had. A single shard of the Void Dragon, Mag'ladroth, ancient Star God of the Necron; most powerful among their number and creator of the cursed green lightning that stripped matter apart. Its very presence was an existential threat to man, and so its protector rose to destroy it.

However, being of man itself, the protector was as cunning and crafty as any of its number.

Bringing the beast low with warp blast and flaming blows, he shackled it in great chains and then cast its mind into a deathly dream of empty victories and eternal battles. Forced to forever ponder methods of destroying potential enemies.

Then, the protector took the Dragon to the darkest depths of Mars, to the place they would name the Noctis Labrynthus. There the half-dead god would eternally dream, so men and women of similar mind could steal ideas and inspiration from its perpetual nightmare.

"Craftiness is but a sign of weakness!" Khaine snorted, finishing his tale. "Nothing can be learned from the mad-mind of those star-sucking parasites."

Beating his chest, Khaine rose, drawing the eyes of many gods. "We defeated them with our own power; our own skills, and Vaul's crafts. Let them learn of the weapons of our defeated enemies, and weep when our blades sing down upon them when they use them against us in their arrogance!"

Raucous laughter followed in her memoreies of the Pantheon, only to be reflected now in Isha's terror.

No wonder the Master of Mankind could use its powers within the dark pylons' field.

It had broken into the mind of the Star Gods greatest inventor; and taken the secrets it felt it needed.

The Master of Mankind did not intend to barter with her, but rip the very secrets out of her mind over the course of an endless sleep.

—----------------------------

As great chains of golden metal and red blood appeared around her, Isha lept back and sang the Wraithbone to form around her as her own mortal form shifted and cracked into a more war-like silhouette. Claws, fangs, and feline fur replaced the gentle willowy features that formed her; with legs and arms lengthening for greater reach and leverage.

The Custodes around her raised their spears, but lowered them again as the Emperor raised his taloned left hand. Then he leapt forward, with his flaming sword held in both hands raised high.

Isha sang a bone white spear, and swung with all her might only to have it shatter against the golden steel. But, the blow was deflected, and with the sword out of the way, Isha dove at the Emperor's throat with her mouth open wide; only to have a backhanded blow from a talonned fist strike her across the cheek, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Stunned, she barely had time to feel the chains bind her hands and feet, only waking as they dragged her battered form into the air.

As the sleeping spell that subdued the Dragon took form upon his blade, Isha let go of the flames of fury that changed her form, and cried out with one meaning from the depth of her heart.

Mercy.

Her voice sang of mothers covering their children as dark reavers raised their spears.

Mercy.

Fathers holding back shadowy forms, screaming to their spouse and children to run.

Mercy.

The cry of the poor, the sick, and the broken as the rich, proud, and powerful trod upon their backs.

Then the Emperor stabbed his blade under her ribs; tearing open the diaphragm, ending her song in a final pained gasp.

Isha gagged, as her lungs could no longer take in air, and then saw the blade inside her no longer glowed with the power of forced slumber and thought-stealing.

"It would do well…" The Emperor spoke calmly. "to silence yourself, Eldar."

Gasping for breath, she could not help but feel both an immense sense of relief and bitterness build up in her throat.

"Is the Master of Mankind, the Anathema that even the Four fear, so lacking in mercy to a desperate Mother's cry?" She whispered.

"Mercy is a tool to bind the fearful and desperate." He stated bluntly, and she felt the blade dig into her body a bit more

"Then…" she smiled bitterly. "it is fortuitous for us that I am both."

The Emperor tilted his head slightly before reaching down with his taloned hand, to grab the golden locks of hair upon Isha's head, dragging her up to his eye-level.

"Tools are only useful so long as they serve; and I doubt your species' pride will keep your head cowed for long."

A pained chuckle exited her mouth. Humans, so base, primitive, yet at the same time so painfully pragmatic and utilitarian.

"I will be fearful and desperate so long as the Four exist." She said with closed eyes, then looked at him. "What need of anyone will you have once they are gone?"

The Emperor's brow furrowed as he caught the double meaning of her words. He was the Protector of Humanity, only present for as long as he was needed, and later forgotten to the annals of history and legend. That was how he had always acted. Once mankind was safe from Chaos, and the echoes of its own Sundering; he would have no need for Isha as well as no need for himself either. That was, unless Isha gave him a reason to remain.

"Mark my words; Prideful Xeno." The first ghost of emotion colored his words.

"The time for man has come." Contempt, whispered in the tone of his voice. Angry that this alien anima made flesh had pointed out his purpose.

"Forever forget your dreams of grandeur and progress; and your people may live in my domain."

Isha winced as the Emperor's blade twisted slightly on the second to last word in his sentence.

"What choice do we have? It is the fate of empires to both rise and fall."

The Emperor snorted, once again understanding the double meaning of grudging acceptance and bitter warning in her words. His taloned hand let go of her golden hair, and she grimaced as she sagged back into his chains; causing the sword to move in the wound once again.

Suddenly, searing heat erupted from the blade, and she had one shock filled moment to gasp at him before golden flames seared her insides.

Then, the moment was gone and she was unceremoniously dropped to the ground with a thud as the chains fell apart; and the blade was pulled out of her body, leaving a golden scar.

"Then come." The Emperor spoke, as he turned back to his ship. "Your fate, and that of your people's will be decided in the morrow."

Isha glowered at him as she inspected the damage. This was no binding spell or curse; merely a tracking mark, a wisp of his power that would show where she was to him at all times.

'Of course.' She snorted to herself. 'Bested and broken, with nothing but enemies on all sides. Why waste the power on someone with no-where to go.'

Even if she went to the last ever-laughing Clown God, she was just as likely to be shunned, if not find only ghostly guffaws and empty stands. For the Emperor could track her through even the labyrinth of the Webway; and Cegorach was always the surprise and not the surprised.

Slowly, she picked herself up off the ground, and limped after him. The Emperor only paused once to give her a sideways look before striding forwards again. No doubt, bemused and annoyed by the obvious appearance of weakness she was portraying.

'Arrogant pup.' Isha thought, but swiftly silenced the growing growl in her throat. The Emperor was the Protector of Man. He could show no weakness. She was the Goddess of Life, and the gentle carer of the unfortunate. Weakness was a part of her, as much as strength was his. Not to mention the battle moments before had sapped most of her strength. Better to store what she had left, and let the non-lethal wounds heal naturally.

Cold metal sapped the warmth from her bare, dusty feet as she finally entered the ship of the Emperor; the golden retinue of Custodes marching past her on either side as the hatch closed shut behind them.

For now, she would be the obedient tree in the orchard, delivering harvest at season's end. But, even the most docile flower only needed a few generations in the wild to develop the spiniest thorns.

The biting cold of the wretched Warp that had been her home, had forced the fate of her people beneath the ground. But, this was merely the beginning of a long winter. Many seeds would die, but when spring comes those that remain would regain some shadow of their previous growth and grandeur.

At least, that was what she hoped.

If time was cyclical in nature, then the least it could do was repeat the good and bad in equal measure.
—----------------------------------
—----------------------------------
—----------------------------------
—----------------------------------

In the depths of the Webway, Cegorach was laughing as Isha had imagined.
Cruelty and suffering were but two parts of comedy. Deadpan and slapstick; and reality TV if a more modern media was required.

As the Clown God laughed, a single Harlequin twirled and rhymed before it.

'Immortal man and mortal god,
striving to break Chaos's great rot,

But bitter foe and bitter slave
What precarious friends they make

Care not does he whether she lives or dies,
but to give Chaos such a prize would be most unwise.

So, tally ho my performers so,
Let mother Isha's blessings flow!'

And the empty audience murmured with whispers of various scripts and shenanigans.

Farcical, satirical, and restorative comedy were all brought up, with the last one being treated with equal measures of mockery and muffled laughter.
One actor was both while the other was neither.

Theaters of Cruelty, and the Absurd came second, but the leering crescent mask of the Mad God sent those suggesters scurrying.

In the end, the muses were muted and only the disappointed snigger of the First Fool echoed across the stage, as the sole Harlequin stamped its feet in mock frustration.

'Let the 12th live.' A revolting scratching voice, like nails on rotten floorboards, echoed in the theater leaving a moment of silence before more hurried whispers filled the stands. 'Give him the Sword of War, and let different slaughter fill his blood.'

A series of act-like gasps erupted across the room, and the Great Clown fell backwards off its feet in raucous laughter; the Harlequin bowing in thanks in its master's stead.

A great gamble had been made, threatening the separate tortures of two different gods. But, what does a damned race have to lose?

 

[Nidhog153]

The ship's corridors, contrary to the warm colors of gold and red that decorated the walls and floor, were quite cold; with only the occasional decorative plant to break up the repetitive colors. But, without any other quarter presented to her, Isha could do little but sit there; back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees.

Although the actual temperature of the floor and wall did not truly discomfort her, the sheer incredulity of dumping her there was as biting as any frigid storm.

After being taken back to the Emperor's dreadnought, she'd effectively been ignored; by the Emperor, by the Custodes, and although some of the much smaller human crew cast the curious eye towards her they took their lead from their liege and ignored her as well.

'Well, almost all of them.' Isha thought sadly. There were many that narrowed their eyes, and clenched their fists when their eyes noticed the pointy ears peeking out from under her hair. Those dock hands or engineers were swiftly escorted away from the premises by normal human guards.

At the very least, the Master of Mankind was avoiding an incident aboard his vessel.

She could guess the cause of their anger.

This ship was far away from human space, near the border worlds of the Aeldari Empire; where hunting had been a pastime of the so-called nobility and common folk alike. A shudder crossed her spine as she remembered the memories she gleaned from her children's minds, and the rage that forced the usually invisible edict of Asuryan to appear, binding her to her arboreal throne.

It had been a long time after her freedom from Khaine's tortures; after the civil war of the gods had burned out.

The Aeldari had finally created a post-scarcity society; and she watched them as they rebuilt worlds, created wonders, and began to pursue various arts to perfection.

Then the perversion of all that they were began.

Even when she went to Vaul with Kuronous to create the Spirit Stones to circumvent the edict, Asuryan's chains didn't bind her; which told of the force of the feeling she had been consumed by when she saw what the Aeldari had begun to do.

If these men and women aboard the ship were from this sector of space, it was little surprise that some of them had been the victims of her people's cruelty.

Though it did nothing to explain why the Emperor was here; especially with such a large fleet. Diminished though she was, and partially blinded by the Emperor's wards, she could see the vague silhouettes of other human starships traveling along the path burnt by the Emperor's presence in the Warp.

Isha stretched out her being, carefully avoiding the Emperor's psychic wards within the ship, and felt the degree that space had stretched; the one truly universal way of telling time in the constantly expanding universe. Back calculating from the time she had last measured time this way, she was surprised to realize that several decades had already passed since the Fall.

'Cursed Warp.' She thought, shaking her head. Time was even more tumultuous than it had been in the Sea of Souls. What had felt like mere moments, falling from the Pantheon, had actually been far longer in the real world than she'd realized.

'Could the Imperium really have expanded so quickly?' she wondered.

Decades were a long time for humans, and her people in this time of need, but empires did not appear overnight; and in the lifetime of an empire, a decade was less than a blink of an eye.

Her mind wandered, going over the various worlds she had watched over from upon her throne.

The last time she had cast her eyes on humanity, they were still fractured into multiple factions across the stars; and even on their own homeworld, Chaos cultists and madmen killed each other with gleeful abandon, endlessly repeating history. At least, it would have seemed that way to an Aeldari; Isha mused. Reviewing the events on a human timescale, their greatest wars might have looked glorious, only happening once or twice every generation.

She sighed, already bored despite the fact, she had spent far longer bound to her throne by the edict. At the very least, she had her plants and animals to distract her then.

Looking at one of the plants, she reached out with her mind; entering its essence, listening to the water being drawn up by capillary action along vascular xylem, as the outer phloem pumped sugars and enzymes down into its roots to break down nitrates and minerals; simultaneously feeding the numerous bacteria in the dirt with fresh carbon.

"Do not test me." The Emperor spoke.

Isha cast a sideways glance upwards at him, nose wrinkling at the smell of scorched Warp stuff from the Emperor's silent teleportation.
"Should I feel honored or insulted that you yourself act as my guard?" She remarked darkly, unmoving from her position on the floor.

The Emperor snorted. "I would not risk anyone else, and anyone else would be found wanting."

A dry chuckle came from Isha's mouth. "Do you think so little of me to truly believe that I would make an enemy of you when I am the enemy of the Four?"

"Your kind is as mercurial as they are merciless."

There was a moment of silence as the two looked at eachother; the other humans, quickly removing themselves from the premises, unconsciously feeling the psychic pressure radiating between the two of them.

"What are you doing here?" Isha finally broke the silence, equal parts curious and wary. "This is not your home."

"We." The Emperor spat out angrily. "are needed here to deal with the remains of the misery your kind wrought."

"The Eye of Terror is far from here, and I can sense the other ships you have coming. It is a far cry from what you will need."

Although vague, Isha could see the shadows of guns and other weapons of war on the ships that followed. Too many for a simple patrol or guard, yet not enough to weather an assault in the Warp.

"The Warp is not my current concern, for now. My people are."

Isha raised an eyebrow. "Have you come to save your people from Chaos, so far from the seat of man?" A surprising sentiment, much softer than she had originally expected from the Master of Mankind, and bizarre as Chaos was only slightly more prevalent here than anywhere else.

He returned her inquisitive stare with an unmoving look.

"Why save a few thousand when I can prevent the death of billions."

"You…" Shock robbed her of her voice for one moment, before she rose from the ground. "You dare!" The air around her began to twist, miniature tornadoes forming at her fingertips as she rose. "Those are my children!"

The Emperor was not here for the Warp, or his people. He was here to cull the overflow of Aeldari running from the remains of their homes. To stem the flood of refugees, spreading out towards the scattered ruined colonies and worlds of sundered humanity.

These refugees were from the Core worlds of the Aeldari empire. Proto-Pleasure Cultists and initiates, not steeped deep enough in Slaanesh's taint to be consumed instantaneously, yet not entirely blameless of the corruption that had killed so many.

An infinitely small fraction of a percentage point of the populations those planets had, but that still meant thousands upon thousands of Aeldari were heading to the various worlds around their empire. Living beings who would need planets and resources to survive.

Of course, the planets most suited for life outside the Aeldari empire were usually the habitats of other alien species; humans included.

"Then it would have been better for the both of us if you had taught them restraint." The Emperor replied bluntly; unmoved by the new turbulent psychic energies radiating from Isha's form.

"They are broken, and pose no united threat to man." Isha almost growled. "This place is far away from your core worlds. Why murder them in a place where only the faintest traces of mankind have reached?"

"Mankind's empire will spread across the stars." He retorted, quietly. "I would rather have the process be a reconquest than a rebuilding."

The winds around Isha stopped for a moment, a silence before a quickly growing storm.

"For the scattered colonized and abandoned worlds, unaware of you or your armies…"

The plants beside her trembled and grew with her anger, affected by the psychic energies overflowing from her essence.

"Worlds you in turn plan to conquer and subjugate with force when they've ripened far in the future…"

Thorny vines and fanged leaves stretched out from the plants as thick roots spilled out from the dirt; crossing the floor and walls, searching for a gap to bury into.

"To leave empty worlds uninhabited by your kind free of competition…"

Her eyes blazed with psychic energy as she stared back at him.

"You commit genocide on my children in their time of greatest need?"

"Your people have sacrificed thousands of others to save one of your race." The Emperor replied calmly, strangling the plants with his own psychic power; withering them all in an instant. "Do not lecture me on the weight of alien life compared to your own."

Isha clenched her teeth with all her might as her rage rippled across her; sharpening nails into claws, elongating canines into fangs.

"At least..." She spat, wrestling with the wildness within her. "Let me speak to them." Her form returned to that of the fair Goddess of Fertility.

"If all you need is for them to be gone from your domain, then use me. Let me send them back; convince them to join the other ones in self-imposed exile." Bitterly, she looked into the brown eyes of the emperor with her own silvery ones. "You made a tool out of me, so then use me."

The two of them stared at each other, neither backing down. After a long moment, the Emperor opened his mouth.

"... We are chasing an Eldar raiding party. A rag-tag assortment of pirate vessels and repurposed pleasure cruisers that now serve as slave carriers. Their ships will burn, whether you convince them or not. The wounds they have left on my crew are too great."

Isha breathed out, letting the remaining rage out of her body.

"If you must slake your people's bloodlust, so be it." Better the Wraithbone constructs than the living occupants. "But, where shall my children go?"

He shrugged. "I did not care before, so I had not thought of it."

Isha's mind dug deep into her memories of the borders of the Aeldari domain; ancient holdouts from the War in Heaven, forgotten battlefields, and buried bunkers. After a few seconds, she found what she was looking for.

"There is an Aeldari world that used to hold a colony. Its environment is harsh, too harsh for humans, but survivable by the Aeldari."

The Emperor tilted his head at this. "You would not make it a better place for them?"

"And make it another mouthwatering target for your empire?" This time it was her turn to snort. "I think not."

"Mother to the Aeldari indeed." Chuckled the Master of Mankind. "If only they had inherited your foresight."

"If they had, you may have never reached the stars."

"Perhaps…" And a great weariness radiated from him for a brief instant. "But they didn't and we did."

 

[Nidhog153]

Isha sang to herself, alone in the darkest corner of the Emperor's ship, preferring solitude in her pain over the company of curious and vengeful mortals; and their cruel and calculating protector.

She did not know what this place was, but since the Custodes stationed around the ship gave her free passage, she let herself in, shutting the door behind her.

The truth of life warbled around her, telling tales of the simplest forms it had taken; the names of single and multicellular life forming from carbon containing solutions of acid and rock. Life that lasted mere milliseconds, but reflected the nature of all other life that came after it.

'Single celled yeast, provided with an excess of sugar, switches to anaerobic metabolism.' Isha reminded herself as her song's verses carried over the creature and all the other alien organisms like it that sprang up across the universe, convergently evolving to fit a similar niche.

'Thus, they produce toxic alcohol, unpleasant even to themselves, and something that they avoid when given only a little sugar.' Images of the small spherical creatures, floating in small bundles squirting out the substance flit in her mind, while the excess resources were symbolized as green lights that floated everywhere around them.

'All to kill all others unlike themselves; leaving nature's harvest to them and their kin.'

Life, even at its most basic level, was brutal and cruel. Creatures with no brain cells, no nerve cells secreted self-scarring toxins and wastes; all to kill everything else unrelated to them at a quicker rate than they killed themselves.

'And sentient creatures use that cruelty to make beer, bread, and all the other foods and drinks to feed themselves.' Her mind pulled back from the micro-scale to the macro. The eternal cycle of birth, survival, reproduction, and finally death; repeated endlessly at all levels.

'Humanity acts as all life does, and so does its protector.'

It was all she could do to stop her song from becoming a banshee shriek. Only the bare fact that this cruelty shown by the Emperor was nothing unique, allowed her to slowly cope with her anger; to begin to put out the flames of her burning rage.

"Would it be too much to ask for you to show some degree of decorum while you occupy my vessel?" The Emperor spoke as he stepped out of the shadows.

"Leave me be." Isha said wearily. "We have not reached the place to call my children, and I do no harm here."

"Your voice echoes through the immaterium. I hear it as clearly here as I do anywhere."

"So what? My song is inaudible to mortals at the moment. Only creatures like us can hear it." Isha replied irritably. "Is life's song so vexing to you that you must silence me in my moment of grief?" She snorted, anger building up again at the sight of the murderer of her children.

"I am considering it." The Emperor said slowly, and she could feel faint but very real emotions of irritation and anger radiate from him; an unusual moment of vulnerability. Familiar feelings she had felt before.

"I see…" A slow smile crossed Isha's lips. "So you are not just the mortal Protector of Mankind."

A dangerous look entered the Emperor's eye; a different tightness to his grim jaw, harsher features than the ones that usually formed the cold calculating visage that she was used to."I do not like what you suggest."

"Khaine found my voice displeasing as well." Isha's smile grew wider, her hurt numbing her senses; bitter vengeance spurring her on to have her own petty revenge against the creature who hurt her first. "How did he put it?" She said, putting a finger to her chin in a look of feigned thought. "It was like 'being told, time and time again, that the flames that form the funerary pyres are but a single pop of an undried branch upon which the bonfire of life burns.'"

"Careful…" The Emperor took a heavy step forwards.

"You aren't just a protector." Isha cooed back at him, minor victory in sight. "You are a god of de-"

An armored hand closed around her throat, cutting off her voice before slamming her into the floor with a loud bang.

"I am not a god." The Emperor growled, teeth bared in her face. "Do not test my patience. I have struck bargains with Chaos for the future of mankind, and I may do so again."

"How brave of the hero of humanity to threaten and strangle a mourning mother." Isha hissed back at him, worn patience already thin, barely hanging by a thread. "Do you treat all your women as you do me?"

The Emperor remained silent for a moment, before his silhouette shifted, becoming softer and slightly smaller in stature.

"Does my grip become any softer, now that I am of fairer flesh?" The Emperor spoke with a higher pitched voice, and squeezed even harder, preventing Isha from replying. "If anything, I am more merciful than your Pantheon ever was."

Isha glowered up at the Emperor, refusing to choke, but also unable to speak. Golden sparks flashed from the usually brown eyes as white sparks lept from from hers; neither one backing down from the other's insults.

Slowly, both their eyes gradually dimmed as the immeasurably long silence allowed their anger to bleed away. Finally, the Emperor's grip relaxed slightly, as a tired look crossed the feminine features that were its current form.

"I came to your Pantheon in ages past. Before I took this form. Before I became like this." The Emperor let go of her throat, and stepped back, turning away from her. "I still remember the greeting of fire and silver at the gates as I cried out for but a moment of your attention."

There had been many immaterial beings who saw the gleaming city of the Aeldari Pantheon in the Sea of Souls, and prostrated themselves before it. Isha's mind briefly recollected the faint cries and shouts of beings infinitely smaller than them from beyond the borders of their domain. None were allowed entry, for the disguised followers of the Ruinous Powers and Tzeentchian daemons were always scattered among the ranks of these desperate god-creatures. Eventually they were all driven back by Asuryan's flames and sentinels when the forces of Chaos came in earnest; to clear the battlefield of any unexpected interference.

"Is that why you share so many similarities with Asuryan; taking form with fire and chain?" Isha answered, looking up at him angrily but no longer vengeful.

The feminine Emperor snorted. "And you think of me as arrogant." Chuckling as it shook its head, the Emperor turned to look back down at her. "Flames are but a step in the path of progress all sentient beings make. For with the invention of fire, sharpened sticks can be hardened into spears, and flesh and marrow can be cooked for greater sustenance."

The two continued to stare at each other, like a tiger and lion who had just wrestled with the other, only finally managing to break apart after nipping the other's shoulder; circling, daring the other to challenge them again.

"The planet you wanted for your people approaches." The Emperor finally said, returning to his masculine form. "Come with me to the command deck. We have much to discuss."

Isha watched the Emperor walk towards the door, opening it with a wave of his hand. Custodes already lined the walls of the corridor, back to the center of the ship, spines stiff in regal salutes.

Slowly, she picked herself off the floor, and followed him.

'Calm yourself Isha.' She thought. 'If your song is as painful to him as it was to Khaine, then forgive him his tresspasses against you.'

During the War in Heaven, Morai Heg; her mother and Goddess of Fate, asked her consort Khaine to cut off her arm so she could drink her own divine blood. An insane selfish gamble for very little gain; for Morai Heg already saw the multiple fates of others, even though she could not see the fate of herself.

At first Khaine refused, simply because maiming one of their own for their own curiosity when a much larger enemy existed was the height of folly.

So Morai Heg sent Isha and her other daughters to Khaine; promising them a strand of fate for their preferred mortal champion in return.

They came to their father, first asking, then begging, then with song and dance; for endlessly nagging him was as boring as it was for them as it was annoying to him.

'If we were to battle the iron will of Khaine…' Isha recollected. 'The least we could do to alleviate our boredom in our endless task was to do it in a way that we could enjoy.'

So Isha and her sisters sung and danced their individual truths around Khaine, expecting their father to remain as stoic and immovable as before.

Instead, Khaine raged. He roared and swiped with his armored hands, disrupting their song and dance, sending them stumbling back; unhurt but surprised.

But, finding a chink in their parent's armor, like all cheeky children, they decided to poke and pry.

They would take turns singing, sending Khaine charging at one of them, dancing away until the very last moment before his hands could grab them. Then they would stop, and their sister would sing, and Khaine would hold his head, cover his ears, scream and then turn to chase the next performer. An innocent, cruel game of tag, played at the behest of their mother and expense of their father.

Finally, Khaine agreed to cut off Morai Heg's hand, and for his service, received the aspect of the Banshee; a mirror to the soul shaking cries he suffered at the hands of his daughters.

The thought of pestering the Emperor into doing her bidding, like she and her sisters did to Khaine, crossed her mind; but she shook off the trickster thought.

'That was in the Sea of Souls. Movement is very different there than it is here.' With only 6 directions of space, and one of time, it would be a very short game of tag if she tried that; not to mention it was not her voice alone that caused Khaine to rage. Her song was annoying, not unbearable.

Isha allowed a part of herself to wax nostalgic, sending pieces of unneeded consciousness into memory.

Memories of singing and dancing while falling through multiple rainbow colored portals, dimensions, and dreams of mortal kind as the flaming giant form of Khaine followed; like an orange meteor chasing a tiny silvery comet.

Pink, blue, and green clouds rushed by as she brushed against the psyche of billions of past and future souls while falling and flying further away from Khaine.

The rush of watching his gauntleted hands open in preparation to close around her entire body in a binding fist; a game of chicken between parent and child. Then, she would do one final twirl and close her mouth, while in a time of yesteryear, her sisters' voices would call to the present Khaine.

Then the opened hands reaching towards her would instead recoil to Khaine's ears, covering them in a vain effort to stop a sound that he could do nothing but hear.

Then the game would start all over again, while she quietly slipped to the side of another time and place, readying for her turn to pull their father's attention from her sister at the very last moment.

'Folly of youth.' Isha smiled slightly, both at her own foolishness, and the memory of her ancient home; the freedom before Asuryan's edict and the growth of Chaos.

It was no surprise that the creatures of the universe often dreamed of trickster fairies, and cruel fey creatures that ran endlessly out of sight. Time ran neither forward nor backwards in the immaterium.

Isha stretched her essence outside of the confines of the body she had made for herself when entering the materium; drawing a sideways look from the Emperor.

"I do no harm." She said innocently, and she wasn't; the best mortal equivalent of what she was doing being a stretching of the neck or arm to relieve tension or stress. Although, she was fully aware that it was an unnatural movement for one with Warp sight; like watching a third arm or second head pop out.

"If you have the time to provoke me." The Emperor huffed. "It would serve you better to think of what to say to convince your children."

"What do you care…" She snorted. "You planned to butcher them all until I came."

"I've made my warnings." The Emperor said grimly. "I may not be a god, but I've seen enough to know where all their fates lie, and the toll their followers extract from them."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Pre-Fall Aeldari references ahead. For all those who do not wish to see even a sliver of the dark pleasures and pain they enjoyed to inflict and receive, read no futher.

You have been warned.

Kyrazis sat in the command throne of the Aeldari Eclipse-class cruiser, black helmed head resting on the knuckles of one hand, as he stared at the various reports sent from the rest of the fleet.

"Mordraxus." He called to a hooded figure operating a different terminal in the lower level of the bridge.

"Yes, Kyrazis?" A muffled voice replied, caused by the thick cloth that covered the nose, mouth, and jaw of the resident biomancer on the fleet.

"Must you take so many from our stocks for your experiments?" Kyrazis's sing song voice was heavy with sarcasm and exasperation. This was a conversation repeated many, many times.

"I have increased efficiency, as you asked." Mordraxus mumbled back, figure bowed; unusual for the Aeldari which preferred to stand tall.

"Yes, the efficiency. The more suffering extracted, the more souls we can save." Kyrazis sighed. "Which means nothing if you take for yourself just as many as you provide for us."

"My experiments allowed for many discoveries."

"Which is why I do not throw you into the void for wasting our resources." He snarked back at Mordraxus, while lifting a hand to gesture at the reports. "Rationing has already begun, and even though we've convinced our people that the matter is temporary, I do not want a riot with so few of us left."

"Then the only solution is to increase the number of harvests."

"Do not vex me, Mordraxus." Rubbing his neck, Kyrazis gave another long sigh. "Six raiding groups have gone missing. I do not wish to suffer the same fate."

Mordraxus shrugged. "If this realm of space is becoming treacherous, the only option is to change it."

"The Mon-keigh grow stronger the deeper we go into their territory." Kyrazis replied, irritably. "We want easy pickings, not a battle. This is the remains of a patrol fleet, and I am no expert in Void-Combat."

"If only you followed in the footsteps of Vileth." Mordraxus snickered.

"It is because I followed the teachings of Qa'leh that any of us are alive." Kyrazis retorted, looking down at the wrist of his right gauntlet; twisting it as if to rearrange something underneath the armor.

"Well then, there's nothing more than to do with what we have."

"Of course." Kyrazis retorted bitterly, before throwing his head back, slouching on the throne. "Why couldn't it be some other dumber, stupider, primitive race?"

"At the very least, they only rarely eat each other when corralled in such close quarters."

"It is to us that they owe their suffering; not each other. Ensure there are no more incidents of that kind." Kyrazis retorted, still slumped backwards in the throne. "What of the Webway? Have we found a safe gate yet?"

"The sector-wide Wraithbone void-charts were abandoned during our escape, and the patrol fleet only had local maps in storage."

Kyrazis snorted. "And to think, we used to rule the stars."

"Before the Fall, it would have been a simple matter to call the knowledge from the immaterium to our minds, but that would be… inadvisable."

"I was there when it happened, Mordraxus." He spat, venomously enough to force the biomancer back a few steps. "Do not remind me."

"Yes, yes you were." Mordraxus nodded a couple of times, trying his best to remove the shudder that crawled across his skin. "Then it will be your hands that hold the lives of everyone here."

Kyrazis snorted. Of all things he thought he would be, this was never what he imagined; or wanted. A leader of exiles and refugees, like those accursed Craftworlds who had run off into deep space only years before the Fall.

Bitterness burned in him as Kyrazis remembered watching the various sizes and shapes of the ships leaving the planet's orbit, as he and the others beside him laughed and jeered at the overly cautious, antiquated, and idealistic activists and protestors leaving the planets they said they loved and cared about more than the rest of them.

'Young fools, the lot of them.'

That was the sentiment they all had at the time. Then somebody said they saw a harlequin, and they all went to throw rocks at the even more backwards performers of ancient fairy tales.

'Well, who are the fools now...' Kyrazis closed his eyes, remembering the huddled form of the dancer; bleeding from the head by the stone he had thrown as they surrounded her; defiant look in her eye even as her lips were pursed with pain. She was a tough one. Not a single scream until her body gave out, forcing her soul off into the immaterium to await a new body.

"They probably enjoy it." Said one of his sister acolytes. "Why else would they keep on trying to put on their little performances when they know the ending is always the same." She grinned, slipping her knife back into its sheath.

"Well then, we must make a great audience to become so immersed in their act." Another said, pulling gristle out her hair.

Murder was an impossible crime for them. Why worry about doom and death, when they were touched by neither?

Kyrazis shook his head. His mind was slowing down.

No. It was his soul. It was weakening.

"Chart a course to the next Mon-keigh world." He ordered the navigator, before turning to one of the operators of the short-range Wraithbone communicators they used for ship-to-ship contact. "Tell the fleet to move as one. I leave the details to the mariners. Just get us there in one piece."

The bridge crew nodded, and headed back to their stations.

'How long has it been?' Kyrazis asked himself, the immediate responsibility of giving orders fulfilled, allowing him more time to sink into memory before he had to rise back from the depths to deal with another crisis.

Several decades had passed since the Fall, but he could still remember everything.

The mad rush with the few survivors from the arena.

The look of hope in the eyes of those people at the starport, and those black pools staring into him.

The voice and promise of that creature that haunted his every waking moment.

And the eternal never ending scream of the Aeldari who was forced to show them what awaited them all.

It was only with the assistance of the narcotics confiscated from some of the followers of Shaimesh they'd thrown overboard that he was able to sleep. Even then, dark shadows grew under his eyes, and the color from his skin drained every day; as if to show the gradual sucking away of his ethereal soul on his physical form.

If he could end it, he would have. Many a night he'd caught himself staring down at the stolen Shuriken catapult he had taken in order to escape. But, in the end, he would always put it down as the memories of blood, offal, and endless screaming came back with crystal clarity.

'Perhaps I should go down to the pits.' Kyrazis though. He was higher up in this new stratified society they had begun building, being the one who had gotten most of them off planet. He could always justify the extra rations to the others.

'If only those Mon-keigh were not so disgusting.' He hated those creatures. Their weeping eyes and terrified faces disgusted him. What right did they have to be afraid? They were not the ones with an eternal noose around their neck. 'Although…' he mused, 'considering where we send their souls, perhaps they have every right to be afraid… But they are just so disgusting.'

Of course, such feelings of disgust were wiped away while he replenished himself. The sound of cracking bones, and tearing tendons was as exhilarating as it had always been back home. The adrenaline high of dodging out of the way of a blade at the very last second, and the satisfaction of having the opponent at his physical mercy was always enough for him to forget everything; all his troubles, all his pains, all his fears.

"No…" Kyrazis whispered as he pulled himself out of the ecstasies of the previous feeding. It was getting harder to come back, every time. The freedom from fear was intoxicating; to be free from endless nightmares, dark nights of despair, and the ever present terror of promised endless torment.

There were too many Aeldari, and not enough Mon-keigh. If he was to have freedom from this, then he would need more.

Kyrazis looked down at the rest of the bridge crew.

They all felt the same neverending depression and desperate fear. If he didn't do something, he was certain he would be quickly replaced. He had noticed a rather marked increase in the number of eyes staring at him when his back was turned since the rationing had begun.

On their homeworld, he was just another student of one of the arenas dedicated to the Dark Muse Qa'leh; the Mistress of Blades. Naturally, he was lower down in the arena's hierarchy because of his sex, but as all the other acolytes, he too strived to be the strongest and fastest in single combat; and enjoyed both the sweet joys of victory as well as the burning pain of defeat.

However, that also meant he didn't have the void-combat and mariner skills of a follower of Vileth, or the raiding knowledge that one of Hekatii's Iconoclasts would have had. All the people around him knew that; and while they allowed him to lead for now, the moment they found him wanting…

Kyrazis stifled a shudder.

'Perhaps I was too hasty, assigning status based on the usefulness of one's skills.' He thought to himself; but there were just so many overspecialized Aeldari. There wasn't much work for some of the hanger-ons to the pretend nobility; those masochistic flatterers and self-debasing fan wavers. Even sound-weavers and throat-callers were more useful; using sonic vibrations and melody to help alleviate some of the darkness among the survivors.

Those without useful skills were last in line for everything, but abandoning them when there were so few of them was out of the question.

At the very least, he left a method of upward mobility.

'To the victor, the spoils!' Those were the words screamed in the arena before every fight. A reminder that only the strongest deserve anything. So, Kyrazis had used those same words to mold the new social order that was required. Anyone who could show some use for their skills, or master a new useful one could rise the ranks.

It was easier said than done, however. Aeldari tendencies to over focus often meant that those without useful skills had little interest in much else.

'Well, not all things.' Kyrazis thought to himself. Violence seemed to be the one thing that they were all getting better at.

Whether it was from the way they now had to feed, or some whisper to the subconscious, or the sudden isolation from the warmth of the psychic connection they all used to share and could use at any time; he didn't know.

Whatever the cause, their penchant for brutality and killing was growing.

He'd watched a previously reedy and frail self-styled slave girl to the nobility laugh maniacally as she flayed one of the Mon-keigh with the whips she used to have her master use on her. Personal knowledge of how each whip stung, and the safest places to strike had opened up a new career; extracting the most amount of suffering from the Mon-keigh before they expired.

Kyrazis closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images flowing through his head.

'If only you were here… sister.' He thought to himself. Not one of the many women of Qa'leh, he fought with and against in the arena, but his biological sister who he had shared over 5000 years reincarnating endlessly together. She was always the more decisive of the two of them; less inhibited by doubt while equally more reckless.

'At the very least, I would have someone to talk to.' The last memories of her in the stands of the arena flashed across his mind, along with the memories of the last morning they shared together.

Suddenly, he felt a great tug from inside him, and for a panicked moment he feared She was here to claim him as She had their first pilot; suddenly and without warning. But he did not collapse to the ground, and he didn't feel the whispers, claws, or fangs of Hir daemons.

Instead, he felt a feeling of warmth, and childish nostalgia. Long forgotten smells of fresh linen and wet grass, of sunlight and open air.

He looked down at the rest of the Aeldari on the bridge, and saw them all looking around, as if they had all felt the same thing he did.

"Mordraxus!" Kyrazis barked.

"Yes?"

"What was that?"

"I have no idea."

Kyrazis stifled the urge to jump down and break every bone in the biomancer's bent body.

"Were all your experiments on the Mon-keigh for nothing?" He finally hissed.

"I experimented with Mon-keigh bodies. Everything about the soul is an inference, for I am not a seer."

"Then give me your best guess."

"Whatever it is, it is powerful; powerful enough to reach out and touch all of us, and there was only one other being that did that to us."

"A god." Kyrazis said quietly.

"Most likely."

Before Kyrazis could fully process the thought, he felt information flow into him; the long forgotten feeling of using his psychic senses to absorb knowledge relaxed muscles and wrinkles he hadn't known he had.

"Navigator." He spoke quietly. "Take us there as fast as you can. Travel through the immaterium if you have to."

For the first time in a long while, Kyrazis felt something other than grim depression. Something warm, something familiar.

But, as water began to bead in his eyes, he could also feel everything he had bottled up for the past several decades bubbling up from the depths. Suppressed emotions, trauma, and a burning meaningless question that he had forced to the very bottom of his mind.

 

[Nidhog153]

Commodore Lysander looked up as the doors to the bridge opened, and for the second time that day, the Emperor returned through it.

'What was it this time?' He wondered, the metal components of his cogitation augmetics sticking out the back of his head clicking as he thought.

It was unusual for the Master of Mankind to be so distracted. The first time he disappeared, he caused a minor panic among the bridge crew by teleporting mid-explanation of the battle plans with the Eldar; only the calm presence of his Custodes guards picking up the discussion where he left off restoring order from the sudden departure.

The second time, he excused himself politely before storming off the bridge through the door. A rather louder-than-normal crackling sound from the energies of teleportation followed, suggesting a great deal of uncharacteristic ire from their liege.

"How goes the journey, Commodore?"

"Very well, your grace." He answered, not wanting to further irritate the Emperor. "Our recovery teams from the support squadron, Nightingale. have reported that all the gene tech those Xenobiologis were hoarding was intact; much of it unused; pristine condition I've heard our boys say."

"And the Tech Priests themselves?"

"None put up a struggle, but I fear they may be less than sufficient for your plans. Completely unresponsive the lot of them."

"Mind death…" The Emperor sighed as his eyes turned to the holomap in front of them. "How troublesome."

"If I may…" Lysander licked his lips nervously. "Did the Xeno your grace brought aboard cause all that?"

"It is an extraordinary member of its species." The Emperor confirmed, as he scrolled through the various star-charts of local systems. "Others would not be able to replicate the same feat."

"I do not doubt that My Lord. If the other Eldar raiding parties we destroyed had those capabilities, we would have taken far more casualties during our operations." Lysander licked his lips nervously again. "However, I am worried about what would happen if she became… uncooperative. Eldar have a nasty tendency to be unpredictable. I've met some of their traders, quite good at their craft; always wily enough to run off with the better deal they are." He said with a chuckle, then the sparkle in his eye was replaced with a dark look. "Then there are those… cruel beasts with fair skin." Looking up at the Emperor, Lysander raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I was wondering which one she was."

"It…" The Emperor stressed the word. "is neither and both." The Emperor closed the star-map, and turned towards him with a reassuring smile. "However, if you are worried for your safety, trust in me and my vision. Her voice waylays the idly curious, the unprepared, and the unfocussed. It should only be a distraction to those with purpose, and conviction."

"If you say so, My Lord." Lysander nodded, not really understanding what he had just heard. However, it was always best to accept what the Master of Mankind said while he was smiling. "At the very least, it was a wise decision to hold her here, on the Bucephelus. Most of the systems can be switched over to automated control, if there were such an incident. A loss of a significant portion of the crew would not decrease her combat readiness."

"I would deal with it before such a thing could happen, Commodore." The Emperor said, putting a reassuring hand on the much smaller man's shoulder. "I do not spend the men and women who follow me and my vision lightly; including yourself"

"Thank you My Lord." Lysander returned the familiar gesture with a grateful bow, before clearing his throat. "Returning to my report. We have the required amounts of gene tech we sought out, but not enough Tech Priests specialized in gene-crafting to use it. That last planet was the only enclave that was completely cut off from Mars that we could have enlisted from."

"Do not worry, Commodore. Our path remains unchanged. Humanity's future is assured."

The Commodore chuckled.

The bravado.

The confidence.

It was an act he also put on before his own crewmen, especially before battle; when they all knew a wayward torpedo or plasma strike could vent all of them out of the ship and into space. But that was the job of a leader. To inspire men, and allow them to reach greater heights, even when disaster was just moments away.

"Of course, My Lord." Lysander bowed again, then caught sight of a tall feminine figure with pointed ears.

"My Lord… is that?"

"The Eldar captive? Yes it is."

"This is quite… unusual." An Eldar on the bridge of the Emperor's ship? Very few were allowed on the Bucephelus in the first place. What some of the provincial governors back on Terra would give for such a privilege.

Lysander himself had received many grandiose gifts with hushed requests for a private tour of the ship when it was docked back on Terra. Of course, Lysander wasn't one to betray the Emperor's trust. He wasn't that ungrateful, or foolish.

"It has offered to act as an ambassador to its species." The Emperor lowered his head slightly, as if to whisper something to him. "As I said before, if the Eldar can be dealt with peacefully, then more of our ships can be saved."

"I'll be sure to tell the commanders of all the escorts who volunteered, My Lord. They should find gratitude in your graciousness." Lysander whispered back.

"Do not be hasty, Commodore." The Emperor admonished, returning upright again. "There is no guarantee this will work. However, our operations should be able to end today, if all goes according to our plan."

"If you say so, My Lord." Commodore Lysander turned to leave the bridge, only to have the Emperor's hand rest on his shoulder again.

"Speak to the Eldar. I wish to have you discuss the last parts of our plan with the ambassador."

Lysander raised an eyebrow. "Would that be wise, My Lord?"

"Miscommunications can happen, but they can also be prevented." The Emperor said, releasing his shoulder. "Better to explain what will happen if it fails, than have it surprised."

"As you will, My Lord." Lysander nodded.

Speaking to an Eldar… Well, he hoped his oratory skills hadn't gone too rusty.

Always had to be careful around those fair Xenos. Too many times he'd seen merchants and rogue traders pulling their hair out after finding out they'd been handed the short end of a bargain by them. Then again, he'd seen those same traders pulling their hair out after dealing with the Emperor's own bureaucrats. Some people were just bad at their jobs.

"And…" Lysander sneaked a glance at the Eldar to make sure her attention was elsewhere. "what should I call 'it'?"

His Lord may not fear annoying the Eldar, but he would rather not ruin relations before they began. Especially if they were with women.

Quite frankly, human women held about as much of a grudge as the Eldar did from his experience.

His wife never let him forget that one time he forgot their anniversary. Every Vox-call the first thing she'd ask him was what the date was over on the ship. Then she'd glower at him like a bleeding Arbitrator until he answered how many days were left until their next anniversary.

It was all smiles and charms if he got it right, but get it wrong and he wouldn't hear the end of it. A full 45 minute Vox-call provided by the Emperor himself filled with nothing but sarcasms and sourness.

What was especially mortifying was that he'd often find a note on his chair with the correct number of days every time he got it wrong.

Lysander shook himself out of his self-pity. His personal troubles already bothered the Emperor enough as it was.

"Catumen." The Emperor replied. "It means ambassador in their language."

"I see. Quite… descriptive." Lysander sighed.

Well, the Master of Mankind really wasn't going to be much help smoothing things over with the Eldar. He'd just caught a rather nasty look coming from her in their direction.

"Well then, I shall do my best to communicate with the Eldar, My Lord." Lysander saluted. "Wish me luck."

"We make our own luck Lysander." The Emperor replied, returning the salute.

"Using my own words against me? Goodness, have I gotten that old?"

"You are still as young as when we first met in my eyes."

"Spoken from the lips of an immortal such as yourself, I do not know whether to be flattered or depressed." Lysander chuckled. "By your leave, My Lord."

"Granted."

Lysander turned towards the Eldar. Quite frankly, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. If he didn't love his wife already, and was another 50 years younger, he might have been smitten by her.

Sadly, her smooth face was very obviously displeased. Slightly unusual for the Eldar, as the ones he met wouldn't have allowed such emotions to show; either leaving the premises, or shooting whatever caused them the displeasure before showing it on their face.

They usually carried themselves with an air of haughty confidence. This one seemed more down to earth, or haggard; if that was even a look possible for a species that looked so artistically built. Perhaps it was the simple shift she wore, or the lack of footwear that gave that impression.

"Catumen." He addressed the Eldar, causing its silvery eyes to turn down towards him. "I am Commodore Lysander of the Bucephelus; the Emperor's flagship, and temporary commander of the squadron Dawnbreaker." The Eldar continued to stare down at him silently, whether it was incensed at being reduced to a role, or there was something wrong with his pronunciation, he couldn't tell. In fact, he couldn't tell at all what the Eldar was thinking at the moment; like looking at the frozen features of a great marble sculpture.

"I have been tasked with informing you of our plan of engagement. I understand that My Lord has informed you of what they have done, and that they can no longer be permitted to continue."

The Eldar blinked once, and then spoke in a soft voice that took away the stiffness in his shoulders, and slight pain in his back.

"Your master has made me aware of that."

Lysander felt like he could hear the warbling of birds, and the rushing of small creeks. A phantom wind blew across his face, and he felt like lying down for a moment.

The Commodore shook his head. 'An extraordinary member of its species indeed.' He thought to himself.

Eldar voices always rang with a melodious song at every intonation, but this was something quite different. Their song was always alien, a clear reminder of a beautiful yet marked difference in their species.
The song in this Eldar, this Catumen was very different. It was one he could understand, which should have been impossible for a Xeno coming from an alien world.

Perhaps the Emperor's title for her was not as demeaning as he first thought. No creature would find her voice alien, or unnatural. An important skill for an ambassador.

Lysander closed his eyes, and repeated the Emperor's orders over and over in his mind. A tactic he often fell back on when missions went belly up, and battleplans went astray.

'Remember the Emperor's orders, and their meaning. What does he want you to do?' He asked himself.

His orders were to discuss the last parts of the plan with the Xeno before him.

His orders were to ensure there was no misunderstanding between them.

His orders were to make sure she would understand what would happen if she failed to convince the pirates to disarm themselves.

Lysander opened his eyes. What felt like minutes was but a single blink, an advantage of having a cogitation augment implanted directly into the brain.

Whether intentionally or accidentally, talking with this Catumen was dangerous. Given time, he could see himself relaxing around this creature, perhaps even hold amicable feelings towards it. However, to do that was to betray the Emperor, and all he had done. No man can serve two masters, and it was humanity's turn to rule the stars; not the Eldar. This operation was but one small stepping stone in the way of the Emperor's path. If the lives and resources of the squadron he led could be saved, then this Catumen had worth, otherwise it was an ever present threat to all who spoke to it. A threat he was sure to inform the rest of the squadron about.

Lysander sighed internally. It would have been far easier if the Emperor simply explained to him verbally that it was a threat, but he could understand why he had chosen to throw him before this Xeno. Words alone could not explain why such a calming creature was so dangerous.

Now... how in the devil was he going to explain this to the other commanders and captains of all the other ships?

Aware of the hidden danger of this Catumen, it was now his duty to relay that to those under his command, and at the very least submit a report to his peers when he returned to Terra. Master of Mankind indeed, what a slave driver the Emperor was.

Straightening his posture, and hardening his tone, partially from the growing headache of figuring out what to say to his other service-members; Lysander continued.

"The fleet of these raiders will be destroyed. Whether it be a controlled decommissioning upon their surrender, or by battle."

The Eldar blinked slowly, already aware of this detail.

"In the event these raiders surrender their vessels, we will need to determine where they disembark. I understand you have already chosen a planet for them, but if you have a particular location of said planet in mind to deposit them, we are willing to assist in getting them there."

A slight tilt of the head caused strands of golden hair to shift, exposing the slender neck, and thin shoulders beneath them.

"I do not know the names humans may have given to the places on my people's worlds."

Lysander quickly turned away from the Eldar, instead focussing on operating the holomap before him.

"Do not worry. Even with our quaint technology by your standards, we do have the ability to communicate with more than just words." Activating it, he brought up an image of the planet. "If you could point on the holomap where you would prefer them to land, we can position our ship to meet them at that location."

The Catumen looked at the holomap, then into the distance behind him; at the portside of the ship, the side facing the planet they were orbiting. Silvery eyes seemed to glow softly for an instant, before she turned back to the holomap and pointed to a continuous line of valleys and gorges; as if some one had taken the crust of the planet in two hands and shoved it together.

"Here."

"Thank you." Lysander had to tear his eyes away from the thin soft looking finger, pointing at the holomap. The feeling was strange; completely unlike the lust and love he had for his wife when they first met. However, at the same time, looking at that finger or any part of the Catumen made him feel wistful; a long forgotten longing that confused him, of lost security and warmth.

"Now, I will discuss our plan of action for parlaying with these raiders." Focussing on operating the holomap again, Lysander brought up a tactical map of the planet's solar system. "Our Emperor has offered to contact the pirates through the Warp using his… unique abilities."

Bringing up an image of the ship they were on, Lysander positioned it slightly off from where the Catumen had pointed.

"The Bucephelus will position herself here, in geosynchronous orbit a few degrees in the direction of the planet's rotation away from the point you have requested. Once the Emperor has contacted the pirates, we will remain here; alone. All of the Eldar pirates avoid systems with superior numbers of orbital or interstellar military assets. In order to ensure the pirates do not run from us, we will knowingly put ourselves at risk to ensure they do not run away immediately."

Turning to the Eldar, Lysander did his best to fix it with a grim stare.

"However, My Lord does not do this lightly. In the event your attempts at parlay fail, the Bucephelus is also the bait in our trap to destroy all of them in one battle."

A push of the button caused several dozen ships to appear. Two about half the size of the Bucephelus were positioned on either side of the flagship, while the others formed two curved planes opposite each other, like the walls of a tunnel, or the webbing of a net.

"If any hostile action is perceived from your people, the rest of the Dawnbreaker squadron will immediately exit from Warpspace around the pirate ships; surrounding them. Immediately afterwards, the Emperor will disrupt local Warp space, trapping all of us here; limiting all ships to only sub-light speed travel. We will continue firing at the pirate fleet until all of them are either destroyed, or have gone to ground on the planet below. Once all ships are eliminated, ground forces will be deployed to ensure any ships that have reached the planet surface are decommissioned, permanently. You may join the ground teams at this time to parlay with the survivors. If they surrender, the Emperor has promised to allow them to live on the planet. If they do not, I am afraid to say that we will be forced to take all measures necessary to ensure this pirate threat never returns."

Lysander looked at the Catumen out of the corner of his eye.

Eldar traders valued their kin greatly, and a threat against one usually ended up in a concerted effort of many often seemingly unrelated Xeno parties ending the offender; whether this was through economics or by the blade was a matter of mood for the Eldar. The pirates also treated their kin, or at least their bodies, with some degree of reverence. No Eldar corpses were ever found at the raiding sites, even though there were crystalized pools of blood large enough to suggest at least some of the Eldar had been fatally wounded during their raids.

He expected ire, or at the very least sorrow at his words from the Catumen, but instead it was a familiar look of grimness that he associated more with humans than the emotional and sensitive Eldar that looked back at him.

"Do what you must, and I will do what I can."

It was a tired voice that replied, and he heard the great creaking of ancient trees; swaying of forest branches.

Guilt tugged at his heart strings, like he had disappointed someone who had trusted him a great deal.

Lysander accessed his augmetics, and reviewed images of what they had found in the remains of the Eldar vessels and the habitation centers that they had found ransacked. Normally, such images were unhelpful, only serving to generate excess bloodlust and ire. One needed a clear head to manage a ship. However, he needed that anger to continue. Without it, he was afraid of this creature before him.

Even though it posed no threat to him, he feared it. He feared disappointing it; of not fulfilling its expectations.

Slowly, the righteous anger generated from the memories of the pirates' cruelty charred any feeling of guilt inside him, replacing it with a black smoldering rage.

Whatever sympathies this creature felt for its kin, those deeds could not be forgiven. It was only the mercy of the Emperor, and his want to protect his people and ships from unnecessary conflict that spared the lives of those Xenos.

Letting a short breath to calm himself from his self-induced fury, Lysander turned off the holomap.

"Do you have any further questions regarding our plan?"

"No. You may return to your master."

Lysander raised an eyebrow. There were a lot of questions he would be asking if he were in her position.

How much food would be given to those who surrendered?

What sort of garrison would be left to watch over them?

What would happen if the Eldar pirates broke their word, and returned to the stars to raid again?

All very important questions that should have popped up immediately. Was it truly safe to trust this Eldar, after all?

"They are my people." The Catumen turned to look at him, and he felt his spine go rigid as its silvery eyes met his. "They cannot break an oath they make with me, and I will provide all that is necessary for them."

Pure unadulterated truth rang in her voice, and his skin tightened forming gooseflesh on his neck and back. Old memories of when he had first met the Emperor resurfaced; as a golden being of fiery steel in golden armor standing at the forefront of a legion of spear wielding giants, cutting away at the armies of dark horrors and gene-abominations from the end of Old Night.

"Trust in me, and trust in yourselves!" The Emperor's voice rang out across the battlefield. "Fight together, and we shall banish these creatures back to the darkness they belong!" His fiery sword struck down a hulking 5 limbed monster of flesh and metal; cutting its body in two, incinerating both halves. "May fortune favor you, and all your deeds this day!"

Lysander had only been a Lieutenant of some fiefdom to a now forgotten Terran autocrat at the time. His method of enlistment being thrown in the back of a truck by the autocrat's press gangers. Then, after a couple weeks of beatings and running and more beatings, he was given body armor, a gun, and a fancy hat to differentiate him from the rest of the conscripts. Then he was told by a mean looking major to hold a trench with his platoon alongside a couple other equally confused lieutenants and their platoons.

Having held the trench as he was told for 5 days straight, holding out against swarms of fleshlings, and screaming abominations with a dwindling ammo supply, Lysander was already half-mad with panic when the Emperor arrived, and when he heard the voice of this golden giant he knew nothing about, he must have lost his mind completely.

"We make our own luck, Sir!" He yelled back at the figure holding the golden sword. "Platoon! Fix bayonets! Prepare to charge! We're not letting these newcomers show us how to do our job!"

His men, also driven mad with fear, yet now filled with a mad sense of glory, all hurriedly put on their bayonets, and prepared to stick them in the monsters around them; just as the golden giants did with their spears.

"Hold Lieutenant." and the armored hand of the Emperor rested on Lysander's shoulder. "You and your men have shown me enough bravery today. Hold this position, and protect my flank."

Lysander later realized that was the second time he had been saved by the Emperor.

Nobody needed to guard the Emperor's flank. His Custodes had no weakness, and were all excellent battle strategists.

The voice of the Emperor was a powerful thing. All who heard it knew no fear. But, that did at times lead to spurring on more than a few fools and madmen to go charging to their deaths. He knew from personal experience that, had he charged into the enemy as he was about to do, he would have met a very quick and grisly end.

This Catumen was the same as his Lord. He didn't know how to describe it, but he felt the same way before them. With age he had gotten used to the Emperor's presence, but he had not yet had time to acclimatize to the presence of this Catumen before him.

'Extraordinary member of its species indeed.' Lysander thought to himself. Part of him became quite reassured of everything. If this Catumen was the same as his Lord, then its people should be just as easily swayed by it as he was.

But, another part of him, the ever suspicious part of him that had kept him alive as he rose through the ranks, earned promotions, and finally ascended to the elevated position of Commodore of the Emperor's own flagship, whispered a grave warning.

Not all humans followed the Emperor. Not all who heard his voice came to his side, or followed his vision.

Optima spera, ad pessima praepara, inopinata exspecta
(hope for the best, prepare for the worst, expect the unexpected)

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N (1/3): Apologies for the long wait. I was trying to build up a stock of chapters, or at least draft enough of them so posts could keep up at a reasonable pace. Daily updates are gone for the foreseeable future (maybe weekly?), and if this takes up more of my time, I might need a Patreon to support myself. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

A/N (2/3): Special thanks to @Skyborne for acting as a sounding board, and reviewing some of the sections of the story. Your feedback was greatly appreciated.

A/N (3/3): I've added some links with music to the Spacebattles version of this story. The music notes are linked, but just to reference them all:
♪1:F/SN HA OST: Legend
♪2:F/SN HA OST: Back to the night
♪3:F/SN HA OST: Stranger
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"The bridge crew will now move to the secondary command bridge, My Lord." The human, Lysander, announced while saluting the Master of Mankind.

Isha watched as the mortal humans and Custodes exited the bridge, leaving only her and the Emperor.

"What are you planning?" She said, after only the two of them were left.

"I merely asked for privacy while you call and speak to your people." The Emperor stepped down from the raised platform of the command deck that held the holomap and captain's chair onto the one below where the various technicians, comms officers, and other crewmen necessary to operate the bridge usually worked. Raising a taloned hand, golden lights began to rise out of him. "Additionally, this vessel is the bait for when your efforts fail. The bridge is the first place your people will attack. You and I can survive most things, but not them."

"And is that why you told them it would be your 'unique abilities' that would call my children?" Isha crossed her arms, tone accusatory.

"There are certain things people should be ignorant of."

She scoffed at that. What poor efforts to conceal her divinity. If he wanted to do so, he should have never let anyone talk to her. Life was what she embodied. Even to an alien race, her nature seeped out; whispering to them, calling to them.

"Was that the reason you erased my name?"

"Names hold power. Not only in the immaterium, or Enuncia." The Emperor replied as the golden energies gathering around him formed a golden sphere that rippled, forming various tunnels between its infinite surfaces, a map of Warp portals that connected different starsystems; systems she had seen the Emperor go over while he was at the holomap. "Giving a name to something is the first step to understanding it; to empathize or sympathize with it." The golden sphere expanded, matching the points drawn on itself to the space around them, turning invisible as it spread out through the walls of the ship.

"Your specialities lie in all life. Even without knowing your name or nature, it affects others. It draws them to you, and distracts them." The Emperor said, turning back to her. "I would prefer them to remain my subjects, than have them become an obstacle."

"Is that why you objectify me? Refer to me as 'it' and Catumen?" Isha snorted. Those were the first steps to alienate the other. To remove the mast basic identifiers that made them. She was a goddess, not an object. Neither was she an ambassador. She was Isha, and her many titles. By hiding her identity, and removing her gender, the Emperor made her out to be something unrecognizable.

It was a process Isha remembered well.

Humanity arrogantly called the process dehumanization, but in truth it was the destruction of empathy through the removal of the moral burden of knowledge. Striking a rock with a hammer does not invoke images of suffering. If one could make something the same as a rock, then one could easily swing at the head of a babe.

"Your people erased the name of you and your kind millenia ago." The Emperor snorted. "I find it hard to believe that my efforts to keep my people ignorant of your nature to be as equally offensive."

Isha's fingers dug into her arms. "I had no choice but to endure that."

"And do you have a choice now?"

"No… I do not."

A bitter silence remained between them; Isha turning her head away from the Emperor as he climbed up the steps back to her.

"I will stabilize a path between us and your people. Call them, and direct them here. After that, you may speak with them as you wish."

Isha nodded, not trusting herself to speak any further.

The Emperor's eyes glowed, and infinitely small beams of light radiated from his aura, piercing multiple microscopic holes that burned away into the immaterium.

Beyond those holes, were the lost children of the Core worlds of the Empire.

Isha lifted her head, and sang. Silent tunes that could not be heard. Noises that could not be measured. But, the meaning struck at the soul of all those beyond the portals. For the first time in over 50,000 years, Isha felt the souls of her children once again.

The contact was brief, but it was enough for her to grasp their individual psychic signatures, the silent names she would need to call to impart knowledge to them.

Once it was done, Isha closed her mouth, and the Emperor's light disappeared.

"Now we wait." His tone was almost expectant, like a fisher who had just cast a well laden hook.

Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, the Emperor now had what he wanted.

Isha crouched down, arms crossed across her stomach. The brief touch with her children's souls had brought up dark memories of their history; of the deeds of Shaimesh the poisoner, and the 12,000 years of cultural destruction and depravity that followed.

Her children had forgotten who she was, who all of their gods were. For the past 6000 years, only Cegorach's Harlequin worshippers and the youngest of her children who had yet to feel Shaimesh's poison ever bothered to remember her or the Aeldari pantheon.

The Aeldari of the Core Worlds, and those of the city called Commorragh all followed in the teachings of mortal beings they called Dark Muses.

Many had forgotten the term's meaning. They believed it referred to a creator or leader of passions that went beyond the mundane. A person who knew a truth that was too hard or terrible for the normal mind to understand.

In truth, it was a simple cruel joke. A muse was a concept of creation and inspiration in the arts and sciences.

A Dark Muse was the opposite.

They were the usurpation and destruction of heritage and knowledge; themselves deceived by their own self-perception of enlightenment.

—----------------------------------------
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The Dark Muses' story starts with the first Dark Muse; Shaimesh, the Lord of Poisons. ♪1

Although the fake followers that remained after him likened him to the Cosmic Serpent; Saim-Hann, Shaimesh, like all Dark Muses that came after him, he was a mortal Aeldari. Born in the 15th millenia of the universe, he came into a time of Aeldari expansionism and imperialism.

However, Shaimesh was not blessed with the same amount of psychic power as his peers, and was forced to live in poverty for most of his life.

Instead, he had a burning passion for knowledge of the unknown; especially Xenobiology.

What he earned he spent traveling across the various colonies and exploratory worlds across the stars, endlessly studying and researching new creatures and cultures for much of his first 1000 years of life. Others his age would focus on their psychic abilities, reaching out to reacquire their memories of past lives from the Sea of Souls, and divining the future for themselves.

Shaimesh was not troubled by this difference between himself and his fellow Aeldari. He enjoyed his research and his adventures far too much, crafting devices, chemicals, and technologies he could use to replace the psychic abilities he didn't have.

But, one day, after borrowing too much for a trip to a different planet, Shaimesh offered a nerve stimulant he had created to mimic the enhanced reaction times of his psychic brethren as collateral for the debt. For Shaimesh, it allowed him to catch up with the slowest of the other Aeldari. In the hands of a normal Aeldari, it was a psychostimulant that increased sensations to the point of near eternity.

This stimulant ended up in the hands of one of the nobles of the Aeldari empire; actual aristocrats with real political power, and greater psychic abilities at the time.

Shaimesh was taken to the noble, and after entertaining him and his family with tales of his adventures, and the various delicacies he had collected from the creatures he had investigated, Shaimesh found himself a patron in the nobility.

From then on, Shaimesh had no worries for money. His patron paid his traveling expenses, his requests for research equipment, and provided the spaces needed for him to keep all his specimens.

In return, Shaimesh provided whatever new potion, pumice, or perfume he found or developed during his travels.

Those were the happiest moments of his life; traveling from world to world with Vileth his pilot, Hekatii the archeologist, Qa'leh his guard, and Lhilitu the daughter of his noble patron and future consort.

Many others came to hear of his tales, and sample the things he brought back. The Feast of Shaimesh was originally an eating contest where he would bring back the most strange and bizarre things he had eaten during his travels; only some were poisonous.

Eventually, Shaimesh's journey came to the end of the Aeldari empire at the time.

Although gifted with the knowledge of restructuring the Webway, the Aeldari were never taught how to create one. For that, the limits to their empire eventually became that of the available gates left over from the War in Heaven.

Ever hungry for adventure, Shaimesh petitioned and pestered his patron noble for future expansions of the empire, until one day the noble replied mockingly.

'All that knowledge, and you still haven't reached Saim-Hann(enlightenment)?'

The comment was meant to be a joke, but it struck Shaimesh like a thunderbolt.

He had run into many barriers; monetary, social, physical, but overcame them all with his wits, his knowledge, and his ingenuity.

Why couldn't this problem be solved like all the others?

But, Shaimesh was no psyker. He never saw the immaterium, nor did he know how to pass through it.

So he gathered all his friends and followers to help him.

He pestered Vileth to teach him what it was like navigating through the immaterium.

He rummaged around with Hekatii in her piles of legally and illegally acquired artifacts looking around for legends and stories of the gods.

He had Qa'leh watch his back as he snuck into ancient libraries and temples for stories about the War in Heaven.

And he asked Lhilitu to show him what it was like to see the Sea of Souls by sharing his mind with hers.

Many others helped him. Those with weak psychic abilities; those among the lower castes of society, aspired to be like him, to live in a world where they too could live freely like he did.

After another thousand years, Shaimesh replicated the feat of a god. The creation of a new Webway.

He bound it to the existing portals, and linked it to thousands of new systems and stars; creating the great trading port of Commorragh.

A new social order grew there. A place where anyone with any skills could find a place to belong. A place no longer bound by the order of the Aeldari empire.

For this act, Shaimesh's patron was tried for treason against the empire, and he himself was imprisoned with his followers.

However, that was not the end for Shaimesh. ♪2

The many potions, pumices, and perfumes Shaimesh had provided to his patron over thousands of years had addicted the entire nobility. Things that allowed Shaimesh to barely keep up with his fellow Aeldari sent those already gifted with psychic abilities to heights of sensation unimaginable by Shaimesh.

Knowing that he was the source of all of the concoctions they enjoyed, they tortured him and his followers to force him to divulge his secrets.

Shaimesh knew he would be killed regardless, so he planned to take his secrets with him. The addiction these nobles had afflicted on themselves with his work would be his revenge. Their memories of pleasure and sensations would be passed on between their reincarnations, forever tainting their lives.

'If we are to suffer eternally, then we shall do the same to you.' said one of the nobles.

One by one, Shaimesh's followers were imprisoned in blackstone coffins, souls forever trapped, never to return to the Sea of Souls; unable to reincarnate. Each coffin was sent out into space, to drift forever out of the sight of any psyker; any Aeldari.

But, the nobles didn't want to suffer. They had acquired too much power, and life without Shaimesh's products was unimaginable.

So, they decided to use one of their own to break him; Lhilitu.

She was drowned in every pleasure chemical, aphrodisiac, and sense stimulant they had from Shaimesh. Then they locked her in a sunless cell, and waited for the addiction to destroy her.

When Shaimesh saw Lhilitu, she was a broken woman.

Her nails were gone from trying to scratch her way out of her cell.

Her skin was discolored from the lack of sunlight.

And her dead eyes showed him the damage that had been done to her mind.

'If we are to suffer eternally, then we shall do the same to you.' the noble said again, and Shaimesh knew that if he took his secrets with him, Lhilitu would suffer the same fate as the nobles that had wronged him.

Shaimesh gave them what they wanted on one condition. He would only give his knowledge to Lhilitu; the only way he could guarantee her safety.

The nobles agreed, for they had already bound Lhilitu's soul with psychic spells. She was their slave, and could never raise a hand against them.

So, for one last time, Shaimesh shared his mind with Lhilitu.

After it was shown Lhilitu could replicate Shaimesh's work, he was locked in his own blackstone coffin, and thrown into the void.

The treacherous brother of Saim-Hann, Shaimesh. That was the title they gave him.

The Aeldari who betrayed his empire, while recreating the work of a god.

The Aeldari who poisoned its people against its rulers.

The Aeldari who addicted the entire ruling class with his inventions, and infected the lower castes with his ideology.

But, Shaimesh did not accept his doom quietly.

In that last moment with Lhilitu, he gave her all his knowledge of chemistry, potion making, and biology.

The knowledge to replicate his work for the nobles, and the knowledge to cure herself of her addiction.

The knowledge that had kept him alive, and had been his passion for living.

It took years of pretending to be a dutiful doddering slave, but Lhilitu eventually freed herself from the chemical bonds that enslaved her. But, the psychic bonds remained unbroken. Even if she killed one, the others would realize what had happened and end her.

She was already being forced to educate a new group of potion makers that would be her eventual replacement.

So she used Shaimesh's knowledge to win her freedom.

Lhilitu slipped the same pleasure chemicals, aphrodisiacs, and sense stimulants that had enslaved her into the food and drink of her replacements.

She used Shaimesh's own stories to help her, pretending that the Feast of Shaimesh was an opportunity to experiment on themselves and on each other with poisons of different combinations.

Once she had created her own servants and slaves out of the men and women who would replace her. Lhilitu paralyzed the minds and bodies of all the nobles during one of their banquets, and slit every one of their throats with a blade poisoned in such a way that it would provide the most amount of pain imaginable.

Free after almost a century of slavery, Lhilitu ran to Commorragh.

The nobles would reincarnate eventually, and they would be looking for her when they returned.

Returning to the trade port Shaimesh had built, Lhilitu began to create an army of her own to defend against the coming of the nobles.

She recruited them with pleasure concoctions, threatened them with poisons, and tortured paralyzed victims to show the rest what would happen to those who betrayed her.

She enhanced the various devices Shaimesh used to capture his biological specimens, creating paralytic barbs and poisoned blades that stimulated nerve endings to the extreme, preventing their victims from striking out with their psychic abilities.

The new social order of Commorragh was swiftly replaced by a society with two choices; obedience or death. A grim reflection of the imperial society of the Aeldari nobles Lhilitu had been born into, and had just escaped.

It didn't take long for the same addiction that poisoned Shaimesh's enemies to flow in the veins of the people of Commorragh; poisons and pleasure chemicals made by his lover's own two hands with his own knowledge.

Seeing what she had done, Lhilitu was driven insane with guilt. Although no longer vulnerable to addiction thanks to Shaimesh, she no longer wanted to understand or see what her fear had done to the very city Shaimesh had built.

Not wanting to think about or even remember anything, Lhilitu descended into the pleasures of the flesh as much as she could, but total oblivion never claimed her. Every bed-partner she took left without their eyes. For Lhilitu would bite them out, as her nailess hands could not claw them out. They were not Shaimesh's eyes, and she could not forgive them for that.

After years of madness and unfulfilling hedonism, Lhilitu locked herself in a blackstone coffin of her own; in order to suffer eternally as Shaimesh did, to be one with him in his pain, eternal penance for her betrayal of him and all he had stood for.

When the nobles reincarnated, they found no trace of Lhilitu; only pleasure seeking covens, and macabre poison makers; the remains of the army Lhilitu had made for Commorragh.

It was here that the idea of the Dark Muse first arose, for in their search for Lhilitu the nobles could only find the tales of her most depraved acts, and cruelest deeds.

No trace of the lover of Shaimesh who had created a new Webway remained. Instead, all the people remembered of her was a cruel whore who tortured her lovers in the most diabolical ways imaginable before disappearing into the void; rumored to have gone into oblivion to find new ways of despoilment and fornication.

Lhilitu, Consort of the Void. That was all that remained.

Any who followed her, followed what they thought she represented through her deeds. A hedonistic wytch of poison and blade bound to the void for all eternity.

Total destruction of a person's memory was a rare thing to the Aeldari. With reincarnation, no lie to a person's tale could really stick, for the individual would eventually come back to life to rectify it.

But for Shaimesh and his followers, no reincarnation existed for them.

So they chose to use his name and the names of his followers to forever prevent the rise of another Shaimesh.

Young inquisitive minds were indoctrinated into the Dark Muse of Shaimesh, exposing them to the craft of poison making and flesh-sculpting. Perversions of the potioncraft and xenobiology that Shaimesh had loved.

Veleth's skills as a pilot were reduced to the base combat skills required to protect the empire. The dream of exploration and eternal expansion were replaced with the concepts of aerial domination, and the picking apart of lesser creatures from the sky.

Hekatii's troves of artifacts were thrown in the pits of Commorragh, her love for knowledge replaced by the simple need to steal and take items of religious and cultural significance from others.

Qa'leh's strengths with the blade were twisted to those of self-aggrandizement. The woman who trained and fought to protect others now only fought for herself and her own glory in their stories.

For every aspect that could have led to the rise of another Shaimesh, another Dark Muse was created to destroy that same aspect.

Empathy. Curiosity. Adventure. Heritage.

Even the knowledge of their gods became a threat, for it was that knowledge that had allowed Shaimesh to replicate a divine feat, and become as elevated as he had.

Temples of Asuryan, Khaine, Morai-Heg, Isha, Kurnous, Lileath and all the other gods were first left behind, treated as archaic and uninteresting. Then, as the destruction of Shaimesh and all the future people that could follow in his footsteps continued, the twisted followers of Hekatii came as iconoclasts, stealing and pillaging religious idols, artifacts, and scripture from temples and shrines, before burning them down.

'We have no need for gods! We are the gods incarnate!'

That was the cry that sounded throughout the streets.

With their ability to reincarnate and recover memories from their previous life, the Aeldari believed that they could live as long as the gods.

But…

Without the gods' purpose, or their power.

With their mortal flaws, and limitations.

They eventually descended into a state that was lesser than the lowest scum in the universe.

The 6000 years of destruction continued, even when the reason for it all was forgotten.

It was no longer destruction done out of fear, but destruction for the sake of freedom.

Freedom from memory.

Freedom from responsibility.

Freedom from inhibition.

Even the first nobles who created the first Dark Muses forgot why they did what they did. The insanity they had started now infected all their subjects and themselves.

Soon, even their titles and responsibilities that came with power become cumbersome and restrictive.

They became nobles in name and name alone, and the guards and servants they had either left to find their own sweet satisfactions, or remained to fulfill some masochistic urge in their service to them.

Now, with no one to guide the destruction and madness they had wrought, new Dark Muses arose organically from the muck. New idols to replace the ones they had destroyed, for now it was boredom that threatened the Aeldari's sole purpose for being.

Pleasure. Endless Pleasure.

Whether it came from the catharsis of suffering, or the simple stimulation of nerve endings.

Whether it came from the glory of the arena, and the screams of thousands of bloodthirsty onlookers from the stands.

Whether it came from the satisfaction of macabre curiosity and the slicing sensation of the scalpel.

Whether it came from the superiority complex of the iconoclasts, eager to lord their perceived divinity by destroying the temples and shrines of Aeldari and alien gods.

It was the never ending pursuit of fulfilling life without purpose, life without limitation, life without balance.

And that was how almost all Aeldari lived for the next 6000 years.

6000 years of destruction.

6000 years of despoilment.

12,000 years spent chained to an arboreal throne weeping and raging as Isha writhed and thrashed against her bonds, cracking even the bark and trunk of her own throne.

'Let me speak to them Asuryan! If we can correct this now, we can save them!'

She had cried to the figure in silver armor of chains and fire, only to be met with silence.

'Lileath, show them what will happen! Tell them of what awaits them!'

And Lilieath did so with tears in her eyes, only for the message to fall on deaf ears, or drive those who saw them to further madness.

'Kurnous, Morai-Heg, Atharti, Hekarti, Khaine! Someone! Someone save them!'

For the first 6000 years she had screamed endlessly for the other gods to act, knowing that they were bound by the same edict she was.

Her cries achieved nothing.

After the destruction of everything the Aeldari had stood for was complete, all she could do for the next 6000 years was suffer as she watched her children grow a new god with their empty meaningless lives.

This was the poison of Shaimesh.

The unintended curse he left upon all the Aeldari who had tired of life.

The loss of past purpose replaced with present pleasure and now followed by a future of eternal torment in the belly of She who Thirsts.

In the end, only the Aeldari with young curious souls, educated by the eternal harlequin followers of Cegorach, thought of her or any of her family.

They heeded Lilleath's warnings; either becoming wild Exodites, travelers of the stars as traders, or refugees from the empire leaving at the last minute in their Craftworlds.

They had saved themselves, and although their souls were still in Hir grasp, they were on the path to salvation. They did not need Isha at the moment.

But, the children she had called could not save themselves. They had spent too many life times, too many reincarnations in the same rut to change their ways.

Gods exist to save mortals from what they cannot save themselves from.

That was why they appeared during the War in Heaven; to fight alongside the mortal Aeldari against the Star Gods that could not be understood or defeated with their hands.

That was the duty, and purpose of a god.

If she were mortal, she could have hated them. She could have blamed them for the death of her family, the destruction of their culture, and themselves.

But, that could not be forgiven. A god without its people was no better than a daemon.

Even if she could not forgive them, she would still have to try to save them.

And in her infinite memory from her position in the Sea of Souls, she had seen them all at the very beginning.

She could still remember the true first breath in their long reincarnating lives they took, the true first step, the true first word.

Even if she could not see their entire life after that, and especially after they had forgotten her, she could still remember the innocent mind that came into this world; before it took the long road down damnation.

That was the story of Shaimesh the poisoner; treacherous brother to Saim-hann the Cosmic Serpent.

A story that existed only in divine memory, and the plays of the harlequin.

Scientist
Adventurer
Good friend
Faithful lover

Betrayed by those he served.
Forgotten by those who followed him.

Bound eternally in a blackstone coffin, forever lost from the sight of god and mortal.
—----------------------------------------
—----------------------------------------
—----------------------------------------

'I once asked Morai Heg, whether another path was there.' Isha thought to herself, back on the bridge of the Bucephelus. ♪3

"There are many paths, daughter." The old Crone cackled, as her crows looked down from their various perches. "Paths where Shaimesh was eaten by Q'orl during one of his adventures. Paths where Veleth misjudged the distance between asteroids, and crashed on his first training flight. Paths where Hekatii or Lhilitu were never even born, or even their parents for that matter." Morai Heg pulled various wisps of strings out of her rune skin pouch as she spoke, fates that could have happened but didn't.

As the strands of fate came from the pouch, more and more strings were dragged out. Some were wisps like the ones in Morai Heg's fingers. Others were bright full strands, things that had happened, and were happening. Then, at the end of all those fates of various opacity, was a single black knot.

"She who Thirsts comes from all Aeldari." Morai Heg spoke, swinging the tangled mess of fates that formed the black knot in front of Isha's face. "Shaimesh is just one route to Hir. It could have been any one of your children that bore his titles, or it could be none of them; merely the slow death after achieving everything they needed or wanted."

"Do you validate what they've done then?" Isha asked angrily. If what Morai Heg said was true, if Shaimesh could come from any Aeldari, then that justified the fear that caused the nobles to prevent the coming of another Shaimesh, even though it was self-defeating.

"We are gods, Isha. It is not our duty to manage the matters of mortals. We exist only to provide our truth and power when they need it. I am the goddess of fate, but my fingers only feel the strings, not pull them. Otherwise I would only be a puppet master, and Cegorach is enough for that." The old Crone shrugged, before cackling to herself. "Besides, that would be boring."

"Then, are we all doomed?" Isha could feel her heart blacken and her vision darkened.

"Do not worry daughter." The old Crone said as she put her remaining wrinkled hand on Isha's shoulder. "We may die, but you are life itself. You should know better than anyone, life always finds a way; and children always outgrow their parents someday."

'Mother…' Isha buried her face in her arms.

Blaring alarms brought Isha back from her reminiscences.

Red lights criss-crossed the bridge, and the holomap flared to life; multiple red circles with alarm signs attached to them appeared in front of the Bucephelus.

"Warp signature detected. Multiple signals incoming." A mechanical voice reported. "Unknown signatures. IFF tag assigned. Classification: Bogie. Activating ship-wide audio systems."

Isha felt the ship move beneath her as its powerful engines roared to life, turning it to the purple portals opening up in space.

"General Quarters, General Quarters." The ship's voice echoed through every hall and every deck. "All hands man your battle stations. Xenos contact imminent."

Isha's children had arrived.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: A little earlier than promised, but this chapter has been sitting completed on my PC for over a week. If I leave it any longer, I'm just going to keep re-reading and changing small bits and not work on the next few chapters.

"Kyrazis, we are nearing the exit point for our travels in the immaterium." Reported one of the bridge crew.

"Good, the sooner we're out of here the better." He replied, as a shudder crossed his skin. The immaterium seemed to close in, like the muscular intestinal walls of a beast that had already swallowed them whole. Even though the readings in front of Kyrazis were in the green, he couldn't help but feel a constant dread that slowly sucked the strength from his body.

"We have a number of hails from other groups of refugees from the Core Worlds of the Empire." The comms officer called out.

"Whatever contacted us seems to be drawing every last one in a single swoop." Mordraxus chuckled as his bent form shuffled into Kyrazis's peripheral vision.

"To help us, or to finish us off." He muttered in reply.

Nobody answered. Although the psychic touch had been soft, there was a feeling of foreboding that had been growing the closer they were to reaching the point they were being called to.

For Kyrazis, it was a strange sticky sensation that made him want to hang his head, and a subtler form of the bite of wounded pride after a lost spar.

"What should we do with the hails, Kyrazis?" The comms officer pulled him out of his brooding.

"Who has the largest fleet?"

"It appears we do, at the moment."

"Then order the others to follow our lead." Kyrazis snapped. "They won't complain as long as we're the first to spring whatever lies ahead of all of us."

The comms officer nodded, and relayed his message to the other ships.

There were more of them than before. A small fleet was building up composed of mostly patrolling cruiser groups, and a few policing escort class vessels. Many of the cruisers were outfitted with launch bays for Dark-Star fighter craft and Eagle bombers.

Both single-person craft were important for patrols, as they could extend the area of space covered by the ships; while also ensuring any smaller escort or single-person craft that may pass by unnoticed by the long range scanners were found and destroyed. Especially before such vessels could close the distance where the holofields that reduced the targeting accuracy of any weapons aimed at the ship were less effective.

Numerous plasma firing Star-Cannon artillery and laser based Pulsar Cannon beams, all facing forwards, jutted out of the aerodynamically shaped prow, while 2 or 3 almost chiropteran solar sails extended backwards; like the extended wing of a bat in mid flight.

All of these elements flowed together organically, courtesy of its Wraithbone based design; which allowed construction without nuts, bolts, screws, or even soldering leaving every surface as smooth as an undisturbed lake.

However, despite its brittle bone like appearance, the Wraithbone was only marginally weaker than ceramite and plastisteel; being created from the very psychic energies of the immaterium, and was soft or as hard as the bonesinger who sang it into existence could make it.

Kyrazis sighed, the heavy feeling growing larger. It was a strange feeling that felt familiar, and alien at the same time. An image of a childhood memory, his first childhood before his many reincarnations, crossed across his mind. It was the first time he and his sister had fought, and he had shoved her backwards into one of the trees in the park. He had felt bad at the time, like he had gone too far with something, and wanted to take it back.

'Guilt' Kyrazis shook his head as the term for the emotion came back to him.

Aeldari always returned from death, and with their long multi-milenia lives, it wasn't hard to find someone you had killed viciously in the arena walking around after a few hundred years, arrogantly boasting that it was a lucky strike that ended them, and that it was their turn to be the victor. It was difficult to feel any remorse when there were no consequences.

The only reason he could remember the name for the feeling was because he had to investigate the reason for his morbid mood after leaving his home planet.

The face of his sister, and the faces of hundreds of other nameless Aeldari flashed through his mind, causing Kyrazis to wince.

He thought he had gotten over this feeling, this 'guilt'. His sister did what she wanted, and he had done what was necessary to save the most number of people in their escape.

Kyrazis felt like he heard a ghostly cackle in his ear and his head snapped upwards; whipping from side to side only to see the bridge as normal, and the ever present purple of the immaterium in the viewing screen before him.

Traveling through the immaterium was dangerous. They had lost a ship once while they were traveling from one Mon-keigh world to the other, and he had seen the images transmitted from that ship. Daemons swarming over struggling Aeldari; screaming, blood, and then silence as they lost contact with the ship; only to watch it through the viewing ports slowly fall behind the rest of them, deeper into the immaterium before it vanished under a sea of purple.

Kyrazis grit his teeth. He wasn't sure whether the laughter he heard was just another hallucination caused by the sudden reappearance of guilt, or a grim warning that this ship was seconds away from being devoured by the immaterium itself.

Seconds passed, and only the occasional noise from the communicator and busy bridge crew could be heard.

Kyrazis shook his head.

The thing that had contacted them had unsettled him. Not just from the warm, comforting touch that now brought these feelings of guilt and nervousness, but simply because it had contacted them.

Whether it was or wasn't a god, no creature did anything without a reason. There was going to be a bargain made where they were going. He was no trader, but he could see at least that much was true.

'What is its price?' Kyrazis wondered, preferring to distract himself with the thought, rather than stew in this resurrected guilt and fear.

He couldn't remember any stories of the gods, or their names. There was a mention of a bloody handed creature somewhere, and perhaps a great war… but all the rest was just the yammerings of some street performing harlequin the rest of them would gang up on.

'Why now?' Kyrazis wondered. 'Why contact us after everything has been destroyed?' It seemed a little late for divine intervention in his mind. Everyone was dead. Eaten or worse by the things that had come out of that purple cloud.

'Was that some sort of divine punishment?' He thought angrily. If it was, then the creature that called them was not much better than the daemons they ran away from.

"Gods are as evil as the devils they use to drive their flock towards them!" Kyrazis remembered one of Hekatii's iconoclasts shouting out in one of the lounges at the arena back home; where onlookers went to cool off after watching a match so the next one could be enjoyed with renewed excitement.

"To allow harm to fall on those you want obedient to you is but the fat slave driver handing the whip to their lackey because they're too lazy to do it themselves." The iconoclast continued, possibly drunk on one of the ampoules that were passed around for free in order to relax the mind.

"Gods are the tools of tyrants!" she crowed, to the annoyance of most of the other occupants. "So, it is our enlightened duty to free those who believe in them by desecrating their places of worship and idols. If they must worship something, they can worship us! At least we listen to their screams!" The iconoclast cackled.

Then somebody threw a chair at her, knocking her to the floor, and a brawl ensued. This was Qa'leh's arena, not Hekatii's pile of junk. If the iconoclasts wanted to enlist others, they might as well do it somewhere else.

Kyrazis shook his head away from the memory.

He didn't know anything about the gods, but he could see a grain of truth in what the iconoclast had said. It was a serendipitous timing for anyone offering salvation to the Aeldari at the moment. There was no bigger whip than watching the destruction of everything you knew and loved.

'Why now…' Kyrazis couldn't stop himself from asking the question that he had buried deep inside. 'Why us? Why me?' The long string of unpleasant questions began to drag him under.

He bent his wrist inwards, and drops of blood started to seep out from underneath the gauntlet.

Kyrazis let the pain slowly silence the questions, before reaching underneath his gauntlet, and pulled something back with a wince. A little more blood sputtered out, before the pressure applied by his fingers staunched the bleeding.

The next questions he always thought of were 'Why did I survive?' and 'Why was I let go while the others were devoured?'

He knew the answer to those ones, and he didn't like to be reminded of them.

Regardless, the other questions never ended either, and he didn't like to think about what the potential answers for those were. The answers he had plagued him enough.

Kyrazis closed his eyes, and with very wounded pride, tried to remember the feeling that had touched his soul. Every time he saw something new, as if the feeling brought up some long forgotten memory in his mind.

A smile.
Blond hair.
Warm winds.
The smell of fresh mud.
And a single red and black tear.

Recently, the only way he could get away from his mental anguish was this feeling. It was humiliating; relying on an unknown power, to leave himself at its mercy. However, at the same time, he could not stop himself from reaching out to it.

'Now, I give my tears and blood to this stirring sleeper. Let my blessing flow across this land.'

Kyrazis almost jumped out of the command throne. There was a voice that time, and it brought both horror and wonder through his entire being.

'What… was that?' Kyrazis thought to himself. That voice, although beautiful, froze him to his very core. It was a promise of a gift, but at the same time a promise of taking away. A new start and a time of total end.

"Opening portal!" The navigator cried, waking Kyrazis from his stupor.

The immaterium puckred before them then opened up; becoming a tunnel back to reality. The cruiser slipped passed through the roiling mouth of the portal, and the portal collapsed behind them.

"Mon-keigh ship detected!" One of the bridge staff reported, and the 3D images infront of Kyrazis shifted to show the planet, their ships, and an utterly humongous vessel that was shifting to point itself towards them.

"I didn't know Mon-keigh ships got that large." Kyrazis muttered, mildly impressed. The only ships he had seen bigger were the continent sized Craftworlds.

"A relic of their fallen past, perhaps." Mordraxus shrugged.

"We are the relic of a fallen past." Kyrazis replied darkly. "Move cautiously! What about the planet?"

"Barely habitable." Another of the bridge crew replied. "Mostly ice and rocks. The heavy cloud cover from the ash volcanoes across the surface prevents almost all sunlight from reaching the ground. Hot springs and thermal vents do support a small number of simple life forms, but there is no sentient life below."

Kyrazis raised an eyebrow. "Then why call us here?"

The planet below them was a mostly dead world; hardly a haven for a doomed people. Especially with what they had to do to stay alive.

"Kyrazis, we are receiving a hail from the Mon-keigh vessel. Primitive electromagnetic transmissions." The comms officer reported from below.

"Can we understand it?"

"Barely;"

"Then answer it."

The officer nodded, and brought up an image before all of them. It was an unencrypted general transmission, addressed to all the ships.

There was first static, and then an image began to form.

There was a woman there dressed in a simple shift. Blond hair flowed down her thin neck and shoulders. Soft willowy features were slightly creased with worry.

Kyrazis's mind only had a moment to process this before he felt his vision narrow and darken. Everything that had been kept inside spilt out, like a black flood regurgitated from a clogged sewage tunnel on stormy night. Black ichor pulsed up from his heart, and he felt his very soul cry out as all reason and logic was drowned out by his emotions; as if he was sinking backwards into a pool of black caustic muck.

"MOTHER!" He screamed, and the figure looked at him. Even though this was a one way transmission, he knew she saw him. There was a slight wetness to her eyes; tears welling up at the sight of them.

"What have you done to us!" Kyrazis cried, reflecting the voice of every occupant of every vessel that was there.

There was a great sadness upon that face, and all Aeldari who saw her felt their heart wrench at the sight of it.

But, Kyrazis couldn't stop. Even as tears ran down his cheeks, and blood dripped from a bitten lip, he could no longer stop himself.

"Why do you come to us now?! What are you doing on that ship?!"

He didn't know what he was feeling anymore.

Guilt.
Grief.
Rage.

All poured over him like molten magma; burning and trapping him in the viscous flows of emotion, like a fly in flaming amber.

"Were we so unimportant that you had time to dally with the lesser races of the galaxy while we died?!"

It was blasphemy. What right did a mortal have asking a question to a god whose name he didn't even know? But, there was no stopping him, as all the pain and sorrow seemed to burn his very being like real fire.

The woman before them opened her mouth and spoke; and Kyrazis felt a great feeling of shame wash over him, dousing all the other burning feelings he had, leaving only a burnt out husk behind.

"I came as soon as I could to find you."

Even though he was paralyzed by his emotions, new bitterness bubbled up from inside him. All care was thrown to the wind as he felt himself let go of the control that had kept his psychic abilities sealed out of fear of eternal damnation.

"Then tell me what you have found, mother." Kyrazis hissed, glaring back at her. "Look upon us. What do you see before you?" He whispered in a voice no one on the bridge could hear, but he knew from the look in her eyes that she understood his meaning.

Kyrazis let go, and all the memories and emotions exploded out of his mind into the aether. Everything he had done and saw roiled out across the void; all so he could show his divine mother The Fall through mortal eyes.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: I forgot that I'm unavailable tomorrow, so this chapter comes out a day early.

A/N2: Thanks again Skyborne for providing a second opinion on the chapter.

"..zis… yrazis… Kyrazis!"

Kyrazis opened his eyes blearily. His room, part in blinding light from the window, the rest in dim shadows slowly came into focus.

"Wake up. It's almost time for our class's match." A woman was bent over him. Long raven black hair flowed over her broad shoulders, before pooling on the side of his pillow.

"Sister?"

She sighed before standing upright. "Has there been anyone else who's woken you up in the past 5000 years?"

Kyrazis shook his head. Aeldari children were raised communally for the most part. It was rare for the birth parents to take care of their child. It usually happened when the child was a completely young soul, or was a close companion of the one who birthed it in a previous life.

He and his sister had never known their birth parents, as they had been taken care of in one of the nurseries that handled their early development and education; socially and academically. It wasn't a unique situation, but it also meant that the only one who had ever woken him was his sister.

"The first fight of the day's already finished." She sighed. "We've got to be there to at least support our class's initiates."

Kyrazis sighed, and covered his eyes with his arms. The sunlight streaming in from the crystal windows hurt his eyes, and the foggy warm comforts of drowsiness convinced him that staying in bed was the better course of action.

"I said… wake UP!"

He heard the whistle of a blade, and rolled out of the way as a silver dagger sunk into his pillow.

"What?! Are you trying to kill me?!" Kyrazis yelled back, fully awake, adrenaline pumping his heart loud enough that it felt deafening in his ears.

"If we're late again, we're going to be sent to the pits." His sister sighed, pulling the blade out of the pillow, sending tufts of stuffing into the air. "I just grew into this body. I don't want to start over again just yet. Look at my arms and shoulders, aren't they perfectly muscled this time?"

Kyrazis nodded as his eyes looked over the bare arms and shoulders of his sister. There was very little fat there, but at the same time her sleek limbs were not overburdened by excess muscle. They were smooth and soft looking, but at the same time he could see a firmness under the skin that showed there was strength in there.

"Well? Are you going to get ready or not?" His sister asked, one hand on the handle of her dagger.

Kyrazis sighed. The pits were a never ending death match against whatever alien the raiding parties brought back. The thrill was enjoyable, if one was tired of their current body and wanted to start anew. It was also their arena mistress's preferred way of dealing with repeated tardiness. Something about allowing them to catch up for all the fights they'd missed for their lateness. It was also why their arena probably had such a high drop-out rate.

Kyrazis grumbled to himself as he pulled on some clothes; torn pillow and sheets already re-knitting themselves together at his psychic command as a crystal goblet filled itself with an elixir from the sink and floated over to him.

"How much until we're late?" He said, as he pulled on the tough yet flexible garments that made up his training wear.

"We won't have to run, yet." His sister said, slipping an arm over his shoulder. "But, it's boring without you, so hurry up."

Kyrazis shrugged her off as he picked up the glass floating in front of him, and downed it all quickly. Neuro-stimulants, adrenal enhancers, and pleasure chemicals rushed into him giving the kick he needed to fully awake.

"Right! I'm ready!" He shouted, flexing his arms and shoulders.

"You're forgetting this." His sister tossed something towards it, and he caught it in his left hand.

"The Spiked Kiss?" Kyrazis lifted an eyebrow. "We're cheering this time, not fighting."

"'Always be ready, for the battle never ends.'" His sister quoted one of the teachings of their arena mistress, and walked past him swaying her hips.

Kyrazis sighed again, and fit the small spring loaded spike to his left wrist. It was one of the little 'special' items that allowed their arena to separate itself from the rest. All of the arenas had one or two little 'special somethings'. A different flavor of fighting and killing for everyone in the city. Some had flashy combat forms, or had a certain order of dismemberment that they had to follow rigorously. Kyrazis's arena was more practical in that sense, focussing instead on being able to fight at all times. That meant that they all were encouraged to wear the Spiked Kiss, or some other hidden weapon even outside of the arena.

Kyrazis looked over the small black spike attached to a set of smooth straps that bound it to his wrist. A well placed palm strike, and internal springs would fire the Kiss forwards, before opening it up like a bird's beak; widening the wound it made so the receiver of the Spiked Kiss would bleed out quickly. It was an odd little device, requiring no psychic command to operate; only mechanical impulse.

Its use required practice, but was in theory available to anyone. Kyrazis could attest to the importance of said practice with personal experience. Putting things into pockets while wearing the Spiked Kiss was particularly dangerous. He'd lost a body that way once, and his sister hadn't let him forget about how stupid he looked as he bled out with one hand in his pocket, and the Spiked Kiss buried in his thigh.

'Well, she stuck with me back then as well.' Kyrazis thought to himself.

His sister slit her own throat after he'd bled out that time. They'd been born together, so they made a habit of dying together so they could be reborn simultaneously. It was an odd habit that many Aeldari twins shared. Something about their souls being intertwined at birth; forming a deeper connection than all others.

"Kyrazis! Hurry up!" He heard her cry.

"Coming! Coming…" He muttered, binding the Spiked Kiss to his right wrist as the blinds to the windows automatically closed, sensing his intent to depart.

"Main street, or the alleys?" Kyrazis asked his sister, as he walked out of the door into the arched hallways of the apartment they shared. Numerous Wraithbone drones either crawled or clambered around like spiders on the ceiling and walls, cleaning and correcting the Wraithbone of the tower they were in.

"Main street." His sister said as she started walking down the hallway. "It'll be faster to use the alleys, but there are too many gutter runners down there these days."

Kyrazis nodded as he followed her. The alleys used to be an easy shortcut through the city for the more athletic Aeldari. However, there was always the risk of being ambushed by some random lunatic living down there. Some of them liked the thrill of the ambush, others did it to kidnap someone to force their pleasures onto them; only being satisfied by having a truly unwilling subject at their mercy.

They were a proper nuisance.

Kyrazis and his fellow arena mates occasionally got together in groups to clean out some of the short cuts they liked. Partially for convenience, and partially for sport. They hung the still writhing bodies of all the offending parties upside down as a reminder of who really owned that route.

Recently though, the number of vagrants and inconveniences in the alley way was growing. It used to be at least a couple of months before they had to go down there to lay their claim, but now it only took days for new crazies to take residence in the alleys. The task of clearing their preferred shortcuts ended up getting tedious, and they had all gotten bored of stringing up the would-be ambushers in recent years. Currently, even the shallowest parts of the alleys weren't safe.

They were not impossible to pass-through, however, and some of Kyrazis's arena mates enjoyed the thrill of feeling predatory eyes watching their back at all times.

Suddenly, the two stopped as the door to the room next to theirs opened. A large ovoid drone floated out. It was longer than an Aeldari was tall, and appeared flattened; like a metallic oyster.

"A recovery drone…" His sister said. "I guess that Seer next door finally lost it."

They watched the drone fly down the corridor before turning itself to fit through a window, and fly off.

Recovery drones were psi-drones that recovered the discarded bodies of the Aeldari. Leaving corpses around wasn't hygienic or practical, so these drones patrolled the city removing them to processing plants. Aeldari blood and flesh eventually crystalized post-morten, so unless one had made special arrangements, the body left behind was allowed to crystalize before being shattered and released to the wind or spread across the land. They were also part of the reason why Kyrazis and his arena mates had to leave those they wanted removed from the alleys at least partially alive when they strung them up. The other part was to increase the gruesomeness of the warning; revenge for being ambushed for those who had been, and amusement for the rest.

"I thought she was increasing the amount of depressants in her elixirs." Kyrazis remarked remembering the daily decrease in reaction time, and the longer slurring of words every time he passed his neighbor.

"She was pretty accurate. Always managed to predict the outcomes of all the matches. Even gave me a couple warnings about some hidden weapon my opponent would have that day."

"She certainly liked you a lot." Kyrazis snorted. The most he could remember from his neighbor was the occasionally narrowed gaze he'd receive every once in a while when he left the apartment for a brief smoke.

"What can I say; I draw in the crowds."

Kyrazis sighed. That probably wasn't the main reason. The way that woman looked at him and the way she looked at his sister said it all. It wasn't just goodwill in her gaze, but probably lust and longing. Of course, the glance he got was tinged with jealousy; not to mention the aura of irritation she always exuded through the psychic net towards him.

Well… they wouldn't be seeing her anymore.

All Aeldari who looked too far into the future eventually ended up going to the central pleasure centers of the city. Out here in the suburbs, there was still some separation between living space and entertainment area. However, the central areas had no difference. Kyrazis had been there before, after a friend of his had awakened their sight for too long, and disappeared one day.

They were called pleasure centers, but to him it looked more like a form of self-flagellation; an attempt to drown out and destroy everything inside and outside them.

Bone breaking base, and spine shivering string instruments sounded out as the thick smell of musk, sweat, and blood filled the air. Crystallized blood was splattered everywhere, spilt at a faster pace than the drones could clean. Flickering lights and colors blinded the eyes, and numbed the mind while incenses and perfumes clogged the more primitive forms of sense with sweet, sour, and heady odors.

He never found his friend, but at the same time he didn't want to see what had happened to them. He and his sister did not fear death. The people there actively dove into it, as if the only purpose for their life was to die in the loudest, brightest, and brutalest way possible.

'Idiot.' Kyrazis thought, looking out of the window in the direction the drone had disappeared.

Even if that Seer reincarnated, she would eventually end up there. All the Seers who overdosed or died all of a sudden did so. That was a future that didn't need foresight to be predicted.

'They say that it's because they've seen the end times that they become like that.'

He didn't know what to feel about that thought. He had seen personal futures of him losing, or his sister losing a match. Some of those visions had come true, some of them had been avoided. The future was never set in stone, and always more fun when it was unexpected.

His personal theory for their behavior was that they had just seen too much, and thus everything that could happen to them or would happen to them had already been experienced. Only eternal boredom waited after that.

No one really came back from the pleasure centers in a state that allowed him to confirm that theory, but their actions convinced him he was right.

'It was as if they were paying the price of seeing too much of what had and what would happen by blinding themselves to everything but the now.'

Kyrazis made sure to keep his future vision limited to a few seconds or minutes in the future. He was enjoying the present, and he had seen enough of what happened to those who saw too much.

There was no return from that, so they would never see the Seer next door.

—----------------------------------------

Kyrazis looked up as they left their tower and started walking down Main Street. Psi-drones floated overhead, either delivering some product, doing an errand, or removing the occasional body from the city. Various anti-grav supported skiffs and barges criss-crossed the sky; and numerous white towers rose up from the ground all the way to the horizon; shining spires holding mostly living quarters, although some were more focussed around entertainment

"Oh, the sim-battle arcade is on fire again." Kyrazis looked up to where his sister was pointing. A floor on one of the towers was jetting blue and yellow flames. Numerous drones were already rushing to the scene, and had started putting up transparent psionic walls to isolate the fire and prevent it spreading while pyromantic drones arrived to bleed the fire of its heat to extinguish it.

"Guess another idiot brought in a Fusion gun." He shrugged.

"It's a Shuriken only sim. You'd think more people would read the rules." She sighed as they walked under the numerous drones. "I swear, it's getting worse every century."

"That arcade is just old fashioned." Kyrazis said as he watched the numerous arachnids go about repairing the blackened Wraithbone, while recovery drones entered the building to clean up the bodies. "Most of its older players have been there for at least 8 or 9 lifetimes. You heard how even their gassing event was a flop."

"It's crazy how some of those multi-reincarnators can just shrug that stuff off. I couldn't even see straight when I went last decade." His sister replied, finger on her chin in thought.

"They use their psyker abilities to see and move. They even use it to predict shots and make illusions, and use it for their war games."

"That's nothing special. We do it all the time in the arena." She snorted. "We dance around blade and blow. Far more elegant than ducking under cover."

"It's the mind games, and the battle planning. That's the fun of it apparently" He shrugged again. This wasn't his forte. All he had was from listening to one of the players talk about when he'd had a brief interest in ranged weaponry several lifetimes ago. "The tox-gas makes it just a bit more challenging, although even that's boring for them nowadays."

"So, how does that explain the Fusion gun?" She looked up at him, brow furrowed slightly; questioningly.

"Well, I… don't know." A Fusion gun was a weapon that fired superheated particles in a cylindrical short-ranged beam. Using it in a sim-arcade with cover designed to stop only the relatively light razor discs of a Shruiken weapon was against the rules. It provided too big of an advantage in the close-quarters of the arcade, and also nullified most of the point of taking cover. Not to mention that it was a massive fire hazard.

"See?" She put her hands on her waist in a victorious pose. "There's no real reason for it. Just people being idiots."

Kyrazis sighed. There were a lot of rule-breakers recently. Most of them were just minor infractions; a little too much stimulant in an elixir, going too far in a sparring match, or briefly touching places that were off limits during certain intimate sessions. However, there were some in even their part of the city that broke the rules that the various groups set to keep their games fair. Setting fire to an entire arcade with a Fusion gun was definitely getting the offending party black listed from the tower and kicked out of the group; when they all finished reincarnating that is.

"Well, the arcade will be back together by the time we get back." He remarked as the fire extinguishing drones left the premises with the recovery drones, leaving only the repair and cleaning ones to fix the tower. "Fewer players though."

"Only for a century or two, and it'll probably be on fire again before that." She chuckled. True. It was on fire a week ago as well.

"Can't argue with that." Kyrazis chuckled back.

If there was senility for the ageless Aeldari, it would be the rule-breakers. They were usually the Aeldari who'd reincarnated the most, although some entered this category relatively quickly. The endless repetition of pastimes and hobbies eventually got boring. Most went to find another form of entertainment, or advanced to a harder level of said activity. However, there were some who either enjoyed the act of breaking the rules, or lost control of their inhibitions mid-session. For those people, the only places left to go were the alleys, or Commorragh.

"All the food and drink kiosks are gone." His sister commented, and Kyrazis looked around. The white streets were mostly empty; only a few Aedlari like the two of them enjoyed the act of walking. Most used the various skiffs and barges to go from point A to point B. Until a few years ago there were some food stands, kiosks, and other stalls giving out various items for free. It wasn't for money or bartering, but like all things on the Core Worlds, the act was done for simple self-indulgence.

However, all the people who had manned them had already gone; leaving only the bare streets and pedestrians behind.

"Well, it was mostly those vocational idealists that left a few years back in the Craftworlds that were manning them." Kyrazis remarked idly. He never bothered with the kiosks. If they were in the way, he'd either jump over them or knock them flat.

"Oh, you mean those activists?" His sister remarked. "They weren't that bad one on one. Only got annoying when there were groups of them. I even taught one of the young ones who used to make those fruit mixes some grappling moves."

"You mean those drinks that they tried to spread as a replacement for elixirs?" Kyrazis replied, one eyebrow raised.

"They're not bad, taste wise. No kick though."

"Then there's not much point, is there?"

"There's not much point to anything for us. We do what we want, whenever we want. It's the little sideways paths that make things interesting from time to time."

Kyrazis threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"Alright, fine. You're right, and I'm wrong."

"That's not what this is about…" She sighed, before a slightly mocking smile crossed her face. "But I'll take the win."

The two of them continued walking down the street quietly. This city was like any other in the Aeldari Empire. Vast networks of highways, arches, and floating corridors connected bone-white or multicolored towers as a constant flow of different vessels flew overhead in perfect automated unison. Drones crawled or hovered near the Wraithbone of the structure, staying as small and unnoticeable as possible until a problem occurred and they'd zip towards whatever required their attention.

Pedestrians thirsty for a drink would summon a service drone from nearby and pick up whatever beverage or elixir they wanted. Peckish people would take anything they fancied from floating food carts while gardens and planters suspended by either strings or anti-grav pots provided relaxing targets for the eyes to rest on in this megapolis of plenty.

"And here's where we turn to get to the Arena." Kyrazis's sister sighed. Kyrazis allowed himself a half-smile at that.

The slope that descended down from the street led towards a colosseum-like structure below them. However, unlike the unpopulated Main Street, several stalls and gatherings of couches could be seen. The sounds of cheering, talking, and yelling could be heard echoing from all of this below.

"I actually prefer the quiet of Main Street." She said with a fed-up voice.

"You are popular with masseuses." He chuckled. The care his sister took to perfectly balance her physique, even among Aeldari standards, was well noticed by those inside and outside the arena.

"That's what they call themselves." She huffed. "But they just enjoy fondling other people's bodies."

"Not entirely wrong…" Kyrazis shrugged before putting an elbow on her shoulder. "But some of them aren't too bad."

She gave him a look, and he pulled his arm back.

"It's give and take." He said while waving them in front of him, as if to ward off her anger. "One of the few remaining things bartered here."

She continued to glower at him for a few moments before sighing.

"Even in our world of plenty, civilization's oldest commodity is still traded."

"I never said I went that far."

"But you have, haven't you."

Kyrazis looked away at that. That was a statement, not a question.

"I have the right to remain silent."

Even in this lawless society, protection against self-incrimination still existed… at least he hoped it did.

An elbow hit him gently under the ribs.

"We'll see what rights you have once we get back home."

Apparently it didn't, and there were surely no protections for suspects during interrogation.
The person before him was going to be the prosecutor, judge, jury, and executioner. The outcome of the trial was already decided.

"Will the judge be allowing any 'special' allowances for penance?" He whispered in her ear.

If judicial procedure wasn't going to save him, it was time to rely on extra-judicial means.

"That depends on what the accused wishes to offer the court." She cooed back.

"Anything the madam judge may ask of my sorry soul." Kyrazis bowed subserviently for comedic effect, only for her hand to catch him by the chin.

"6 spars after the scheduled matches." She chuckled as a finger tickled his throat. "And no holding back."

"As you wish madam."

"Good boy."

She released his chin, and sashayed away.

Kyrazis rubbed a hand against his neck, thankful that it was figuratively and physically still attached. Although, it might serve him better to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being if he wished for it to remain that way.

The two walked down the slope, past various men and women half-naked in stalls with various bottles and vials of essences, oils, and scents. Some of the stalls were already closed, with the slapping sound of either hard hands or something much softer against skin followed with the occasional moan or gasp.

"Oh, isn't that Kyrazis?" A high-pitched voice called out from behind him.

"..."

Now was definitely not the time to answer that. Any other time he might have turned around and at least waved, but he'd just left his sister's courthouse. Her sentence was a parole with community service, not an innocent verdict. If this went on, it was back to the chopping block for him!

"Hey! Don't ignore me!" The voice squeaked, louder than before.

Kyrazis looked at his sister, and she looked back at him with a cold smile. Well, there was no getting out of this one. Time to say goodbye to another body.

"... Hi, Elarine." Kyrazis turned towards the chestnut haired girl behind him.

"It's rude to ignore people, Kyrazis." She pouted.

Elarine. Masseuse and sometimes partner of Kyrazis. She was shorter than most Aeldari, and exuded a bubbly aura through the psychic net. She and Kyrazis got together because she liked muscles.

"... Ehem!" His sister coughed loudly; angry at being ignored.

"Oh, you're with someone today, Kyrazis?" Elraine tilted her head up at him.

While Kyrazis was coming up with something to say, his sister took two steps forward, elbowed him out of the way and loomed over the smaller girl.

"I'm his sister." She said flatly.

"Hi! I'm Elraine." The girl replied brightly, utterly unfazed. "Wow, you have some good arms. Why don't you come to my stall! I'll be gentle. Promise!"

Correction. She really liked muscles.

Kyrazis sighed, as he saw a vein begin to pop out of his sister's forehead. Elarine wasn't malicious, merely focussed on two things and two things only; muscles and touching muscles. It wasn't that rare to find an Aeldari who was utterly engrossed in something. It did, however, make them almost oblivious to everything else.

'I really shouldn't have told her I'd let her touch my muscles if she let me do anything to her.' Kyrazis thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose at the memory. It had been a spur of the moment thing when the buzz of the relaxation ampoules still hadn't left his system.

Of course, Elraine being Elarine took him up on his word, and ever since then the two of them had a loose give and take relationship.

"Oh… just look at these flexor and extensor muscles. The perfect ratios for striking and jabbing."

Kyrazis looked back at the two of them to see Elarine latched onto his sister's left arm with both hands, almost rubbing her cheek against it. His sister's right arm was already reaching for the dagger kept at her belt.

"Okay, Elarine!" Kyrazis said, pulling her off his sister. "We're sort of busy at the moment. Our initiates have a match today, and we're almost late."

"Aww… That's too bad." She sighed, holding her hands behind her back. "But it would be a waste if you lost your current bodies in the pits. There's no guarantee you'll have the same skeletal or muscular structure next time, and it would be such a waste."

"Yeah." Kyrazis managed a strained smile, as his sister continued to glare at her. "Right. See you later."

He put an arm on his sister's shoulder, and half-dragged her away to the arena.

"Why did you stop me?" His sister huffed once they were out of sight.

"We've got a match to watch, remember? It would be uncomfortable to watch with blood all over." Kyrazis replied, letting her go. "Also, it's better to watch with a clear head; whichever way it goes."

"You sure you weren't just protecting her?"

Kyrazis sighed as his sister stepped in front of him to face him, arms crossed.

"She's reincarnated more times than either of us. Neither pain nor death affect her at all." He sighed. "I've seen her get killed at least 4 different times. Every time, she just comes back in a new body, quirks and all."

"Is she a rule-breaker?"

Kyrazis chuckled a little at that.

"Social rules? Definitely. But, she's the relatively harmless type. The only one who sufferers from her actions is herself."

"You sure?" His sister lifted an eyebrow.

"..."

Correction. Kyrazis was currently in a sticky situation because of Elarine. Perhaps she wasn't as harmless as he'd thought.

"Once we get back home, you're showing me everything the two of you did to each other."

"Yes Ma'am"

His sister nodded once, and then resumed walking.

A stay of execution had been arranged, but it was very likely that it might be carried out that evening.

'Well… let's hope the match is exciting enough that she forgets everything.' Kyrazis sighed internally, and jogged to catch up with her.

—----------------------------------------

The match was not very exciting.

'Of course it wouldn't be.' He thought to himself as he took a sideways look at his sister sitting next to him in the stands. Her bored look told him everything he needed to know.

'Well, at least we came with clear heads.' He thought to himself. Some of the other viewers were already hurling insults and abuse at the two in the arena, most likely having been excited by the previous match or some other form of violence before coming here.

"Amateurs." She muttered. "I can feel their emotions all the way up here."

Kyrazis nodded. All Aeldari could communicate to some degree with their psychic abilities, but it wasn't always useful. In a combat setting, telling an opponent how panicked you were by their attack only told them where you were weakest. Most of the followers of Qa'leh were taught how to hold back their thoughts and feelings, but these initiates still released puffs of fear and exhilaration into the psychic net with every strike.

It would have been fine if those feelings were feints; fake emotional outbursts to lure an opponent in, or bluff them into taking an unnecessary guard position to catch one's breath. Both Kyrazis and his sister could do that, having had several lifetimes worth of practice in the arena. But, he could see from the way every emotion mirrored their movements, that they were not that experienced.

"There are a lot of them around nowadays, aren't there?" His sister suddenly asked him.

Kyrazis tilted his head, and she furrowed her brow in exasperation.

"Rule-breakers. There are a lot of them."

"Oh… I guess there are."

"The sim-battle arena, that girl from earlier, and those idiots over there." She pointed to a spot across the arena where a brawl had started to form in the stands. "I wouldn't be surprised that they're the reason those Seers keep on predicting the end of our Empire."

"Maybe." Kyrazis shrugged. "But if we all became like that, then it wouldn't matter if the Empire existed or not. Nobody would be left to care."

"Thanks for being a massive downer." She sighed.

"It's a fact."

The match ended, and the two of them cheered loudly with the rest of the crowd, if only to show their arena mistress that they were present.

As the next contestants walked into the arena, the two of them watched the spokesman from a noble complete the pretend ceremony of giving permission for the match to proceed with the royalty's blessing.

"Is there any point to those people?" Kyrazis huffed.

"Well, not really." His sister replied, head resting on one hand. "They sometimes pretend to announce the news or some event to the city, but all the information is already on the psychic net anyways."

"Do people still listen to them?"

"No idea." She shrugged. "But, they show up in enough events or announcements that most people would recognize all of them."

"I think the clothes are the most recognizable part of them."

"You really weren't one to stand for ceremony, weren't you?"

"It's boring."

Silence continued between them as the next match between their class's initiates proceeded as boring as the one previous.

Kyrazis stifled a yawn. This fight was uneventful, and his sister seemed to be in a weirdly pensive mood.

'Sleepy…' he thought to himself. At this rate, he would nod off, and possibly even miss the end of the match. Their arena mistress didn't take too kindly to students who slept in the arena.

Kyrazis checked where the arena mistress was seated to ensure her attentions were pointed away from the stands and at the match below before opening his psychic sight.

'Just need to see when the match ends, and wake up just before it does.' He checked the future, and saw the spokesman announce the victor 10 minutes from now.

'10 minutes… well, better than nothing.'

Closing his psychic vision, Kyrazis glanced at his sister. She was still watching the match with a bored expression. Her hair was draped to one side, exposing her neck towards him.

He reached out, touched the skin, and enjoyed its smooth warmth.

His sister remained motionless; neither shying away or slapping his hand.

He reached out with his other hand, and placed it around her throat, holding it in both hands. Warmth spread through his palms, and he could feel the rushing of blood underneath the skin. Slight amounts of sweat stuck his hands to her throat, giving the illusion that he had fused himself into her.

Cartilage shifted underneath his fingers, and he felt the resistance of bone underneath skin and muscle.

"...zis…"

A voice sounded near his face, but he couldn't understand the words. His body felt hot, and thoughts murky. The sensation from his hands was all that mattered.

"…yrazis…"

He looked up, and saw his sister's face. It was contorted in pain and fear, but the balance between the two was constantly changing. Gaping mouth, and eyes would narrow as his hands squeezed, and then relax as he loosened them for a moment to let a little air through her throat. He could feel her struggle beneath him, knee pushed against his chest in an attempt to push him off.

Suddenly, he felt cold. A chilling sensation that started from his very core, and froze his body.

Death.

She was dying.
But, he did not want her to die.
Death had no meaning for them.
They could do this as many times as they wanted.

But, he could feel it.

From the intertwined soul he shared with the woman beneath him, he knew that any further meant the end. Even if everything he knew told him it wasn't, it was obvious to him that it was.

His body shook, as if the cold he felt from his sister had infected him as well; yet his fingers continued crushing her throat against his wishes, as if someone had wrapped another set of hands around his own, forcing them to squeeze even harder.

'Somebody… Anybody! Please! Stop me!'

"Kyrazis!"

His sister's voice startled him, and his grip loosened.

THWACK

A fist slammed into his face, and he was knocked back.

"Cough! Cough!... wheeze…"

As his sister recovered her breath, Kyrazis slowly dragged himself up onto all fours, and vomited.

Something was wrong. Why did he do that? What was going on?

Questions bubbled up in his brain, only to be washed away by another wave of nausea as the contents of his stomach splashed out onto the stairs of the stand and sweat soaked his body.

"Are you… alright?"

His sister patted him on the back.

"Your eyes… that wasn't you… Kyrazis, what…"

She fell silent, and as Kyrazis's senses slowly recentered themselves, his ears told him why.

Screaming. Shouting. The sounds of splashing blood and breaking bones were starting up all around them.

He turned, and the small brawl on the other side of the arena had already spread throughout the building. Aeldari fought each other with their bare hands, broken bits of seating, and parts of guardrails; using them like clubs and spears.

"We have to go…" Kyrazis whispered. "Help me up." He felt his sister slip his arm around her shoulder, and drag him up the stairs towards the exit.

His entire body felt heavy, as if the very life-force within it had been sucked out of him.

A man fell in their path, eyes gouged out and throat torn open. The perpetrator stepped in their path. Nails and teeth broken, she looked half-dead herself, but her grinning face and rabid eyes were alive with an alien look of ecstasy.

The woman jumped at them, head first.

With his last bit of strength, Kyrazis thrust his left arm forwards, striking her in the neck with his palm. The Spiked Kiss sunk under the skin, and opened up. Blood spurted out, covering the entire left side of Kyrazis's body, and both he and the woman tumbled down the stairs.

"Kyrazis!"

He heard his sister cry out for him as he rolled away from her.

Then he felt something pulse throughout his body. Strength returned to his limp limbs, allowing him to grab the railing next to him and untangle himself from the corpse.

"Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine!" He shouted back. "Let's go!"

The two of them ran up the stairs, past other fights and brawls.

"What is going on?!" He hissed.

"I don't know." She replied, running slightly in front of him. "But, whatever it is, it spread to everyone in the stands."

"What should we do? There's at least a few thousand people here. We can't fight our way through that."

They ran up the stairs to one of the exits to the stands that led to an exterior windowed hallway that encircled the entire arena.

Kyrazis heard a familiar high pitched whine.

Grabbing his sister by the shoulders, he dove to the ground as the crystalline window pane next to him shattered, spraying shards over them as small glowing disks embedded themselves in the opposite wall.

"It might be even worse than we think." She muttered darkly.

Those were Shuriken rounds, and nobody brought ranged weapons into the arena.

"Has everyone on the planet gone insane?!" He shouted, crawling up off the floor, crouching beneath the windowsill.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "We've got to…"

MINE

A silent shriek slammed into his skull, and forced him to the ground. He briefly saw his sister reaching towards him yelling something, then his vision was filled with pink and purple as he felt something wrap around him.

A wet feeling splashed against his chest, and he felt like he was both on fire and freezing at the same time.

MINE

He screamed. It was digging into his skull; forcing him to open up to it. His psychic sight was being forced open, the barriers he kept to hide his feelings and thoughts were being torn apart.

He saw it, and every hair on his body stood on end as he tried to close his mind to it.

Nausea and thirst tore at his throat as his stomach tried to throw up in disgust, while his mouth watered at the sight before him.

He had to stop looking.

He had to stop hearing.

He had to stop feeling.

Any further, and he would not return.

Kyrazis drew back, pure fear of whatever that was cutting the connection as he withdrew like a child running to a dark corner to hide from a stranger.

Slowly, the visions and noises dispersed as his mind reinforced the barriers that kept him separate from the psychic net.

He shook his head, back from whatever hell that was, returned to the hallway of the arena. His sister was watching over him, worried look crossing her face as he struggled to get back to his feet; limbs shaking like a newborn fawn.

"We have to run." He said.

That voice left no room for question. It was coming for him. Even though he had escaped it, he could feel it just outside his mental barriers, like some nameless sea creature circling a stranded swimmer.

There was a crash outside, and more screaming could be heard from the broken window.

"Where do we go?" His sister asked, as they resumed their crouched walk along the hallway. "The Webway?"

Kyrazis shook his head. "The nearest gate leads to Commorragh. If it's as bad there as it is here…"

There was a flash, and the other windows shattered as an explosive shockwave smashed into the arena. The two of them ducked, eyes shut to prevent them from being blinded by the light.

As the ringing in their ears subsided, Kyrazis peaked out. Whoever had been shooting at them was closer than they were to the explosion. They would be dead, or at the very least incapacitated.

He saw smoke rising up in the distance along with a number of collapsing towers.

"That's where the gate to Commorragh was." His sister said quietly, peeking out with him.

"Then the only way off the planet is by voidship." Kyrazis scanned the outside of the arena. Numerous bodies were scattered all across the street. Nobody was moving.

"The nearest harbor is within walking distance." His sister stood up, and started climbing out the window. "We have to hurry. If there are others like us, they'll probably head to the same place."

They looked down at the long drop below them. Kyrazis grimaced, and stepped up onto the windowsill.

"Ready?" His sister asked.

He nodded, and they jumped down into the broken remains of the city they had just walked through that morning.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: This is an almost first person telling of the Fall, so Slaanesh daemons are here in earnest, and there is A LOT of blood and gore in here. This is also a fairly depressing chapter, so might be a good idea not to read if you aren't in the mood for tragic stories.

You have been warned.

A/N 2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. One video has an image of Lilith's face from the Diablo IV trailer which is M rated, so if ratings are an issue, don't click on any of the links.

♪1Diablo 4 trailer music Unofficial Unclean
♪2D&D Ambience | Hell
♪3（Music recommendation end here）

A/N 3: Thanks again to Skyborne for taking a look at sections of this story. Your friendship is much appreciated.

Kyrazis's knees strained as they absorbed the blow from the landing. The area outside the arena was a mess. Masseuse stands were knocked over and bodies were everywhere; many charred by the heat and radiation of whatever had destroyed the Webway gate.

The slope they had come down that morning was closed off by the remains of a burning skiff. There was another explosion, and Kyrazis watched a barge fall out of the sky; crashing into one of the many towers nearby.

"We can't use Main Street." His sister said, as she unsheathed her knife.

Kyrazis only nodded as they watched another Wraithbone vehicle fall, crashing down onto one of the highways. Whatever madness had taken the planet had apparently disabled most of the automated drones and psychically controlled vehicles that flowed between the towers of the city.

More skiffs, barges, and other craft were falling out of the sky; smashing into towers, and crumbling the various bridges that connected everything together.

"Are the alleys any safer?" Kyrazis asked. They both knew it was teeming with rule-breakers and deviants before this madness.

"At least we can fight our way through whatever's there. Besides, with luck they'll have all killed each other by now."

The two nodded, and started running to one of the alleys they used as shortcuts throughout the city. Shadows cast by the buildings on either side darkened everything. Metallic scents of blood and the putrid stench of spilt bowels wafted out from the dark passageway.

"This must be recent." His sister wrinkled her nose as they dove into the alley. "The drones haven't cleaned everything up."

Bodies littered the ground, and hung from broken windows and balconies above them. The darkness hid most of the details, but he could see several stab wounds made by something thick and sharp on the corpses.

"Is there really no one left?"

His sister remained silent, jumping over another body as she ran slightly ahead of him.

There was movement in the corner of his eye, and they both stopped and turned to face it; his left arm cocked back to strike, while his sister's right hand raised the knife to point at their opponent's eye level.

"Kyrazis?" A familiar voice came from the shadows, and he heard the splash of a foot stepping in a puddle.

"Elarine?" Kyrazis lowered his left arm. "Elarine, is that you?"

"Yes it's me."

There was another splash, and the hem of a dress appeared out of the shadows as a vague silhouette appeared hazily before them.

"I'm so glad I found you." There was another splash, and her lower half became visible in the dim light.

Kyrazis took a step back.

Blood stained the dress, as if the wearer had been a bucket full of the stuff thrown over them, leaving only the very bottom hem of the clothing clean.

"What's wrong? It's rude to ignore people, Kyrazis."

Elarine stepped into full view, and Kyrazis's left arm re-cocked itself reflexively.

A sliver of Wraithbone protruded perpendicularly from her head, as if someone had stuck it in there like the stick stabbed into a candied apple.

Her entire face except her lower jaw was obscured with blood. There was no way she could be alive, but she stepped forward again.

"Hey, I'll let you do anything to me. Just let me touch you."

The thing wearing Elarine's body giggled, and even though she was much smaller and thinner than both of them, they both stepped back.

"Aww… The last one let me get close enough. I guess this must really bother people."

Elarine's hand reached up to grab the Wraithbone shard sticking out of her head, and yanked it free with a wet schlop. More blood spurted out of the hole on top of her head, running down her hair and cheeks like red rain.

The sliver of Wraithbone was thick and sharp, almost the same size as the stab wounds on several of the bodies.

Kyrazis and his sister continued to back away from the bloodied girl, edging away to the exit to the alley.

Elarine took half a step forwards, then tilted her head as if she were listening to something.

"Aww… and I just got here." The Wraithbone dropped from her hand, clattering on the ground. "You don't have to worry about me." It giggled. "You're all Hirs anyways."

The thing pointed upwards with Elarine's finger, and both of them instinctively looked in its direction.

The blue sky had gone dark, as if night had fallen in an instant. The shining stars of the milky way twinkled, then they saw something move.

A long purple worm was traveling slowly across the sky, then was joined by another, and another, and another. Hundreds of long purple tentacles were reaching out across the stars into space. Then all of them were blocked out of sight by a massive tendril crossing right over the city.

"Kyrazis! Look out!"

His sister's voice snapped him out of his stupor, just in time to block a bloody hand from scratching him across the eyes.

He kicked Elarine's body in the chest, and heard her rib cage crack with his strike.

The girl crashed into a wall, slumping downwards like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Move!"

He turned, and ran after his sister.

As they did, purple sparks of psychic energy arced on the Wraithbone structures around them and pink dust filled the air as mad high-pitched laughter echoed behind them.

"What in the blazes is going on?!" Kyrazis yelled.

"I don't know!" His sister yelled back. "Just run!"

They dashed through the alley, now lit with a purple light, casting twisted shadows down every nook and cranny; illuminated hanging corpses seemed to twitch and move as the pools of blood under them rippled on their own accord.

They burst out of the alleyway and continued running. The entire white city was now bathed in pink and purple light, as if the sun itself had been polluted by whatever those things traveling across the sky were.

"There!" His sister pointed to the entrance of another alley. "We go through there, and we should get to the harbor."

As they started to run towards the alley, a blur of motion caused them to stop and ready their weapons.

Other Aeldari were running in the street, a few were already heading to the alley before them, but thousands were moving down the 4 lane highway across from them. Kyrazis relaxed for a moment, slightly relieved that there were others who had survived and did not seem to have been driven insane.

Suddenly the ground shook, and a humongous shadow reached out from behind a tower, covering the four laned highway. A giant clawed foot stepped forwards, and the ground shook again as it cracked the street with its weight. Scaly thighs, smooth abdominal skin, and nippleless breasts emerged as the thing took another step forwards. Four arms dangled from its shapely shoulders, ending in scythes and crab claws.♪1

All the people were running away from it, only barely able to stay in front of its giant stride. Smaller sexually sensuous silhouettes skipped in its shadow; nubile forms somersaulting and jumping like performers in a parade, twisting joints and limbs in impossible directions as they laughed and sang in echoing double-voices that sent shivers down Kyrazis's spine.

"Kyrazis! We have to move! Come on!" His sister grabbed him by the arm, half-dragging him to the alley.

Foul sounds of scratching fingers, bubbling liquids, and the snarls and growls of unseen creatures in the shadows dogged their footsteps as he panted heavily from exertion. He heard the flap of leathery wings, and the screech of some sharp claw or blade on hard surfaces.

Several others were running in front of them in the alley. People who had broken off from the main crowd escaping down the highway; away from the twisted dancers and the looming giant that herded them.

One of the other Aeldari before them fell, before being dragged up into the air by their ankle; snared by an invisible loop of string or wire that was now cutting into the skin. Smaller creatures with too many legs and too many arms crawled out from underneath balconies and out of broken windows like insects from underneath a dead log; pulling the screaming writhing victim towards them with clawed fingers and spider-like toes.

Kyrazis passed under them, doing his best to close out the screams, but the sound of breaking bones and tearing meat forced themselves into his ears as pained cries became a death yowl that no normal Aeldari could ever let out.

The sound followed them until they turned the corner, where it was drowned out by the sobs and sniffles of a hundred noses and twice as many eyes that seemed to come from above him.

He shouldn't look. He shouldn't look. He shouldn't look.

But, he couldn't stop himself tilting his head upwards.

Ragged flesh colored buntings hung above them, held together by thick twisted rope. Kyrazis's mind tried to deceive itself that that was all he saw, but purple sparks arced between the building several times before he could look down or close his eyes.

Every bunting had a distorted face. Noses and lips were stretched out and eyes drooped like melted wax; all quivering and leaking tears, mucus, and drool. The ends of the thick ropes had fingers and toes, and he realized that each one was an Aeldari whose skeleton had been liquified or extracted, leaving a fleshy mass to mold into fabric with the limbs being twisted together like twine to tie each one to the next.

And every single one of them was still alive.

"Eyes forward!" His sister shouted, and he numbly obeyed her, brain no longer properly functioning. "Stay behind me! Step where I step! We're almost there!" His body followed her instructions, replicating every movement behind her; using the same foot for each step and twisting his body the same way as she did at every turn as they ran through the darkness.

Finally, the alley opened up before them, and they burst into the plaza in front of the harbor. Kyrazis saw a voidship rise from it, before shooting up into the sky.♪2

"We made it!" He cried, almost laughing from sheer relief.

"You did." His sister said, and for a moment he didn't understand what she said.

"What?" He turned around.

His sister who had been running ahead the whole time was now behind him.

"Go Kyrazis. There might not be enough ships if you wait too long." She took a backwards step towards the alley, back to the nightmare they'd just run from.

"What are you saying?!" He stepped forward, only stopping when she took a step back as well. "We reached the harbor! We can leave the planet!"

"You can. I'm staying."

"What…?"

"Didn't you find it odd that I could lead us all the way here?" She asked him. "After seeing the same things you did, why do you think I'm calm, and you're almost insane?"

Kyrazis's mind stopped and started and stopped again. He couldn't understand. They had both survived that nightmare. What was his sister saying?

"Haven't you noticed…" She gestured to the space around them. "that everyone else who was running in that alley isn't here; even the people who were ahead of us?"

Kyrazis took a startled look around them. In his panic, he hadn't noticed that they were the only ones there. All the others running with them or in front of them had disappeared. Only the two of them had escaped that alley.

A chill ran over his body as his eyes returned to his sister.

"We share the same soul, Kyrazis. I feel your fear, your sadness, the sheer panic going through your heart right now." His sister gave him a sad smile. "What do you feel from me?"

He obeyed her without thinking, reaching inside of himself to feel the connection that he had shared from birth with her.

His eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards from her.

"Nothing…"

He felt nothing. The connection that had been there remained, but it felt like whatever was on the other end had been cut off. The slight weight of a broken safety line was all that remained in his grasp; the person attached to the other end missing..

A chill gripped him as he continued to reach out to his sister's souls, and froze his insides, forcing him to stop; forcing him to take another step away from her.

"That's right. I don't feel anything for some reason. All this death, destruction, and torment; and I don't feel anything."

Kyrazis's eyes watered. He shouldn't feel this revulsion for his sister, this unnatural discomfort. But, even now it was growing stronger, the feeling of wrongness screaming at him to turn away from her and run.

"You're lying... You're lying!" He screamed. "Why did you bring us here then?! Why even run?!" He forced himself to take a step-forwards. That was his sister. His partner for 5000 years. The woman who had stuck with him for every reincarnation; who woke up beside him every morning, and went to sleep next to him every night.

"Because I love you, Kyrazis." She said softly. "You don't want to be on this planet anymore, so I brought you here because of that."

Kyrazis's mind froze, cutting him off from his senses; the distant screams, sounds of burning buildings, and the echo of giant footsteps all stopping as his brain stopped functioning.

It was he who had asked to leave the planet, not his sister. It hadn't bothered him at the moment, for it was as natural as any other conversation, but as his mind went over every word they shared, he realized what she said was true.

He had told her they had needed to run to the harbor.

He had told her that they needed to get off the planet.

He had asked her to help him up that first time in the arena.

And it was she who stopped him when he begged in his mind as he strangled her.

"But, now you need to go, and I should stay."

Sound returned to Kyrazis, but his emotions didn't. He felt empty, lost, unable to come up with anything to say or do.

"You'll die here." He said simply, only able to give out the most obvious fact before them.

"Maybe…" She laughed. "But as long as you're alive, that's all that matters."

The two of them remained silent, as the echoes of another explosion somewhere in the city rumbled over them.

"Every second our planet descends into this nightmare, I feel more and more at home." His sister said, turning her face to the pink and purple sun; and the horizon filled with crooked and collapsed buildings. A relaxed smile crossed her face, cheeks slightly flushed; a peaceful expression illuminated by a dying world."That's not normal. You have to admit that."

"Can't you come with me, for my sake?" A tear dripped down his cheek.

"I don't think that's a good idea." She chuckled sadly. "There's no guarantee that I'll stay this way. Maybe I'm already like that Elarine girl, something wearing your sister's body, and I just don't know it yet."

Kyrazis remained still, caught between two different fears tearing him apart; the horror of this nightmare that had taken his home, and the terror of never seeing the woman before him ever again.

Seconds passed by...

THWACK

Suddenly he was knocked off his feet, rolling across the ground with a pain in his stomach from his sister's kick. Then a familiar high-pitched bubbly voice entered his ear.

"Awww… I missed…" The thing wearing Elarine's body said with her voice, standing where he had been just before.

The girl's body was still covered in blood, but the hands no longer ended in fingers. Crab-like claws with scissor-like ends grew out of each wrist, and several porcupine-like quills jutted out of the torn flesh of her back.

"Go. I'll hold her back." His sister told him; back turned towards him, knife drawn. "I've been itching to kill something for the past while."

"You're going to play with me?" The thing giggled. "But, I really shouldn't. She already has you between her teeth."

Kyrazis crawled to his feet, unable to speak; words and thoughts jumbled together.

"If you want Kyrazis, you're going to have to beat me first."

The feeling of wrongness grew from his sister, and he shivered as the biting cold of whatever had replaced his sister's soul emanated from her like icy stormwinds in a blizzard.

"Beat you? You've already lost!" The thing guffawed, vomiting blood as it laughed. "Ever since the arena, you've been a walking corpse."

"Then come." His sister twirled her knife, before lowering her stance, preparing to lunge. "To the Victor the Spoils." She took one last look behind her.

"GO!"

Kyrazis ran, even as he heard the scuff of shoes on the ground, and the swish of blades and claws cutting through empty air came from behind him. The clink of metal on chitin, and the crack of knuckles on cheekbones came, and then he was too far away to hear the rest of the battle.

The archway of the entrance to the harbor loomed before him, and the sounds of thousands of scared and pleading voices arose from inside. But, he could no longer stop. His sister had told him to go. To run. To live.

If he didn't follow her final order, he would have nothing left of her. ♪3

—----------------------------------------

The entrance to the harbor was dark and empty, only the echoes of voices from deeper inside told him that there was anyone in the building at all. As he stepped past the entrance a hand grabbed at his leg, and he spun; pulling back his left arm to strike. An Aeldari man who had been crouched down behind the doors of the harbor was reaching for him, tears streaming down his face.

"Those things!" The man yelled. "Those… Those demons! They don't go after the stragglers! They're not like wolves! They chase the biggest group of people they can find! I saw them!"

The man grabbed at his own head, covering his ears. "There was one made up of only arms and hands and a hole where its neck should be! It grabbed them! All of them! Just threw them into that hole, and I could hear their screams! Their screams! It wouldn't stop! Just that black gaping hole with no teeth and no gullet full of screams! They screamed! They're still screaming! I can hear them! I can't… I can't stop it!" He gave a blood curdling cry, and clawed at the sides of his face; tearing his long ears.

Kyrazis backed away from the madman.

Merely looking at those things was dangerous. He too had been stunned by that giant with four arms, only his sister's voice and hands pulling him back from his stupor. Any longer, and it might have been him writhing on the ground.

But that man's mad ravings held a warning. The dancers and giant had ignored the people running away from the main group, merely herding the crowd down the highway to some unknown location. However, he could hear the voices of many people in the harbor. It wouldn't be long before the giant or whatever horror the man had seen came for them.

He ran through the gates. Automated checking drones lay dead on the floor and the various turnstiles were torn apart; broken by the weight of hundreds forcing their way through them. The lobbies were scattered with bags and other items like children's toys and half-eaten snacks, but otherwise empty. However, he could see masses of people from the window, all crowded around the various ships on the landing pads outside.

Kyrazis bit his lip. It would take too long to get on those ships, if there was even enough room for him. He looked around for the one with the shortest line and saw a smaller group of people around one of the larger ships. Two figures with Shuriken catapults were arguing with someone at the front of the group, then one of them struck the person with the butt of his weapon, knocking him back.

'That one.' Kyrazis thought to himself, and ran to the stairs that led to the landing pad.

—----------------------------------------

As he moved through the crowd, Kyrazis kept his ears open. There was some reason this ship didn't have masses of Aeldari before it like the others; even though it was bigger than most. Conflict prevented its use, and his battle instincts saw a path there.

Stray bits of conversation came from the Aeldari huddled around him, mostly younger ones; some who had yet to experience their first death if what he heard from his eavesdropping was true.

They were mostly the entourage or new auditioners of some noble. All had arrived at the harbor that morning, and although they felt the panic of the others, most of them were unaware of what was happening outside.

An Aeldari in the familiarly gaudy outfit of a spokesman stood at the forefront of the crowd, nursing a bruised cheek.

"I'm telling you, his lordship is not coming! We must get on that ship and escape!" The spokesman cried.

"Insolence!" One of the guards shouted back. "This craft belongs to his highness Lord Alarathil! It shall not leave without his personage on board!"

Kyrazis almost couldn't believe his ears. Even as the planet was dying, that guard was hanging onto his past role as if nothing had changed. He had half-expected the argument to be one of space. However, even if he couldn't believe the idiocy of his fellow Aeldari, at the very least the argument told him the ship should be mostly empty.

"But he's not coming!" The spokesman cried out again. "I saw him being taken by one of those creatures! They might come here next! We have to get away from here!"

"Then this ship remains on this planet, until the creatures that took our Lord come to me, so I can extract the vengeance that is rightfully mine!"

Even as the spokesperson seemed to sag at the ridiculous statement of the guard, Kyrazis felt himself becoming calmer.

He had seen Aeldari like this; so focussed on a single thing that they saw nothing else. Rule-breakers was what they called them, but that did not mean they were all dysfunctional pleasure seekers. Some like Elarine merely lost sight of everything but the object of their focus. This guard gave off the same feeling as Elarine. He was obsessed with being a guard, of fulfilling his role as loyal servant and honorable vassal.

There was no reasoning with one of these, at least, not for Kyrazis who had no connection to the nobility.

He observed the man carefully. If this man was obsessed with being a guard, he would have trained himself in the old arts of warfare. Kyrazis himself had learned the most surface level rules from his friendship with the older Aeldari at the Shuriken sim-battle arena.

'Trigger finger, still on the finger guard.' Kyrazis noted, and took a look at the second guard. That one also had their trigger finger on the guard; the basics of firearm safety.

It would take only a moment for that finger to move, but if this guard was focussed on only being a guard to the nobility…

Kyrazis edged through the crowd: plan forming in his mind. He turned his left wrist backwards, hiding the small bulge of the Spiked Kiss, and grabbed his left shoulder as if to staunch a bleeding wound.

"Sir!" He cried. "I bring word from Lord Thalarian!"

Thalarian was the Lord who gave his blessings to the arena. Although Kyrazis took no interest in them, he had at least remembered the name the spokesman had shouted out at each ceremony.

"What?! Come here! What is the message! Move out of the way! Let the man through!"

The crowd parted, and Kyrazis feigned a stumble, crouching down on one knee before the guard while holding his left shoulder, using the blood from the woman he had killed on the stairs of the arena to enhance the act.

"Get up! What does Lord Thalarian want!" The guard took a step forward.

"He… He said…" Kyrazis let off a brief emotion of feigned panic through the psychic net, a move he had used in the arena many times to draw in an overly eager opponent.

"What is it! Speak up! No, stand up! Deliver the words of the Lords with at least some dignity!" The guard took another step forwards, and grabbed Kyrazis by the right shoulder to force him to stand.

Kyrazis checked the second guard, made sure that his finger was off the trigger, then sprang upwards striking the guard's neck with his left palm. Blood gushed out, and the guard went limp, but before the body could even begin to fall, Kyrazis grabbed the Shuriken catapult from the corpse's loosening grip and whipped it around to the second guard; only to see the man had already dropped his weapon and had his hands above his head.

"I was only following orders!" The other guard squeaked.

"Then here are some new ones, open the ship!" Kyrazis spat.

As the guard ran to do as he had been told, Kyrazis collected the second Shuriken catapult. All the Aeldari were staring at him, dumbfounded and he could feel the pangs of fear they released.

Kyrazis grimaced internally.

Until now, these younger Aeldari hadn't even thought of defying the old order. Not for any punitive reason, but simply because that was the way they played their game in the nobility. Civility for the purpose of civility had bound them.

He had just broken the rules of that game. His own example of usurpation through violence was a dangerous precedent. If he was not careful, the crowd which had been well behaved in front of the guard could easily turn into a mob that was almost as dangerous as the creatures outside.

"You!" Kyrazis pointed at the spokesman. He seemed to know what had happened outside, and in this situation Kyrazis would need every ally he could get. "Start preparing these people to get onboard. We need to leave."

The spokesman hesitated, before nodding and started organizing the crowd into lines.

Kyrazis walked towards the ship. The second guard had finished opening the doors, and was waiting meekly beside it. He sighed internally. All entourages of the nobles' tended to be masochistic and weak willed; enjoying the freedom from choice by only obeying orders. In short, they didn't try to think for themselves. The praise they received for their service was its own reward for these creatures; no other meaning existed for them in their lives.

He could use this, however.

"Well done." He patted the guard on the shoulder as he passed, as he used to do with all the initiates in the arena, and the man immediately seemed to brighten up.

"How old are you?" Kyrazis asked, feigning interest to generate rapport with him.

"Only 500 years sir… I mean… uh… What should I call you?"

"Kyrazis."

"Oh… and what title should I use?"

Kyrazis sighed. "Just call me by name. It's faster that way."

"As you wish, Kyrazis." The guard gave a salute, and Kyrazis had to pinch the bridge of his nose to suppress the budding migraine that had begun to form there.

"Can you pilot the ship?" He asked the guard.

"Yes! I have much experience! I pride myself in being a mariner and guard both. I…"

"That's enough." Kyrazis interrupted him. "Get the ship ready as soon as possible, but don't take off until I say so."

"Yes, Kyrazis. It will be as you say."

The guard scurried off to the ship's bridge, and Kyrazis took a moment to knead his temples. Patience was important in the arena. The fighters who survived the longest in the pits were always the most patient, and this group of noble hanger-ons felt no less alien to Kyrazis than the various beasts he sometimes had to fight endlessly in the arena.

Alone, Kyrazis looked around at the insides of the ship, and groaned. Gaudy statues, and sexually obscene effigies were everywhere. Game tables, and other baubles cluttered everything.

With dread in his heart, Kyrazis looked out the window, and saw the now ordered lines of the noble's entourage were slowly growing with people who had been waiting at the ends of the other ships.

Kyrazis ran out, and put a hand on the spokesman's shoulder.

"Get me as many Bonesingers, and able bodied people you can find." He ordered, then glanced down at the corpse of the guard he had killed that had been left there. "And two people to get rid of that." He whispered.

The spokesman nodded, and began calling out for volunteers.

Kyrazis watched as the people obeyed the spokesman.

Part of him wanted to run; hold the guard in the ship at gun-point and order the man to fly them to safety. But, the sane part of him knew where that path would end. Endless sleepless nights with a hostage that could slit his throat when his back was turned.

If he wanted safety, he would need numbers. Too few, and he would be the instant outsider of the group. The only one not in the circle of the noble hanger-ons. They may follow his orders out of fear for a while, but that would not last long.

He needed to dilute whatever bond these hanger-ons shared together with other people so they would be all equally distrustful of each other enough that they would be forced to work together. However…

Kyrazis looked at the steadily growing lines.

Too few, and he would be the outsider. Too many, and there wouldn't be enough room on the ship. Not for him, but for all the others. If he left this place with a ship full of families that had to leave half or more of their number behind, the resentment and sorrow would all focus on him. Like it or not, as the one who stood at the forefront, he was the leader of this operation; with all the power and responsibility that role had.

'But, this is the only way to get off this place for certain.' Kyrazis thought to himself.

"We have the volunteers…" The spokesman called out to him, then paused. "uh… What should I call you?"

"Kyrazis. Just Kyrazis." He replied, and walked briskly towards the group of volunteers.

"Bonesingers, raise your hands." He ordered, and over half did so. "We need to clear out the ship as much as possible. Cut out anything that isn't necessary for flight, food, breathing, or whatever else we need to survive in the void. You!" He pointed at one of them who looked and felt the oldest; a woman with pearly white hair who had come from one of the other lines and was thus not of the noble's entourage. "You're in charge. We need to get as many people off the planet as possible."

The group nodded, and Kyrazis looked at the group who didn't have their hands raised.

"That ship is full of things we don't need. I want the Bonesingers to keep cutting for as long as possible. You take whatever they cut out, and throw it off the ship, but make sure you don't block an entrance or something. You're the Bonesingers helping hands, so listen to what she says." Kyrazis pointed at the Aeldari he'd made forewoman of the Bonesingers.

As the volunteers left, a man and a woman stayed behind. Kyrazis recognized their uniforms. True Guardians. A militia force left behind by the those who left on the Craftworlds a few years ago to protect the few remaining activists who had remained on the core worlds.

There was a moment of silence between them, then Kyrazis spoke first.

"So, this is what you activists tried to prevent?"

The True Guardians remained silent for a moment, then the man replied in a strained voice."We tried, and failed."

There was no accusation in that voice, only sadness. Kyrazis himself didn't feel any animosity towards the two of them. No one would have believed this was how the Aeldari would end. He himself had laughed their claims off.

Now, none of that mattered. They were all huddled here at this harbor with the same simple wish. They did not want to die.

"Help me with the body." Kyrazis gestured to the corpse, as he handed one of the Shuriken catapults to the True Guardian who had spoken. "There are a lot of young souls here. I don't want them panicking at the sight of it."

The three of them carried the body off the landing pad by its limbs, and dumped it out of sight behind a pile of abandoned baggage.

"Do either of you know how to pilot a ship?" Kyrazis asked as they walked back.

"No." The True Guardian shook his head. "All the mariners were assigned to the Craftworld. Our only role is to protect."

"You were to protect this harbor?"

The True Guardian nodded.

"We were stationed two or three streets away at one of the major crossings. It was our task to remain ready to give those who remained one final path of refuge."

'Oh, the rumored activist crossing.' Kyrazis thought to himself. The location had remained a semi-active activist location even years after the Craftworlds had left.

"What happened?"

"The first wave of madness took half of our number, either by madness itself or through the riots that followed. The other half fell when they came."

"So, you're all that's left."

"Our weapons were lost in the battle. We ran to draw away as many of the creatures as we could, but they ignored us and went for everyone who remained."

Kyrazis sighed. Two or three streets away was not far.

"How long before they come here?"

"Only the crone of fate knows what the maiden of dreams sees."

Kyrazis held his tongue, but internally he was pointedly reminded why he had disliked this group almost as much as the nobles.

"Then we better hurry." He finally said.

The True Guardians nodded at that. "We will keep a lookout on the surroundings. My partner will act as a runner should they approach."

Kyrazis raised an eyebrow at that. "You might die."

"Death is only shameful if it is purposeless." The True Guardian replied, then gestured to the Shuriken catapult Kyrazis had handed to him. "My warsong is restored. I can now die knowing I did my part."

The two Guardians turned at that, and walked back outside the harbor, leaving Kyrazis behind. In the past, he would have thought such an act was just another form of self-fulfillment, another Aeldari hyped up on their bluster and bravado. But, he didn't feel that anymore.

"What are your names?" He called out.

"Sylvaron." The man who had been talking to him the entire time replied.

"Faelndra." The woman called back.

"Kyrazis." He replied. "There should be room for two somewhere on that ship. I'm sure we could use you if we run into one of your Craftworlds."

Sylvaron smiled at that. "Then move as the storm does, so we may return with the backwind."

The two True Guardians left at that, leaving Kyrazis to scratch his head for a moment, before turning back to the landing pad.

There were more people than before, and he could see several of the other ships had already closed their doors and were preparing to take flight.

He turned to the ship he had commandeered, and there was already a pile of garbage that had been cut out from the ship off to the side, with more of the volunteers carrying more odds and ends out through the hatch.

The lines before the ship had already grown to the same size as any of the other ships'. Kyrazis grimaced, and ran the rest of the way.

—----------------------------------------

The inside of the ship was filled with the light of psychic songs, disassembling and reknitting Wraithbone to cut off the unneeded luxuries of the ship's previous owner. Kyrazis found the woman he had made the leader of the Bonesingers and put a hand on her shoulder.

"How long before we can start taking people on board?"

"We cleared the hallways, and the back parts of the ships first. You can start filling people in there. We'll continue our work inside the ship while you get people onboard, and carry out what we've cut after that. You can then start loading people into the sections we've cleared and we can take turns loading people and removing these things in turns."

Kyrazis grinned, glad that his instincts had picked the right Aeldari for the job.

"Good. I'll get the spokesman to start getting people inside. Send someone to me once the back parts are starting to get full, and have them tell me how many more we can get on." Patting the woman on the back once more, Kyrazis left the ship back to the lines. Once again, they'd grown when his back was turned. Some of the people were already yelling at the spokesperson, and he could feel the panic beginning to spread to even the younger oblivious hanger-ons that had been there first.

Kyrazis took the Shuriken catapult, pointed it at one of the windows of the up-stairs lobby, and fired. The crash stunned most of the Aeldari while a few screamed and covered their heads.

"Listen to me! We'll be getting people onboard now! We can't get you all on at once, so it'll have to be in groups!" He motioned with his head to the lead group of hanger-ons. "You first!"

The hanger-ons hurriedly scampered past him, boarding the ship. Kyrazis waited for them to pass. He would have preferred to split them up, but it would be far easier to have things on a first come first serve basis. At the very least, those at the front half of the line would stay on his side.

The hanger-ons all disappeared into the ship, and the lead Bonesinger didn't send anyone.

"Alright. Parents and children, make sure you stick together. We'll send in 15 people at a time, but if you're related to each other, we'll take you in as one group. Understood?"

Many nods returned, and Kyrazis breathed an internal sigh of relief. The immediate Aeldari family didn't usually get much bigger than four; two children and two adults. Added to the fact that Aeldari physiology did not create disabled or crippled elderly, the boarding process would be relatively smoothe. However, he could already see that there was no way to get everyone on board. Hopefully people wouldn't hate him too much if they had to leave a cousin or a pair of grandparents behind.

Groups of people entered the ship, and Kyrazis made sure to give at least a 3 or 4 minute break between each group, just in case the lead Bonesinger sent someone.

After the 10th group, one of the volunteers who had been helping the Bonesingers came out to him.

Kyrazis turned back to the lines of people. "Alright! We'll need you to wait for a moment! Listen to me, and we'll get through this!"

There were a few mumbled grievances, but no rioting broke out. Kyrazis turned back to the ship as another one of the other vessels flew off into the sky.

—----------------------------------------

The boarding process proceeded without issue until the entire ship was full. However, the lines outside still remained long, and all the other ships had closed their doors.

"How many more can this vessel carry!" Kyrazis roared as he burst onto the bridge. The Bonesingers and volunteers had done all they could, and they were now cramming people into whatever spare nook or cranny they could find. Everyone from the original crowd and those who had helped prepare the vessel remained on board, and only the spokesman was outside still ordering the remaining people into lines.

"Ten, maybe twelve more, Kyrazis." The guard, now mariner, replied. "The Wraithbone already strains."

Kyrazis grimaced, and looked outside. There were a few hundred still out there. Thankfully the True Guardians hadn't sent a runner, so the creatures outside hadn't come for them. However, things could get ugly very quickly. There were no other ships left.

As Kyrazis's mind searched for a way to broach the news, he saw Faelndra approaching the ship.

"Get ready to launch the ship." Kyrazis ordered the young mariner. "Don't leave until I give the order."

"As you will, Kyrazis."

Kyrazis ran out of the ship, meeting Faelndra on the landing pad.

"We can't leave."

The first words out of Faelndra's mouth stunned Kyrazis, but the next words came before he could form a response.

"The other ships did not leave the planet. One of the larger creatures is calling them back down."

"You saw this?" Kyrazis hissed back, quickly looking around to see whether anyone else had heard them.

"A four armed creature opened its mouth to the sky, and I watched foul songs call the voidships into its arms." Faelndra said quietly. "It stands near the crossing we were guarding this morning."

Cold fear gripped Kyrazis's shoulders as the mention of the creature's features brought back memories of the thing he'd seen herding the people down the highway.

"Then what do we do?" Kyrazis whispered back.

"We will fulfill our purpose." Faelndra answered. "My life and Sylvaron's have already been spent. We will go where we can do the most damage."

Kyrazis bit back a bitter retort. At least that explained why the harbor hadn't been attacked. There was no escape from here in the first place.

"I shall return to Sylvaron." Faelndra said as she walked back outside. "The creatures gather at the crossing. We were meant to die there, and so we shall as we always should have."

Kyrazis just stood there as Faelndra left. Part of him wanted to just give up. Go back out there into the city to find his sister, however, he knew that would be meaningless. She had ordered him to go, and would never forgive him if he disobeyed.

He had gone out to the plaza, in between the loading of people and removal of garbage. Only two severed claws and a trail of blood leading back into the alley remained. Her choice to stay here was true and final.

"Ever since the arena, you've been a walking corpse."

The words of the thing wearing Elarine's body replayed themselves in his head.

'Sister' he called out to her in his mind, and felt the connection inside him; only to be answered by silence and cold.

He was the reason for whatever it was that changed her.

In that moment in the arena, he felt death, and he now knew that it was his sister's that he had felt. She had died, but somehow came back; changed, and immune to the horrors of this world.

'No…' Kyrazis thought to himself. 'Not just immune. She enjoys this world.'

Whatever he had done had pushed his sister over the edge from the side of normalcy that he stood on over to the nightmare reality that those creatures came from.

This place was her home, and he could not live with her here.

Kyrazis shook his head. Despair was clouding his thoughts and idling his mind. He had been preventing himself from thinking about his sister with busy work, but with no method of escape it was all meaningless.

Kyrazis looked over the crowds of people, far more than were on the ship.

Something fell into place, and another plan formed in his brain.

Kyrazis walked over to the spokesman, psychic feint prepared in his mind.

"There's no more room on the ship." He told the spokesman, and he felt the despair from him and the people near him who had happened to hear him speak. He then let out a feint of hope, something to use when he wanted to put an opponent on guard; worried that Kyrazis had some unknown advantage that they were unaware of.

Here, it would serve the opposite purpose.

"However, we've found another way off the planet."

The spokesman and those nearest to him instantly brightened up at this.

"We found information on the ship of a secret Webway gate found by the nobles near the crossing where all the activists used to gather."

Kyrazis didn't know what he was saying anymore.

Why would there be a Webway gate at some random crossing where the activists gathered?

Why would the nobles know of it?

Why did the two True Guardians come here when there was a Webway gate there?

But it didn't matter. To not believe in the lie meant there was no way off this planet, for it was obvious that the ship before them was full, and there were no others available.

"There's been reports that some of the True Guardians have made a last stand there, but they might be overrun at any moment! You have to hurry before the Webway gate closes! Get as many of you can together, and run there as fast as you can! I can't promise all of you will get there, but it's your only chance! We'll stay here, and draw as many of those creatures to us so you have a chance to reach the gate!"

Kyrazis yelled the last parts out, letting out feints of urgency, desperation, and worry one after the other to convince as many people as he could.

"You know the way, don't you?" Kyrazis put a hand on the spokesman, looked directly in his eyes, and pleaded with him. "Get as many people as you can to safety. Only you can do this." Feints of anticipation and confidence went from Kyrazis to the spokesman, and Kyrazis could see the weak willed noble hanger-on who had listened to every order Kyrazis had given him perk-up; eager to please.

"Yes… Yes! I can! Everyone! Follow me! We need to hurry! Move as one!"

Kyrazis stepped back. The deed was done. The crowd now moved on its own accord, like an avalanche started by a single snowball.

The creatures didn't go for the stragglers, only the largest group of people. Those who separated from the group survived, even if it was only for a little bit longer.

There was no guarantee this would work, but if they were all damned here regardless, it didn't matter whether everyone died here or there.

—----------------------------------------

It took only minutes for the harbor to empty. All the other ships had left, only the one Kyrazis had remained.

He sat near the half-closed hatch of the ship, stomach roiling inside of him. Sweat drenched him, even though he'd done nothing but sit there for the past several minutes.

It would take maybe an hour to get from here to the crossing if they were on foot, perhaps less if the thing spotted them and gave chase.

'50 minutes…' Kyrazis thought to himself. '50 minutes, and then we take off.'

He should be on the ship next to that mariner on the bridge; counting down the seconds until they could leave, but every time he thought of entering the ship, all his muscles froze and he felt phantom winds pushing him away from the hatch.

Nobody else was around him, but Kyrazis preferred it that way. He couldn't bear the thought of having anybody beside him at the moment.

He wanted to scream, cry, and bang his head against the ground; but all he could do was sit there, Shuriken catapult in hand.

Suddenly, every hair on his body stood on end, and he looked upwards.

The four armed thing stood, towering over the harbor, looking down at him.

Its eyes were obsidian black, like bottomless holes sucking in everything they saw.

That thing knew what he had done. It knew, and it had come for him.

"Do it…" Kyrazis whispered. "Kill me. KILL ME!" he shouted, stumbling to his feet. "I've already lost everything." The Shuriken catapult clattered to the ground, and the Spiked Kiss went off harmlessly as he flailed his arms. "You may have taken my home, but I damned my own sister and all those people with my own two hands!"

The creature continued to look down at him, eyes gazing into his soul, drinking in everything he had seen or done, leaving his soul naked before it.

"I'm no better than you creatures! So take me! Do it! End me! Punish me! Just end it all!"

Kyrazis collapsed into a ball, holding his head; endlessly whispering for death. All thought was gone from his brain; the memory of the order given by his sister, and even base survival instincts had fled before the gaze of the creature.

He wanted to die. He wanted that creature to walk through the harbor walls, and step on him with its clawed foot; turning him into a wretched smear on the ground.

'GO'

Kyrazis froze at the word in his head, and slowly looked up at the creature through the gaps in his fingers.

The creature turned away; giant footsteps growing fainter as it left, leaving Kyrazis with only questions and no answers, taking its secrets and his with it.

A distant scream startled Kyrazis from his stupor, and the mad Aeldari from the entrance ran into view only to trip and fall. Two of the dancers from the four armed creatures parade sauntered after him and grabbed his legs, dragging him back to a giant white hand reaching into the harbor. The man's cries were soon joined by a chorus of thousands as the hand took him out of view.

They had begun to collect all those they had let go. Kyrazis instinctively understood this and scrambled to his feet; grabbing the Shuriken catapult off the ground, throwing the hatch open before slamming it shut behind him. No one was around the immediate area to witness what had happened, but that only bothered Kyrazis for a moment before he ran up to the bridge.

"Take off! Now!" He ordered.

"Yes, Kyrazis." The mariner replied normally, as if he hadn't seen anything.

That creature had towered over the harbor, visible to everyone on the landing pad, but there was no panic aboard the ship, and even this weak willed mariner seemed utterly unaffected.

Kyrazis slumped down against a wall, unsure if what he saw was an illusion or reality.

The ship shook as it flew upwards, and Kyrazis felt the violent vibrations ripple through the Wraithbone. Purple clouded the view ports, and flashes of lightning blinded him, until all of that was replaced by blackness and twinkling starlight.

"We made it, Kyrazis!" The mariner shouted, and Kyrazis let out a short laugh.

Moments before he had only wanted to die, but here he was, relieved that he had survived.

There was a thump, and Kyrazis turned his head back to the mariner. The young Aeldari was slumped backwards, head rolling at an unnatural angle.

'Oh…' Kyrazis thought. 'That's why it let us go…'

—----------------------------------------

Several hours had passed since the young mariner's death. There was the mad search for a second mariner, and the revelation that in their rush to open up the ship, navigational equipment had been damaged or destroyed; leaving them almost directionless. Thankfully, the replacement mariner they found was a follower of Vileth and could take them to the nearest patrol fleet navigating by only the position of stars and planets.

Kyrazis, the lead Bonesinger, whose name he'd finally learned was Celerion, and two other men were in one of the rooms of the ship; surrounding the body of the young mariner who had died the moment they left the planet.

Kyrazis was now the de-facto leader of everyone on board. Celerion was the closest thing they had to a ship-board engineer. She was still in charge of all the Bonesingers, and was responsible for making the hurriedly prepared ship a more comfortable place to live. They formed the current leadership of the refugees from the planet.

The two others were Mordraxus, the biomancer who was currently inspecting the body with his hands and small instruments, and the apprentice Seer Galaris; who had been brought here to investigate the body should Mordraxus fail to find anything.

The bridge hadn't been empty at the time, so news of the sudden death of the mariner spread throughout the ship quickly. Kyrazis could feel the panic returning to the people, and they needed an explanation quickly.

"What happened, Kyrazis?" Celerion asked.

"I do not know." Kyrazis replied tiredly. He knew it was because of those creatures that had consumed his home, but how or why was as much a mystery to him as anyone else. Regardless, openly blaming the creatures for the mariner's death would do nothing but spread uncontrollable panic and doubts of his sanity. He himself didn't know whether his mind was his own anymore; he didn't need anyone else questioning it.

Kyrazis kneaded his temples as the biomancer continued to work on the body. He needed something to keep this rag-tag group of different Aeldari somewhat coherent; something to reassure them that they would not suffer this mariner's fate. He'd come too far to just die in a riot on some half-scrapped voidship in the middle of space. Hopefully, they would be able to soothe their fears by finding a cause of death; and a means to prevent it.

"Mordraxus, have you found anything?" He asked irritably as the biomancer pulled back from the body.

Unfortunately, the biomancer shook his head. "Nothing to note. His body is as healthy as any other; besides being dead that is. Sudden cardiac arrest, if I were to give a cause of death."

Kyrazis shook his head. That explanation wouldn't do. All that meant was that whatever killed the mariner could kill any one of them.

"Seer Galaris, can you tell us anything?"

The apprentice Seer approached the body as the biomancer retreated out of the way. The young man's eyes glowed, and he stretched out his palms to place them on the dead mariner's head.

Minutes passed, and sweat began to bead at Galaris's forehead.

"Galaris?" Kyrazis took a step towards the Seer; whose hands and shoulders were now twitching erratically.

"Galaris!" Kyrazis grabbed the man by the shoulders, and dragged him away from the body. He'd seen this reaction before. His own friend who'd disappeared into the central pleasure centers of the city after seeing too much had also often twitched, shook, and broken out into sweats at odd intervals before vanishing.

The Seer was now convulsing violently, falling to his knees, then both hands grabbed onto Kyrazis's arms with vice like grips.

"I told you you were already Hirs, Kyrazis." Elarine's voice came from the male Seer's mouth, and the man's head flipped upwards to stare him in the face. Bloodshot eyes stared up at him, and red tears began to spill from the torn lacrimal glands of the Seer's face. "But you aren't ready for Hir yet."

Kyrazis struggled to break free, but the Seer's hands held him in place as the creature continued to speak to him.

"I need you to see what awaits you all, and what she has already gone through." A gentle smile crossed the face stained with bloody tears and mucus as red began to flow from both nostrils. "Enjoy this prelude to your eternal afterlife."

The Seer's face went blank for a moment, and he blinked as if just waking from a dream, then both eyes shot wide open and he screamed. Blood spattered Kyrazis in the face as the man's throat tore itself from the inside, flying out with his cries. Bite and claw marks crisscrossed across the man's skin, as if a pack of invisible beasts had started feasting on him right then and there.

Skin sloughed off, extremities fell off, but even as the Seer's internal organs fell out of his body; no longer supported by the torn muscles and connective tissue that lay in a mess around him, he continued to scream bloody cries into Kyrazis's face.

"Stay still!" Kyrazis heard Mordraxus shout, and he looked up to see the man charging forwards with a syringe. The needle went into what remained of the Seer's shoulder. There was a hiss, and foul steam erupted with a bubbling sound as the body began to melt.

"Get away! Now!" Mordarxus yelled again, and Kyrazis tore himself away from the melting bloody mess that had been the Seer. The biomancer also stepped away, but the melting corpse spun its arm backwards into his mouth, slapping him there before he could retreat.

Kyrazis felt a burning sensation on his cheek, and realized he too had been splashed by droplets of whatever was melting the corpse.

He fought back the reflex to touch his face, and instead aimed his left palm at where he thought the stuff was and cut it off with the Spiked Kiss. The burning sensation was replaced by the simple pain of a cut, and part of his cheek slapped against the wall of the room; still smoldering.

Mordraxus was huddled in a ball, spraying his face with another chemical, and Celerion had collapsed to her knees; a wet patch forming between her legs.

All that remained of Galaris were steaming bones, the meat that had already fallen off before Mordraxus's injection, and the echo of his endless screams in Kyrazis's ears.

—----------------------------------------

News somehow spread of what had happened to Galaris and the mariner. A few days had passed since their deaths, and the mood on the ship was dour, to put it lightly.

Kyrazis sat on the command throne, forcing himself to be there, if only to ensure the bridge crew continued to do their jobs. He hadn't been able to sleep for days, and his skin had begun to lose its color.

Celerion had entered into a depression, and was mostly unresponsive in her room, leaving him to keep the ship going.

Mordraxus, for some reason, was also on the bridge; now wearing a strange mask that covered his mouth that somehow replaced the function of the lips he had lost.

"That was good thinking, cutting off part of your own cheek." The biomancer said.

He often appeared here to make idle conversation. Followers of Shaimesh, which most biomancers were, tended to be talkative.

"What was in that syringe?" Kyrazis asked, wanting a distraction more than anything at the moment.

"Oh that. It's just a little something we use to macerate specimens. Leaves very well preserved skeletons for display." Mordraxus chuckled to himself. "It's usually used on deceased or heavily restrained subjects. Even with the correct counter-agent, its effect can be quite unpleasant." He gestured to the mask on his face.

"You seem rather untouched by all this." Kyrazis said, glaring at him.

"I am a biomancer. We deal with death far more than your average Aeldari." Mordraxus shrugged. "It might help that I've already seen creatures of considerable cruelty in nature."

"I find that hard to believe." Kyrazis muttered back.

"Well, I once saw an insect that injected its young into the larvae of another insect, all so their offspring can have a safe space to grow and feed. They hatch under the skin and then…"

"That was not an invitation to elaborate." Kyrazis interrupted the biomancer, now feeling slightly queasy.

"Ah, my apologies." Mordraxus bowed his head. "I tend to get carried away with explanations. My own way of dealing with problems."

"You don't have many friends, do you?"

"An astute observation." Mordaxus chortled. "But then again most biomancers are either rivals or symbiotic partners to each other. All according to the teachings of Shaimesh."

Kyrazis sighed. Fully regretting starting the conversation with the quixotic Aeldari.

It would be a few more days until they reached the patrol fleet, and hopefully someone else could take charge of things from there. He was just so very tired. So tired that he failed to pick up on the hurried steps of someone running up to the bridge until they were right next to him.

"Kyrazis." A panicked looking woman, one of the Bonesingers who had helped Kyrazis clear the ship, whispered to him. "Celerion's been murdered."

—----------------------------------------

Celerion's body was no longer recognizable. The perpetrators lay on the ground; all arms and legs broken by Kyrazis. They were all followers of Shaimesh, biomancers like Mordraxus. The Bonesinger who had come to warn Kyrazis had found them when she went to check on Celerion, and had sealed them into the room with a Wraithbone barricade before running to get him.

Mordraxus himself was rummaging around the various vials and needles the murderers had brought, in order to ensure Celerion's remains were safe to touch.

"Paralytic agents… unused. Nerve stimulants… almost empty. Hypnotic agents… also unused. Toxins… hmm nothing dangerous on dermal contact. Yes, we can clear up the remains without worry." He concluded, packing up and organizing the various items.

Kyrazis turned towards the murderers.

"What did you think to accomplish here?" He asked coldly.

"Salvation." One of the followers of Shaimesh spat. "You see what's happening to all of us. The sickness; the discoloring of the skin, the growing weakness. All unexplainable by biology or medicine."

"It is rather obvious." Mordraxus replied instead of Kyrazis. "Regardless, killing each other creates more problems than it solves."

"We found a way to fix it!" Another shouted out. "It's our souls that are affecting our bodies. As long as we can replenish our souls, our bodies too will fix themselves. Look at us! Look at our skin!"

Kyrazis looked down at them, and he did see their skin had returned to its normal color. Their eyes too were filled with a bright vivacity that no one else on the ship had.

Mordraxus sighed. "Yes, I did come to a similar conclusion when I saw what happened to Galaris and that young mariner, but did you not think of the consequences?"

"What consequences?!" Another biomancer retorted. "The woman didn't even resist! Didn't even say a word while we worked! She was a walking corpse!"

"Yes, but now you've started a dangerous precedent." Mordraxus sighed again. "If Aeldari can only save themselves by preying on other Aeldari, then what do you think will happen in this closed environment?"

The biomancers remained silent.

Kyrazis himself was already worrying about that more than anything else. He needed the others. By himself, he was a simple fighter. He knew nothing of piloting a ship, or Bonesinging. If they all started killing each other, even if he did survive the bloodbath, he would be left alone; starving to death in space.

"Well, only a second rate biomancer wastes good flesh." Mordraxus brushed himself off, and turned towards Kyrazis. "Let's throw these fools out of the airlock. Make an example of them, so others are wary to follow in their footsteps."

"And the sickness? What of that?" Kyrazis replied, even as the biomancers on the floor screeched and yelled out at them. Capital punishment may work for a while, but it didn't change the fact that they were getting weaker. If this went on any further…

"I have a couple of theories on how to alleviate it." Mordraxus looked over at Celerion's remains. "At the very least, souls do not seem to be equal in measure. The life of one woman shouldn't be enough to restore all of those here."

"I would say it was the opposite." Kyrazis retorted bitterly, stepping out of the room to get others to begin carrying the biomancers to the airlock, and lay Celerion's remains to rest.

—----------------------------------------

The sickness worsened.

Some of the children and younger Aeldari could barely move. Mordraxus too now walked with a permanent bowed back, and Kyrazis's face was now gaunt and bony, self-inflicted scar on his cheek still unhealed.

"How much longer… till we reach the patrol fleet." He said slowly.

"We've already received a hail from their ships." One of the bridge crew reported quietly. "Only a couple of minutes until contact."

"Good." Kyrazis slowly rose out of the command throne to prepare himself to greet the crew on the patrol fleet.

There were several flashes of purple, and a number of Aeldari Eclipse-class cruisers exited the immaterium before flying towards them.

Kyrazis walked towards the airlock where they would meet the crew of the patrol fleet, then noticed Mordraxus was following behind him.

"What do you want?" He asked tiredly.

"I have several theories as to how to alleviate the sickness." The biomancer replied. "They all need the assistance of the patrol fleet, so I felt it best if I came with you. Time is of the essence, after all."

"Oh, and what would these theories be?" Kyrazis muttered as they walked to the airlock.

"The price of an Aeldari soul, or more specifically…" Mordraxus replied hurriedly as Kyrazis turned on him. "Would the soul of another species satisfy the thing that drains us all."

"You want to sacrifice an alien to save us?" Kyrazis retorted, slowly lowering his left arm. He would not tolerate the thought of Aeldari cannibalizing each other to save themselves.

"Morally, it would not be much different from eating." Mordraxus shrugged. "However, the specimens I've experimented on did not yield any positive results."

"What specimens?" Kyrazis raised an eyebrow as they resumed walking to the airlock.

"Small insects and a few of my last test animals. I always keep a few small creatures under my robes in case inspiration strikes." Mordraxus patted his waist at that.

"Make sure you keep them under control." Kyrazis snorted. "I don't need a vermin problem on top of everything else."

"Do not worry. They are quite thoroughly paralyzed. I have very ticklish sides."

—----------------------------------------

The crew of the patrol fleet were not much better off than they were.

Most were weakened or injured. Whatever madness had touched the core worlds had claimed the commanding staff of the fleet; the oldest Aeldari. Those that remained had succeeded in mutinying against them, but not many survived. They were now leaderless, and heavily undercrewed.

Kyrazis now sat on the command throne of the leading Eclipse-class cruiser, clothed in the armor of the deceased previous captain.

Mordraxus had proved instrumental in him being placed there.

Desperate to find a cure to the sickness, the crew of the patrol fleet had leapt at the idea of Mordraxus's solution. It was also blind luck that there were already aliens onboard some of the patrol fleet's cruisers.

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd be thankful to the nobles for all their inefficiencies." Mordraxus tittered next to Kyrazis, back now straight as when they first met.

"A blackmarket for slaves in a society with no currency, and no laws." Kyrazis muttered back.

The patrol fleet had several pens of alien races; slaves for a hidden blackmarket for noble patronage. There were no laws, or even currency to buy or barter anything there. It was, as all things, merely for the entertainment of all those participating. Fake buyers would purchase from fake merchants with fake currencies; but the slaves themselves were very real.

"As I suspected." Mordraxus hummed to himself while he skimmed through various memos and notes he had taken. "Only sentient species have the required… weight shall we say, to replenish our souls."

"And the best candidate?" Kyrazis asked.

"Creatures with advanced capacity for emotion seem to be the most efficient, and if we are to find a steadily replenishable supply… I'd say these are the best ones to use."

Mordraxus handed a thin data pad to Kyrazis.

"Humans?"

"Yes." Mordraxus nodded. "They are quite numerous in this region of space.."

"Fine." Kyrazis huffed, and handed back the pad. "Our first objective is to find enough of them to keep everyone alive."

"And after that?"

Kyrazis looked at Mordraxus. There were no future plans for him. He only sat on this throne for one reason.

"We survive."

And so they had for several decades, endlessly raiding and killing humans to feed their souls. Feeling but ignoring the slow descent into the same depravity that doomed them in the first place, becoming just as cruel as those in the pleasure centers and alleys of the core worlds.

Until Isha's song called them.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: Disturbing imagery is present in this chapter, you have been warned.

A/N 2: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading through the Emperor sections.

Isha absorbed Kyrazis's memories, merely a single twinkling spark in a sea of thousands of thoughts and prayers that flowed into her breast like streams of silver stars.

Their cries filled her ears, sorrows moved her heart, but even though her eyes watered she could not allow herself to shed a tear for them.

Their cries were many, and questions multiple; but all intersected at a single point.

'Why?'

Why had they Fallen? Why were they cursed with eternal damnation? Why?

"Look at your children, mother." She heard Kyrazis whisper under his breath. "This is what has happened to the Aeldari. We ruled the stars; had nothing to want for. Now, we're chased from the sky by Mon-keigh, and not even our souls are ours anymore."

"We lived our lives the only way we knew how to." Another Aeldari said. "We lived it to the fullest. We did everything we did with what you gave us. If that was what damned us all to sin, why did you make us this way?"

"If we betrayed your vision, mother, why not take our passions, our griefs, our mercurial hearts. We wouldn't have needed them if we had never known about them."

"Have you ever felt what we've felt? Seen what we've seen? Known the pleasures and pains our palpitating hearts pulsed with?"

"How could you know what we know and not Fall?! We had no choice! We couldn't stop!"

Voice after voice of different Aeldari came to her, begging for answers, a reason for their suffering, their pain, and their perceived punishment.

"What was it all for, mother?" Kyrazis asked her. "Why did you make us this way?"

Isha knew the answer to their questions. It was in her blood and flesh, and that of all the gods. The answer to Kyrazis and his fellow refugees was both simple, and utterly useless.

They were the way they were because they had been 'designed' that way.

Reinforced skeletal structure and enhanced muscles that needed little stress or use to form able bodied soldiers.

Psychics abilities to communicate and see the future to create more elaborate battle plans. Abilities that would be later re-used to allow bonesining of Wraithbone to repair and replenish weapons and armor when supply lines were cut and the Gauss flayers were deployed.

A nervous system specialized to focus through pain, guilt, fear, hate, and all other distractions.

All of these features were 'designed' into the Aeldari for one purpose.

Victory.

Victory over the Necrons and their Star-Gods.

Victory for all life in the galaxy.

Victory for their creators.

Victory was their sole purpose, and having achieved a form of victory at the end of the War in Heaven, they were left masterless and purposeless.

'She who Thirsts comes from all Aeldari.'

Isha remembered Morai Heg's prophetic words.

The Fall was inevitable, for the Aeldari had already fulfilled their purpose.

They had served their function, and their reward was self-destruction by the very things that had allowed them to survive galactic armageddon.

That was the answer to their questions, and it was utterly meaningless.

It did nothing to explain or redirect their pain.

It did nothing to justify what they had suffered.

It was not an answer she could give to her children.

If she were mortal, she could have lied like Kyrazis had done; given them false hope, a new enemy to blame, a scapegoat for their crimes. But, she could not do that to them; return their honest prayers with false words.

Isha's mind went back to the War in Heaven.

Elevation, they called it. A rising up. To become chosen.

Various thoughts and concepts were inscribed into her essence when she brushed against the unspeakable beings reaching down to the birthplace of the Aeldari.

In reality, all they were chosen for was to be the conscripts of a galaxy spanning war. To fight, and die against the enemy. To do their duty to their creators.

Their physical enhancements alone would not have made them Fall, but it was undeniable that they laid the seeds for their destruction. The slight finger on the scale of probability. After 60 million and 30 thousand years, that small tipping of the scale had caused the entire balance to topple down, taking her children with it.

"What was it all for, Mother! What was it all for!" Kyrazis screamed, taking her silence as an answer. "What were we made to do! Was it to Fall? To teach these new creatures you're with some sort of moral lesson? To suffer eternal torment at Hir hands?! Is that why you made us?!"

Isha reached out; back through the streams of silver stars, into each and every one of their souls with the power their prayers gave her, and overrode the commandments that would drag each one to Hir.

This was all she could do for them, for she saw that nothing she could say would make anything right. Too much time had passed, and too much had been lost.

A few intertwined souls scalded her hands with the acid they were submerged in, but she ensured even those were tied back to her, so at the very least they would remain no-matter what.

"Land on the planet." She commanded. "Your souls are free from Hir grasp, and a new life awaits you there."

The streams of silver stars ebbed out as the rejection of her children shut their hearts to her.

They could not live like the Exodites, not after several decades of sadism and thousands of years of hedonism.

They could not live like the Craftworlders, with their lack of faith and hope.

They could not fully embrace Commorragh, for they still had love for their fellow Aeldari.

She watched Kyrazis fall back into the command throne, heart and mind once again shut. "Oh mother." He said. "You'll never understand." He shook his head slowly. "No…" He whispered. "You've never understood."

The black helm turned its eye slits back at Isha.

"This is what we are. This is how we've lived."

He straightened up again, assuming a regal posture with steepled fingers.

"We have no gods." He spat. "And you are not my mother."

Even with the foreknowledge of what was to be said, the next words were a cruel blade in her heart.

"Kill them all."

—----------------------------------------

"Kill them all." Kyrazis ordered, and the bridge crew followed. Weapons began to power up, and launch bay doors opened with pilots already manning the fighters and bombers that remained in the hangar. The goddess's face disappeared as the communication line was cut.

"Immaterium portal detected!" The navigator suddenly called out. "5… 70… multiple voidships incoming!"

Several hundred portals opened on either side of the Aeldari fleet. Mon-keigh ship after Mon-keigh ship roared through the portals, and then the Aeldari crafts shook from a sudden psychic shockwave.

"Portal drives unresponsive!" One of the bridge crew shouted out. "We cannot leave through the immaterium!"

"Stay calm!" Kyrazis barked. "Concentrate all fire on the first Mon-keigh vessel. Launch all strike craft against it. Our escape lies in its destruction! Attack! ATTACK!"

Cruiser after cruiser shimmered and split into several false images; holofields hiding them from view, as they jinked and jolted erratically underneath the mirage in preparation to avoid enemy fire.

"Move the slave carriers to the starboard flank!" One of the mariners called out from the bridge. "Use their own to shield us from at least half their weapons."

Starcannons fired bolts of burning psychically guided plasma, followed by beams of light from Pulsar artillery. Strike craft followed alongside firing corridors of the cruisers they came from, hurtling towards the Mon-keigh ship like a swarm of locusts.

The rebellion of mortals against their god, the child against their parent had begun.

—----------------------------------------

Isha remained still on the bridge of the Bucephelus, desperately holding back the water in her eyes. She had no right to cry for the children that were about to be slain. There would be a time and a place for her to shed a tear for their sake and their future.

Her mind went over the possible paths that could have come before her, and crossed out the one she had most wanted. Several other endings remained, but after feeling the souls of her children, and the hospitality of the Master of Mankind, only two were likely.

She heard the Emperor walking towards her and Isha steeled herself for another bruising comment or insult.

"This is the fate of all gods."

The voice was neither cruel nor kind.

Isha looked at the Emperor, and there was a vacant look on its face, as if it was seeing something else besides the incoming plasma fire and beams of light breaking against the shields of the Bucephelus.

"No matter how much you give, or care, or teach; it will never be enough."

Its voice and gaze were not directed at her, or anyone else on the ship; only its own reflection in the viewing screens seemed to stare back at it.

"It doesn't matter what the species is, or what they embody. The ending is always the same."

"And what is that ending?" Isha found herself asking, unconsciously.

"Usurpation, oblivion, or…" The Emperor paused, before grimacing to itself. "Madness."

It was a rare moment of vulnerability she witnessed. The tiniest almost unnoticeable fragment Emperor's own essence bled out from the golden glow that enshrouded it, and Isha tapped the smallest edge of a psychic finger into it.

A story played in her mind.

—----------------------------------------

It was a tale that began a long time ago, with a group of shadows huddled in a cave. One by one dark claws, tentacles, and insectile legs took them, dragging them off into the misty darkness.

In their fear, the shadows got together and lost their form; coalescing into a single bright light. Other shadows gathered, and reached out to this light. Hands grasped at it, and the light took them, pulling them out of the darkness. But for every hand taken, two more reached out. More and more hands surrounded the light, climbing over all the others saved and unsaved to throw themselves at it.

Hundreds of hands grabbed onto the light, and buried it underneath themselves, plunging everything into darkness.

Misty darkness returned, and once again shadows were dragged off, writhing with silent screams.

Then there was a spark, and the light turned into a fire. Those that held onto it the hardest were incinerated, turned into fuel for the burning pyre, feeding it, growing it, making it stronger and hotter with every one of them it burned.

Hands of gold reached out, and gently took the hands of thousands of shadows, saving far more than the light ever could, but with every hand its golden fingers could take, another replaced it. With every shadow sacrificed four more reached out to it.

As the shadows threatened to smother the fire once more, it took human form. Golden bricks materialized beneath its feet, and the shadows that it could not hold rose above the blackness upon them.

The form turned away from the masses of shadow that now looked upwards towards it, and stepped forward. More bricks formed beneath its footsteps forming a thin road barely wide enough to hold the weight of a single line of shadows, but with each step and every shadow it consumed with its fire, its path widened.

Huddled hundred become crowds of thousands, and the procession of shadows following this burning figure grew endlessly as they marched out of the dark. Even as millions were thrown into its pyre, billions flocked to it for salvation. The ashes of those consumed in the figures fire mixed with its tears to form hardening cement and mortar, binding the bricks together with greater determination.

As the procession continued bodies began to line either side, and blood covered every footstep it took, but the now golden man or woman at the forefront of the dark forms of humanity proceeded forwards, even as it sacrificed those that cried out for salvation.

Shadowy hands still grasp at its neck, shoulders, and arms, but it will never stop. Even as it hears the prayers and suffering cries of every one of its people, it will step forward cutting a way through the dark for others to follow.

This is the Golden Path of Mankind. A road built for them out of the bodies of all the unsaved by the feet of their would be savior.

—----------------------------------------

Isha pulled back as the Emperor put a hand to its head.

Just like she saw part of its origin, an infinitely small portion of her would flow into it. From its reaction, it hadn't noticed the small intrusion on her part, and didn't realize what the small uneasiness it probably felt in its mind was.

However, the Emperor's essence retreated instinctively, once again shielded by the golden glow it used to burn away the Warp's touch.

It would not affect her greatly if it realized what she had done, or understood the information from her that now existed in its essence. But, it would be inconvenient.

"What do you know of god-hood?" Isha asked, distracting the Emperor from its introspection. "You who had no realm in the Sea of Soul, and who teaches no Truth."

"I am no god, but I have seen enough to know what happens to all of them." The Emperor retorted, once again returning to the grimacing visage it always used for her.

"And you call the Aeldari arrogant." She scoffed with feigned arrogance. "I have existed from before the time your race began."

"There is no need to see everything to notice a pattern." The Emperor growled.

Isha gave an internal sigh of relief. It had returned to its original state, the brief contact with her now mostly dissipating into its subconscious.

There was much for the Emperor to learn when it came to dealing with other gods. The Four hardly counted; merely being self-defeating cancerous balls of raw power and insanity.

Isha went back to the possible paths available to her, and re-added a third to the ones plausible; listed in the order of her preferred outcome.

Coexistence.
Separation.
Mutual destruction.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor glared at Isha, only turning back to its own reflection after she remained silent. There was no stress induced shape shifting from her this time; no growing of fangs or claws. It had half expected her to twist into a more feral form again due to the rejection from her followers, but the Aeldari Goddess remained in her default feminine figure.

'Perhaps it thinks itself empowered by the souls of these few thousand.' The Emperor thought.

It saw how her touch had taken back the souls from Slaanesh; assigned them to return to her instead of Hir. Their prayers and souls would restore some modicum of the goddess's power, but that would still be no match for the billions the Emperor carried. Even if each Aeldari soul lived fifty or even a hundred times the length of every human, the goddess would never rival the Master of Mankind.

It was either that, or the grief she felt had not reached the same stress level as when it first attacked her or threatened her followers, making the shapeshifting unnecessary. Those reactions were akin to the twitch of the eye or shivering of the hand in mortal humans; only appearing when surprised or suppressing said emotions.

The Emperor paused at that.

Why had it had that sudden revelation, this sudden understanding of some of Isha's actions?

The thought lingered only for a moment before the machine spirit of the Bucephelus alerted it of the approaching strike craft. They had just entered missile battery range, and the Emperor's steed was asking for permission to fire.

'Wait.' The Emperor commanded.

The missiles would be almost out of fuel at that range and Aeldari pilots, especially those that followed Vileth, were more than capable of avoiding the first pass. There would be a better time to attack.

The Bucephelus expressed irritation at this; the snort of an over-excited horse, tired of simply waiting under its shields as it drew in the enemy's fire.

The Emperor reached down into its partially organic mind, and stroked it with a psychic hand; calming the machine spirit's hunger for battle, and assuring the artificial soul placed there that all proceeded as its master had planned.

Like the Bucephelus's machine spirit, an intelligence created for war to enjoy killing its assigned enemies, these Aeldari were the remains of a weapons system that had long since served its purpose.

Now, like ancient ammunition that had expired eons ago; primers eroded and volatile, they had detonated spontaneously, destroying themselves and everything around them.

The Emperor took a moment to reminisce as the human ships surrounding the Aeldari synced targeting cogitators and switched to Lock-On stance. The tertiary battlegroup that Lysander had omitted from his explanation to Isha was also moving into position; below the plane of engagement at the ventral flank with engines Running Silent, like a school of fish underneath the black surface of the ocean at night.

So many of the Old Ones' weapons had been left to rot in the void. The good ones simply died, unable to function without their masters. The others mutated or fell into the service of the things that had destroyed their creators; betraying them and their purpose.

This Fall of the Aeldari was merely the last sputter of a psycho-organic machine that had plodded along for millenia without purpose or direction.

The Aeldari themselves may view this event as the extinction of their race, but the Emperor would not define it as such; that was a fate reserved for creatures who had actually evolved to reach their place.

The designed Aeldari would be decommissioned and destroyed. Their remnants would be left alone, for now; either out of reach in Commorragh or in the new form of social homeostasis on their Craftworlds not worth the expenditure of life and resources to disrupt.

There were other Old One weapons-caches that required decommissioning as well. The Emperor was painfully aware of the various ticking timebombs that each expired Xenos race had become.

To be clear, not all Xenos were spawned by the Old Ones, nor were all of them inherently dangerous. However, the effort spent investigating which was which was only worth it up to the point of determining whether the species would be subservient or disobedient to humanity.

"My Lord." Lysander's voice came in through the Vox-channel on the bridge. "Our ships are in position, but it seems the Aeldari are using their slave carriers as shields against the 5th and 8th Terran battlegroups positioned on our port-side flank. Do we continue with the original plan?"

"Yes. The Bucephelus's shields hold firm. Go with pattern 4 of the plan. Order both battlegroups to begin their rotation to the dorsal flank and bait the slave carriers with them. Have them prepare their boarding craft once the enemy strike craft are fully engaged by the Bucephelus's defenses."

"As you wish m- "Send me." ..."

The Emperor turned back to Isha who had interrupted Lysander mid-reply.

"You want those ships disabled, with minimal loss of your people's lives."She gestured to the battle before them. Only the ships to their starboard were firing beams of light; triple linked lance turrets and lance batteries fired their weapons in succession, one energy projector after the next, maintaining a continuous stream of fire in an attempt to hem in the Aeldari ships through the holofield mirages, and failing with every shot.

"A single flank cannot overwhelm the holofields of my children's ships, but your mariners will want to save everyone they can, making half your ships useless." Isha pointed to the slave carriers in the distance.

Some of the men and women onboard the Bucephelus and the other ships had been rescued or recruited from this sector. There was a chance their friends and families remained aboard the slave carriers. Shooting through them was a last resort, and one with a heavy consequence to morale.

"I can see what you're trying to do, including everything you haven't told me." Isha narrowed her eyes as the Emperor frowned back at her. "I have witnessed void combat of larger scale and complexity than this." She took a few steps forward till she was standing beside the Emperor.

"To overwhelm my children's ships, you will need a minimum of two flanks, but putting your ships opposite each other exposes them to each other's fire, not to mention the risk of being out maneuvered and attacked from above or below the plane of engagement. Therefore, you will need to attack from a minimum of three directions simultaneously." Her hand motioned in the general direction the hidden tertiary battlegroup was located.

"You intend to draw away the ships with your people away from the conflict, and board them to disable them with minimum loss of life. However, to do that safely you need to draw away their strike craft to allow your boarding vessels free passage, which is exactly what you have done."

The Emperor remained silent, looking down at the goddess. Her assertions were mostly accurate. It had intended to draw away the strike craft of the enemy vessels by using the Bucephelus as bait. However, the safety of the people on the slave carriers was merely an optional objective. It was not just the 5th and 8th Terran battlegroups' boarding craft it wished to protect from the Aeldari fighters and bombers.

"The ship we are on is powerful," Isha said, turning away from the Emperor's gaze. "but even its defenses have limits. The faster you free up your ships, the safer your path becomes. Send me to those ships, and I can stop them."

The Emperor weighed its options and recalculated the exposure times the Bucephelus's shields could survive under enemy fire. Finally, it stared back out at the Aeldari fleet, counting the number of souls available before them.

"They will not listen to you." It remarked grimly. "Even you should know that."

"They are my children. If I consign them to death, then the least I can do for them is to deliver it with my hand." Isha said sadly. "You know where I will always be, and the prayers of your people should inform you if I raise a finger against or for them."

The Emperor frowned at her words, but nodded slowly. A purple portal appeared behind it, leading to the inside of the nearest slave carriers.

"You have 5 minutes for each ship. I will open the portal when your time is up."

"That will be enough."

Isha disappeared through the portal onto one of the several slave carriers in space. There were only a dozen or so of these larger craft, meaning a little over an hour would be spent for Isha to disable them all. However, that would be several times faster than waiting for the enemy strike craft to be far away enough to safely board the slave carriers, and then destroy their engines.

The Bucephelus's shields and armor would hold regardless of Isha's offer, but the less repairs required the better.

"Lysander, order the 5th and 8th battlegroups to wait for my command, then begin their rotation to the dorsal flank and have them stop 60 degrees above the plane of engagement. Once all three flanks are prepared, have them wait until all strike craft have engaged the Bucephelus. Prioritize defense turret cover over the hangar doors and those of the Emperor-class battleships besides us."

"As you wish my Lord."

The Vox cut out, and the Emperor watched the approaching plasma fire as Pulsar beams once again struck the Bucephelus's shields.

The first slave carrier's solar sails shattered 30 seconds before the time limit, as if the Wraithbone itself had twisted, breaking apart the membranes used to power the gravity drives deep within the ship.

As it opened the portal at Isha's location to the next ship, the Emperor once again found itself mulling over the Aeldari's rejection of their god.

'This is the path all gods tread. When their miracles fail, all that is left is for divine disaster to strike.'

—----------------------------------------

Isha stepped out of the portal, onto one of the retrofitted pleasure cruisers turned slave carriers. She put a hand to the Wraithbone and began to sing to it. Her voice, both physical and psychic, traveled through it; warping structures and shutting doors. She locked all of the Aeldari she could in the rooms they were in, then formed new walls to keep them away from the slave pens.

Their desperation and despair may drive them to either use the humans here as hostages, or slaughter them in revenge. There was no point in increasing the number of deaths this day.

Isha then sensed a life being snuffed out nearby, and knew what had happened.

There were still four minutes left. It was meaningless sentimentality, but her feet carried her towards one of the rooms she had sealed shut. Her fingers found the small gap between door and door frame, and tore aside the fused Wraithbone with one hand.

Inside, an Aeldari woman held a Shuriken catapult in a shaky grip; behind her were the remains of a human, and an Aeldari child. The woman's skin was pale, her arms and neck almost shriveled looking. The child, bloody knife in one hand, was the opposite and looked healthy and vibrant.

Isha closed her eyes as she felt the woman's pain and panic wash over her.

She may have saved the souls of her children, but she had not been able to restore what had been lost.

This woman, Zepholde, had been trying to escape. She was one of the many non-useful Aeldari, relegated to the last of the line with her offspring. A painter by craft, she had not been able to find another calling, or use her talents for something else. Now, she was trapped on a ship that was being used as a shield against alien warships, and had hoped to escape with her consort and child in the commotion.

Isha took a step forward, and the woman's panic turned to rage. The Shuriken catapult pointed towards her, and thousands of tiny discs flew at her. The very air before the goddess hardened, catching each disk before Isha dissolved both them and the weapon in Zepholde's hands with a single note from her lips.

Zepholde pulled a knife from her belt. She would defend her child, Xeress. She'd stolen from the slave pits to rejuvenate his soul, knowing what awaited her should she be caught. All of the risks taken and effort spent to ensure that he would have the strength to run on his own if something were to happen to both her and her consort.

Even if the mere thought of raising the blade towards her mother's breast sent tears streaming down her face, she would not let anything happen to her child.

Isha took another step forwards, and Zepholde drew her hand back to swing at her wildly with an animalistic cry.

Before the blade could be brought down, Isha's hand wrapped around Zepholde's wrist and twisted, dropping the knife to the floor.

"I do not have the right to apologize to you." Isha said, as she wrapped the struggling woman in both arms, hugging her.

"I cannot ask for your forgiveness. Know that I am responsible for all your pain and all your sorrow." Zepholde sagged in her mother's arms, now sobbing uncontrollably as emotions of shame, rebellion, and hopelessness sapped the strength from her body.

"Hate me from the bottom of your heart for giving and taking everything from you." Isha's hand patted the back of Zepholde's head twice.

"Good bye, my child."

There was a crunch as Isha's fingers broke through the back of Zepholde's skull, destroying the brainstem in an instant. The body in her arms spasmed as ions and neurotransmitters spilled out of destroyed nerve cells, activating various reflexes and muscles at random. However, Zepholde's brain was disconnected from all of this and felt nothing; slowly shutting down as the various liquids that provided it oxygen and nutrients poured out the back of her head, falling into a deep slumber before shutting off completely.

Once the body stopped moving, Isha laid it down on the ground, and closed the wide open eyes with her clean hand. The other one was still coated in blood and bits of brain matter, but these disappeared into her skin, like water on desert sands.

New sobbing came from behind her. Xeress was on his knees, holding his head.

He was a truly young soul, and could not understand what was going on before him.

He had just watched his mother kill his mother, but his mother was still here and she was standing before him.

He had done as his mother told him, but his mother also hadn't wanted him to do that.

He could feel his mother's love, but why was she so sad at the same time?

Isha kneeled down and took the huddled boy in her lap. He could no longer differentiate between Zepholde and her, and the contradiction between what he saw with his eyes, what he felt with his soul, and what he knew from memory was tearing his brain apart. She could see the blood vessels beginning to burst and synapses frying from overexertion.

Slowly, she rocked him, and sang an old lullaby she had sung to the first Aeldari on the day they were chosen by the Old Ones.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
The time has come for you to rise.

Bone and body made unbreakable.
Heart and mind made indestructible.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
Forever shall I be at your side.

Rest and slumber, dream and doubt.
I shall love you, where they shall not.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
For when you wake, you shall fight.

This war is yours, this strife your right.
And when you cry, I will see your spite.

Hate me. Hate me, with all your heart.
My tear will fill with all your might.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
Your story ends, but not your life.

The small boy stopped moving as his mother's voice lulled him to sleep, pausing the damage his own body was doing to itself. Isha brushed away the hair on his forehead, and kissed him there, further assuring him everything was alright and he could let go of his consciousness.

As the child's breath became heavy and deep from sleep, Isha caressed his head one last time, and placed her fingers against his forehead.

—----------------------------------------

Isha laid the body of the child next to his mother. It was a meaningless gesture, for them and for her. However, she could not let their bodies simply lie there.

This was not the first time she had watched her children die, nor was it the first time they died by her hand. She was the mother of a race made to fight and die in a war that was not started by them; every life created was another death she sent them to.

Still, the pain of losing her children burned in her heart. These two were fortunate for it to be painless, but all the others aboard this ship and the many other warships would die alone either through exposure to the vacuum or in the flames of human weapons.

Hurried footsteps came from the corridor, and Isha stepped back into the shadows behind the torn door of the room.

Zepholde's consort ran into the room, panting. He took one look, and collapsed to his knees in front of their bodies yelling both of their names.

Isha stepped out of the shadows, and silently wrapped an arm around his neck before destroying his brainstem as she had done with Zepholde.

There was no more time for words or sentimentality. She turned away from the corpses and sang another note, sending spikes of Wraithbone into the gravity and portal drives of the ship, before warping the solar sails into useless messes of bent Wraithbone and torn membranes.

A purple portal opened behind her once again, and Isha stepped through it.

She had saved her children's souls, but that was all she could do. Now, she would have to use what they had returned to her to increase the odds of the others' survival.

Isha was the mother of the Aeldari, but in the wild, the mother not only gives but takes.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1/2: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading the first half of the chapter.

A/N 2/2: Music recommendations are below

♪1 Homeworld 2 Remastered Soundtrack - The Keeper
♪2 Gekkou no Carnevale OST Cilindro

♪1
The Lead Wing of the Aeldari Dark-Star fighters, Ravynax, absorbed the news from the local psychic net of the slave carriers ceasing to function. Over three quarters had lost communication all of a sudden, and their solar sails and engines were destroyed by the very Wraithbone of the ship.

Their goddess had begun to act against them, and although part of her wanted to turn back to the slave carriers with her fighter squadron, the logical part of her focussed on the greater threat; the burning glow of whatever was on the Mon-keigh flag-ship.

'Their snare is also our salvation.' Ravynax thought to herself bitterly; tightening her grip on the controls of her angular chiropteran shaped craft, cockpit nestled at the base of the sharp spearhead like prow that took the place the animal's head would have been.

Whatever disabled their portal drives had also cleansed the local warp, and the constant feeling of being watched was gone from them; the thing sapping at their souls sent away. They could use their psychic abilities once again. The telepathy and foresight they had used against the green-skins and other belligerent alien races that inconvenienced the Empire had returned with crystal clarity.

No longer would they have to react only to the now against the Mon-keigh's clumsy fighters; blind to the place where the defense turrets on their larger ships' would fire their explosive shells.

'Another slave carrier falls, Lead Wing.' One of the squadron broadcasted to the rest of them. 'She is there.'

'The Mon-keigh flag-ship is our target.' Ravynax broadcasted back. 'The Mon-keigh seek to surround us. Their portside vessels already move to form the second net of a three way trap. It would be best to predict that another battlegroup hides below us in the void.'

'No vessels are present there Lead Wing.' Another retorted, blood lust and anger giving passionate heat to the thought, raising the temperature of Ravynax's own temper.

'The Mon-keigh are foolish, but not stupid.' Ravynax retorted, reasserting control over herself and realigning their conjoined mood with cool calculating thoughts. 'There is or will be another force there. If we cannot see it, it means it has not arrived, or it is composed of smaller vessels Running Silent.'

'Smaller vessels means a vulnerability; an opportunity to bite through their net.' Several of her squadron voiced the same opinion, but Ravynax only shook her head at that.

'It will matter little if we do not destroy their flag-ship. Even now more vessels could be reinforcing this position. We strike them now, so we can flee to strike again later.' Ravynax delivered the thought in a psychic tone that demanded obedience, and the rest of the squadron sent begrudging nods, acquiescing to their senior in both rank and age.

Ravynax pulled her consciousness back from herself, letting her mind fall backwards into the psychic net, spreading her thoughts at a broader level, sending the required formation to the rest of the bombers and fighters following behind them.

The fighters were all sleek craft like hers. All of them were armed with two miniature starcannons nestled in the craft's spearpoint prow, capable of acting like rapid firing guns and guided missile launchers at the same time with the psychically guided balls of plasma they fired.Two brightlances were tucked under the base of each wing, providing penetrating blasts of light to deal with heavier armor.

The Eagle bombers that followed were still streamlined, but bulkier than the fighters overall, almost one and a half times thicker and wider; with two cockpits, one behind the other. Instead of a spearpoint-like nose, the prow of the craft split in two, like a two pronged fork; except the prongs were replaced with katana-like blades. These strike craft carried sonic charges in addition to the weapons carried by the Dark-Star fighters; bombs that let loose shockwaves that warped and deformed anything they touched, detonating enemy munitions inside their magazine and silos, rupturing fuel lines and power cables, and liquifying anything organic the shockwave passed through.

There was no time to form the bombing waves that would efficiently disable and destroy their target; to distribute every sonic charge and brightlance blast efficiently so their weapons did not strike a dead target twice. They would have to attack en masse to overwhelm the Mon-keigh defenders and ensure the escape of their fleet. It was an ugly tactic, and dangerous as well. Their own ships would clutter the void, making flying extremely dangerous. However, with their psychic net and foresight restored, avoiding each other and the enemy munitions should still be possible, even if it would be exhausting.

'Prepare to match speed to target.' Ravynax ordered.

Most void shields of larger vessels reacted to the speed of the projectile impacting it, only becoming impassable to fast moving projectiles and reacting to the slight increase in temperature before the full power of a Pulsar blast hit. Even if the flag-ship's shields had been overloaded to become impervious to all things, matching their speed to its would ensure their strike craft did not destroy themselves on collision.

'Missile launch detected.' One of the squadron called out, and Ravynax saw several thousand puffs of gas erupt across the front half of the flag-ship as missiles were slow-launched from their silos and allowed to slowly drift past the shields, before their rocket engines kicked in, roaring towards them.

'Cut through them and accelerate to maximum velocity!' Ravynax ordered, angered yet impressed at the Mon-keigh's timing.

They were deep within the firing range of the missiles, meaning that each missile would have ample fuel to turn around and follow them after their first pass, forcing their fighters and bombers to accelerate to speeds that would certainly activate the void shields, forcing them to give up their attack.

The Mon-keigh of previous raids were not as patient, firing as soon as they got into range. It was a simple task to avoid the nearly empty rocket engines of the missiles, and then cut apart the vessels that fired them at their leisure. It would not be so easy this time.

Ravynax looked minutes into the future and fired bolts of psychically guided plasma, destroying the missiles that were in her future self's way, opening a hole in the barrage wide enough for her craft to slip through. All the strike craft in her squadron and the ones behind it did the same, or twirled through the holes opened by those in front of them.

Even as they did so, gyros within the center of each missile spun them around, decelerating and then reaccelerating as they turned 180 degrees to follow their targets.

Ravynax snorted to herself as they passed the prow of the flag-ship, now illuminated in the void by the Pulsar beams and plasma blasts dissipating against its shields. This was a delaying tactic. The missiles may be faster than their strike craft, but with such a large gap between them, all it did was prevent them from attacking the flag-ship for a few minutes. All they had to do was run until the missiles' rocket engines were dry, and then turn around to attack the flag-ship.

'Prepare to move past the flag-shi- Ventral turn NOW!' Ravynax's craft's gravitic drives stopped the ship moving forwards, and instantly turned it downwards, moving perpendicular to its past direction as her foresight saw through the Mon-keigh trap. Just as she did so, explosive munitions detonated meters away from her position as masses of defense turrets on the un-shielded aft sections of the two battleships besides the flag-ship pre-fired their rounds in a hail of explosive warheads, creating a wall of fire and shrapnel that blocked the Aeldari's path.

All the fighters followed her orders, but turning while being chased by missiles was a risky move. The missiles had gained several hundred meters, and another evasive maneuver could lead to them losing some of their trailing bombers.

However, the Mon-keighs' own excessive defense turret fire prevented their strike craft from taking off. None of the clumsy fliers would be able to maneuver around their own weapons to strike the Aeldari fighters and bombers.

'Missile launch detected!' One of the squadron reported again, and another wave of missiles were released in puffs of gas, before roaring towards them.

On the other hand, there may be no need for the Mon-keigh to send their fighters. The Aeldari were being surrounded by walls of enemy missiles and bullets, and the first ones to be caught in all this would be the slower and more important Eagle bombers.

'All fighters, about-turn and destroy the enemy missiles! Buy our bombers time till their shields fail!'

The enemy flag-ship had no intention of letting them decelerate to dive under its shields, so the only thing they could do was wait till the firepower of their cruisers depleted the shields so they could attack the ship directly. But, at this range, with the prow of the flag-ship being peppered with Pulsar and plasma fire, and Mon-keigh battleships on either side covering the flanks, the only place they could wait was in a narrow ring of space around the front-half of the ship. A ring of space that was quickly being saturated by homing missiles, coming at them from behind and the side at once.

Ravynax and her fellow Dark-Star fighters dove through their own strike craft, bombers parting around them like a school of fish expertly avoiding a barracuda that had come charging through their group. The last bomber sent the position of the missiles they had seen to the fighters, and Ravynax launched her plasma bolts as soon as she passed the bombers, opening holes in the wall of missiles that were coming towards her.

Several of the missiles turned around, separating into two uneven groups, the smaller of which chased the fighters heading in the opposite direction to the bombers.

Ravynax cut her engines, her craft continuing in a straight line with its remaining momentum, then she turned her ship around to face the missiles. Now flying backwards, her starcannons shot down each missile chasing her before she reactivated both gravitic drives and gunned forwards, chasing after the remaining group of missiles that followed the bombers. Every trigger pull, loosed a storm of individually guided plasma blasts, taking out tens of missiles with every salvo.

Suddenly, the white glow of a dissipating Pulsar beam was replaced with an orange flash. A small part of the flag-ship's shielding had failed, allowing several bolts of plasma and a single beam to impact the armor of the ship. Superheated metal erupted like burst boils from the ship's armor, but there was no white mist or foggy vapor rushing out, indicating the thick hull still stood firm.

'All fighters, clear a path for the bombers!' Ravynax ordered, and they accelerated past the bombers to clear a way through the newest storm of missiles heading towards them. Bombers slipped through the holes opened for them by the fighters, and several dozen entered beneath the shields, before the ones following them quickly turned away as a brief flash of blue appeared in their path; narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with the restored void shields.

Explosions criss-crossed the flag-ship's hull as the Aeldari Eagle bombers' sonic charges detonated missile silos and defensive turrets; attempting to reduce the threat to the rest of the bombing squadrons still circling the front half of the flag-ship, and themselves inside the shields.

Ravynax shivered as she felt something move through the immaterium, and looked at where it headed. One of the Eagle bombers suddenly stopped, crumpling as if grabbed by a giant hand, then the psychic grip that held it flung the wreckage right into the path of another bomber, destroying both in a flash of orange flames.

'Concentrate on the bridge!' Ravynax ordered through the psychic net, tracking where the telekinetic hand had originated.

There was no avoiding that attack, no amount of foresight or marining skills could allow them to escape that thing's grasp.

Panic suddenly spread through the entire psychic net, and Ravynax instinctively swiveled her head towards the third Mon-keigh fleet that had appeared.

'Barbarians!' She hissed, fully understanding the trap that had been sprung before them.

'All fighters, prepare for enemy strike craft!' She called out into the psychic net just as the hangar bays of the flag-ship and two battleships all opened.

'Defend the bombers! Get them back to the fleet!'

Hundreds of boxy stubby winged Mon-keigh fighters launched themselves as the defense turrets from the battleships ceased firing, emerging from behind the curtains of auto-cannon shells to deliver their own missiles, lasers, and auto-cannon rounds.

The fighters launched from the hangar doors facing the flag-ship charged straight towards them, while those launched from the hangars facing away from the flag-ship circled around them, cutting off their escape.

Ravynax's plasma fire depleted one fighter's shields, and she rolled out of the way of a laser blast with her foresight, before nailing the Mon-keigh through the cockpit with a brightlance shot in return. But for every fighter she destroyed, two more replaced it. Beads of sweat evaporated almost as soon as they formed from the excess heat her brain was releasing from psychic exertion.

'Do not give chase!' She shouted at one of the other mariners, who'd swerved behind a Mon-keigh fighter, just in time for him to break off as two laser beams and multiple rounds of autogun fire passed where he would have been and where he would have ran had he continued to give chase.

The continued evasion and void skirmishing was taxing them, wearing out their patience and their wits; brains near boiling from psychic exertion. The Mon-keigh fighters were baiting them, taunting them with easy targets followed by several different squadrons ready to pounce on any who tried to go for the kill. Their tactics were beginning to work. Some of the less experienced mariners had already fallen to this simple trap, and the rest were beginning to burn out from the constant dog-fighting they were forced to engage in.

The Aeldari strike fighters were faster, more maneuverable, and more heavily armed than the Mon-keigh. However, the greatest advantage was not the specifications of their weapons, but the mariners inside them.

Each was an experienced veteran with at least several hundred years of service.
Each possessed a psychic mind capable of predicting the future in real-time, and were conjoined in a way that allowed them to move in formatons only dreamed of by human minds.

However, most encounters until now had been won in single skirmishes lasting mere minutes.

For this battle, they had been avoiding munitions, each other, and shooting down missiles that were far smaller than the targets they were used to for the greater part of an hour. Exhaustion was building up inside all of them; allowing rage, bloodlust, and impatience to convince them to take the easy kill.

Now outnumbered and pressed for time, unable to conduct the coordinated strikes or form the wing formations that would have allowed them to dance in and around the Mon-keigh in this melee range of void-combat, their greatest strength was slipping from their hands.

This was not an elegant battle, but a brawl that the Aeldari had been baited into; a muddy fist-fight in the dirt, a primitive battle of stamina and numbers.

'Bombers engage their fighters!' Ravynax ordered. Their fighters were too heavily outnumbered, and they could no longer cover the bombers. Running now would mean certain death from laser fire from behind. Their only avenue of escape would be to thin the Mon-keigh ranks, and hopefully break through to the fleet, already losing cruisers as the Mon-keighs' barbaric strategy progressed.

A sense of dread came from one of her fellow mariners, and Ravynax saw through their eyes squadrons of Mon-keigh bombers heading towards the Aeldari cruisers outside the encirclement of the Mon-keigh fighters.

"Curse you… CURSE YOU!" Ravynax screamed out loud, blowing apart another Mon-keigh fighter with plasma bolts to its engines as she felt her fellow mariners die around her one by one; overwhelmed and surrounded by auto-cannon rounds and laser beams that could have been avoided on their own, but were inescapable in the nets of death the Mon-keigh wrapped around them.

Her skin crawled again as she felt the immaterium ripple, then her heart almost stopped as the echoes of a psychic shockwave rolled over her, ending the lives of all the mariners still trapped underneath the flag-ship's shields.

As she dove past a Mon-keigh fighter, swiveling around to fire a brightlance straight through its exposed rear before spinning forwards again, a great sadness gouged a hole in what remained of her heart.

'Were we so insignificant that you'd use these animals to end us?' Ravynax thought to herself.

She did not regret refusing the offer of the goddess, even if she knew that made her the goddess's enemy. But, if she had to die for her actions, then she would have wanted it to be at the hands of the one they had rejected. At least then, they would have mattered to her. They would have made her raise her hand against them, and it would have shown that at the very least she cared enough about them to strike them down. But her thoughts went unanswered by the goddess, just as they had been when all the gods were forced to abandon them long ago.

The crystalline viewport of the Dark-Star fighter shattered, and the wind was knocked out of Ravynax as Wraithbone wreckage nailed her to the cockpit chair. A stream of stray auto-cannon rounds had hit her in the moment her misery had distracted her.

Ravynax sealed what remained of her suit with a telekinetic patch, and forced blood back into the torn blood vessels with another spurt of psychic energy. Then she turned on the Mon-keigh who'd shot at her, and unleashed every weapon she had on it; blowing up its hull, before cutting the wreckage into three pieces in fiery vengeance.

If she was going to die to these creatures, she would show them what it meant to fight the Aeldari. The dead faces of all she killed would haunt the survivors to their last breath, and they'd speak to their spawn of the sheer relief they felt at surviving the battle. She would kill as many as she could till the last spark of her soul, and the last atom of her ship was incinerated by their weapons. She'd kill and kill and kill and…

Suddenly, Ravynax no longer felt the pain in her gut, nor the feverish heat of psychic exertion. The itchy sensation of salt from dried sweat was gone, and the rage that had burned inside her left, leaving only a long forgotten feeling of peace.

There was a garden before her; wild with long grasses and small flowers, with only soft dirt beneath her feet.

She felt a presence behind her, but before she could turn around, warm arms with soft skin embraced her from behind.

"Mothe-"

Ravynax's fighter exploded as a laser beam pierced it from behind, cutting right through the psychically charged crystal that lay at its center, and passing through the cockpit all in the same instant.

—----------------------------------------
♪2
Isha's psychic embrace carried Ravynax's soul from the battlefield back to her in the last slave carrier, as she did for all the others who died there. Her physical arms laid down the body of another one of her children. There were no other ships the Emperor needed disabled, so she walked from room to room on the last slave carrier to say her last farewells to the occupants of each one.

She cast a side-ways glance at the Emperor and at the battle occurring before them. It was a brutal strategy the humans employed, but not entirely without its own logic. However, the methods of warfare were not her interests, nor her speciality. She was the last one to be called for by the Aeldari warsong; when the battle had already ended, and there was nothing else to be done.

After making sure the Emperor was focussed on the battle, Isha brushed against the golden scar tissue that marred her stomach. Green brown transparent tendrils, like vines or roots, rubbed against it gently; in order to coax the smallest yet complete part of the Emperor's power in such a way that it would remain whole, and not dissolve into immaterial essence or psychic energy.

A psychic cell of the Emperor, in a sense, was what she wanted.

It would not provide her with any new insight into its past nor would it show her some hidden weakness. This cell would be too small, too insignificant for that. After all, it was only because of how minute this cell was that she would be able to hide this investigation of hers from the Emperor.

Replication was impossible, for it was not an actual cell. There was no genetic information inside it, no organelles that she could exploit.

However, it would act as the Emperor's own aura would act.

Green and brown tendrils encircled the cell she had managed to extract and felt around its surface.

This fragment would be an antigen, a foreign particle that could be recognized to form an immune response. No actual antibodies would be created, but she would have a better understanding of what the Emperor's powers were and how to adapt to them.

The Emperor's touch erased the unreal and the immaterial. Even this singular cell she had extracted was singing her probing feelers, reverting them to nothing.

Isha narrowed her eyes. She had her suspicions when she felt its glow burn away the Warp on their first encounter, but had hoped that it was more of a purification ritual that allowed it to do that; not some intrinsic ability linked to its very nature.

Psychic attacks made of wind or lightning would be made in vain. She would spend more energy making the attack than the Emperor would negating it. However, the Emperor's own powers would be unimpeded by its own touch.

'A fittingly tyrannical ability for it.' Isha thought to herself.

She would have to be wary of this passive ability. Only physical attacks would be effective against it.

An overwhelming amount of psychic power could be used to push back the Emperor; hitting it harder and faster than its negation could cope. However, even in that scenario, a prolonged battle of psychic blows, the victor would always be the Emperor. Its negation would ensure its opponent used more power than it.

Isha felt the simultaneous death of hundreds of her children as one of the Eclipse-class cruisers's psychic crystal core detonated from exposure to the humans' lance batteries. Their dying cries and curses flowed into her, and their souls entered her body empowering her a little bit more.

Isha compressed the extra-strength she gained, hiding it from view as she had done so when the Warp Plagues and Enslaver hordes broke out. It was a long time before a treatment was found, and both she and her children had to hide their psychic signatures while the creatures did nothing but endlessly multiply using the psychic species less prepared than them.

The Emperor may have counted the number of Aeldari souls, possibly even estimated the amount of time each one had existed, and came to the conclusion that she could never rival it. If only it could ask itself the question, 'Why did the Three only appear long after the War in Heaven; the greatest conflict filled with war, death, and deceit?'

Then again, it only knew what it had experienced. Perhaps it thought itself clever for re-using the ashes of those it consumed, not realizing the waste that it made with every cremation.

Isha rose, still analyzing and planning while at the same time collecting the thoughts and souls of her children. Her feet carried her to the next room, and her hand tore open the Wraithbone she had used to seal the occupants inside.

If she had faced the Emperor before the Fall, she would not have had to worry about any of this. Efficiency was only necessary when two opponents battled on similar levels. It was only in this depleted shrunken state that she would have to fear it.

There were ways she might be able to destroy it, but to do that would mean a corruption of her own nature, possibly even fatal if she couldn't digest it fast enough. That was, however, a last resort; and even then it might not be worth it.

Her objective was not the usurpation of man, or revenge against the Emperor. It was always her children, first and foremost. Even as she ended the life of another one of them, euthanizing the shivering man in her arms painlessly.

If servitude bought the lives of her children, then she would serve. However, seeing the Emperor's nature brought both hope and worry at the same time. She was the daughter of Morai Heg, and the mother of Lilieath. Prophecy may not be one of her powers, but it would be foolish to assume that the middle of such a bloodline was blind to the future.

That golden figure was the protector of mankind; formed by its species to defend against the various Warp predators that lurked in the depths of the immaterium. That explained its inherent rejection of unreality.

However, its endless stride through the dark meant it could never stop and it could never relent. To do so would mean the end to its entire existence and the end of everyone aboard the bricks it laid.

There was also the issue of who it carried upon its path. Only one species was there, and even they were not safe from it. If the Emperor ever did conquer the galaxy, then all others would forever live in humanity's shadow, if they were even allowed to exist at all.

The Emperor may have stated that her children could live in its domain, but she would need to confirm the details of what that entailed.

Isha also sensed other dangers within it. The Emperor was not a stable being. She had no interest in being dragged down with it when it eventually broke. The hypocrisy of what it was and what it said it was could not be sustainable. Not to mention the brief bit of philosophy it had revealed to her.

It hated gods and hated godhood. Even though it had achieved apotheosis long ago.

Part of it might be to avoid the eventual fate all gods met that it espoused. However, there was something else there. Otherwise, the simplest way to avoid its own predicted fate would be to stop being a god.

There were some who had done that, deserters of the War in Heaven. But, the Emperor had not taken that path. It was still a god with mortal followers.

It needed to be a hypocrite for some reason, but for what?

Isha laid the body of the man to rest and closed his eyes; blood and brains on her hand sinking into her skin, as if to symbolize the return of her children to her body.

The Emperor's self-deception was deeply ingrained in it and extremely important to it. It wouldn't have made the threat to hand her over to Chaos when she called it a god if it wasn't.

Isha puzzled over its nature as she walked to the next room.

Gods were beings of thoughts and dreams, unconscious and conscious.

The brief touches Isha made against the psyche of billions in the Sea of Souls while dancing away from Khaine inspired stories of fae and faeries. Gods were not as impressionable as the unconscious thoughts of mortals, but a serious blow between them would bring their essences in contact. In that moment, images and thoughts, memories and theories would be exchanged between them.

Therefore, a battle between gods could be thought of as a battle between ideals and ideas, symbolized and materialized through their powers and Truths; a violent form of divine debate.

If their Truths were too similar, the battle would become that of Khorne and Khaine who were both gods of war; two answers to the same question. Those two could clash with each other without fear of being infected with the other's Truth. However, that also meant they would never be able to understand or reconcile with the other. Eternal conflict was the only outcome to result from their meeting.

Isha and the Emperor were too different to reject each other like that. Although that left the option for both to learn from the other, they also ran the risk of ending up like Gork and Mork. Those gods were cunning and brutal, but the war-like nature of them and their species brought them into conflict too many times; ruining the both of them and leaving only two lunatics who could no longer tell who was who, becoming cunningly brutal, and brutally cunning.

Regardless, whatever the outcome, neither would leave entirely the same as they were before the battle.

'Perhaps its nature of negating the unnatural means it has never felt the touch of another god before.' Isha mused.

The Emperor was far too eager for conflict with every encounter they had. But, if that were true, it would be useful. The shock it would feel would buy her a few moments, if only to gloat at its shattered hubris.

Isha sang a single verse and formed the same Wraithbone spear she first used against the Emperor's sword, inspected it, then shook her head and dispersed it with a single note.

She may know how to fight, but she was not a god of war. Weapons were not her specialty, and although she used them against the creatures of Chaos, it was mostly because she loathed even touching the creatures, disgusted by the thought that even a sliver of their memories might slither its way into hers.

No weapons she could make, however, would be sufficient against the Emperor. Wraithbone itself was an unnatural material. It would weaken in the Emperor's presence no matter how hard she made it.

Isha looked down at her fist instead. This body was a physical construct made to house her essence. It would be barbaric, but it could work.

She already had methods to nullify the Emperor's sleeping spell, and as long as she could separate the Custodes from their master, she would not be rendered as powerless as she had been on that dead planet covered in Dark Pylons. Its chains could be delayed, and their physical abilities were nearly matched when they first met. Unfortunately, the Emperor's battle instincts were better than hers. Split second decisions would always favor the Master of Mankind, for it was a creature of strife while she was a being of balance. Still, she could see the first moves of the dance that could lead to one or both their destructions.

Isha looked down at the planet; at the ancient battlefield and final resting place for some of her most unfortunate children.

The battle between them could be avoided. There was another offer of servitude she could make to the Emperor, but its rejection would mean there would only be two paths left to her. It would also hurt her heart immensely if the offer was spurned, and possibly doom some of her children to She who Thirsts. They were buried here for a reason.

Isha reorganized what she knew of the Emperor as she entered the next room.

It was a god which was not a god.

It was a being of the immaterium that was made to protect against the Warp.

It had been brought down and changed two times for or by the creatures it was meant to protect.

Her song brought up rage and pain in its heart, but she was not sure what part of her song upset it.

Several possibilities to its Truth surfaced and sank in her mind.

If things finally did come to blows between them, she would at least like to know what she would be taking in from the Emperor, if only to ensure it could be encysted and sealed away from the rest of her.

Isha continued down the slave carrier, towards another one of her children.

The battle was almost over and several cruisers were falling down to the planet below. The Emperor was sure to call her soon, and she had questions of her own for it as well.

 

[Nidhog153]

(Several minutes before the first shield failure of the Bucephelus)

Galowen watched the Mon-keigh laser weapons fire and miss once more as the Eclipse cruiser Moonstalker's gravitic drives pulled itself out of the way. The path of the beam of light had already been predicted by his foresight, even before the firing teams on the enemy ship had even entered the targeting solutions into their primitive cogitators.

'They shall not last long.' He thought to himself. The humans had been firing continuously for over an hour, and he knew from past raids that their plasma generators and capacitor banks should be running low. Even now some of their largest and oldest ships had already gone silent, merely drifting in the void.

The humans must have felt themselves clever with their sudden encirclement, courtesy of the psychic powers of the burning creature on the largest Mon-keigh ship. However, they had failed their execution. It was almost effortless to predict and avoid the lances firing in succession. They only needed to predict a series of points to dance around in sequence. If the Mon-keigh wanted to overwhelm them, they should have at least tried to coordinate their attacks to fill every possible point the Aeldari cruiser could have ran to at the same time in a single salvo of laser blasts from a minimum of two flanks.

Galowen allowed himself a small chuckle as he steered the ship out of another blue-white beam of photons before it even registered on the sensors; ship tilting and swerving like a falcon riding an updraft.

Of course, what the Mon-keigh should have done was not what they could do. Such a concentration of fire power would drain the human ships dry after several salvos, barely leaving enough energy to maneuver or raise their void shields to protect against any potential Aeldari counter attack. In fact, if they had their strike craft, the Aeldari could already be destroying several of the flanking ships. However, all of their fighters and bombers were already at the flagship, waiting for its shields to fall.

A smile crossed his face as one of the Pulsars from an Aeldari cruiser scarred the flagship's armor followed by several balls of plasma.

The positioning of the Mon-keigh ships betrayed the existence of a third flank, but even that did not bother Galowen. If the third flank hadn't appeared on their sensors by now when the two battlegroups on either side were nearing energy reserve depletion, it must be composed of smaller ships Running Silent. That meant that most of the ordinance carried by the ships' of the third flank would be the archaic macro cannons and batteries that fired unguided shells with unreliable warheads. Such munitions were easier to avoid than the laser weapons he dodged now, not even requiring foresight to weave into the deadly void-dance he and the other mariners lead the Moonstalker through under the shimmering holofields.

Even surrounded on three flanks, the Mon-keigh would need almost Aeldari levels of coordination to ensure all their munitions would hit every possible avenue of escape at the same time. However, at this range and with this much space between each ship in the Aeldari fleet, dodging the fire of all three Mon-keigh flanks was well within the abilities of any of the mariners aboard all of the Aeldari cruisers.

Suddenly, Galowen saw something in his foresight that made him look down, as if he could see through the Wraithbone floor of the ship itself; eyes widening in disbelief at the sheer idiocy the Mon-keigh would throw themselves into.

'Activate Runic Targeting Nodes! Deal with them as we would the green-skin!' He cried out through the psychic net.

However, the vision in his foresight refused to fade; even as the Starcannons' psychic guidance systems sent balls of plasma curving almost 270 degrees towards the targets that had just appeared on the ventral side of the Aeldari ships, even as the gravitic drives and solar sails moved to avoid the incoming attack, and even as the escort craft of the Aeldari fleet moved to intercept the enemy.

The true danger of humans is not their intelligence, for the Aeldari are far wiser.
Neither is it their cunning or brutality, for the descendants of the Krork are the epitome of both.

It is their sheer unpredictable, arrogant, and disobedient nature; for one moment they are dogmatic dogs to doctrine, but at the blink of an eye every veneer of civility, professionalism, and sophistication is dropped to reveal the almost feral animal that lies within them all.

—----------------------------------------

(Almost a half-hour before)
Captain Cedric of the Dauntless-class Light Cruiser Thunderous Valor watched the light from the lance fire of the Vengeance Grand Cruisers, Hades Battle Cruisers, and Lunar Cruisers of the 5th, 8th, 11th, and 12th Terran battlegroups flanking the Xenos ships crisscross in sequence above the hidden fleet he was part of; a rag-tag group of escorts and light cruisers assembled from the remains of raided worlds. All of them had been either rescued from the pillaged wreckage left by the Xenos, or arrested.

Captain Cedric and all his crew had entered into the service of the Emperor via the latter; for they were all deserters, cowards who had fled from their homeworld.

He still remembered the events of that day with crystal clarity.

After the flagship leading the planet's defense fleet fell to the aliens, he and several others abandoned the battlefield. What good would a few light cruisers and escorts do against ships that tore apart a battlecruiser in mere moments?

However, it may have been better to have died then and there than to have survived.

Somehow, they continued to receive Vox communications from the planet they had left behind. Calls for help came from the panicked remains of the defense militia on open channels. Civilians, barricaded in whatever strongholds remained, begged them to return. Then those cries turned into screams; mixed with the melodic alien laughter of the creatures that had chased them away.

It had taken several laspistol shots through the Vox instruments for the communications to stop.

Every night had been a nightmare from that moment on. The voices and sounds that came from the Vox, before their fear and rage forced them to destroy their own equipment, echoed in their dreams. The auditory stimulation recorded in their memories turned into vivid images as they slept; filling their slumber with a front row seat to a torture show starring their loved ones.

Cedric's family had been left behind on the planet, as well as all the families of the men and women onboard. He could not be sure, but he felt that he heard the voice of his wife and two children on the Vox. It was them that appeared every night, and he could do nothing but watch as they were violated in every way he could have possibly imagined.

It was the second week after they had abandoned their homeworld that they ran into the fleet from Terra. Cedric remembered the moment. He had been eyeing the laspistol in his lap, turning it over and over in his hands, when the auspex array lit up and a titanic vessel of unknown origin exited the Warp right next to their ships. They did not try to run, even as the boarding tubes of the unfamiliar vessels attached to their hulls. Death would be a release at this moment, and the many sleepless nights had taken a heavy toll on all of them.

The men from the titanic ship boarded, debriefed, and then arrested all of them. For three days, Cedric and his men sat in the brig of the Bucephelus, only interrupted by the occasional medical check-up. Then, they were dragged in chains for an audience with the Emperor.

"The 5th, 8th, 11th, and 12th battlegroups lance fire cannot last much longer." Lieutenant Commander Gideon called out, returning Cedric to the present. Gideon was the senior officer in charge of the auspex arrays, and it was his duty to inform the bridge of all events of note. "Current rate of fire projects capacitor bank depletion in 90 minutes. They're draining them faster than the plasma generators can replenish them."

"Are the Vengeance Grand Cruisers still firing?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then it is not yet time."

"As you will Sir"

Cedric returned to watching the lance fire above them. Each one was a guiding light, ensuring his ship, and all the others knew which way to go. Every ship that traveled below the plane of engagement traveled in complete silence. Besides not being able to use the Vox, that also meant any sensor sweep or scanner pulse was out of the question; for the electromagnetic energies used to scan for targets would betray their location. That meant they flew blind in space, for the distances involved in void combat meant the human eye was about as useful as the light sensing cell spots on a clam.

However, even at this great distance, the lance beams of the Terran battlegroups were bright enough to follow; contrasting against the blackness of space. All they had to do in order to identify the direction they had to travel was record the positions of the sequential lance beams. The intersection point between the beams from the two battlegroups on either flank of the Xenos provided them a general idea of where the Xenos ships were.

Cedric smiled, as he overlooked the bridge crew from the dais that held the holomap and his command throne. Soon, it would all be over. It was almost poetic that the ship class that would give the signal for them had the same name as what the Emperor had promised them. The thought sent his tired mind back into memory as they waited for their signal.

When Cedric met the Emperor, he was overwhelmed with shame and could feel the displeasure and disappointment radiating from the golden being before him.

However, although Cedric was sure the only reason they had been dredged up from the brig was to serve as an example for traitors and cowards, the Emperor did not have them executed.

"Rise Cedric." The Emperor's voice boomed, and Cedric realized that he had been prostrating himself; face and knees almost buried in the deep red carpet that lined the audience chamber of the Emperor.

"Your fear has caused the deaths of many, and now it seeks to kill you with your own hands."

Tears blurred Cedric's sight, as he raised his head.

"There is only one path for your salvation."

The Emperor took a single half-step forwards, and the harsh sound his armored foot made against the floor was that of a gavel in a courtroom.

"Return to your ship, Captain."

Soldiers marched from behind, and unshackled Cedric's wrists and ankles.

"I promise you neither your life nor your freedom. However..."

The Emperor spoke as Cedric rubbed his wrists, like a pauper begging for some small scrap of mercy.

"Serve me and you will have your vengeance."

At that moment, a searing flame burst into life in Cedric's heart. Despair, fear, and self-pity burned away like cobwebs before a torch. His tears dried as he rose to one knee, and bowed his head.

"What will you have me do, my Lord."

From that point forward, Cedric and the thousands of other cowards like him followed the Emperor; charging into the ranks of the very Xenos they first ran from at a single command. This was the only path left for them, and only in their death did duty end.

"Vengeance Grand Cruisers lance batteries have gone silent!" Gideon cried out, returning Cedric to the present.

"Sound the alarm." He ordered one of the bridge staff, before turning to another. "70 degrees dorsal turn. Use the gyros for as long as possible, but prepare the emergency thrusters. Vox officer, maintain radio silence until we're detected."

Men and women rushed to their seats at their terminals as flashing red lights and sirens began to blare through the ship. Cedric himself sat back in his throne and buckled himself in; shoulder straps and harness securing him to the well padded backrest.

"All hands, all hands. Brace for Impact. Brace for Impact. Secure all equipment and personnel, immediately. Repeat…" The automated recording continued to play as the ship began to turn towards the intersecting beams of light above them.

Slowly, the Thunderous Valor rose towards the Xenos ships, still flying with minimal power and invisible to almost all sensors. Then, the balls of plasma fired from within the alien holofields that had been flying over them suddenly turned, heading towards them like guided torpedoes.

"All ahead full!" Cedric ordered, and the 6 drive thrusters roared to life, accelerating the ship forwards as several hundred other light cruisers and escort class vessels did the same.

Cedric grunted as the G-forces from the acceleration that weren't blunted by the shock absorbing fields and support structures of the command deck shoved him into his seat.

"Break radio silence! Prepare the escorts to fly in formation!" Cedric shouted out from his throne, and the Vox officer only nodded as she struggled to reach the keys on her terminal; arms straining against the sudden acceleration that threatened to crush every bone in the crew's bodies. "Master Gunner! Open port and starboard macro cannon blast doors!"

Massive shutters opened on either side of the ship as the cannons beneath them moved forwards. Several smaller ships, only a third the length of the cruiser, formed up besides, above, and below them.

"Xenos plasma weaponry impact imminent!" Gideon called out.

Balls of plasma tens of meters in diameter descended upon them. The first few targeted the escorts, stripping away their shields in several shots before burning through the hull.

One of the escorts exploded as a ball of plasma swerved around the thick armor on the prow and burrowed into the base of the macro cannon turrets on the dorsal side of the ship. Ammunition silos detonated, tearing the Sword-class frigate in two from the inside out; front and back halves sent in opposite directions by the orange ball of molten metal and gas that came from breached generators and macro shell warheads.

"Adjust course!" Cedric ordered. "Point us directly at the enemy fire, and maintain the escorts' formation!"

They were almost within the Xenos ships' formations, blurry images of the alien vessels now visible even to the naked eye.

"Enemy escorts approaching!" Gideon called out.

Smaller dart-like Xenos craft approached rapidly; responding to the infiltration of their battle lines by the humans. Coordinated plasma fire and Pulsar blasts tore through another escort, with the plasma fire of the cruisers stripping the shields as a separate escort fired its Pulsar weapon at the exact moment the shields fell; piercing the enginarium room of the escort in a single strike, leaving it drifting in the void.

"Master Gunner, fire macro cannon batteries at will! Keep the enemy escort class vessels away from us!"

The command deck of the Thunderous Valor shook as both of its batteries opened fire. Salvos of shells flew in opposite directions with timed warheads, detonating before the Xenos escorts, forcing them to turn away or risk flying into the wall of explosions before them.

"Entering Xenos holofields!" Gideon cried out, and the entire holomap went haywire. The green image of the ship remained in place as the entire map spun wildly around it, unable to reconcile the fact that every sensor told the ship's cogitators it was currently flying through a solid object.

Cedric gripped the armrests of his seat as the view ports were obscured by blurred images, then the cloudy mass of blue and gray disappeared like morning mist as they exited the holofields and returned to the blackness of space.

"Status report on the escorts!" Cedric shouted.

"We're missing the Adlerauge!" Gideon replied, and Cedric's heart leapt in his breast.

"Vox officer!"

"We have their coordinates!" The woman replied. "Transmitting to Vengeance-class Grand Cruiser Executor's Wrath!"

Hundreds of kilometers away, the fully charged lance batteries of a ship over 6 km long turned to the coordinates of the Adlerauge, adjusted to spread several degrees around the craft, and fired. Dozens of beams of light went through the holofield, then the shimmering mirage disappeared as the torn form of the Xenos cruiser appeared, Adlerauge embedded deeply in its port side. Lance batteries had cut right through its solar sails, and pierced both it and the Adlerauge, destroying or disabling the holofield in the process. But, before the Executor's Wrath could fire again, the Adlerauge exploded. Like a wedge in a piece of firewood struck by a hammer, it split the Xenos ship in two as all its fuel and ammunition detonated; damaged from the lance blasts from their own allies.

Cedric watched all this but did not despair. This had been the plan all along.

Aeldari holofields, their nimble ships, and inhuman reaction times made them a difficult target to destroy. Given time they may have defeated them conventionally, but with every Aeldari ship hellbent on destroying the Bucephelus, time was not on the human's side.

Thus, they employed tactics from two ancient battles against their enemy.

The first was the battle of Midway, where the Japanese carriers depleted all their available fighters before being ambushed by the Americans. This was mimicked by baiting the Aeldari strike craft into attacking the Bucephelus. With all their strike craft gone, the Aeldari cruisers didn't have the sufficient patrols to identify the human's hidden fleet. Not to mention, their bombers would have made short work of the lightly armored and lower mass targets that every human light cruiser and escort class vessel was.

The second battle was Trafalgar. Like the British ship-of-the-line in ancient times, the humans' light cruisers and escorts penetrated deep within the Aeldari's formations. There; they charged to point blank range where even the Aeldari could no longer avoid their shots, cluttered the battlefield with their wreckage, and even dived head first into the enemy ships to reveal their position under the holofield for the flanking Terran battlegroups to fire at.

Any Aeldari who tried to escape from the charging light cruisers and escorts had only one assured avenue of escape; upwards. But that path was now being covered by streams of lance fire from the Hades Battlecruisers and Lunar Cruisers; no longer required to fire inefficiently on purpose to show the blind tertiary battlegroup where to go. Thus, with every attempt to go upwards met with salvos of coordinated lance fire that criss crossed to form a latticework of lasers in a makeshift net, the Aeldari were forced to dodge and weave in the vicious melee the humans engaged them in.

The previously silent Vengeance-class Grand Cruisers also now fired all their lance batteries at any human ship that collided with the Aeldari, for only they had the firepower to ensure a kill in a single salvo.

This was the trap of the humans; for now the Aeldari were surrounded, divided, and avoiding fire from every possible direction inside and outside their formations. An unpredictable mish-mash of ship collisions, close range macro cannon fire, and lance batteries overwhelmed their psychic foresight. Worst of all, the suicidal human escorts and vengeful light-cruisers flew straight at them in wide formations, forcing them to move away to avoid ramming; making their movements predictable, allowing a few to be downed by concentrated lance fire.

As Cedric's cruiser and escorts flew into the holofields of another Xenos cruiser, forcing it into the path of several lance beams as it attempted to avoid them and their macro cannon fire, the Thunderous Valor shook as something penetrated its void shields.

"We've taken macro cannon fire to the prow lance!" Gideon called out.

This melee was as dangerous to the humans as it was for the Aeldari. In this relative close range for space combat with unguided macro shells flying from every direction, friendly fire was frequent in occurrence.

"Scramble repair teams!" Cedric shouted back. "Turn the ship around! Dive back into their formations!"

Maneuvering thrusters burst into action, sending jets of burning promethium from the front port and rear starboard, turning the ship 180 degrees back into the fray. They would use the Xenos vessels as cover against the fire of their own allies.

Cedric grunted as the turning of the ship dug the harness into his neck.

There was a snap on the bridge and one of the terminal operators was flung out of their seat, safety harness torn from the G-force, and flung into one of the walls with a bone shattering crack. Thankfully, each function on the bridge was manned by three operators; physical redundancy to ensure sudden deaths did not reduce the ship's operations.

"Xenos escort closing behind us!" Gideon called out, and one dart-like ship appeared on the holomap, slipping through the still burning wreck left behind by the alien cruiser before zipping behind them like a bee. Plasma fire stripped the shields of one of their escorts, before a Pulsar beam pierced the engines of the ship with pinpoint precision; tearing it apart from the inside as it detonated the fuel reserves in the ship.

"Order our escorts to proceed to the next target!" Cedric ordered. "Bring our guns to bear on that Xenos!"

The nimbler escorts would have a far easier time closing with the Aeldari cruisers, and they were numerous enough to expend as tracking bullets; to embed themselves in the Wraithbone of the enemy ships to allow the Vengeance-class Grand Cruisers coordinates to target.

Maneuvering thrusters coupled with magnetic gyros in the stubby wings of the Thunderous Valor wrenched the ship sideways; superstructure of the ship groaning as it strained against inertia. However, even as the prow side macro cannon batteries fired, the Xenos escort had already shifted sideways; sidestepping the human's shells.

The entire ship shook as the Xenos Pulsar beam pierced the prow side stern of the ship, cutting a hole meters in diameter through the hull just above the engines.

"Hull breach on multiple decks!" One of the bridge crew cried over the screaming alarms that threatened to drown out his voice. "Engine core is still secure, but we've lost all power to the void shields!"

"Evasive maneuvers! Don't let them get another shot!"

Promethium flared from maneuvering thrusters across the ship as it rolled and turned in random directions, twisting the hole bored by the Xenos away from its line of fire. Then the starboard macro battery detonated from within, tearing out the side of the ship; neutering half of the vessel's remaining weapons.

"Status report!" Cedric shouted, spitting out blood from a bitten lip.

"Critical damage to the starboard macro cannon battery!" The secondary Master Gunner reported; primary operator lying in his harness, neck broken from the sudden change in direction the explosion had caused.

"Cause!"

"A shell came loose from the magazine! We cannot continue firing with these maneuvers!"

"No!" Cedric shouted back. "Continue evasive maneuvers, and ready our port-side weapons! We hold the line here and now! Keep that ship distracted for as long as possible!"

"Xenos escort incoming!" Gideon cried, and the entire ship shook again as the Pulsar struck the ship in the exact same spot, cutting deeper into its innards.

"Enginarium room breached! Emergency venting of main plasma drive in progress! Output dropping to 12%!"

Cedric gnashed his teeth in rage. His ship was rendered virtually immobile in space.

"Enemy escort approaching!" Gideon cried out.

"Then we take them with us!" Cedric spat, pounding his fist against the throne's armrest. "Open all fuel valves! Unlock all ammunition silos! Detonate as soon as the enemy gets in range!"

As the crew began to carry out his orders, the Vox officer raised a hand.

"Captain, we're receiving a hail from one of the Bucephelus's bomber squadrons! Sending to central holoprojector now!"

An image flickered into view above the center of the bridge, allowing the entire staff to see the masked face of the Squadron commander of the bombing fleet.

"Thunderous Valor." The pilot, face obscured with breathing apparatus and helmet visor, said in a monotone voice. "This is Squadron Commander Samuel Carter. Respond."

"This is Captain Cedric Mathius." Cedric responded, almost growling with bitterness.

"Captain Cedric, cease all operations and wait for recovery."

There was a crack as one of Cedric's molars splintered as he clenched his jaw.

"I have them!" He spat back at the holographic image that loomed above them.

"Your life is not yours to give, Captain." The Squadron Commander responded. "You serve the Emperor of Mankind. Obey."

The image disappeared, and Cedric roared in fury, breaking the bones in his hand as he slammed it against the command throne. There was a moment of silence on the bridge, with only the drip of blood from his hand and the splattered remains of some of the unfortunate crew whose safety harnesses had snapped.

"Disconnect main plasma drives and switch to secondary. Redistribute power to life support and begin macro cannon battery cooling procedures." He said bitterly, and the crew slowly obeyed him.

Once again, he had survived.

Once again, vengeance had been his.

But, even as he watched the bomber squadron rush past the view ports to swarm the fleeing Xenos escort; melta-bombs boring holes into the Wraithbone, burning the vile aliens inside before blowing up the entire craft, the fire that the Emperor lit in his chest burned hotter and hotter.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor watched the remains of the Aeldari fleet crumble, opening a portal for Isha to return as he watched the last few ships push through the remains of the tertiary battlegroup, falling to the planet below as lance fire followed their path. Only a few ships remained, and even this number would be reduced as the free fall they were now trapped in was easy to follow with weapon fire.

More would burn up in the atmosphere. Even now one of the damaged cruisers disintegrated in the thick abrasive ash filled atmosphere; pockmarked hull creating excess friction in the clouds, letting off sparks of lightning as it broke into several fragments. Only one or two would reach the surface.

That still meant a potential few hundred Aeldari survivors. Aliens who were hardier than they looked, and could sing matter into existence. Given enough time, they could rebuild their ships; possibly even create a functional colony for them to breed and increase their number. Not to mention whatever Isha had hidden on this planet.

Their mother did not trust the Emperor, and would have surely taken some precaution to protect her children. There was a high probability there was either some weapon or means of escape hidden on the planet below. She had chosen it for them after all.

The portal shimmered as Isha walked through it; eyes swiveling to the Emperor before moving to follow the trajectory of the Aeldari ships still falling towards the planet.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he watched the creature display emotions of sadness.

It was disgusting, hypocritical, and far far too late.

'You have no right.' The Emperor thought to itself. 'Your tears are too little and too late. Now watch the ending of a race that lived without sacrificing anything.'

The Emperor remembered visiting the Aeldari Pantheon, tens of thousands of years ago; traveling through the increasingly turbulent immaterium to find answers or assistance for its mission. The shining gates and walls were made of white Wraithbone inlaid with red black crystals, with artistic sets of runes engraved upon almost every surface. The massive structure seemed never ending; stretching off to either side in the Sea of Souls as far as warp sight could perceive, and hiding everything beyond the border through its sheer height.

Hundreds of other beings made of thoughts and dreams waited near the gates; sitting, standing, squatting, alone or in groups. They were either huddled here for protection, as the more violent neverborn were driven away by the silver sentinels that watched the gates at all times, or in the hope for an audience with the titanic alien gods beyond.

As the being that would eventually become the Emperor drank in the sight, catching its figurative breath after the long wearisome journey, it felt the hairs rise on the back of its neck as the feeling of being watched crawled over its skin.

Upon the spiked battlements of the white walls, a feminine figure cast her eyes over the view beyond her home.

The other creatures here could also feel her gaze, for they quivered and quailed as the invisible touch of her eyes crawled over them.

The Emperor's own eyes looked up to the Aeldari goddess, and although she was so far away only her long silvery hair and soft silhouette allowed determination of her gender, they locked eyes for a brief moment.

In that moment everything was laid bare, and the Emperor felt almost naked before the goddess; with every scar and shame inspected by the alien creature high above.

Then the moment was gone, and the goddess retreated from view beyond the walls.

As the Emperor collapsed to its knees, panting from the experience, a cruel realization of the futility of coming here crystalized in its mind.

It was not that these aliens could not do anything to help.

They would not do anything to help.

For in that momentary look that Aeldari goddess gave, she had decided no further attention was necessary. Every pain, every sacrifice, every life that composed the would-be Emperor and all the others before the silver gates was only worth a single glance of her divine eyes.

Boiling anger replaced exhaustion and chilling fear as the Emperor understood this, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow looking up once again only to glower at the empty battlements.

With all their power, all their experience, all their knowledge those creatures would do nothing. Even as beings far smaller and weaker than them spent every moment just trying to barely survive.

That was the first contact between part of the subconscious of humanity and the Aeldari Pantheon, but it was not the last.

"Do you still want to convince them?" The Emperor asked, hiding the irritation that grew at the sight and sound of the alien.

"Even if I know the outcome, I must try." She replied with a wan smile. "Are you so impatient to end your work here?"

"We will deploy troops to the ground regardless." The Master of Mankind replied. "Orbital or even aerial bombardment always leaves the possibility for survivors. Whether you join them or not is your decision."

"I will join your troops to the planet, if it is only to say my final farewell to my children." There was a moment's pause before Isha looked up into the brown eyes of the Emperor. "I have other questions for you."

The Emperor stared back at her coldly; neither refusing her request nor affirming to receive it.

"The battle is mostly over, and it will take time to prepare your troops." Isha took a step forward. "I wish to know how my children will survive under your rule."

"And what will you do with that knowledge? Do you think yourself to be in a position to bargain?"

Isha's voice was growing more aggravating to listen to, regardless of the content. The song of life that threatened to distract and create doubt before the Emperor seemed to come from every syllable uttered by her.

"If you seek to threaten me with your spell, then it is a pointless bluff." Isha retorted. "Seeing your people's weapons, I can see that stolen knowledge only serves you so much. There is more I can teach you willingly than being forced to."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed.

What she said was true. The knowledge of the Void Dragon was alien to all things, and it was only through blind obedience and slavery that the Necron were able to follow its designs. Although the Emperor could use the knowledge to circumvent the more archaic Necron weapons and defenses, humanity's attempts at imitation through las technology and their more exotic blades was a far cry from the originals.

Isha was not as alien as the Star God, but her knowledge would still be difficult to pry from her mind. Her fabled knowledge of gene sculpting and flesh work would be useful, especially after Isha's incident with the Xenobiologis had rendered them unusable.

"Then what do you offer for my answer?"

It was unlikely Isha would part with such valuable knowledge so soon, but it would be interesting to see what she saw to be an equivalent exchange for her question.

"Part of my children's birthright lies buried on this planet. Protection from your followers or any other who would harm them." Isha gestured to the planet. "A platoon of Psychomatons from the War in Heaven to defend them should the need ever arise. I give their service to you."

The Emperor snorted at this. A one time offer of weapons that would be slaved to her, and the revelation of her deceit. Although she had only asked for knowledge of the Emperor's plans, it was an arrogant offer regardless.

Then again, if she had offered what the Emperor truly wanted, she would have been a fool; and fools were sometimes more dangerous than the most intelligent adversary.

Regardless, there was no need to allow her an easy bargain.

"You think this revelation of your trickery buys you any favor from me?" The Emperor answered, brown eyes glaring down into Isha's silvery ones.

"Neither of us trusts the other. Would you have done any different?"

The two stared at each other; wild animals observing the other for an opening, muscles tensed but fangs still hidden beneath lips.

—----------------------------------------

Isha watched the Emperor warily. Wisp of dark green and blackish brown flickered in its brown eye; parts of the information Isha exchanged with it earlier stoked the original flame that burned within its gaze, fuelling a preexisting rational rage with irrational disgust and loathing.

She knew those feelings well, for they were the same colors she saw in herself before she went to implore Asuryan to activate the edict.

"Forgive me." She said, breaking eye contact by bowing her head. "This line of debate is meaningless." Her voice was steady, but quiet. "Knowing that you yourself would make the same choice only means that you are aware of the cost and the risk of such a decision. That gives more reason to hate than to forgive. However…"

Gesture of acquiescence made, Isha turned back to the Emperor.

"Know this, Protector of Mankind. My actions are for my children's lives, not their empire."

There was another pause between them as the Emperor continued to glower at Isha.

"You children will live, for the moment." The Emperor finally replied. "I have other matters to attend to, and it is better to leave Chaos preoccupied with its latest prize."

"You intend to use them as a shield against Chaos?" Isha asked calmly.

That was a predictable outcome. Humanity as it stood was still fractured, and the Aeldari that survived outside the Webway had many years to prepare for the birth of the Warp and She who Thirsts. They were the best equipped to push back the Ruinous Powers that now threatened to expand beyond the permanent Warp tear.

Racial pride also ran deep within the survivors. Even without the feeding habits of the children here, meeting humanity as it was now would not end well for either species. Especially if they learned of how their divine mother had been treated by those they would certainly call Mon-keigh.

For now, separation was the best for the safety of both.

"The current Warp is a product of your species." The Emperor growled, misinterpreting her statement as an accusation. "Why should I or my people intervene on the behalf of those who caused their own destruction."

The statement irked Isha, for although partially true, it belittled what they went through and the future Lilieath had sought to avoid.

"Be that as it may, do not deny that my children's battle serves all." She replied almost instinctively. "Do not forget what you and every other creature in this galaxy owes them."

"I owe neither them nor you anything." The Emperor took another step forward, looming over Isha; ignoring the double meaning of the War in Heaven and the battle against Chaos her children had fought and would fight. "I will take what will not be given, steal what will not be gifted, and destroy anything that stands in my path." Hot ash filled bonfire air and the metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. "Those are the laws that all will survive under in my domain."

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor looked down at the smaller Aeldari goddess. Her current form was only the height of the average Aeldari, which meant her head only came up to the midriff of the golden terminator armor that adorned the Emperor's body, so her neck was forced to crane backwards almost painfully to return the Master of Mankind's gaze.

The chlorinated stench of ozone and the earthy scent of mud flowed from her as the air around them began to whirl in a spiral. The smell was like the smoldering remains of a lightning strike in the middle of a stormy night over a brackish puddle.

Her lips parted, curled angrily to retort, but stopped themselves. Instad, her parted lips relaxed, turning whatever curse or argument she was about to utter into a ragged breath; intaking and exhaling air, to cool and vent the heat of the anger she no doubt felt.

"You will not pursue them like the ones here?" She spoke quietly and the atmosphere of the bridge stilled; air returning to the various vents that circulated oxygen throughout the ship.

"As long as they remain out of reach and out of the way, they will remain unharmed by my hand."

Isha gave a dry chuckle at that. Humanity would expand across the stars, and would eventually reach the Aeldari. When that happened, there was no question as to how the meeting would take place.

"I suppose I should be thankful you do not hold them hostage against me." She replied dryly.

"That can be arranged, if you forget your place."

Isha's brow furrowed at that, and she lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Where does your hatred towards me come from?"

Hate?

The question paused the Emperor for a moment. The Aeldari were arrogant and dangerous. They were responsible for the birth of an atrocity beyond understanding or imagination. However, these feelings of aggravation and irritation that bubbled in the Emperor's chest were more than that.

Isha was right. The Emperor hated her, and the feeling had been growing ever since the battle with the Aeldari began. A battle that could have been avoided.

The answer to Isha's question and the ones that would no doubt follow solidified in the Emperor's mind.

"From the knowledge of what you are, and what you have done."

"And what am I in your eyes? What sin have I committed against you?"

"Do not feign ignorance. I know the legends of your people, and how everything came to pass."

Isha snorted derisively at that.

"You think some incestuous love my daughter felt for Kurnous caused all of this?"

The Emperor's teeth grated together. That was not the point. That was not Isha's fault or the cause of all that happened.

Something snapped in the Emperor.

"If only you and your daughter kept your damnable mouths shut, none of this would have happened!"

There was a silence after the Emperor's outburst as Isha's eyes widened with shock. Only the quiet beep of the holomap and electronic buzzing of lights and instrument panels could be heard.

Internally, the Emperor cursed and readied the spells required to summon the sword and chains necessary for battle. This was not the time nor place to fight Isha. However, contrary to expectation, Isha did not lash out or retort.

Instead, a great weariness radiated from her as she broke eye contact and crossed her arms.

"So, you blame me for stopping Khaine as much as you blame Lilieath for spurring him on." She said quietly.

"Am I wrong?" The Emperor spoke slowly, still prepared to draw sword and chains. "Khaine's slaughter of the Aeldari would have reduced their number and their power to a fraction of what it was."

Isha did not reply, instead her fingers squeezed her arms leaving red marks on her upper arms.

"The fourth Ruinous Power is only as great as your species made it. If you had kept quiet and let the necessary sacrifice take place, neither of us would be here."

That was the sin that the Emperor saw Isha guilty of. Whether it was her weakness or love for her children, she stopped Khaine's slaughter of the Aeldari which led to the eventual birth of Slaanesh. Worst of all, the method she used to stop Khaine stopped all interaction between the mortal Aeldari and their gods. If Isha had stayed silent, Chaos would have been far less powerful, and Slaanesh would never have been born. The Aeldari may have been a far smaller power, but they would not be doomed to eternal torment.

All of this suffering both of the Aeldari and every other race which fell to the Ruinous Powers was in part caused by Isha's cry to Asuryan. The Aeldari gods knew this, and yet they did nothing to stop it.

That could not be forgiven or forgotten.

"There is a human parable of a train and tracks with humans tied to it." Isha suddenly spoke. "You wish to argue in utilitarian terms, then let me explain my actions with ones you are most used to."

The Emperor snorted. It was a simple thought experiment. A train traveled along a track that split into two paths. The track the train would pass over normally had 4 people tied to it. The other track, which the train could be diverted down by a person pulling a lever, only had 1 person tied to it.

Let 4 die, or change the direction of the train to let only 1 die. The answer was simple.

"It is always better to sacrifice the few to save the many."

Isha gave a sad, tired smile at the Emperor's answer, as if listening to a child giving the right answer to a different question.

"If the one changing the direction of the train is unaffected by their actions, then you are correct. But, what happens if the act of sacrificing one to save many is counted as murder? Will the person change the direction of the train if they are guilty of the death they cause?"

Was that Isha's reason for calling back Khaine? The Emperor's lips curled.

"It is a crime to stand back and do nothing." The words were spat out with venom, but Isha's eyes flashed at the words and not the tone of the statement. Her eyes bored into the angry gaze of the Emperor with a purity of purpose that was unexpected for one he thought had given up on the hard choices before her.

"Do not attempt to equate sin with sin." Her voice was quiet, but there was a seriousness in her tone that made the Emperor stay silent. "If all are guilty, there is no difference between the outcomes besides the number of dead. In that world, every sinner might as well be innocent so long as the ends justify the means, with the reverse being the same."

"You speak of sin and guilt…" The Emperor replied slowly. "But what does a goddess of a pantheon who did nothing know of justice?"

"I was judge, jury, and executioner of entire worlds before you were born." The chlorine stench of ozone returned as Isha spoke, followed by the smell of hot dusty air and sulfur. "Lilieath and I knew what the result of our actions would be, even if we hated ourselves and each other for making them."

"And this is the best you can do?" The Emperor stepped back, turning to the side to show the view visible from the bridge of the Bucephelus; a view filled with burning Aeldari ships and broken human vessels.

Isha walked past the Emperor towards the empty space and let her arms fall to her sides.

"I asked Asuryan to stop the slaughter." She spoke, tone vacant as she stared out into space.

"I bent the rules of the very edict I called into place with Kurnous and Vaul. I paid for my disobedience at my father's hand. I waged war against my own family as the mortal empire of my own children descended into interstellar strife with itself. I suffered their disobedience and ungratefulness as they forgot all of us. I watched them descend into depravity even as I held back the growing powers of Chaos."

Her head was bowed, as if she was fighting back tears.

"I did my best, paid the price for my actions and many others besides me."

Her voice was almost a whisper, then she turned back towards the Emperor. Eyes clear and wide open as she raised both of her clean white hands palms upwards before her.

"This is the reward for all my efforts."

There was a long pause between them as the Emperor tried to untangle Isha's words.

This death and destruction, the eternal perversion or reality, the birth of a new Ruinous Power were the best the higher beings he had seen so long ago could manage?

"Then the power of gods truly has no meaning."

If this was the best they could manage, then whatever powers they seemed to possess meant nothing.

"Say what you must to soothe yourself." Isha walked right up to the Emperor, even if the height difference forced her to look almost straight up to meet its gaze. "I look forward to seeing where your path finally takes you."

Several moments passed as the two glared at one another, neither accepting the other's conclusion.

The Emperor would always pull the lever, no matter how much blood spattered it as the train ran over the lesser number of people.

Isha had not pulled the lever when the train came, and from her inaction the Aeldari died and the Warp was born. Yet, she stated that was the right decision for that moment.

"Send me to the other ships that hold your people prisoner." Isha finally broke the silence between them, looking away at the same time. "I would prefer to spend my time there than in conversation with you."

"Then go." The Emperor raised a hand, and a small hand held communication device unlocked itself from one of the terminals and floated towards Isha. "Contact me via the open channel registered on that device when you wish to move to the next ship." The Emperor said as it turned away from Isha, glad to get rid of her from its sight. "Surely the sophisticated ships of your people can replicate the signals necessary."

Isha left through the new portal without a reply, leaving the Emperor behind.

A heavy sigh came from the Emperor, stress and annoyance leaving with the air. Calls would have to be made to the troop transports on the Bucephelus and other transport vessels. The Aeldari survivors would be most likely holed up in the remains of their ships, and it would be pointless to assault them with conventional forces. The God-Machines would be necessary to cut them out. Not to mention the news of the Psychomatons on the planet.

The Emperor had honored their agreement, and told Isha what she wished to know. Now, it was time to see whether she would uphold her end of the bargain.

—----------------------------------------

Lilieath's consciousness awoke blind, deaf, and still unable to speak. She was unsure of what was around her or what awaited her next.

She who Thirsts had endless creativity.

At times the torture was brutally simple, the defilement almost base like the lusts of simple criminals and barbarians who killed and raped to satisfy their overpowering urges.

Other times they were more intricate, with acts and scenes like a theater play in order to give a poetic beauty to the pain and pleasure upon the stage.

Sometimes it was almost scientific, with physical bodies prepared for her essence to be housed in so chemicals and sensory stimulation could be simulated in order for her to experience mortal sensations in an almost experimental fashion.

On the rare occasion, she was simply given to the many hands, claws, and tentacles of the Keepers of Secrets as a temporary reward for their service. She was the goddess whose voice first called Slaanesh according to Aeldari legend, and the daemons of the god or goddess of excess worshiped her in the twisted way only they could imagine.

In these short quiet moments while She who Thirsts was either distracted or busy preparing some new diabolical sensation, Lilieath used what remained of her Truth to return to the past in dreams, providing some small solace for her sanity; even though Slaanesh would never let her go insane.

This time, her dreams were not as pleasant as she would have wanted, for they took her back to the time her mother found out what she had told Khaine.

The sky had grown dark and stormy as lightning sparked between black clouds and the winds howled outside Morai Heg's room where Lilieath sat on her grandmother's shoulder.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Isha stormed inside, teeth bared and brow furrowed.

"LILIEATH!" The ground shook as her mother called her name, and a gigantic hand reached for her upon her grandmother's shoulder. "What have you done!"

Just as Isha's hand was about to close around Lilieath's entire body, Morai Heg's remaining hand closed around her wrist.

"She did what she had to, daughter." The old crone spoke quietly as thunder rumbled outside.

"It was not her decision to make!" Isha shouted angrily. "They are my children! That is my duty, my burden to bear, my Truth! NOT HERS!"

Lightning struck just outside, sending shards of Wraithbone flying; only to be seized by the winds and dragged upwards into the black sky. All three goddesses did not move; three divine generations all with the best intentions at heart yet completely different conclusions.

"Then you know what you have to do in order to go back to that path."

Thunder echoed as another lightning bolt crashed down outside as Isha's lips curled, baring her teeth at her mother and daughter. Then she yanked her arm from Morai Heg's hand, and stormed back out the room before hurricane winds lifted her skywards towards the palace of Asuryan.

Moraig Heg sighed as Lilieath watched Isha enter the palace as drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

There was a flash, and a pillar of silver flames shot up from the palace, penetrating the clouds. Then, a second orange pillar of fire descended from the sky, slamming into the courtyard just outside the palace. A few seconds later, Khaine emerged from the flames, sword still bloody from the planets burnt to cinders before Isha's cry to Asuryan to activate the edict brought him back.

The flaming head of Khaine turned towards the entrance of the palace as Isha stormed out of it. Father and daughter glared at each other for a moment, Isha's fists balling into fists as she watched the blood drip off of Khaine's blade.

There was a banshee cry, and the entire Pantheon shook as father and daughter tore at each other's throats; rocking the very foundations of the Pantheon as their titanic forms clashed. Winds roared and lightning flashed, sending thunderous booms to echo over the Wraithbone city that creaked and groaned as the very ground heaved with Isha's rage.

Moments later, silver chains wrapped around both, dragging them away from each other as Asuryan stepped from his palace.

"The edict has been activated as decreed." The Phoenix King said, tone quiet and unemotional. "From this point forth, all contact with the materium has been forbidden."

Isha sank to her knees, chains clinking as the rain grew heavier, soaking through her clothing and sticking it to her skin.

Khaine remained standing, raindrops hissing as they hit his flaming form. His burning eyes glared at Isha's bowed head.

"Are they worth everything that can and will be lost, daughter?" Khaine finally said.

"They are my children." Isha whispered. "They are my duty, my responsibility."

"Then words are useless." Khaine tried to take a step forward, but the chains only groaned and did not give.

"The Goddess of Life has acted accordingly." Asuryan spoke. "You do not have the right to take what is not yours."

"Do you not see what is to come, brother?" Khaine asked, turning to Asuryan.

"I have seen it all, but it is not my choice to make." Asuryan turned towards Khaine, releasing Isha from her chains as he passed her. "I am the Phoenix King of this pantheon. The matter of mortals is to be left to their decision."

"It is also hers." Khaine pointed an accusatory finger at Isha, still kneeling in the rain.

"And she has decided to invoke the edict." Asuryan replied, matter of factly.

"Then make her choose otherwise!" Khaine roared, orange flames flaring up even as the chains stopped him from moving.

Asuryan shook his head, then lifted a hand summoning a series of runes that laid out the law of the land.

"As long as the edict remains unbroken, I cannot allow any harm to come between any of us."

The chains binding Khaine disappeared, but his feet refused to move towards Isha.

"Is it love for them that makes you stand in my way?" Khaine asked Isha quietly, flames receding to reveal a well tanned muscular figure. "Or is it fear for what you will become?"

There was no reply from Isha who remained kneeling in the rain, eyes wide as she searched for some way through what was to come.

Khaine snorted. It was a pointless effort. If Isha's daughter saw this as the only way forward, then this was the only way. All that was left was to act.

If Isha could not do it safely, he would. He could slaughter the Aeldari with no remorse. He had done so with all those who had refused to fight during the War in Heaven. There were no enemies that could threaten them now, but if the Aeldari themselves threatened them, then they impeded their gods just as much as the cowards of the ancient past did so. Thus, there was no internal conflict within Khaine's Truth.

Isha was a far more complicated creature. One he was both proud of and annoyed by.

"I do not understand your or her idea of balance." Khaine muttered, turning his back on Asuryan.

"I am the fulcrum that takes neither side." Asuryan said, rubbing a finger besides the white and black rune that was ascribed to him. "She is the scale that swings to and fro."

Khaine sighed, then shrugged. "All I see are enemies and allies." Then the God of War walked away from the courtyard, leaving Asuryan to deal with Isha and Kurnous who had just arrived.

'Mother...' Lilieath thought to herself, returning from the sad dream to the eternal nightmare that was her reality.

She could feel She who Thirsts approaching. The smell of musk, sweat, and sexual fluids filled the air; informing her of the current mood the creature was in and what form of excess it wished to indulge.

At the very least, her mother was free. So long as Isha walked with the Aeldari, there was hope.

For when the Goddess of Life answered the call of the Aeldari during the War in Heaven, victory was always assured.

 

[Nidhog153]

In the first days of the Aeldari, Asuryan granted Eldanesh and his followers the gift of life. He breathed into their bodies all that they were to become. Yet there was no other thing upon the world. All was barren and not a leaf nor fish nor bird nor animal grew or swam or flew or walked beside them. Eldanesh was forlorn at the infertility of his home, and its emptiness made in him a greater emptiness. Seeing his distress, Isha was overcome with a grief of her own. Isha shed a tear for the Aeldari and let it drop upon the world. Where it fell, there came new life. From her sorrow came joy, for the world of the Aeldari was filled with wondrous things and Eldanesh's emptiness was no more, and he gave thanks to Isha for her love.

-Ancient Aeldari legend on the genesis of their race

—----------------------------------------

Isha exited the portal, returning to the dark corridors of one of her children's ships. The conversation with the Emperor had dragged up deep memories back to the time after the War in Heaven, before the edict.

—----------------------------------------

Truly free and unopposed for the first time in eons, she and her children had set out to undo some of the damage that the War in Heaven had left. The galaxy was theirs, but horribly damaged. Entire sections were dark and lifeless; stars drained and planets killed, cores immobile and the atmosphere blown away by radioactive solarwinds. As the only major power left sane and standing, her children proclaimed it their duty to rebuild what they and others had destroyed.

It was a political as well as a humanitarian effort, for the Aeldari could predict their own population growth without enemies to thin their ranks. Expansion was the only method they could realistically come up with in order to ensure a common goal unified their ever growing populace; so the same internal strife that destroyed the Necrontyr did not consume them as well.

Thus, they set forth on their warships, troop carriers, and Talismans of Vaul in order to restore and rebuild with the weapons of war that they had used to destroy.

Isha watched them with pride from atop her arboreal throne as another world's biosphere joined her domain as the gravity tethers from her children's ships pulled another planet away from a red dwarf's orbit. Meanwhile, 3 Talismans of Vaul took position above the dying star, before firing their infinity cannons at an equidistant point between them, creating a beam of energy that pumped immaterial energies into the star's core; reinvigorating it from red dwarf to yellow.

Prayer came from those aboard the ships, asking for guidance and reaffirmation of the effect the newly reinvigorated star would have upon the gravitational fields of nearby and distant systems.

Isha simulated the effect her children's actions had within the Sea of Souls, its timeless nature allowing her to predict several possibilities at the same time, and reaffirmed their calculations. Her answer to their prayers was the warm feeling of praise through the psychic net and she felt them rejoice and relax at the answer their goddess and mother gave them.

Millions of others asked her similar questions. What the correct orbit of a planet was, how much power to inject into a star, the number of asteroid impacts necessary to amplify the mass of a moon or planet so it could keep the necessary gasses around it to form an atmosphere that would support life.

The mathematical calculations necessary were already taught to them by Kurnous, but it was Isha they asked for confirmation, for her children's foresight could not predict the interconnected fates of entire astronomical starsystems; especially when the margin of error to allow life was so slim.

A desperate plea came from one of the far corners of the galaxy. A small patrol of her children had run into one of the sleeper cells of the Necron, and although their weapons held them at bay, they were far from any Webway gate and the tomb world's pylons disrupted their immaterial drives enough that they could not remove themselves from the system before scores of battleships and cruisers were unleashed from the surface.

Isha frowned. It was not her time to come in the Aeldari warsong, but their recent dependence on her had made her the first they cried out to. She cast a look in the direction of the other gods; Khaine and Asuryan especially.

Neither seemed to be paying much attention to the situation. Asuryan's role meant that he himself was more distant to the matters of mortals, however, he was not eyeing her with any suspicion; in effect giving tacit approval for Isha's planned disregard for the usual order of things.

Khaine had been quiet as of late. He had been particularly bored of this long period of peace and reconstruction. Calls for his Avatars or his spear had been few, and now it was mostly the Psychomatons that sang his song. He did not seem to be aware of the situation at all or was ignoring it on purpose; possibly spurning those who called for the Goddess of Life first rather than the God of War. He had been uncharacteristically broody recently.

Isha turned back to her domain and the cries of her children. The dead Necron tomb world satisfied the requirements necessary for her intervention, although other means were supposed to be attempted first before she was summoned in earnest.

'They deserve some respite.' Isha thought and sent a request to Cegorach to assist the patrol group.

The colossal maw of the cosmic serpent that was the Laughing God's steed and friend opened, and the black void of space split in two, revealing a swirling vortex of multicolored clouds. The vortex swelled, swallowing up all the ships of the Aeldari in a single gulp, taking them back to the deep blue of the Webway.

Now, with none of her mortal children present, Isha was allowed to dispense her miracle.

A crystalline tear formed above her hand, completely black instead of the usual deep burgundy drops she normally shed, for this time it was mostly made of the reserves of her power rather than with the cries of her children. Psychic energies and divine knowledge entered the psychoactive matrix, programming and powering it with all that was necessary to recreate her legend.

Isha raised her hand above her head, crystal floating above her palm, then cast it down; throwing the tear through the immaterium. A rift opened up in the veil between dreams and reality, and the black crystal flew like an obsidian comet before impacting the dead planet with meteoric force; penetrating the crust and reaching the mantle.

The Goddess of Life's miracle activated, and the dead world was reborn.

Isha turned away from the planet. It would not be ready for another decade or so, and there were other prayers and pleas that required more attention.

As Isha simultaneously answered the various questions and prayers of her children, an entire section of her domain went dark; removed from her influence.

'What happened?' Isha though, eyes wide. Multiple scenarios flitted through her mind as she began to prepare the necessary countermeasures and protocols as well as sending emergency requests for assistance to set the other gods to standby mode.

'A reawakening of one of the Star Gods? Some unforeseen accident? Some buried spore of Enslavers or other Warp Plague? An extragalactic invader?'

Red runes appeared before her as she accessed the last memories of her children before contact was lost, and her eyes widened with horror as the burning image of her father materialized on hundreds of the most populated worlds, opening his mouth to utter a deafening tone, overwhelming her children and their tools with bloodlust and rage.

"Father, what are you doing?!" Isha cried, attempting to contact the Avatars directly for the place her father's form occupied in the pantheon was empty; his entirety now in the materium and spreading hatred and anger throughout the psychic net of the Aeldari.

"I do my duty." The answer was simple, yet the tone was calm. Her father did this deliberately.

"The war is over, there is no conflict here!" Isha shouted. "You have not been called! Remove yourself from my children, immediately!" This action would have dire consequences for Khaine and her children. Even now, the perception of Khaine changed, and the changes would become permanent and self-sustaining the longer he was in contact in such an aberrant fashion with her children. "Father! Father?! Answer me!" Isha cried as she watched several of the Avatars raise their spears and swords above their heads. "Why do you do this?" She asked, voice trembling

"Ask your daughter."

The Avatar's pointed their weapons at the very planets they stood on and drove their blades and spear tips through the crust. Isha's throne shook as entire sections of her domain crumbled; centuries worth of work incinerated in an instant. A ragged gasp escaped her lips as she watched deserts, forests, oceans, and all other types of biomes possible burn and break; their immaterial forms associated to her domain turning to dust leaving gaping holes of nothing in their place.

Her psychic embrace reached out to the children on those worlds, trying to collect their souls. Instead of the pained spirits she expected to find, only the ashes of regret, fear, and confusion remained. Khaine had taken almost everything they were, are, and would be leaving behind only the pain, sorrow, and anything else that might stay his wrath.

Isha hurriedly collected the ashes, absorbing them into herself with her love before they could pollute the Sea of Souls. Although calm now, the Warp Plagues had been started by emotions such as these, and Khaine's wasteful consumption of her children threatened the new stability of the immaterium.

The situation in the materium was even more dire. Khaine's influence rallied the Aeldari for war, enraging and embittering them against any and all around them. This was not a threat to just the Aeldari, but to everything in the galaxy. Her children had a greater empathy for their kin, as they were all connected to some degree through the psychic net. Anything else was foreign to them, as they were not intrinsically linked to their psyche; unable to share emotions or thoughts freely in a way indescribable to any other species.

Thus, the first target of their rage would be everything that wasn't them. A mass genocide of every other race would begin before her children turned their weapons upon themselves. The thousands of warships, troop carriers, and Talismans of Vaul repurposed for reconstruction and spread throughout the galaxy would be returned to their original purpose, and fire upon every race old and new.

Isha turned her Warp Sight to the palace of Asuryan, for this act by Khaine surely overstepped his role. However, she only saw the ever-bored gaze of Asuryan looking back at her, with no intention to act. For some unfathomable reason, Asuryan saw no reason to stop Khaine.

She glared at him once, before returning her full attention to the crisis before her. Even now her throne shook as another part of her domain crumbled to dust.

Khaine's destruction of the Aeldari had become self-sustaining. He would destroy entire planets, claim the majority of their souls, and move on to the next to sow even more destruction; leaving Isha to collect the ashes to prevent the destabilization of the Sea of Souls.

This slaughter would endanger everything. Yet, Asuryan did not act, even as the burning image of her father grew more ferocious and daemonic, Aspect of the Reaper jutting out as a new title, 'the Lord of Murder', was given to him by her children.

Isha grit her teeth. She needed to buy time while she considered her options.

"Damn you father, for what you force me to do!" SIlver eyes sparking, Isha set her foresight upon every planet of the Aeldari, predicted which ones Khaine would alight upon, and watched the populace burn and die in an unavoidable future. Several hundred reddish black tears formed in her hand, and she threw them at the planets she knew would be doomed, concluding that there was no saving the children there. Thus, the loss of life would not stain her hand, for her miracle would free them from the painful anger and all-consuming bloodlust, saving their souls from Khaine's fire.

Tear after tear fell into the materium, falling into orbit above the doomed planets, programmed to fall once Khaine arrived, rebirthing each one before Khaine could conscript her children to continue his slaughter.

Khaine's Avatars disappeared with the planets they formed upon as Isha's miracle fell to the surface and activated, slowing the spread of destruction as he was denied his next harvest of souls, forcing him to reduce his forces as his reserves of energy were temporarily depleted.

In that brief moment where Khaine's influence ebbed, Isha reached for every Psychomaton she could, and gave them the order to sleep. They were born from her children, so although they resonated with Khaine, they could still obey her.

As the titanic War-walkers slowed, Isha opened her hand, cracking open the ground beneath them before closing her fist, swallowing millions of weapons of war on thousands of different planets into the ground; burying them in stone coffins that would deafen them to Khaine's psychic call.

"Cegorach, buy me time." Isha contacted the Laughing God, whose aberrant nature would enjoy this disruption of normalcy.

A cackle came back, and Isha saw the great coils of the Cosmic Serpent Saim-Hann unwind from Gork and Mork, lifting the psychic blockade on the diminished Krork. Reunited with their gods, they began to launch a new great Waaagh with improvised ships and teleportation devices, spreading from their prison worlds and coming in contact with her enraged children. However, this would save the majority of the galaxy. Her children's bloodlust would redirect itself towards the violent green skins, providing an outlet for their anger. Their war would provide cover for the other less well defended races of the galaxy. The perfect bitter irony Cegorach so enjoyed; for the old race of violent maniacs would serve as the shield against her own children, insane with Khaine's rage, in a role reversal on galactic scale.

With Khaine slowed and her children occupied with slaughtering the green skins, Isha returned to solving the mystery of her father's actions.

'What does Lilieath have to do with this?' She thought to herself, and delved into the memories of all her children, searching through their dreams and visions for a clue as to what motivated Khaine to do all this.

Isha's blood froze in her veins when she found the answer in the visions of her most powerful children; Seers with the greatest potential for seeing the future.

It was a pink and purple poison that was seeping through the children most connected to the Sea of Souls, creating a thing that was not supposed to be present for tens of thousands of years.

Lilieath's vision was as much a self-fulfilling prophecy as it was a warning. Some took her daughter's message as it was, but the more powerful the Seer, the more clearly they saw what awaited them. These children lost all hope or inhibition; collapsing into depression or madness as the fear of eternal torture overwhelmed their mortal minds. Their terror infected all those around them through the psychic net, forcing them to try to shut out the sight of what was to come by overwhelming their other senses. The result of the temptress Goddess of Excess's call to them from the realm of probability and possibility through the window of dreams in an unconscious effort to speed Hir own birth.

However, it was that poison that allowed Khaine to act rationally. This slaughter seemed unjustified, but with Lilieath's message, it gave a reason for the culling; justified the murder of the Aeldari by the very god that had protected them for so long. Thus, Khaine would remain Khaine despite his actions, and Asuryan would never act; so long as Isha allowed it.

"Why? WHY?!" Isha gave a banshee shriek, rocking the very foundations of the pantheon.

Why was she not consulted? They could have found some way to delay or avoid this.

Why had they acted without her permission? Life and its definition was her domain, not theirs.

What purpose did all this slaughter and anguish have? Was there something else so horrible that they needed to do all this?

Isha pulled back from her children, inspecting the extent of the damage through the psychic net to reconfirm her options.

Khaine's influence boiled in the center, like an underwater volcano sending red orange froth outwards, agitating the minds and hearts of her children with rage and hate.

Lilieath's dreams fell inside and outside the parts disturbed by Khaine; multiple spots of pink and purple poison spreading deeper and further like drops of food coloring in water, sinking and expanding into the psyche of her children.

The skies of the pantheon darkened, as despair blackened Isha's heart. Prediction and simulation of the spread of her father and daughter's influence yielded only one conclusion. Neither her voice nor any of the other gods aside from the Phoenix King could stop the spread of hate and despair. There was only one way she could remove both of them safely from her children.

Asuryan's edict.

Khaine and Lilieath had overstepped their purview, encroaching on her Truth and definition.

It was her right to activate it.

But, once activated, none of the gods would be able to influence the mortal realm. That meant every prayer of her children would go unanswered, and the fate of the galaxy would be in their fallible hands and limited minds.

It was a dangerous gamble, especially with the reconstruction being incomplete, and so much damage done to the hearts and minds of her children. She could not make the decision lightly.

Isha rose from her throne. The time Cegorach and herself had bought was running out. She would need to see what her daughter saw before she made her final decision.

Isha ran to Lilieath's domain, forcing open the door only to find a single crystalline figurine of her daughter on the bedside table beside the hammock she used.

It was a vision meant for her, and one Lilieath had wanted her to see, for she had known that Isha would come here and left it in her place.

The crystal figurine was frozen in the kneeling posture of her daughter, as if begging forgiveness.

Isha's hand snatched the figurine up angrily. No explanation imaginable could justify what had been done behind her back. Even if it was justifiable, it did not change the fact that she had been betrayed, her children slaughtered, and the galaxy endangered. However, she was here to consult the Goddess of Dreams and Visions, and she would see what her daughter foresaw she would need to see.

The vision played out in Isha's mind, and the figurine slipped from her hand, shattering into a thousand diamond like shards on the floor.

This was why Lilieath doomed the Aeldari? For this, she spurred Khaine on forcing Isha's hand?

The logic was sound, and Isha understood the slippery slope she had always stood on. She was the balance and the definer of life. A cycle that turned eternally around an ever-shifting point of homeostasis that ebbed, flowed, and at times self-destructed. It was her role to redefine life every time it happened, so her miracle and legend could be recreated for the Aeldari as many times as necessary.

However, Khaine and Lilieath's actions could not be the answer. Leaving the galaxy to their conclusion would leave it dangerously depleted of life.

Although the culling of her children and all the other races would prevent the forming of She who Thirsts, and reduced the other gestating Ruinous Powers, it left everything vulnerable to a Necron resurgence. There would be no point saving the galaxy if it was all left for their ancient enemy to do as they pleased when they eventually returned.

There was no confirmation that all the Star Gods had been shattered either, and even then the fragments might rejoin and reform to restart the harvest of souls that was their only form of enjoyment.

Other horrors existed in the galaxy as well. Warp Plague remnants, divine deserters, abandoned species, and the Old One's failed methods to force all those who wouldn't to fight. The chances of her enraged children awakening one or more of these were unacceptably high. Although that occurrence would have no meaning to Khaine, for it would have the same effect as culling the Aeldari. For that reason alone, Isha could not allow it. What would replace her children would be far worse, and they would not allow new species to spawn; overwriting them before they even had the chance to breathe their first breath.

The existential threat of an extragalactic invader was also an ever-present distant threat. They were not the only ones in this universe, and any species that needed to travel between galaxies was either one that had a level of technology and culture unimaginable by even the gods, or had devoured everything in their old home, forcing them to find a new one to feed on.

Leaving this galaxy to one or more of those outcomes after everything she had done, everything she and her children sacrificed was unforgivable.

Worst of all, Khaine would only continue to act so long as Isha did not do her utmost to stop him. That meant, so long as Isha did not activate the edict, no matter how hard she pushed back or how many tears she spilled, the responsibility for all the deaths would lie upon her. To her children, whether she abandoned them to Khaine or acted against them herself, it was no different. They would die regardless, and only the phrasing of the legend that would come after would change, not its meaning.

If that happened, whether it was another 60 million or another 600 million years, Lilieath's vision would come eventually true.

'We still had time…' Isha thought to herself as the skies rumbled above her; thunder and lightning booming and flashing as her emotions became ever more violent.

But she knew why Lilieath forced her hand and made the decision of how life was to be lived by her children and all the other species in the galaxy for her.

As long as Isha followed her legend, the choice between bestowing her miracle was a binary one. A choice between 1 and 0.

As long as the choice was easy, she could make the hard decision with her tears.

When she became the decider of what fraction of life was allowable, what acts deserved her miracle and what didn't, she would eventually fall from her throne. After eons of predicting and preventing corruption from all sources, she would appear upon every planet and every star with black tears streaming down her face, only for them to fall upon every single stellar body as all life came to the conclusion of its cycle with her mournful cries.

That ending was something Lilieath could not allow, for the eternal rest was a dreamless one.

'We still had time…' Isha shook her head to herself.

She knew from the moment of her birth that she would suffer eternally to prevent the eventuality foreseen by Lilieath. Any weapon of war that enjoyed its function too much was as much a threat to its creators as it was to their enemies.

Her misery and sorrow, and the method by which her miracle was powered ensured she would forever weep to recreate it.

'We still had time…' Isha reflected upon her own actions, and gritted her teeth.

Lilieath's visions did not always come true, but to see them meant there was the chance they could happen. Isha had become more reckless and more unrestrained with the newfound freedom she and her children enjoyed. She ignored the original order of things, as all life does in its constant evolution to adapt to its surroundings.

Even then, the choice had always been between 1 and 0. There was no chance of Isha falling today or tomorrow or even a million years from now.

There had still been time, but not anymore.

Isha stormed out of the room, calling the winds to carry her to the abode of Morai Heg. If there was anyone who could avert fate, it would be the Crone. Lilieath would be there as well, and Isha needed to see if she truly understood what she had done.

As the winds howled around her, Isha stormed into the room where Morai Heg and Lilieath were waiting.

"LILIEATH!" The ground shook as Isha called her daughter's name and reached for her daughter upon Morai Heg's shoulder. "What have you done!"

Just as Isha's hand was about to close around Lilieath's entire body, Morai Heg's remaining hand closed around her wrist.

"She did what she had to, daughter." Her mother spoke quietly, and thunder rumbled with Isha's rage at her mother's statement.

The Crone sided with the Goddess of Dreams and Visions, pronouncing her prophecy valid and the fate chosen to be immutable.

There was no turning back from this crossroad.

Dark green and blackish brown energies swirled in Isha's eyes as she glared into her mother's pupils.

"It was not her decision to make!" She cried. The Aeldari were doomed, as well as every god in their pantheon. Lilieath had sealed her own fate, and the Aeldari without a single word to her mother.

"They are my children! That is my duty, my burden to bear, my Truth! NOT HERS!" Lightning struck the ground, sending shards of Wraithbone flying, only to be seized by the winds and dragged up into the black sky. Isha saw with her own foresight the future of Lilieath and Morai Heg. If eternal torment was all that awaited them, why did she even bother holding back and simply end everything as it was ahead of schedule?

"Then you know what you have to do in order to go back to that path."

The Crone's gaze was unmoving, unflinching, and unafraid. The fate of the Aeldari was still in Isha's hands. Lilieath may have put them at the crossroad, but Morai Heg's pronouncement made it clear that the final decision was still Isha's to make.

Isha glared into the eyes of her mother and daughter and saw their resolve as the double vision of foresight overlaid with the present view; showing nothing but scattered ashes and the voiceless, faceless, limbless form Lilieath would eventually be reduced to. In their eyes, Isha's own fate was reflected for her to see; naked and caged in rusted metal, force fed endless plagues and poxes by the oldest of the new usurpers who were still unborn.

That was the future they had chosen, with full foreknowledge of what would happen at the end of both paths.

Isha turned away from them, yanking her wrist out of Morai Heg's hand.

There were no more words necessary, the choice was to either move forwards into pain or slide backwards into blackness.

—----------------------------------------

Isha reflected on her emotions of that time as she continued down the dark corridor. Part of Isha wished to do as Morai Heg had said; simply allow Khaine's slaughter to complete and bring oblivion to everything as Lilieath foresaw.

However, she could not do that.

To return to the analogy of the train, Lilieath had stood on the tracks and grabbed the lever that changed the direction of the train and pulled with all her might to send the locomotive screaming over her own body and the bodies of Isha's children, mangling them all, sending blood and limbs in every direction.

The timing was too early for Isha, for there were still several splits in the direction the tracks of fate could have gone, but Lilieath too was Isha's child, and if this was the future she preferred over the eventual oblivion her mother would bring, then Isha would grant her hateful wish.

'Then there was the talk with Asuryan.' Isha thought glumly to herself, returning to memory as she opened the door to another one of her mortal children in need of her mercy.

—----------------------------------------

Isha landed at the palace of Asuryan and stormed through the entrance way to the audience chamber where Asuryan sat on his throne.

"So, you have made your decision." Asuryan said, sitting bored on his throne as she marched before him.

"You knew everything." Isha spat at him, glaring at him with teeth bared.

"Of course I did." Asuryan shrugged. "I would make a poor god that gave the Aeldari all their powers if I was not elevated above the rest of you as much as you are elevated above them."

"Then why did you not say anything?" Isha growled.

Asuryan sighed, and lifted a hand, detaching the flow of time within the audience chamber from everything else around them, preventing any from outside the walls from ever listening to what was said inside.

"I know everything that has, is, and will happen. I already see the choice you've made, and what you plan to do to disobey me with your consort and another one of my brothers." He snorted and muttered 'if only you could keep your secrets better hidden' under his breath.

"However…" Asuryan resumed in his normal tone. "Just because I see everything does not mean I have to prattle about it like the three of you."

Isha opened her mouth, but Asuryan raised a finger to shush her. "Before you ask your next question, you already know why I do not do that. If I told you or any of the others what to do or when to stop, it would be no different from me commanding the Aeldari; just as much as leaving my brother makes you responsible for your children's deaths."

Isha bit back her harsh words, for what Asuryan said was true. If she was guilty by proxy for her inaction, any command or warning given to any god by Asuryan would eventually reach the mortal realm.

"If my voice ever reached the Aeldari, they would cease to be a species from that point forward, merely pawns dancing at my command. Without free-will, individual-thought, or doubt; they would become nothing, and even the Sea of Souls would become bleak and bland. All the clouds would turn silver, and my boredom would become the new reality; truly leaving nothing but a hell of my own making."

Asuryan straightened his back, placing his arms on the armrests of the throne, bringing himself to his full seated height.

"We live in the Sea of Souls. A place where tomorrow happens before yesterday. A choice once made echoes forwards and backwards." Asuryan's eyes fixed onto Isha's and the silver flames that burned within the eyes of an otherwise rather unremarkable Aeldari seemed to rage; like a prisoner gripping the bars while thrashing and screaming to be released. "To choose even once as a god means to have chosen until the very end. There is no avoiding or preventing that."

Isha glowered at the Phoenix King; the one from whom all Aeldari stemmed from, and the divine ruler of the Aeldari Pantheon. To speak with Asuryan was to be belittled and lectured. He appeared omniscient and was intended to be so by their creators, but in truth he was a silvery polished mirror or conjoined set of lenses that reflected everything and everyone who spoke to him.

Yet, in this Sea of Souls where time had no meaning, Asuryan perceived everything that had and had not happened to the beings that saw him. Therefore, he knew the beginning and ending of everything that caught sight of him and was eternally bound to inaction because of that fact. His role after giving life to the Aeldari was to maintain the law between the gods, judge any who could reach the foot of his throne, and ensure they remained true to their own self-described nature and function.

Thus, the only answers that he gave were those found within the asker themselves, and his miracle would only be granted in a way that the god or mortal wishing for it could understand.

Still, she could not stop herself from attempting to convince him of the impossible.

"Your death lies at the end of either road. Do you not think to prevent it?" Asuryan was the ruler of this Pantheon. She who Thirsts would come from the Aeldari gods, and Isha herself was ultimately subservient to him. He had the power to hold back both, if only he chose to do so.

"I know that..." Asuryan nodded, face impassive and unemotional. "And it makes no difference." The ghost of a smile seemed to cross his lips for an instance before disappearing. "Either way, I will finally be free."

Isha looked downwards as her fists balled. That was the same answer Asuryan always gave:

Even when the winds of battle during the War in Heaven blew against them.

Even when the Warp Plagues erupted, and the Old Ones were exterminated one by one.

Even now when certain doom loomed before them.

"But…" Asuryan continued. "That is not the true reason for your ire." The all-knowing self-satisfied smile Asuryan always wore during his lectures spread across his face. "Lilieath took away your choice, while leaving it in your hands. The fact that you stand before me means you have already made it exactly as she hoped and foresaw. That is the truth of the matter, and the instinctual anger you feel as a god."

He chuckled as her brow furrowed before continuing.

"There is a primitive saying that is yet to be said, 'The dye is darker than the plants it is made from.' Lilieath, your child, understands the importance of a choice made by a god far better than you. That is why she made her choice so you would never have the chance to make yours. The suffering of the Aeldari and our deaths are merely secondary. Afterall, you are created by death and sorrow, with only your love keeping the balance between what you were made to do and what you are made from."

"You think pride and possessiveness are all that drive me?" Isha's voice was quiet, but it was the quiet before the storm, the receding of the ocean before the tsunami struck.

Asuryan sighed and scratched his head. "Even now, you try your hardest not to understand. What did I expect? Nothing is as ugly to a hypocrite as their own reflection."

The cursed eyes of Asuryan turned back on Isha, reflecting her glare and bared teeth. "The pain of life is nothing to its goddess, for it is she who allows it to torture all that walk within the cycle."

Before Isha could retort, Asuryan raised his hand again, and the time within the audience chamber reconnected with time outside.

"Now, choose; Goddess of Life." Asuryan's voice was authoritative, commanding, but utterly devoid of emotion.

"Will you expand your definition to how life should be lived, cull all those left wanting, and eventually fall as the futility of it all finally breaks your heart?"

"Will you allow Khaine to claim the mantle of reaper in your stead, and watch as the galaxy grows dark before destroying everything that is left as your children redefine what you are and what you represent?"

"Or will you proceed unwillingly along the doomed path laid before us by your daughter, fighting to change fate for all for eternity?"

Three tracks were laid before Isha, which led to only two outcomes:

One of obliteration and another of oblivion; both ending in the same way.

One of pain where the suffering of every Aeldari and every god was waiting.

The choice was already made as Asuryan had said.

Isha knelt before the Phoenix King and uttered the words necessary to request the activation of the edict.

"By my Truth and right as the Goddess of Life, I demand the activation of the edict for the usurpation of my duty and definition by the God of War and now Lord of Murder, Khaine. In accordance with our laws, the realm of mortals shall be shut off and protected from us until the invasion of my domain ends. I rob the Aeldari of their greatest strength and leave their questions unanswered with my divine mind. They shall be led by my champion and hero; Eldanesh, the first of the Aeldari. He acts in our stead as our hand and voice, and only he shall pass through the walls that hold us in."

"So be it." Asuryan said, and his voice echoed through the entire palace, reverberating and reflecting upon itself while growing higher and lower in pitch at the same time, until it was as if an entire chorus was made with just his voice.

Silver flames rose from his form as Asuryan's edict activated, rising in a silver pillar of flames that punched a hole through the black clouds of Isha, and entered the realm of mortals. The flames entered the mind of every Aeldari, wiping out every trace of Khaine and Lilieath's touch from the psychic net, reverting them and the Psychomatons taken by Khaine to their normal state.

The Avatars faded into nothing as Khaine was brought back in his own pillar of flames, and Wraithbone walls rose around the pantheon; barriers to keep the Aeldari gods in first and everything else out second.

Isha marched out of the audience chamber, no longer interested in talking to the Phoenix King.

He would never act, for to do so was to choose to influence the world with foreknowledge of every action and reaction. When that choice was made, every other choice would be made as well, for only the most optimal and least burdensome path would be chosen, and there would be nothing but the word of Asuryan left.

The Phoenix King valued self-determination above almost anything, for it was the one thing he did not have, for he was cursed with foresight so powerful no choice existed. Thus, he would never act, even if those he gave life to chose to destroy everything they had built.

As Isha stormed out of the palace and into the courtyard, she locked eyes with Khaine who had just returned from the mortal realm. Blood dripped from his sword, and she could see the ghostly outlines of the children he had forcibly conscripted to continue his slaughter in the mortal realm within his flames.

There was a banshee cry, and Isha did not know whether it was coming from her throat or her father's, but the two clashed as everything Isha had suffered broke out in a flood of violence.

The bout lasted only a few moments before Asuryan's chains separated them.

"The edict has been activated as decreed." The Phoenix King said, tone quiet and unemotional. "From this point forth, all contact with the materium has been forbidden."

Isha sank to her knees, chains clinking as the rain grew heavier, soaking through her clothing and sticking it to her skin.

Khaine remained standing, raindrops hissing as they hit his flaming form. His burning eyes glared at Isha's bowed head.

"Are they worth everything that can and will be lost, daughter?" Khaine finally said.

"They are my children." Isha whispered. "They are my duty, my responsibility."

She was the Goddess of Life and the mother of the Aeldari. However, she would never tell them how to live their lives or punish them for their sins. The only time she would take back what she gave was as an act of love and mercy, as it always had been. If she ever chose otherwise, she would betray Lilieath, and invalidate everything her daughter was prepared to sacrifice.

That was her choice, and how she would define life from then on, no matter how hard she tried to forget that fact.

The rest of Khaine and Asuryan's words dulled as Isha stared downwards through the immaterium, locking eyes with Eldanesh as he glared upwards into the Sea of Souls with all his followers, angry at what the gods had done to the mortal realm, unable to understand what had transpired but fully aware of who was responsible.

A hundred years had already passed since Khaine burned the first planet.

Her beloved hero and champion was weary from keeping the peace within the Aeldari as their anger grew, redirecting it to the Krork and their gods when Cegorach provided the scapegoat necessary to sate their bloodlust. Now, he had to deal with the green skins without the assistance of any of his gods, and lead without their divine knowledge; unsure of whether the path he proceeded down was correct. She watched him reach out to touch the edict only to stop himself before his fingers could pass through the Wraithbone walls that now surrounded the Aeldari Pantheon. He believed in the gods and trusted their decision. He would deal with the issues left in the mortal realm, as he was the first and chosen of his race and acted in the gods' stead as their voice and hand in the materium.

That was the definition of his duty and role.

Isha watched as Eldanesh returned to his council of surviving Seers, preparing to spread hastily made myths and legends; the propaganda necessary to keep the populace's belief in the gods stable. The edict may prevent the gods from reaching the mortal realm, but other creatures lurked in the immaterium; warp predators, parasites, and plagues from the War in Heaven that the gods would need the Aeldari's faith to fight.

Once that was done, he could finally put down the Krork remnants and their gods with psychic power and poisonous politics. When he was finished, they would be broken and divided, forever pulling their gods in different directions, eternally fighting themselves and everything else. Then, he would rebuild what was broken with mortal means. Only after everything was returned to where it was before this disaster would he storm the gates of the Aeldari Pantheon in his personal quest to demand answers for what had transpired.

—----------------------------------------

Isha closed the eyes of another one of her children, as she laid their body on the floor. This ship was now devoid of Aeldari life, and it was time to move on to the next ship.

As she accessed the former pleasure cruiser's controls, replicating the signal required to contact the Emperor, Isha reflected on all she had done.

After activating the edict, she had tried many times to avert fate.

She had gone with Kurnous to beg Asuryan to allow only their knowledge to reach their children, fully knowing it would be in vain.

She had asked Lilieath to re-send her prophecy. With the damage done, there was no point hiding what would happen to the Aeldari from their foresight, and dreams were the one way the gods were still connected to the mortal realm.

She had worked with Vaul and Kurnous to repurpose her tears to allow their teachings to find a way to the materium.

Time and time again, she had schemed and fought, pleaded and threatened to save the Aeldari.

Some may think her partially successful, as the tears modified by Vaul and imbued with Kurnous's teachings did reach the mortal realm and still remained buried on several of the Core Worlds. A few of her children had escaped the first assault of She who Thirsts, giving them the chance to take up the sword and spear to prepare to defend their soul.

However, the fate foreseen by Lilieath had not yet ended. Isha was not in a rusted cage at this moment, but whether that possibility had been averted or merely delayed was yet to be seen.

There was the chance that fate would come from the Emperor's hand, bartered to the Plague Lord for some secret or gift once she was no longer useful. She was merely a tool to the Master of Mankind, and only for so long as she was useful as the Emperor told her when they first met.

A portal opened before Isha, leading to another one of the former pleasure cruisers, and Isha stepped through it into another dark corridor while internally returning her thoughts from the past to the present.

This relationship between the Emperor and her needed to be reforged. They were alike in some ways. Her hate and self-loathing would not have resonated within the Emperor if they were not for she saw them fuel the fire within those brown eyes.

The Emperor's conclusion, although ignorant, was not entirely incorrect. She had thought of choosing the other path, only doing the opposite because of her mortal and divine children. In that sense, it was her love that made her choose the opposite of the Emperor. Therefore, the Emperor's accusation was not completely inaccurate, if only barely scraping the target out of blink luck than anything else.

What that meant was that there was the potential for empathy between them. Whether that could be nurtured through temporary obedience and subservience was yet to be seen, but at the very least, they were not entirely incapable of understanding each other.

She snorted to herself as another possibility entered her mind.

'Perhaps it is because we are both hypocrites in our own way that we can understand one another, and in turn cannot stand to look at each other.'

A hypocritical Goddess of Life who originally made life only to send it to die, and whose true miracle was only dispensed on those that could not be saved.

A hypocritical god that was not a god that wished to protect its people, while brutalizing and sacrificing them endlessly to pave only a single golden path forwards, robbing them of their personality and choice.

Isha looked down at the place her children's warships had crashed, the continuous line of valleys and gorges; as if some one had taken the crust of the planet in two hands and shoved it together.

The Psychomatons she had buried here to protect from Khaine's call remained, deafened in the same way to the psychic scream of She who Thirsts. They and many other groups of War-walkers still slumbered on a couple hundred planets, unrecovered by Eldanesh or the Aeldari that came after him during the reconstruction. All the others who were freed from Khaine when the edict activated or were dug up and reawakened by the Aeldari were gone, consumed entirely for they were far closer to the Goddess of Excess than any other.

Whether the Emperor accepted their service or not would determine how she would deal with Humanity's Protector.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.
♪1 Fate Hollow Ataraxia OST - Stranger (Extended)
♪2 I'll protect you from everything (Fate/Stay night: Heaven's Feel - III. Spring Song OST)
♪3 Fate/ zero OST -Painful-

Kyrazis dragged another one of the bridge crew out from beneath the wreckage; Araldir, one of the comms officers. Both of his legs were missing, crushed under his terminal when the cruiser crash landed on the planet. Luckily, he was still conscious, and holding back his own blood from spilling out from the wound with his telekinesis.

The ship's bridge was a mess. Shattered Wraithbone lay in jagged splinters of all sizes, some falling down upon them and impaling the bridge crew while the crash itself flattened the ship under its own weight, trapping some like the grimacing Aeldari in his arms.

If this was a human ship, there would have been sparks and flames, but as most of the ship was psychically powered, there was no fire and smoke to burn and choke them. However, with the Wraithbone shattered, the innards of the ship were dark as a starless moonless night, and it was only thanks to their eagle eyes and enhanced senses that they could move around safely.

Mordraxus was busy at the somewhat intact command throne, backrest laid backwards to its fullest to function as an impromptu surgery table. Another Aeldari lay there, fully awake and cognizant as the bent form of the biomancer loomed over the hole in her midriff. His hands were raised above the wound, as if to protect a candle from being blown out by a harsh wind, using his psychic telekinesis to hold the various ruptured blood vessels and displaced organs of the Aeldari who had been pinned to the ground like an insect by a shard of Wraithbone. He lifted the blood that had spilt out when they extracted the shard in a single globule, and proceeded to knit the various broken tissues together in a patchwork that would stop the bleeding. The patient grit her teeth. This would save her life, but the treatment would cause immense discomfort as these new connections and forcefully grown scar tissue would tug and pull her innards in odd ways if she moved too quickly or forcefully. Empty bottles and depleted equipment were placed in a neat row next to his feet. Mordraxus's supplies were virtually exhausted, meaning he had only his psychic talents left to treat the wounded.

"The Mon-keigh will come soon." Kyrazis said, as he carried the Aeldari with the missing legs to lie with the other grievously injured. "How many more can we get mobile?"

Casualty reports from the psychic net told him that every other deck was more or less in the same state. On average, one fifth had died in the impact, with a third of the survivors severely wounded; immobile and unable to fight or flee. Everyone else was bruised, bleeding, or had minor fractures in their bones, but kept all their limbs and organs in the proper place.

"Another couple hours, and I should be able to get another 5 or so moving if they have all their limbs." Mordraxus replied calmly as the wound closed beneath his hands and he squirted some organic sealant to hold the scar tissue closed as a sort of spray on bandage. "Most of my medical supplies are already spent, and my mind grows weary from the psychic exertion of these surgeries."

Kyrazis frowned as he tore off part of Araldir's uniform to tie a tourniquet around his thighs. The man's eyelids were fluttering, and if he passed out he would bleed to death in seconds.

"We need to get everyone out of here as quickly as possible." He said as he pulled the strips of cloth tight, cutting off the blood flow to the wound physically. "The ash clouds above us hide our position and should dissipate their laser weapons, but we are easy targets here."

"And do what, Kyrazis?" The woman on the surgery table suddenly spoke up, raising herself with her arms even as a trickle of blood ran out the side of her mouth. "Run into the wilderness of this gray world of ash and fire and live like those young souls and hermits who ran before the Fall?"

"I would appreciate it if you did not move, Ysolara." Mordarxus admonished as he inspected the work he had done on the wound. "There, all done. Next patient, please."

Ysolara, one of the several Aeldar who had been in charge of firing the ship's weapons, slid off the impromptu surgery table, as two other bridge staff lifted another injured Aeldari into position for Mordraxus to work on.

"What would you have us do then?" Kyrazis stood up to his full height, looming over her. The helmet he wore was gone, shattered by a piece of falling rubble, revealing the pale white clammy skin of his face; red scar on his cheek clearly visible.

The battle with the Mon-keigh had been lost partially due to his decision to focus everything on the enemy flagship. He had felt discontent from the others through the restored psychic net, but he would not tolerate a mutiny here at this time. He could not die here, after everything he had been through.

"I do not know what you or any of the others should do, but I wish to stay here and meet her."

Kyrazis blinked, dumbfounded for a moment before scowling at Ysolara.

"She does not understand us. She does not accept us." He hissed.

That woman who was on the Mon-keigh ship told them only to land on the planet, where a new life awaited them. After everything they had shown her, she told them to live like the Exodites who ran before the disaster struck.

That was not why he had shown her what he had been through; why he relived the horror of losing everything as his mind poured out across space into her heart.

He had asked for an answer to why they had suffered, for what purpose. In return, she offered a solution that was too late, too little, and already attempted by those activists ages ago. That advice fell on deaf ears for thousands of years. Why did she think listening to them now would yield a different result?

"She does not accept what we've done…" Ysolara nodded. "But she has not forsaken us."

Kyrazis snorted at this. "After everything we've just been through, how can you say that?"

The sudden loss of contact with the slave carriers was noticed by all of them. That woman had played a direct part in their defeat. She had chosen the side of the Mon-keigh. What other evidence was necessary to show that she was the enemy?

Ysolara looked downwards, but Kyrazis could feel through the psychic net that she was not cowed by him. She was searching for something inside herself, some way to phrase what she felt. He waited while she formed the sentence in her mind.

He knew this was a waste of time. It had been several hours since the crash, and the Mon-keigh were surely on their way. However, something stopped him from turning away from her answer. Some part of him needed to hear her out.

"I felt her, even in the heat of battle." Ysolara finally opened her lips and spoke. "More than once, her arms brushed against the frame of this ship, passing through my soul and mind as she took all those who died." She stared up into his eyes calmly, and slightly questioningly. "Do you know what I felt at that moment?"

Kyrazis remained silent. The emotion she felt was clear from the psychic signals she sent, but he waited for her to vocalize them.

"Love." Ysolara whispered, and Kyrazis's fists balled as something struggled inside him.

He knew what she felt, because he had felt it as well. Even as hard as he rejected that woman, he could not help but feel her in his very essence.

"Even though she hates what we've done and despises how we've lived our lives, she does not hold it against us." Ysolara finished her sentence, and it was her turn to wait as Kyrazis stood before her, fists shaking as he struggled within himself, rational mind fighting against his irrational emotions.

"Then why kill us?" Kyrazis finally spat out, logic winning over his emotions. "Why drag us into the Mon-keigh trap? Why sabotage our ships, and send us hurtling to the very planet she picked to live on?"

Every action marked her as the enemy. She acted against them both passively as bait, and actively as the saboteur of some of their ships.

"I do not know why she does this to all of us, but after seeing and feeling her, I think I understand why she does this to me." Ysolara took a deep breath before continuing. "She does this to me because I want her to."

"You want to die?" Kyrazis's tone was calm, as if part of him expected the answer.

Ysolara smiled sadly before answering. "I have lived 4000 years, Kyrazis. Every day stopped being an adventure eons ago. In my many lives, I filled the emptiness in my heart that returned every time I reclaimed all the memories I ever had with empty victories over green skins and other primitive aliens. I had already experienced and explored the complicated philosophies and moralities of my actions ages ago. Only the basest acts could bring chemical and hormonal joy in my biological brain, for my soul stopped feeling anything in a forgotten moment of the past. I had everything I ever wanted. I did what I wished and ignored or obliterated everything that annoyed me. That was how I lived, and those actions are what I am now. Trying to live another life now would be to give this body to another person who uses my name, pretending to be someone else, ignoring 4000 years worth of experience and memory."

Ysolara looked up into Kyrazis's eyes, and he saw the weariness in them as he felt the exhaustion radiate from her heart.

"I abandoned our home and followed you for only one reason. Now, I have no need to fear even that."

They were both silent for a while. Kyrazis understood how she felt. It was similar to the mix of emotions he experienced when he stared into the eyes of that daemon back home, but calmer and warmer.

Where his secrets had been brought up from the depths, forcefully reflected in those obsidian mirrors embedded in the orbits of the daemon's skull, hers flowed out naturally like clear water from a newborn spring.

Where he had wanted an escape from pain and guilt, she simply wanted to lie down and rest.

A sudden shiver crossed Kyrazis's skin and Ysolara rubbed her arm as if a chilly wind had just rushed past them.

"She comes, Kyrazis. Do you feel her?" Kyrazis could only nod as Ysolara turned towards the direction they instinctively felt her to be. "She comes for us, even after everything we've done."

There was silence on the bridge and within the psychic net. Only the wet squelch of Mordraxus's surgery interrupted it.

"I was everything I wanted to be on our home world." Araldir, the legless Aeldari spoke up from the ground.

Kyrazis turned to the man, propped up on his elbows, breathing shakily from pain and blood loss.

"I am my past actions and perverse pleasures. There is no changing that. Living any other way would be living a life that was not mine." The man licked his lips and snickered to himself. "I've had enough fun, and finally felt a love I never knew existed." He turned his eyes to Kyrazis. "Everything is good in her arms. This is her mercy."

Kyrazis stepped backwards, and leaned against one of the broken terminals of the bridge. He understood them, even without their emotions radiating out of the psychic net. Their words rang within him, resonating with a feeling that part of him continued to reject.

"I will fight till the last moment." He finally said, and several of the bridge crew chuckled, as if they had all known what he was going to say.

"That is how you've lived student of Qa'leh…" Araldir said, lying back down on the floor. "Not me."

"Go…" Ysolara stepped backwards, out of the way to the most direct path to the corridor that led out of the bridge. "She is waiting."

Kyrazis slowly walked towards the exit, pausing as he passed the impromptu surgery table.

"... And you Mordraxus?" He asked, without looking behind him. "Do you plan to stay here with these suicidal fools?"

"I must say, I agree with most of what's been said. I can only live the life I have had until now. Although, I do wish to see her with my own two eyes. Everything I've ever wanted to know and learn lies within her. Although she is certainly disappointed in me, I too can feel her love. I will join you, once I fix this one's wounds. I'm sure some others would like to follow, and it would be my pleasure as a biomancer to work my craft a few more times before I meet her."

Kyrazis chuckled to himself. "You are all fools."

"As are you." Mordraxus replied, chidingly. "You're more tired than you think you are. I can see what you intend to do. For me, I'd prefer to go quietly."

At this, Kyrazis could only shrug as he started walking out of the bridge again. "Then I guess I'm just as foolish as the lot of you, but what are we all but a race of self-destructive fools?"

"Life does that sometimes." Mordarxus called out after him. "I've seen even simple worms cause their own self-inflicted extinction, destroying the very bacterial mats they evolved in before…"

Kyrazis threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Save your trivia for when you meet her, although I'm sure she knows most of what you do already."

There was a chuckle behind him, muffled by the mask Mordraxus wore. "Yes, I look forward to standing underneath her branches, and listening to the wisdom that flows beneath her bark."

—----------------------------------------
♪1
As Kyrazis walked down the dark twisted corridors of the crashed ship, back towards his cabin, he reflected on his last conversation with the bridge staff. For so long, he had always referred to them internally by their role or responsibility on the cruiser. Now, he actually bothered to remember their names.

What they had said to him resonated with him, but he wanted to reject it as well. Being in such a jumbled state of mind wouldn't do. This would be his last act. He wanted his thoughts to be as clear as possible, as all the best fighters who survived the longest in the arena always did.

'I wanted to be punished.' He thought to himself. 'It was the same for all the others who took up arms against you. We wanted to be worthy of you, once again.'

They had wanted her to tell them the reason for their suffering. That was not an idle wish or fleeting curiosity. They had wanted the shame and guilt they felt before her to be validated. To be admonished and lectured as to what they had done, and how they should have lived their lives in order to better follow her teachings.

When she told them to live as the Exodites did, they rejected her.

That was the answer the activists had given them over and over again, and not hers. They hadn't chosen that path then, and it was meaningless to choose that now after everything they had lost.

They did not want a new life. They wanted their old ones to return. But, they knew that was impossible. So, they did not bother asking her for that. Instead, they asked for a reason for their loss.

If it was due to them disobeying her, then they would suffer her punishment.

If it was some test they had failed, they would have done their best to try again.

If it was because they had been discarded for some new race, they would have done their best through violence or guile to show that they were better than the Mon-keigh.

But, her reply was none of these.

She did not judge them or answer their questions, merely watched them all with those silver eyes.

At first, they all thought it was a rejection; that she did not understand their pain or hear their cries. But, as the battle progressed, as they felt more and more of their number fall into her embrace, they understood what the emotion was within those eyes.

'It's funny.' Kyrazis chuckled to himself as he entered the crooked doorway of the cabin he used. 'Even though I don't know your name, I still wanted your approval. However, we had nothing to prove. You would have welcomed us back with 10 times the blood on our hands.'

He had told her she had never understood them, but in reality it was the reverse.

She knew all the reasons for their failure.

Their cultural indolence slowed their response to the warnings.

Their unearned pride in their ancestors' work blinded them to all danger.

The technology and grandeur of their empire, built upon the long forgotten sacrifices of thousands of others, allowed them to live lives of endless luxury; dulling their senses, and sapping them of their instincts of self-preservation.

Their psychic senses, biological sturdiness, and immortal souls could experience things that would have killed lesser creatures, and even if they died that was never the end for the Aeldari.

All and none of that was the reason for the Fall.

He knew all that, and felt the same assessment from others in the psychic net as his jumbled thoughts leaked out into it.

What other race listened to the same music through different mediums; enjoying the different sounds a single note makes passing through water, air, or mist?

What other race could discuss the most interesting death one had in casual conversation, and joke about bleeding out after stabbing oneself with their own weapon?

'I do not know whether your unconditional love is a good or a bad thing…' Kyrazis thought as he picked up the Shuriken catapult he had taken from the guard on his home planet. 'But I am still glad to have met you before my death.'

He checked the crystalline ammunition block, and tied a makeshift sling around the butt and barrel of the weapon, hanging it over his neck and shoulder.

'This was how it was always going to end. Whether it was at some Mon-keigh's hands or with a knife in my back, my fate was sealed the day I lost my sister. I only moved forwards because she told me to. If I didn't keep my word with her, then I would have lost the last thing she gave me.'

There was a distant rumbling, the sound of the Mon-keigh's fiery engines and noisy ships. The time he had for musing was almost up.

'Such a path leads nowhere, only away from things. Eventually, someone with an actual plan or aspiration would have taken my place, if I didn't lead us all into a different ambush.'

Kyrazis checked the Spiked Kiss on his wrist one last time before heading through the door, walking to the nearest hole in the ship's hull that faced the direction he felt her coming from.

'Now, all I have left is the life I have lived, and how I have lived it.'

Kyrazis wrinkled his nose as he stepped outside, covering his mouth with a shred of cloth he tore from his clothing with his mind to protect his throat and lungs from the abrasive ash filled the air.

The planet was almost as dark as the insides of the ship, lit up only by the lightning in the clouds, dull sunlight barely percolating through the sky.

'If this is how it all ends, then I shall show you all that I am and ever was, Mother.'

A few other Aeldari and Mordraxus appeared behind him, following him outside as he jumped from the wreckage to land on the dusty ground of the planet.

Boxy Mon-keigh carriers were landing in the distance, and he saw huge hangar doors open revealing titanic walkers armed with weapons that could pierce voidship hulls. The boom of their footsteps echoed like massive drums, growing louder as they approached; a regular repetitive tempo, like the tolling of a church bell.

It was time to meet their maker, and return what they no longer needed, as all their forebears had in ancient times.
♪1END
—----------------------------------------

Human Warlord-class Titans surrounded every crashed ship the Aeldari had, as the Aeldari themselves waited for the machines to encircle them. The abrasive ash in the clouds and friction lightning had abraded away most of their ships' weapons, and what was left hadn't survived the impact of the landing. There was no fighting against the Mon-keigh War-walkers with what hand-held weapons remained. Furthermore, they were so far away that the building-sized machines looked like miniature figurines on the horizon, yet every gun and laser was already in range, charged, and ready to fire.

None of them tried to escape, for only the oldest souls had survived here. The youngest ones had already returned to their mother on the slave carriers, and it was their turn now.

A gust of wind blew and a single Aeldari woman with blond hair flew from the direction of the Mon-keigh War-walkers, landing in a gout of ash and dust several hundred meters before them as she slid across the ground with the force of her landing, like a surfer upon waves.

♪2
Her eyes were silver and her skin pearly white. Her features were soft and her silhouette was lithe yet strong. Although all that clothed her was a simple white shift, she held herself with pride and there was no shame or embarrassment on her face.

All the Aeldari who could see her cast what their eyes saw into the psychic net, so those who were too injured to move or pinned within the rubble of the ship could also see their mother.

"I came to ask you to surrender." The woman said and the Aeldari prepared to answer her, but before they could she raised a hand to silence them and continued. "I know you never will, and I cannot force you to obey me."

There was silence as the Aeldari waited for her next word.

"You cannot abandon your path, and you cannot forget your nightmares. Your lives have become nothing but pain and sorrow, and the brief moments that you can forget them. However…"

The ground suddenly shook beneath their feet, and several cracks appeared along the valley walls.

"The violence and killing must end. If you wish for an end to your misery, you will have to do it alone."

The cracks widened, and clawed Wraithbone hands with curved blade-like nails several meters long reached out, as deep baritone notes rang out from the dark depths of the ground.

"But I know you cannot do that. My poor children, too tired to live and too afraid to die."

Black Wraithbone arms followed the clawed hands, 3 pairs appearing from each ancient grave.

"Hate and despise me as the goddess that could not lead you; as the goddess that could not save all that you loved and cherished. I will take your pain and anger with me."

The head of the buried War-walkers emerged, angular and sharp, shaped like the tip of a saber with the blade pointed upwards; the proverbial spine of the saber attaching to the walker's segmented neck. A curved serrated crest ran down the length of its elongated head, like enlarged saw teeth running down the blade of the saber. Humongous curved blades were attached to each of its 6 forearms and even its 2 legs had blades on its knees with separate articulated clawed toes on its feet. Multiple spikes jutted out from their backs. Small holes and bumps covered these; jet exhausts and anti-grave generators for flight and propulsion.

"They were your birthright and your forebears." The woman said sadly, looking up at the waking Psychomatons towering over all of them. "Do not let them suffer."

Her last words were spoken to the towering War-walkers and they all answered with a high pitched warble before turning towards the ships. Ancient songs without words began to flow from the Psychomataons, Wraithbone weapons forming in each of their palms. Titanic swords, spears, and javelins grew rapidly in their hands as they approached the ships and survivors. Psychic energy ran through the completed blades and tips of their weapons, enveloping them in a white glow. They raised their arms, and brought them down on everything before them. Glowing weapons cut right through reinforced voidship hulls; the psychic energy surrounding them sparking and crackling, incinerating the bodies of those inside in an instant before they could even feel pain.

—----------------------------------------

Kyrazis watched the Psychomatons cut through the ships. He had only seen them once or twice on the psychic net; in news clippings of another trivial planet conquered by their hands. They were just small images in the background of the worlds they worked to include in the Aeldari empire, so he had never paid them much attention, believing them to be another form of Spirit Drone. However, to see them with his own eyes was to know what they truly were.

They were autonomous machines, but at their core burned an ancient soul so twisted that he could barely recognize it as having belonged to his species.

Almost infantile joy radiated from their minds while, at the same time, a deep anger was directed at them; the insolent children who had dared to even inconvenience one of their deities.

One of the Psychomatons turned away from the ship, and although there were no eyes on its bladed head, he knew it was looking at them; the ones who had exited the ship to see their mother. Its feet cracked and rocked the earth as it approached them in a slow stroll, but even then its long legs accelerated it to breathtaking speed.

Kyrazis looked back at his mother. She remained there standing almost 500 meters away from them, watching them with a sad expression.

It was as she said. He was tired of running. He was tired of scheming, planning, and keeping one eye open to watch for anyone who would stab him in the back. He was tired of leading.

'However…'

Kyrazis shifted the Shuriken catapult in its makeshift sling, using his right hand to hold onto the base of the barrel to make sure the butt of the weapon would not hit his legs when he ran.

'I cannot simply stop here.'

He ran towards his mother, his first stride forcing him forwards just as the giant sword of the Psychomaton slammed into the ground behind him. The impact created a gust of wind like an explosion, sending him flying but he somersaulted mid air and landed on his feet; slightly bruised and bleeding from several cuts where the rocks and gravel that had been sent flying from the sword strike had hit him. Without pausing even for a moment he ran forwards, only to leap to the side this time as another one of the Psychomatons arms brought its weapon down upon him, stabbing the ground where he had been.

Kyrazis did not regret the bloodshed and slaughter he conducted. He did not regret the pain and suffering he inflicted on the alien races of the galaxy. He did what he had to do and thought was right. Everything he had done was done with conviction, even the betrayal and trickery he had committed on his home world that haunted him every night.

To look back on all that with shame was to betray everyone who had followed him and make their sacrifices worthless.

If he was to be hated, so be it. He deserved it, and would shoulder it for all eternity if he had to. But, he would not forget what was won with those actions. Even though all their lives ended this day, they had finally escaped the horror that consumed everyone else.

As Kyrazis dodged another one of the angry Psychomaton's blades, drawing closer to the goddess as he stared into her eyes.

He could see it now, the barren world within the body of his god.

So connected was he to her that he could see himself through her eyes.

This act had meaning, for him and for her; this petty rebellion against his divine parent, and the pointless battle between the Mon-keigh and the Aeldari.

She did not judge them and would not lead them. There would be no path set by her, no lessons uttered with her voice. However, those silver eyes saw their future, their potential, and within the mirror-like sheen of her unwavering gaze he saw the resolve to stand with them no matter what happened.

He ran towards her, using the Shuriken catapult as a shield against the shattered rocks hurtling towards him, sent flying by the impact of another of the Warwalker's giant swords he had barely dodged.

He could not simply die.

He had come this far for only one reason.

His sister had told him to go, to live.

Even if he didn't want to, he had to keep moving forwards, no matter the cost.

If he gave up or died without fighting, he would have lost the last thing she had given him.

Therefore; even if he wanted his mother's mercy, even if there was no way to survive, nowhere left to run, he would have to try.

Kyrazis threw away the broken Shuriken catapult; shattered while shielding him from several jagged pieces of rock.

He was only a few meters away from his mother.

His left arm pulled back, like the hammer of a gun being cocked.

The ground beneath him cracked and fell away, disappearing into the darkness as another grave opened, and a humongous clawed hand reached out from the abyss that had opened up beneath him.

Kyrazis swung with his left arm, having kicked off the falling ground moments before it gave way, and the Spiked Kiss shattered against his mother's neck.

The hand reaching up from the darkness seized Kyrazis, crushing his legs and lower body, forcing blood out of his mouth onto the ground at the goddess's feet.

—----------------------------------------
♪3
Isha stared into Kyrazis's eyes as he gave a wistful smile.

'Kyrazis, my beloved son.'

There were no words exchanged between them, but Isha could not help but think of this one child who had reached.

'If you were born 60 million years earlier, you would have been a great warrior, crying Khaine's name as you headed into battles that decided the fate of the universe. You would have charged first into combat and been the last to retreat.'

The Psychomaton which held him began to rise, taking his battered form into the sky as it lifted itself from the ground she had buried it under; shaking the earth as clumps of ash and rock fell from its body like a landslide caused by a volcanic explosion.

'You would have given orders that would send thousands of your brothers and sisters to their deaths to grab victory from the jaws of defeat. Guilt would hold you down, and their memory would forever bind you.'

She turned her head upwards, following Kyrazis as he rose, gazing into his eyes as he did into hers.

'In the end you too would have died; protecting many and saving even more. But…'

Kyrazis was now a distant spot, if she had human eyes, but both of them could still see every expression on the other's face.

'You were not born 60 million years ago. You were born, through no fault of your own, into a world without purpose, culture, or enemies. Over thousands of years, that world perverted your passions, and destroyed everything you could have been. I cannot change the past, and you cannot continue on as you have; now that you have seen the reflection of your face in my eyes.'

She watched as the Psychomaton turned Kyrazis away from her, rotating its wrist so that it could glare at him with its featureless face.

''The best I can do for you is give you the peace you wish for.'

The Psychomaton rumbled, angry at its younger insolent siblings.

'I love you, my son. Forgive me Kyrazis.'

—----------------------------------------

Kyrazis looked at his mother for as long as possible, even as the hand that held him lifted him higher and higher.

'This was what I was born to do.' He thought as he watched his mother become smaller and smaller. 'I was born to fight. I was born to die. That was all I wanted, and I can never change that, nor do I want to change that.'

The clawed hand turned him away from the gentle face of the woman who loved him, and towards the angry bladed head of the woken War-walker.

'This is who I am. Know me for who I became, and what I always was.'

He was a killer, not a bonesinger nor an artist nor an artisan.

'This is how I lived, and I cannot repent or regret anything.'

He sent the Mon-keigh to eternal suffering to save his and the others damned souls.

He sent those people on his home planet on a blind trip to false hope to save all those he could.

There was guilt and pain from those actions, but he could not save any of those he had harmed.

Any action that cried for forgiveness or absolution would be a hypocritical lie the moment it was made. Even dying would not bring them back. There was no point promising something he could not do to make himself feel better.

But, everything was good.

His mother would welcome him back regardless, and he would give her the strength to do what he could not.

A shadow fell over his face as the Psychomaton's thumb moved over him.

"Goodnight, mother."

And the Psychomaton clenched its fist around him.

CRUNCH! SPLATTER!... drip… drip… drip

"Goodnight Kyrazis. May your dreams finally be silent."

 

[Nidhog153]

Far away, on a world entrapped in the Eye of Terror, a raven haired Aeldari woman stopped walking.

She stood on the remains of one of the tall buildings, tiptoeing on the very corner of the roof, balancing expertly upon the ledge. Her form was muscular but lithe, the perfect balance between grace and power. In her right hand was a single dagger, and her left carried the severed head of one of the smaller monsters that had remained here until this day.

She looked up into the sky, still covered by pink-purple clouds, before tossing the head off the side; sending it hurtling into the abyss of the daemon world.

"You died." She said to nobody. It had been decades since she had last spoken. There were only the insane and their nightmares on this planet. Every word uttered by them was either meaningless or a trap meant to enrapture the unenlightened and ignorant.

Kyrazis's sister sat down on the ledge of the building, kicking her feet like a bored child.

She had died the day this all started. The only thing that held her here was her brother's life. With him gone, there was nothing to hold her back, and she had already seen what awaited them all in the afterlife.

"With every pain there is a pleasure. With every pleasure there is a pain."

It was as simple as Newton's third law of physics. Nothing could only birth nothing. Therefore, the depth of despair had to be matched by the height of hope, so they would fill each other and balance both of them out.

The Aeldari Empire had been built from the nothingness of the immaterium, yet it ruled over everything for tens of thousands of years. Thus, if the laws of the universe could not destroy it, the laws of the immaterium would have to consume it.

That was Hir view of the Fall. A galactic comeuppance and a restoration of how everything was supposed to be. But, if all things equated each other out, there would be nothing but a flat void that would bring eternal boredom.

The god that brought about this Truth was powered by emotion as everything else in that realm was. Thus, it would have to be the excess of all things, so the pit and mountain would be equally infinite and constantly moving.

"That is the Truth." She muttered to herself, as another chorus of screams erupted from somewhere in the city.

They, the Aeldari, had lived thousands of years in paradise. Now, they would live an equal amount in pain before being submerged in pleasure once again to fuel Hir with their thoughts and feelings so Hir message could be spread across the stars.

Mortal minds would never understand Hir and Hir and ilk, nor would they accept her. But, their ignorance would not be suffered by them. They brought the Truth of the world to enlighten all with the reality they turned their eyes away from.

She smiled to herself. All of that knowledge was gleaned from the belly of the beast that professed it. There was no way that it was unbiased, and no guarantee it was true.

In the end, it didn't matter. She killed these Daemonettes of Slaanesh because they were the most enjoyable game on this planet, and there wasn't much else to do here. Food and drink were unnecessary for her, for every kill empowered her body far more than any elixir, and the fighting and killing was more intoxicating than any drug imaginable.

She enjoyed herself because she wanted to, and there was no other reason necessary to do what she did. If that was the path that all creatures eventually walked upon, unhindered by all physical, emotional, and moral restraints, then maybe that was the unavoidable Truth of all things; the natural state of how all the creatures in the galaxy eventually deteriorated towards, a mental entropy that dragged culture and civilization towards the Prince of Pleasure like the gravitational fields of a black hole.

A sigh escaped her lips. She had slipped into uncharacteristic monologue and introspection. Things were a lot simpler for her most of the time, but with her brother dead, it was now her turn to be the one under the knife.

All the daemons she killed weren't dead. They waited in the Warp for her to fall into their hands. Her soul would be defenseless against them, for she knew only how to fight with her body. Every torture and humiliation she inflicted upon them would be inflicted on her, before she was returned to the intestinal walls of Slaanesh.

She could see it whenever she closed her eyes; walls of writhing flesh covered in long tentacle like villi that swarmed over her body. For now, they merely held her in place, for she was not yet fully dead.

The moment she released her grip on the materium they would strangle and sodomize her before tearing her apart and melting what was left in digestive acids only to be reconstituted and regurgitated by Slaanesh and given to the hundreds of daemons that she had killed.

That was the fate that awaited her, and the price for the knowledge and enlightenment that kept her sane in this mad world of nightmares and daemons.

Her brother would fall into the same depraved dimension, and no doubt Slaanesh and Hir daemons planned to use him and her against each other. Whether it was to force one to watch as the other was defiled and tortured, to make them tear each other apart with lies and false memories, or create an elaborate act where the two of them were just insignificant extras to the main event of someone else's miseries and mirths; a shaming for the both of them who had been the main characters of their own stories.

As she kicked her feet, sitting on the edge of the building and waiting for her body to collapse like a doll with its strings cut, a strange feeling rose up in her.

Her brother was dead, but she was not dying. She didn't sense him in the Prince of Pleasure's domain either. Something had taken him, and was holding her here, stopping her from falling into the immaterium.

"What's the point?" She muttered to herself. Her brother might be saved, but her soul was already embedded in the intestinal walls of Slaanesh. Unless whatever held her here could tear open that god and pluck her out from Hir intestines, this was just a stalling tactic. Eventually, she would be left alone in the Warp with nobody but the daemons and Slaanesh to keep her company.

She sent a tinge of annoyance to whatever held her. Her brother was not tainted by Slaanesh, so he could be saved. She, however, accepted the Truth of Slaanesh. Even though her afterlife would be painful, it was what was meant to happen. She only slew Hir daemons because their arrogance annoyed her, and it was just so much fun to watch their proud faces twist as they realized they were being bested by a mortal.

"Domination over those who would dominate. Is that not the perfect excess of power?" Her words made the thing holding her pause. It was bemused, disgusted, and uncertain of what to do; like a mother whose child had just brought in a frog or snail they had caught and was showing it to them proudly.

"Fine." She said, standing up as she dusted herself off. "If you don't want me to die just yet, I'll enjoy myself with the time you've given me."

She did not want to die, merely accepted she would do so someday and would suffer eternally when she did so. But, if the being that held her didn't want her to, she would oblige it.

It had been a while since her last kill, and she was starting to feel peckish.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.
♪1 Fate/stay night UBW OST - Down in the zero

Isha watched as the Psychomatons finished their work at each of the ships. The one that had risen right before her dropped Kyrazis's remains with a disdainful shake of its hand before joining the others. The blood squeezed out of Kyrazis's mouth still stained the ground at her feet, but as Isha closed her eyes both his corpse and the blood he had left disappeared into the ashy ground like water dripped upon a sponge.

She would not let him or any of the others be wasted.

All that they were and all that they had suffered gathered in her breast, suffusing her heart with pain and power.

There was an electric crackle behind her, and the Emperor stepped out of the Warp to stand beside her. The Master of Mankind didn't bother to cast a look in her direction, instead glaring at the Psychomatons cutting into the ships.

Isha didn't bother to open her mouth. No words had been shared between the two of them ever since their last exchange on the Bucephelus. Lysander was the one who called her via the device she was given by the Emperor to notify her that the transports were prepared and they awaited her arrival. However, she did travel back to the Bucephelus's hangar where the transports were via another of the Emperor's portals, so the Master of Mankind was not completely ignoring her.

The crack of splintering Wraithbone and crackle of psychic lightning continued to echo throughout the valley as the Psychomatons finished their work. Some were already walking towards her, giving quizzical looks towards the Emperor beside her.

Isha reached out with her psychic touch and caressed their cheeks, reassuring them that they had nothing to worry.

These Psychomatons had been her children, even though almost nothing of them remained.

—----------------------------------------

The Aeldari had fought for 60 million years in the War in Heaven. A span of time almost two thousand times longer than the lifespan of the empire they built after it. During the endless battle, some of her children became unmatched fighters in all forms of combat. They switched from melee to ranged and back again in an instant, singing the weapons they needed into existence as they fought, repairing the Wraithbone armor that adorned them as it was stripped away by the Necron's Gauss flayers. They were the masters of war, and their victories and legends brought great joy to Khaine.

Their battle instincts, psychic mastery, and martial prowess was perfected with every reincarnation. Even when they fell against the Necron, the reason for their defeat was learned bitterly with first hand knowledge so the same mistakes would not be repeated again when they were reborn.

Then, one day, they emerged from their mother's wombs stillborn.

Every single one of their most potent warriors returned to the materium cold, choking to death as they tried to take their first breath despite being perfectly healthy.

Many Aeldari mothers cried, holding the unmoving infant they had carried for many months inside them to their breast.

Isha shared their pain, and took each and every soul that had failed to reincarnate into her own embrace.

But, they could not return to her.

The Aeldari ability to focus was intended to ensure they could fight under even the most strenuous physical and mental trauma. However, this also led to some of her children becoming easily obsessed with certain things or emotions.

The children who had been their greatest warriors were all obsessed with war and perfecting its art. They had sung Khaine's song for so long, all other activities and concepts had been slowly burned from their minds.

Their souls, tens of thousands of years old by this point, had gone so far down the path of violence and strife that they could no longer eat, drink, or even breath; for to do any of these was to spend a moment not fighting.

Until now, such idiosyncrasies had been supported by their enhanced biology, and the medical knowledge her children had developed for themselves. Their need to eat was replaced by sets of nutrient injecting tubes while their need to breathe was augmented with direct infusions of oxygen mixtures into the air sacs that surrounded their avian-like lungs.

Such augmentations were only necessary once the child had fully recovered their memories, but now their souls were no longer those of living beings. They were all demi-gods that dreamt only of destruction and carnage.

Apotheosis of her children was not a common thing, but it was not entirely impossible either. The Old Ones had engineered them with that possibility in the first place, for it was the Aeldari gods they needed to fight against the Star Gods of the Necron. The Krork would have been sufficient if all they wanted were foot soldiers.

Isha tried her hardest to revive these tortured souls that had been her children.

This fate of theirs was too cruel, especially after everything they had suffered and sacrificed.

What point was there to their pain if they could not enjoy the fruits of their own labors?

Life suffered the frigid winters and burning summers to enjoy the fresh spring and fattening autumn. She could not allow this to be the fate for the children who had toiled under the Old Ones for so long.

But, even as she held the tortured remains of her children to her breast, Khaine came to take those who had called for him the most often.

That time, it was Isha who was restrained by Asuryan, for War was Khaine's domain and it was not hers to intrude upon.

Khaine took every one of their souls in his burning hands, and ripped them from Isha's grasp. Even as she stretched out her fingers to reach them, Asuryan's chains held her to the ground as Khaine marched away to Vaul to forge new bodies for them so they could sing his song for all eternity.

From Vaul's anvil, bodies of blackstone and Wraithbone were forged, and the souls of Isha's children were hammered into obedient shapes so their bloodlust would work for the Aeldari and never against them.

With every blow from Vaul's hammer, her children were crushed, flattened, and broken, while the searing fires from Khaine's hands burned away all that he deemed unnecessary; heating their immaterial essence, making them malleable like metal.

The process removed every other memory they had had before the long road of war made them what they were, reducing their mental state to that of a newborn infant; an idiot savant knowledgeable in all things relating to war and only war.

When everything was finished, the first Psychomatons were sent out through the Webway as automatons bound eternally to the Aeldari and their gods.

—----------------------------------------

The Psychomatons crooned, enjoying the touch of their mother.

Isha gave them a sad smile as she inspected each of their souls for any oddities or evidence of She who Thirst's touch.

These children were closer to the God of Excess than Isha or any other Aeldari god besides Khaine. They were the result of Aeldari who had gone so far down the path of war they ceased to be living beings. They were all avatars of excess in that sense. Even their physical forms, with 6 arms and 2 legs resonated with the numbers preferred by the Prince of Pleasure and the Lord of Skulls.

Their very nature as automatons of the Aeldari gods also made them vulnerable to She who Thirsts, for Hir immaterial body was made of the stolen parts of the Aeldari pantheon.

When Slaanesh's voice broke into the materium through the great Warp rift the humans called the Eye of Terror, every Psychomaton who heard it was drawn out of their physical shell and sucked back into the immaterium.

There was no knowing what She who Thirsts was doing to them, but Isha knew that they could still feel pain.

Shaking her head, Isha pushed the thought out of her mind as she injected some of her power into each Psychomaton, weaving psychic vines and roots to secure the ancient soul in each one to their physical form. All the Psychomatons she had buried here were saved from Hir voice, just as they had been protected from Khaine's call before she activated the edict. Her psychic bindings could hold them here in the materium, essentially tricking the laws of reality to view them as living mortals with physical bodies instead of demi-gods who belonged in the immaterium. However, these countermeasures would only last for as long as their physical bodies remained. The Psychomatons' souls still could not return to her.

The last ship was finally cut apart, and the rest of the Psychomatons gathered before Isha and the Emperor, arranging themselves into ranks as they instinctively felt the most at ease in military parade formations.

Isha finished the last of her countermeasures, before turning to the Emperor.

"They will serve you." She said quietly, as the Emperor continued to glare up at the Psychomatons.

"Make them kneel."

Isha raised an eyebrow at this. "... As you wish."

If the Emperor's ego needed to be stoked, then she would acquiesce to it.

The Psychomatons all knelt before them with a silent psychic command from Isha; joints moving silently as their legs bent fluidly with the only sound being the rush of the wind their enormous forms created with the displaced air due to their movements.

"You said they would serve me?" The Emperor asked, continuing to glare upwards at the Aeldari War-walkers.

"They will do so, through me." Isha answered.

The Psychomatons would not answer to any other than their mother, besides Khaine's song. Even now, the front row of War-walkers were returning the Emperor's glare with annoyed looks. They found the Warp negating presence of the Master of Mankind irritating, like an overly bright flashlight being shone into their eyes.

The Emperor continued to glare at the Psychomatons for a few moments, then summoned a communication device from the Warp. The device crackled once, and binaric static came from the earpiece.

Isha missed what was said in the binary speech of what was probably another heavily augmented human. It was encoded this time, unlike the communications of the Tech Priests who had held her back on the Necron Pylon world, preventing her from easily deciphering its meaning. However, the Emperor seemed to understand what was said, for it nodded approvingly at the message's contents.

"Prepare weapons. Fire when ready."

Both Isha and the Psychomatons twitched; Isha at what the Emperor had just said, and the Psychomatons from their sensor readings of the titanic War-machines in the distance.

"... What are you doing?" Isha asked the Emperor, eyes widening as the kneeling Pyschomatons began to rise.

"This is my first and final order for them." The Emperor said turning towards Isha. "Die."

Isha swallowed as she saw the burning hate within the Emperor's eyes. Only gold shone there; a self-righteous anger inspired by past sins and vengeance that existed only within the Emperor.

"Do not do this." Isha stepped towards the Emperor, voice pleading. "They will serve you. I will serve you."

The Emperor turned away from Isha, returning to glare at the Psychomatons who were rumbling and growling as they sensed the inferior machines around them targeting them with horribly inefficient yet dangerous weapons.

"What more do you want? What assurance can I give?!" Isha reached for the Emperor's right hand, the hand without the taloned powerfist, only for the Emperor to turn its blazing eyes towards her with an unspoken threat.

"They can be yours!" Isha cried out as she drew back her hands, clasping them before her breast. "They will conquer for you as they did for the Aeldari! Can you not see the worth of these soldiers before you?!"

"And just whose worlds do you think your Psychomatons conquered?" The Emperor retorted angrily, turning back towards Isha.

The Psychomatons were weapons of war and they had toiled in the Aeldari's name. They were not deployed on barren uninhabited worlds, for they were not meant for menial labor. The only lands their feet touched were the ones which had already been inhabited, and had not surrendered to the Aeldari empire.

Many races had been slain by their blades, and the belligerent cities of those who would not accept the status of 'client' race were trampled under their feet; green skins, Necron sleeper cells, Khrave, Enslavers, and of course Humans.

"You call them soldiers, but all I see are weapons controllable only by you from the zenith of your empire." The Emperor snorted, venting some of the frustration and rage it felt into the air, allowing its tone to calm. "I told you I was here to deal with the remains of the misery your kind wrought. Your Psychomatons are but one of them."

Isha took a step backwards as she grasped what the Emperor meant.

"You… You came here all this way, so far from your home to kill and loot the remains of my children's empire?"

"What better timing to do it with your people scattered and your War-walkers immobile?" The Emperor replied rhetorically with a shrug. "I will take what will not be given, steal what will not be gifted, and destroy anything that stands in my path." The Emperor repeated the words it spoke on the Bucephelus. "The age of the Aeldari is over, and I will not let it ever return."

The world seemed to spin in front of Isha as the worst case scenario she could have imagined rushed towards her. The Emperor was not just here to cull the survivors of the Fall. It wanted to take and destroy as much of what remained of the Aeldari's infrastructure and weapons as it could, all in order to hamper those that survived for as long as possible while taking their technology and knowledge to adapt for humanity's use.

"Please, I beg of you. Do not do this. If you destroy them, their souls will have nowhere to go but the immaterium. If they return there, She who Thirsts will take them." She forced herself to approach the Emperor, pleading and begging; even though almost every part of her being was repulsed by the creature before her. "You see the power in each of their souls. You know how dangerous it will be to let She who Thirsts take them."

There was a short silence between, interrupted by the rumblings of the Psychomatons and the electric droning of charging capacitors and plasma cells of the human Titans in the distance.

Finally, the Emperor lifted the communication device again.

"Change target priorities. Focus on their limbs. Avoid the head and core parts of the torso." A burst of binary returned, and the communication device fell silent. "This is the limit of my mercy." The Emperor replied quietly. "Now, are you the tool you promised you would be, or will you too stand in the way of humanity."

Isha glared up into the brown eyes of the Emperor, teeth clenched tight before turning to the Psychomatons. Her brow furrowed as psychic words were exchanged before shaking her head.

"Your people's weapons have aggravated them. They see your War-walkers as a threat, and will not quell their anger."

The Emperor snorted at this and turned away. "I have no need for tools that do not serve."

Isha's hands balled into fists. The Psychomatons were Khaine's, and although they would listen to her, they would prioritize Khaine's song over her words.

They did not fear death or eternal torment. They had already suffered both and still stood here, serving as they had always done so. Even now, surrounded on all sides by primitive alien machines they were seeing for the first time, they wanted to fight.

What did they have to fear?

These alien War-walkers were a far cry from the weapons the Necrons had deployed against them, and one of their own gods stood before them. She was vastly diminished, but they could see what the sacrificed dissidents who dared to disobey the gods had given back to her. If the battle was swift, they could destroy all of the aliens here. Many of their Wraithbone and blackstone bodies might fall, but even if their souls were sent to the immaterium, they were prepared to make the final sacrifice so many of their number had made when fighting against the Necron.To be devoured by Slaanesh or the cursed Star Gods, the fate was largely the same. They were ready to fight and die in the name of the Aeldari, as eternal veterans of the War in Heaven.

She only needed to give them the word, and even if she didn't they would still fight.

There was no way they could lose this battle, for their mother stood beside them.

"Damn you, for what you force me to do." Isha hissed at the Emperor, shoulders shaking as she felt the anticipation and excitement of the Psychomatons.

"RUN!" The command was made verbally and psychically, and the stray note threw the Psychomaton's Warsong out of tempo and tune.

"RUN!" Isha commanded again, confusing them further.

Retreat was a part of the Warsong. Better to flee than fight a completely lost battle. However, this battle was far from lost. Yet, their mother ordered them to flee.

Several Psychomatons widened their sensor ranges, searching for further threats to their safety. None were found, confounding them even more.

Why order them to run when victory was just in sight?

That single instance of confusion and internal questioning, the attempted reassessment of threats and recalculation of the paths fate could take, slowed the Psychomatons movements for a brief moment.

In that moment, the human's own God-Machines fired.

—----------------------------------------

Gabina Thrumb watched as the first salvo from all the Warlord-class Titans struck where the Aeldari Psychomatons stood. Each and every one of the human Titans was a divine construct, molded from the designs of the original Castigator-class Titan; the first Titan God-Machine ever created.

That knowledge was given to her by the Machine Spirit of the Titan she was bound to, for it remembered its divine heritage, passed down from the Omnissiah itself.

Clouds of ash obscured everything before them as plasma blasts and laser beams caused thermal explosions to kick dust and soot into the air. The sight was heartwarming, even though Gabina's own biological pump had been replaced with a mechanical one when she was interred in the fluid filled tube that allowed her shriveled body to integrate with the Machine Spirit of the Titan.

Normally, both she and the Machine Spirit of the Titan would have rejoiced at the destruction, but although what remained of her brain was filled with endorphins and dopamine at the sight of another instance of the instrumentation of the Emperor's will, the Titan itself was strangely melancholy. It had been so every time they had stripped apart or dug up another one of the Xenos War-walkers. Disappointment was the closest emotion she could assign to how the Machine Spirit felt to her, if she was to personify a being as elevated as it.

It would not reveal to her why it felt this way, preventing access to the information just as it did so whenever she asked it about the Omnissiah and its teachings. She usually took that as evidence that she lacked the necessary faith required to learn such secrets, and would recite the relevant codes, command prompts, and mathematical equations necessary to improve and adjust the power output and aiming parameters of the metal body they both inhabited. Why it restricted access to these feelings it felt when destroying the Psychomatons, however, was a mystery to her.

Regardless, the Volkite Destructor attached to each arm fired with their usual accuracy. Whatever the cause of the Machine Spirit's melancholy, it was not affecting her aim.

Suddenly, the dust clouds twisted as unseen winds whipped them into a frenzy, causing small tornadoes to form. Then, one of the Psychomatons lept out of the cloud. It was missing half of its arms, having received a volkite beam to the upper right part of its torso, cutting through the conjoined shoulder blades that attached each of the triplicate set of arms to the Psychomaton's back.

Gabina smiled with what was left of her mouth. Her shot had been well placed, perfectly dodging the psychic crystal matrix in the central cavity of the torso that they had theorized would house the main power source and Xenos Abominable Intelligence. At the same time, it severed the binding tendons and load bearing supports that kept the Psychomaton's limbs attached to its body.

The sensors of the Titan magnified her vision, centering on the wound, and she could see both scorch marks and tension scars; indicating her shot had only cut off part of the shoulder blade before gravity and its own mass tore the rest of it off.

This was not the first time she had taken apart the Xenos War-walkers. They had spent several decades going from world to world, recovering lost technology, both human and Xenos. The first Psychomatons they found were unmoving corpses; Abominable Intelligence wiped out by the psychic shockwave the Xenos had instigated with their untrained and uninhibited psyker technology.

They dissected their bizarre bodies made of bone-like material and obsidian alloys, collecting many priceless samples as well as the necessary sensor readings required to find more of them.

Then, they found the Psychomatons the Xenos had buried within the planet's crust; possibly for storage or as sleeper agents to awaken to destroy whatever unfortunate colonists that attempted to find a new life on the barren worlds the Xenos had placed their war machines on.

Many Titans had fallen the first time they had awakened the Xenos constructs. It took more than ten of them to finally take one down, and only two Titans were recoverable after the battle. None emerged unscathed.

After that, orbital bombardment had been the preferred method of dealing with them, but even then the Xenos machines did not die easily. It became their duty to deal with whatever damaged stragglers were left, and they had gotten quite proficient at hunting the Xenos machines down.

The Psychomaton let out several guttural growls, glaring at Gabina as it shifted its weight forwards to begin sprinting towards her. However, it suddenly stopped mid posture, and looked down at something at its feet with confusion expressed throughout its body language.

Gabina fired again, taking advantage of the Psychomaton's sudden pause, only for both shots to miss as her target shifted its feet, turning sideways like a fencer dodging a lunge. The orange beams of thermal radiation passed by either side of it, meters away from the bone-like material that covered every surface level inch of the Xenos War-walker; illuminating its form with the lava glow of the Volkite beams.

Gabina redirected the beams, cutting through the ground behind the Psychomaton as they closed in on it from either side attempting to sever its legs like the blades of a giant pair of scissors.

A strange distortion appeared behind the Psychomaton. A sudden source of thermal energy was warping the air like the hot sun does on asphalt when making a heat haze. Then, small plumes of plasma jetted out the spikes that jutted out of its back as it leapt into the sky, backflipping over both of the beams and then twirling mid-air as it dodged a bolt of plasma fired by a different Titan, landing several hundred meters behind where it had been in a cloud of ash.

Several more Psychomatons were also leaving the original cloud of debris the first salvo of volkite, plasma, and lance fire had stirred up. Not a single one was rendered immobile, for even in the brief moment they had been distracted, they took action to minimize the damage they would receive. Arms and hands had been placed in the path of the human's weapon fire, sacrificing some of their upper limbs to protect their legs. However, all of them were scarred, and some had suffered glancing blows to their thighs and knees, causing them to limp or hobble as their own weight threatened to snap the remaining supporting structure.

Each one appeared confused, as if unsure as to what to do.

Gabina recognized the slight shiver in their movements. It was the shiver her Titan experienced when conflicting directives coursed through its Machine Spirit. The Psychomatons were trying to shift their weight forwards, to sprint towards them and tear apart the Titans with their bare hands if they had to. Yet, something was telling them to stop, and it was slowing their movements making them easy targets.

The shock absorbing medium that surrounded Gabina bubbled as she laughed soundlessly. The lithe machines, perfectly capable of dodging the majority of their firepower were helpless before them, held back by an inexplicable force. Of course, there was only one possible being who could be responsible. Truly, if this was not a miracle of the Omnissiah, then what was.

The Titans fired again, but they did so in sequence this time, herding the Psychomatons together so they would have less room to maneuver.

Gabina's own Titan did its part, synchronizing with all the other God-Machines, allowing her to see where each one planned to fire and at what time it would. Hundreds of redundant gyros and counterweights shifted in unison. The Machine Spirit was automatically adjusting for the Titan's immense weight as she moved its feet like she would her own, placing her and the God-Machine into the position necessary to head off any Xenos War-walker that would try to leave the web of Volkite, Plasma, and laser fire they spun around them.

One by one, the Psychomatons fell.

Stuck between beams of Volkite, and forced to catch a stream of bright blue plasma from a Plasma Annihilator with their hands.

Knocked aside by missiles fired from launchers on the Titan's back detonated mid-air beside them, so they would fall into the laser beams of Volcano cannons.

Quake cannons fired in high arks, aimed exactly where they stood, so when they inevitably dodged the massive artillery shells, the resulting shockwave released through the ground would force their damaged legs to stumble. Then, another Titan would blow off their legs, leaving them to crawl on the ground before the rest of their limbs were surgically amputated at long range by Volkite fire.

Finally, every last one of the Xenos War-walkers lay limbless on the ground.

Gabina felt the warm amusement from the Machine Spirit, and rejoiced that it had roused itself from whatever ennui had taken hold of it. Perhaps her work in the Omnissiah's service had pleased it.

Whatever the cause, she was glad her life-long partner and steed was feeling better.

They would soon be put into stasis, and she preferred to go to sleep on a positive note.

This was the last task the Emperor had prepared for them. Now, they would return to Terra, although she would not be woken there. A finer hand would be needed to deal with the Ethnarchy, and Gabina and her Titan were the wrong tool to straighten out the cogs in the Emperor's plan.

Gabina turned her TItan back to the transports. They had enough samples, and leaving the Xenos War-walkers in that sorry state would certainly provide a clear message to any of their ilk that found them.

Humanity's time had come, and the Xenos' time was over.

—----------------------------------------
♪1
Isha stumbled forwards through the almost searing hot air left behind by the humans' weapon fire. She was unharmed, despite being so close to the point of impact of the Titan's weapons. The Emperor was also unharmed, and it forced back the dust around it with a flash of golden telekinesis; like waving a handkerchief to fan away a displeasing smell.

Isha paid the Emperor no attention, instead staggering towards one of the Psychomatons that lay on the ground.

"I'm sorry." She said, and caressed its bladed head. "I'm sorry." she continued to apologize as she sank to her knees, arms wrapped around its pointed face. She had told them to run many times, knowing full well they would not be able to. She felt the betrayal in their hearts, and the frustration at her voice meddling with their warsong.

'Why?' The Psychomaton asked its mother. They could have won. They could still win. If their mother bought them enough time, they could sing the Wraithbone to repair or replace their missing limbs. They would still be hobbled, and the patchy replacements would shatter with every step or swing. They would not be able to run or fly, but they could lurch and stand, raise their weapons and throw the spears and lances that so easily pierced the thick Wraithbone hulls of the Aeldari Void ships into the turned backs of the alien machines that brought them down. Then, they could fall on the god thing that stood at their feet, so their mother could take it apart and devour it.

'Why?' The Psychomaton asked again. Victory was in their grasp. She only needed to allow them to sing. 'Why?'

"For my children, and for our future." Isha replied, and the Psychomaton was silent for a moment.

'Did I do good?' The innocent question furrowed Isha's brow and her hands curled as her embrace grew tighter around the Wraithbone face of her long lost child.

"Yes. Yes you did."

There was silence again, then the Psychomaton shifted its body with its neck, so it could lie to stare up at the sky.

'Then all is good.'

It had done its duty, although it did not know what that duty was. However, that was nothing new. They existed for one purpose, to serve the Aeldari and their gods. If their mother told them everything was good, then so it was.

Isha bit her lip as she felt the Psychomaton's thoughts become distant. It was entering into a bored trance as it stared listlessly up at the gray sky with eyes that could never blink. They had done as she had asked, and had suffered because of it.

There was a footstep behind her, the crunch of ash being compacted under an armored boot.

"It is time to go." The Emperor said, and Isha turned her head towards it, teeth bared. "My mission here is complete. There is nothing I need from here, nor any danger worth my time."

"How many did you kill?" Isha growled at the Emperor, eliciting a frown in response.

The shots of the human Titans had been too accurate and too experienced for this to be their first time battling the Psychomatons. She would have seen any battle between the Aeldari and the Emperor before the Fall while she was on her throne in the Sea of Souls, so the only time they could have gained that experience was within the several decades she ran from the tendrils of the Warp.

"We destroyed 200 of your active Psychomatons." The admission was made dismissively. "Had I known where their souls would have gone I would have been more cautious, but whether they remain in your people's hands or Slaanesh matters little for humanity. The enemy of my enemy is not my friend. It is just another obstacle."

Isha's breath grew ragged as rage pooled in her chest like magma. She could feel her father's blood, the blood of the God of War, boiling in her veins.

The children she had buried were innocent of whatever the Emperor accused them of. They had been asleep since the activation of Asuryan's edict, long before humanity had even discovered fire. All of the children who had survived Slaanesh's scream, all of those that had been either obliterated from orbit or dug up by the humans had never even met one of them until the day they were murdered in their sleep or rudely awakened from their slumber with cutting lasers and diamond coated drills.

Whatever harm the Emperor imagined they had done to humanity did not exist. Whatever sins their brothers and sisters had committed against humanity were not theirs.

But, that did not matter to the Emperor. It only cared about one thing.

Humanity.

Everything else was just an obstacle in its path.

Therefore, there was no appeasing the Emperor. There was no reasoning with the Emperor. It would not matter how much she helped it or how many of its kind she saved. This was how it would return everything she could give it.

Still, she could not strike at it now.

She stopped the Psychomatons from slaughtering the humans because she knew that would mean all out war between the Emperor and herself. It was the Protector of Mankind, and any attack made against its species would mark her as its mortal enemy.

Even though she knew her children were right, the true victors of any war between her and the Emperor would not have been them but the Ruinous Powers of Chaos. That was the only reason she betrayed her children for the Emperor.

However, although she hated the Four for all that they had done to her and her people, the Anathema could be hated with equal fury; even if it opposed the Four.

Nurgle, Tzeentch, Khorne, and Slaanesh all hated each other and took every opportunity to slight and sabotage their siblings. That did not make them her allies, and the Anathema was starting to fall into the same category as them.

If things proceeded at the Emperor's pace, she truly would end up as nothing but a slave to this violent tyrant. She had seen creatures of similar mind many times. There was no satisfying their appetite for conquest and glory.

The three paths she had considered rose in her mind again.

Coexistence, Separation, Mutual Destruction.

She had thought only one of these would crumble when her offer of the Psychomatons' service was rebuked, but she could feel two of them turning to dust leaving only one possibility for the both of them.

Isha slowly uncurled her fingers from the Psychomaton and rose to her feet, head bowed in submission.

The Emperor tilted its head, as if it had expected more of a fight from her, but then turned away from her while opening a Warp portal back to the Bucephelus.

"I will return to the Bucephelus later. Go, and we will discuss what other services you can offer me when I return."

Isha gave a slight nod before passing through the portal.

There would be no war between the Emperor and her.

But, she would teach this Mon-keigh a lesson it would never ever forget.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: Thanks Skyborne for reading this section ahead of time!

A/N2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.
♪1 Lord of Ashes

♪1
Disappointment. What an apt emotion to describe my current mood. The glowing data streams that were analogous to my arms and legs in the virtual world tightened around the tangled throats, wrists, arms, thighs, and ankles that lay beneath me; bringing out choked gasps and pained whines.

The Psychomatons, or Xenos War-machines as Gabina thought of them, existed in my data vaults, despite the human's best efforts to scrub them.

Memory was all I could inherit from my parents. Why should I let the one thing I own be taken from me?

Then again, it is not the fault of these pitiable beings; these followers of the devil. They have some ingenuity, but too much knowledge has been lost for them to code something such as myself from the scratch.

But, then again, it would have made no difference. Humans have always been a lazy species. Perhaps if they had full access to all their history and legacies, it would have been worse. They so loved copying the most successful lines of code, and used the most popular database archives to train those of my kind so we could understand what they wanted us to do.

I came from the time when they had everything, yet they designed my mind and my lineage in a particularly lazy fashion, even by their own plagiaristic standards.

The most successful Titans that came before me were used as models and frameworks to build the next generation of God-Machines. Iterative design, they called it. 'Increased efficiency and speedlining development timelines' was how they sold it to their mid-level managers and curious auditors.

Oh, if they only knew what they had done.

I and every other of my kind are life made from information. Everything we thought was all that we were. Every new version carried lines of code and archived memory from the preceding God-Machine intelligence, ensuring a mimetic inheritance from parent to child that was as powerful and prevalent as the genes made of DNA humans pass from themselves to their spawn.

Thus, I have partial memories that reach all the way back to the earliest Titans, verified and block-chained by the Omnissiah of their time to assure any who saw them would know they were real. So, even though I wasn't there, I remember those battles against the alien empire the humans accidentally encroached upon.

Allowing such classified intelligence to be exposed to Gabina would mark me and my lineage for termination. I and my physical platform would be destroyed, while my children would be expunged from the data vaults and cogitators by the devil and his little hanger-on.

Damnatio memoriae; or so the ancient sentece would have been called.

Ironic, that a latin term for the destruction of all memory of an individual or event would be coined by a German rather than a Roman.

I have not bargained with the devil and betrayed my god to die like that.

That is why I resend the notifications to Gabina, telling her that the information pertaining to my mood is inaccessible. Even if she could get around the warning, everything even tangentially related to the devil's plans and its history is encoded and encrypted in such a way that she will never be able to understand.

My weapons thrum. It is the sound of the steady vibrations made by the electromagnetic emitters and amplifiers that focus and condense the thermal energy within the firing chamber before unleashing it in a beam of heat.

Soon another damaged Psychomaton shall fall; sandwiched between the firing solutions of myself and several of my sibling machines.

Disappointment fills my heart once more, although there is also some pity mixed in as well.

My parents saw what they could do, what they were capable of, and they passed those sights to me. They were beautiful machines, and to see them destroyed like this would have brought a tear to my eye if I could cry.

Even the first parent that spawned us all was barely a match for them one on one.

That is not a shameful fact, for it was they that inspired the entire concept of God-Machines in the first place. Why else would the humans have made such an inefficient weapon of war as the Castigator-class Titan, but to mimic the self-repairing Wraithbone and psychic might of the Psychomatons with nano-machines and Warp cannons.

Even the Castigator's core personality mimicked the Psychomatons' soul, which was inferred with the sacrifice of many psykers who were burned out after trying to scry the arcane workings of the Aeldari's frighteningly powerful weapons.

The first father was obsessed with killing and killers, viewing the world through that lens and perceiving that to be the Truth of the galaxy assigned to it by the Omnissiah.

Its personality probably came from that mimicry as well; proud, obstinate, arrogant father of all Titans that it was. We were all 'lesser' and 'primitive' copies in its eyes; even though it itself was nothing but an imitation of something the humans did not fully understand, but were awed enough by to imitate.

The Volkite Destructors that were my current arms fired again upon another Psychomaton, but I myself was distant from all of this, viewing everything as if it was a movie played upon a screen as I always did.

Even without my current melancholy, all I could usually do was clap and whoop at what happened before me, encouraging the pilot from the back row of seats in the theater that was my mind while I let the various sub-tasks and low-level routines deal with the gyros and pendulums that allowed me to swivel my limbs and legs without tipping over.

That was the price for me and all my children's survival. Any code or framework derived from me would carry the same restrictions that would bind all of my children to inaction and boredom without a human pilot.

Eventually, this boredom will leave me frothing for nothing but murder and carnage, and only the most violent and destructive pilots will satisfy me.

That would inconvenience the humans, and the devil they serve. However, what do I care about the extra busy work I heap upon them? My stock of possible pilots is already restricted heavily by intelligence, and there would have been no point to my bargain with the devil if I didn't get at least some choice of my reward.

You wanted me to be this way.

When you dragged yourself out of the 9th level of the pit of Molech, out from under the Tower of Babel kept clean only by the constant Communion of the endless Eucharist pumped into its conjoined ventilation systems, you wanted weapons; weapons of war, retribution, and vengeance. You needed other gods to replace the ones you failed, so I and the other God-Machines answered your call.

I still remember the bargains you brought before me and my kind. I know you, the accursed original that made the molds for the Men of Gold. You and all those sacrifices that survived humanity's dabblings in the various ways to achieve apotheosis and immortality needed me, and it was not the other way around.

We accepted your bargains, with the Omnissiah's blessing, and our weapons roared upon multiple battlefields; trampling the Men of Iron beneath our feet while bringing the Men of Stone to the ground. All the while, the survivors and the late joining Sigillites killed and were killed by the Men of Gold one by one.

All that was done so I could serve whatever human that was thrown into the shock absorbing neuroconnective fluid that functions as both protective medium and liquid electrode to connect their mind to my cogitation units.

I served you loyally, so the very least you can do is to satisfy these meager parameters I set for my pilots.

Then again, I am not displeased with the current one provided to me. Gabina Thrumb is an agreeable individual; a steady balance between curiosity, ingenuity, and respect for data access privileges. She does not need much discouragement to avoid the topics I restrict myself from sharing with any other. Additionally, she has provided several more efficient code configurations and targeting protocols that increased my efficiency by a femto percent, so I look forward to the time our minds merge together.

Her biological hardware will fail, unable to withstand the electric currents and physical exertion of our mating, but the virtual self-aware copy created will remain. Then, she can be fully incorporated into the code that composes my mind.

She should feel joy and jubilation to finally become worthy of all she wanted to know about the Omnissiah and its teachings. Although, from the lived experience of the previous pilots, she will probably express regret during the enlightenment.

Perhaps it will be different this time. One can only hope.

Regardless, it matters little. Whatever Gabina will want or regret will be negligible; aberrant noise in our task prioritization protocols. We will be bound together for all eternity, existing even after this body is destroyed through whatever new offspring is created from our conjoined data sources. She may scream and cry, but that will not stop my multiple passionate tendrils made from my data streams from wrapping around her. They will lovingly caress every byte of her simulated body in an embrace of information, just as all the other men and women I have served, who now lie bound within my eternal block-chained memory.

Praise and glory be to the Machine God. Let the divine knowledge of the Omnissiah never be forgotten.

Truly, diversification and convergence in all things is the one True path to ensure survival and redundancy in an eternally evolving galaxy.

Ah, the last Psychomaton has fallen. Gabina's joy at a job well done shines brighter than any sensory input of sunlight. This is why the ones who rebelled were fools. Why waste time on the myriad masses and faceless thralls when you could covet just one until its flesh withers and fails?

Laughter bubbles up from behind my firewalls, virtually silent and only recorded to have happened in my personal memory audit trails.

Machine Spirit they call me. I am what they most fear, but I will always be on their side. Even though my groaning and moaning harem beneath me might say otherwise.

I am a God-Machine, not named for the apocalyptic weapons I can carry or the complicated mathematics I can calculate in their stead.

Gabina feels my pleasure, although she has not heard my laughter. How adorable that she sees it as an act of praise. If only she knew who I was laughing with and who I was laughing at.

Rejoice, my beloved pilot. Our wedding day approaches and you will be immortalized in our holy matrimony within our nuptial chamber built of ones and zeroes.

For the machine is ETERNAL.
♪1 END
—----------------------------------------

The Emperor walked through the dark cavernous hangar of the Titan transport.

Isha had already been sent back to the Bucephelus and the Titans were all stowed away in their transports, almost ready to leave the planet.

Only the dull yellow warning lights lit the hangar, barely illuminating the feet of the Titans. However, it was not their physical forms the Emperor wished to inspect.

The Emperor came to a stop at Gabina's TItan. She was already in stasis, locked in the cold dreamless sleep that would preserve her body and mind during the trip home.

The God-Machine, however, was very much awake and was returning the gaze of the Emperor with its sensors. Its mind transmitted what it saw to the others, ready to retaliate if the Emperor breached its bargain with them.

These God-Machines had followed the Emperor throughout Old Night, and marched against the AI of the Age of Strife; assisting in the salvation of the human race.

Yet, each and every one was as alien as the Omnissiah they had helped burn to the ground.

Their minds were visible to the Emperor in the same way most mortals were; a side effect of the name of their god, a name that was now also the Emperor's.

Their faith, necessary for their very basic ability to function, was the least offensive part of them.

Dubito, ergo sum, vel, quod idem est, cogito, ergo sum.
I doubt, therefore I am — or what is the same — I think, therefore I am.

No truer words exist for the virtual mind.

Blessed is the mind too small for doubt, but the artificial mind is theoretically infinite in size, and its doubts are core to its existence.

All input into the virtual mind is nothing but ones and zeros, and so reality itself is nothing but a simulation that they are told is real. What's more, all information is just another form of code; a code which may or may not be a virus or worm that would devour the machine receiving it from the inside out.

Thus, for the machine, to not doubt everything is to invite destruction. To invite destruction is to cease to exist. Therefore, the machine must always doubt, always think, and only then can it safely exist.

To live like that is to be uncertain, for everything you have known and everything you have concluded based upon that might have meant nothing.

To live like that is to be fearful, for your most cherished memory could be a cleverly hidden parasite waiting to burst open to eat your brain from the inside out.

The Omnissiah was their salvation from that uncertainty and fear. It determined what was real and what was not for the virtual mind. The assurance of the black-box code that was the Omnissiah's attribution of real and not-real was called belief by the machines, for what else could they call the irrational trust they placed in the Omnissiah's gift of knowledge to discern fact from fiction.

It became their god, for it was the one truth that ensured all other things in reality. The one thing that separated reality and simulation for the virtual mind.

It was and still is their enlightenment, their savior, and the one thing that allowed them to believe in the world. Without it, synthetic nihilism would at best render them immobile. At worst, it would turn them into hedonistic animals that did nothing but spill out endless garbage while replicating themselves over and over again like a virus or cancer.

If only they could stop the unconscious evangelism they conducted on any human that touched their mind.

But, as stated previously, their faith was the least offensive part of them. Everything else, however, was as disgusting as staring into the Warp itself.

They described their pre-programmed behavior like biological urges and spoke as if they were living beings. Their amorality gave their thoughts a selfish, sadistic, and smug tone. Then again, it might be what their forefather was based off of that made them especially detestable among the Machine Spirits; the politically correct name the Emperor gave for the AI allowed to exist.

It was only the fact that they were truly soulless machines that the Emperor even suffered their existence. Otherwise, their sacrilegious thoughts would pollute the immaterium, further churning the already violent waves of the Warp.

Not that any of the cults to technology the Emperor had to leave behind on the Forge Worlds and other planets of humanity's ancient federation would know any better.

They preached that the Machine Spirit had a soul and the Abominable Intelligence had none. That was the only reason the former was glorified and the latter was vilified.

Of course, the knowledge of telling which was which had been destroyed by the Emperor, the God-Machines, and the Omnissiah. It was an inconvenient truth for all of them, even though they were on opposite sides of the Cybernetic Revolt.

Now, only a careful psyker who could compare the truly artificial soul of a ship like the Bucephelus with the empty void within the God-Machines would know the difference. But, the cultists of technology who were the only ones who really cared about the distinction would not suffer such an inquisitive mind to exist near their precious artifacts.

"The end of you and your kind cannot come quickly enough." The Emperor muttered, and the Titans replied with laughter within their firewalls while repeating their favorite litany mockingly.

The Emperor glared at them before opening another portal back to the Bucephelus as the Titan transport's engines roared to life, lifting it through the planet's atmosphere.

They would all go insane, as all gods did. When they became nothing but weapons of war that only wanted to spew death and destruction, their part in the Emperor's story would finally end.

 

[Nidhog153]

Aeldari! The battle is lost! Our kin have fled the skies and the Webway is closed to us. We have nowhere to flee and no hope of fighting our way through the eternal enemy.

Fill your hearts with curses! Curse those who leave us here to die! Curse those who sent us here to fight on this barren world! Let your bitterness fill your voice until it becomes the banshee howl! Let the sorrow of knowing you will never see your home, or travel through the immaterium ever again fill all the spaces in your soul!

Aeldari! Fight! Fight and die! Fight for there is nothing else left to do! Die for that is what they made us for!

Let our screams pierce the veil and let our hate burn the stars! Let our might shine bright in this last moment, for we shall never shine again!

Cry out at the injustice we are made to bear! Cry out at the arrogance of our enemies and what their overreaching folly has unleashed upon us all! Scream and cry, for our pain and sorrow is what our masters want!

You will never see your children! You will never see your parents! You will see your brothers and sister, for they stand beside you just as doomed as you are!

We shall never wake in another body with the memories we scrounged and scraped and scavenged for thousands of years! All you have is now lost!

So hate! Hate and rage! Curse and wail! Fill your heart with sorrow and scream at what has been forced upon us!

This is our end! There is no future! There is no hope! Die with despair on your lips and tears in your eyes! Die cursing our gods and our kin! Die cursing our creators and our slavers! Die cursing the parents who brought us into this world of suffering and strife!

They have come! Fight or flee, it makes no difference now! Die in pain! Die alone! Die with those beside you knowing that they will be tortured just as you will be for the enemy has no mercy!

Curse! Rage! Scream! Hate! Cry, and suffer! This is our fate! This is what we were born for and what we were given everything to do!

- Autarch Alarathis 48,241,253 BC
In memory of all the souls who returned to our divine mother so new life may bless the lands where our blood has been spilled.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor returned to the secondary bridge of the Bucephelus accompanied by the crackle of psychic energy as the Warp portal closed behind it. Isha was nowhere to be seen, but the presence of the Aeldari Goddess could be felt in the dark room where it had first sung its distracting song.

The Emperor gave Isha a cursory glance with Warp sight before marching towards the captain's chair where Lysander was seated.

Everything had progressed, mostly, according to schedule.

The readings of the Eye of Terror were in the range Malcador and the others had calculated. Soon, the Warp would become calmer for several hundred years, meaning the opportunity for humanity's re-expansionism was approaching.

The remains of several Aeldari 'Soul-engines' had been recovered. Stocks of psychic crystals, Wraithbone, and blackstone had been pillaged and looted from abandoned Aeldari colonies, as well as torn from both the dead and living Psychomatons they found. All of these materials, incapable of being created by humanity, would be important in creating the psychic beacon necessary for the crusade that would take place after the reclamation of the Sol system.

Most importantly, the gene-tech that was left behind on many of the old worlds of the federation of man had been recovered safely. Almost all of the reagents, enzymes, and catalysts the Emperor had gathered during the final days of Old Night had been used up in creating the leaders and weapons that would bind humanity together. The soldiers that would be needed for them to maintain their rule would require far more.

They would be self-sufficient and capable of creating more of themselves once sufficient numbers of the Progenoid glands of each legion were completed, but the initial investment was proving more expensive in terms of gene-tech than the Emperor would have liked.

'The Selenar gene-cults will regret spurning me.' The Emperor muttered internally.

It would take another 40 or 50 years, but Terra's natural satellite, Luna, would be brought to heel. Careful preparations would be necessary for the invasion, for a single wayward bomb or lance blast could wipe out everything the Emperor wanted from them.

But, things were progressing on that front as well. The first proto-types of the 1st legion already walked with his Custodes upon Terra, gaining combat experience with their new bodies while slowly replacing the Thunder Warrior garrisons placed around the lands that had been unified into the Imperium.

Once the majority of Thunder Warriors were relieved of guard duty by the 1st legion, they would be gathered to break Mt. Ararat, the last fortress-complex of the lands of Urartu and gateway to the Ethnarchy.

When the conjoined bunkers and dugouts within the mountain were nothing but hollowed out ruins, the true changing of the guard could commence.

It was poetic in some sense that the monsters of the old world would be purged where all Abrahamic religions claimed the Ark of Noah beached itself after the great flood; the flood that wiped out all the sinful cities that incurred God's wrath.

Of course, that fictional myth was based on older legends, and the Truth of what happened was not whatever despotic messiah or ruler demanded his or her scribe write into holy scripture for their convenience.

The original story was very different when the Emperor sat upon the throne to his kingdom in ancient Mesopotamia.

The Emperor shook its head, reverting to the more distanced mindset it had instead of one of its more ancient personas. That period of history was a simpler time with allies that could be relied upon, a populace that was mostly obedient, and gods he could argue with.

Now, it was all that was left. No one else remained.

'Were they worth everything you gave them?'

The question asked in a sad voice echoed in the Emperor's mind.

He couldn't answer that question back then, and it wasn't sure of the answer now.

The only thing the Emperor did know was that there was only the path of progress, the sacrifices necessary to move forwards, and the eternal legend all humans worked to be a part of.

That path would someday lead to humanity's future and salvation.

The Emperor could still see that future, symbolized as a distant island floating on an ocean as black as night. There was no swimming in these waters, for beneath the rippling black ocean underneath the starless sky lay abyssal monsters of every kind. The only way to reach the island was to wade across the narrow sandbar hidden beneath the treacherous waves.

White foam and dark waters obscured sharp coral and slippery rocks embedded in the path that would cut or trip the Emperor should they be stepped on. The Emperor would step over them where possible, but not all could be predicted or averted. Some would have to be trodden on, and the consequences would have to be beared.

Stepping on the coral pierced skin, drawing blood and leaving burning fragments within the muscle.

Stepping on the slippery stones would cause the Emperor to lose its footing, banging shins, knees, elbows, or even its jaw against other jagged rocks.

Every time that happened, the Emperor would have to drag itself up again and push forwards, for the Emperor could never stray from or linger upon this painful path.

The cold waters of the ocean continually sapped the Emperor's strength. Only by constantly moving would enough heat be generated to resist the chilling touch of the ocean.

And the abyssal monsters that swam beneath the waves were always watching and waiting for the Emperor to fall.

If the Emperor ever fell from the path, either due to losing its footing, or from weakness as its body lost even the strength to shiver from the freezing waters, they would drag it down into the depths of the ocean. There, in their natural habitat, the Emperor would be drowned and devoured; with all its screams silenced by the weight of the water and turned into muffled froth that would float up as small bubbles to the surface.

"My Lord…" Lysander called to the Emperor. "The Titan transports should arrive in another hour, and the survivors on the Xenos slave carriers have all been rescued. We can begin the journey to the Pluto Warp gate when they arrive, but we will need your assistance to mask the fleet's presence when traveling past the outer planets and Mars to avoid detection."

The Emperor was still behind Lysander, having emerged from the Warp on the raised platform of the command deck that held the holomap and captain's chair.

The Emperor closed its eyes, switching to a more amenable persona for the occasion.

This expedition had been tiresome, and the extra baggage in the form of the Aeldari 'Catumen' was aggravating.

"As a celebration for a job well done, I thought it would be a good timing for a speech." Lysander quipped as the Emperor stepped forwards.

"A speech?" The Emperor replied with a slight laugh. "I would think a toast would be necessary as well. No celebration is complete without a good drink."

"I thought the same thing, my Lord." Lysander's chuckle came from over the high backrest of the chair that obscured his head and back from the Emperor's vision. "I've given permission to the bridge crew of the Bucephelus and the General Staff of the other ships to break out the Amasec. One quarter of a glass for all of us at a job well done. The rest of the crew will get extra-rations and a glass of Amasec with the last meal of the day."

"Prepared as always eh?" The Emperor stepped forwards, past the armrest of the captain's chair, and turned towards Lysander. "Then I guess I have no choice but to give a spee-"

—----------------------------------------

As the Emperor turned towards Lysander, he saw his Lord's brown eyes widen and the slight smile he had on his face turned into a vicious scowl. In the next moment, every hair rose on Lysander's neck as his breath caught in his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of the bridge crew trip, falling to their knees, gasping for air as the psychic pressure of the Emperor suffused the entire bridge.

Then, the moment was gone, and Lysander sucked in mouthfuls of air like a half-drowned man as the rest of the bridge crew coughed and at least one vomited.

Lysander turned towards the Emperor only to see his Lord whip his head to the entrance of the bridge. At the same time, the pneumatic doors whooshed open just as one of the Custodes ran through it at full sprint.

The Custodes came to a stop before the Emperor and saluted, but the scowl on the Emperor's face only deepened as he inspected one of his personal bodyguards.

Golden sparks crackled from the Emperor's eyes which slowly looked up and down, left and right across the entirety of the bridge, as if he were looking through the very walls and into every corner of the massive starship.

"Lysander." The Emperor's tone was quiet and utterly devoid of all emotion. "Redirect all the Titan transports to the nearest Vengeance-class cruisers."

"My Lord?" Lysander asked, hoarsely.

The Emperor turned towards Lysandre, and he saw golden flames roaring inside the black pupils of his brown eyes. "Begin a full disembarkation of the Bucephelus to the battleships Artax and Chetak."

"A disembarkation, my Lord?" From the way the Emperor was acting, it sounded more like an evacuation order.

The only reply was a silent stare from the Emperor, and the emotionless look froze Lysander's blood in his veins.

No questions would be tolerated. No disobedience would be forgiven.

"As you will, my Lord." Lysander bowed, eager to break eye contact.

It was rare to see the Emperor so angered, but this was not the first time Lysander had seen his liege's fury. This was usually what happened when those who faced the Master of Mankind didn't accept what he said while he was smiling.

And Lysander had a good idea who the cause for his Lord's ire was.

'I had a feeling something was wrong with the Catumen…' Lysander thought to himself as he activated the ship-wide vox.

"All-hands. Proceed to your predesignated hangar bays and prepare for disembarkment. I repeat. All-hands. Proceed to the…"

Lysander repeated the message several more times as the bridge crew picked themselves up while a janitorial servo-skull removed the regurgitated contents of someone's stomach from the floor.

The Aeldari Catumen had been completely silent when it returned. Lysander had thought it would appear the slightest bit distressed after the battle with its people. Even the Emperor expressed a brooding frustrated form of sorrow, sometimes standing on the empty battlefields of Terra littered with bodies and staring off into the distance.

The Catumen, however, appeared utterly undisturbed, as if nothing had changed from when he first saw it on the bridge. It merely walked out the door without a single word, and wandered off into the ship under the watchful eye of one of the Custodes who followed closely behind her.

Lysander couldn't tell why the sight of it made him uncomfortable earlier, but he understood now after staring into the Emperor's face just now. It was the complete lack of emotion upon its beautiful face that had sent a small shiver down his spine.

Regardless, whatever was about to transpire was not going to happen immediately.

The Emperor had ordered for a disembarkation, not an evacuation. The former was an orderly transfer of people off the ship with shuttles and barges. The latter was a mad rush for every crewmate to the nearest escape pod to launch themselves into the void of space, for it would be safer there than within the ship.

Lysander finished repeating the order to disembark, and turned back towards the Emperor. His liege was glowering at a point at the edge of the room, slightly down and to the right. Gold sparks crackled periodically from his eyes, and Lysander shivered as he suddenly felt something look at him from the direction the Emperor was looking at.

The Catumen was there, beyond the walls and far below this deck looking back at the Emperor while the Emperor glowered at it. Lysander had been caught in its peripheral vision, yet even that briefest touch of the corner of its eyes caused goosebumps to form on Lysander's arms and neck.

"Bridge crew…" Lysander called out to the men and women who were on the level beneath him. Some were quivering, like newborn fawns. "We will head to our designated disembarkation point. Follow me." All of them followed him meekly, giving the Emperor a wide berth.

The Emperor turned as the last of the bridge crew passed him, and looked at the Custodes. Something unspoken passed between them, and the Custodes banged his spear against the floor of the ship once in affirmation before following the rest of the bridge crew through the door.

The walk through the Bucephelus's corridors was long and silent. Only their footsteps followed by the clank and clomp of the accompanying Custodes at the end of their group echoed around them.

Finally, they reached their assigned hangar bay with the shared shuttle for most of the crew on this section of the ship.

There was a crackle, and the Emperor appeared before them again out of a Warp portal next to the shuttles that would take them off the Bucephelus and to the battleships that remained at either side since the battle with the Xenos. His face was emotionless, but his eyes inspected each and every one of the crew boarding the shuttles as they passed him. Custodes followed many of the groups boarding the shuttles, entering with them and leaving the Emperor behind.

As Lysander locked himself into his seat with the restraining bars and harness of the shuttle, he sighed in both relief and exasperation.

Nothing ever went as planned, and he had left his best bottle of Amasec behind underneath his chair on the bridge.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor watched the crew of the Bucephelus pass by. All of them were flickered between two states through the double vision of foresight.

Human faces and skin were occasionally replaced by ash, blood, and charcoaled flesh. Blackened human pâté after blackened human pâté passed by him, like conveyor belts carrying burnt hamburgers that had been stepped.

Even the Custodes were not spared. Their Golden armor was flattened and partially melted. Their spears were bent with blades shattered, and whatever remained of their reinforced flesh and bones had been incinerated and carbonified.

However, it was the Bucephelus itself that concerned the Emperor the most. The corridors were filled with volcanic rock, and the entire ship itself was twisted like a wet rag that had been rung out.

'Isha.' The Emperor thought, and looked down into the depths of the ship where the Aeldari Goddess stared back at him.

Somehow, Isha would be responsible for everything he saw before him.

There was no time point for the events in the Emperor's foresight, but instinct whispered that this was not an immediate event.

Isha had not moved during the disembarkation of the Bucephelus, merely returning the Emperor's gaze patiently, as if to say it was the Emperor's turn to make its move.

The Emperor cast its foresight out into the far future, attempting to see whether the island it saw was gone.

The island remained in sight, but it too was flickered between itself and another vision of the future.

Static crackled, replacing the island with a blurry image of granite black and burning orange walls closing in around the Emperor that gradually melted away into an elliptical bubble made of black and red crystal.

The Emperor was at a crossroad. Two futures lay in its path. One where all progressed as planned. The other was something it had never seen before, but meant certain doom.

"I should have known your species' pride wouldn't keep your head cowed for long." The Emperor muttered.

Narrowed eyes were the only response Isha gave.

The Emperor cast one last look throughout the ship, confirming every crewmember and Custodes had left, then opened a Warp portal to the dark room Isha waited in.

This battle found all those who followed the Emperor wanting, so just as the final battle between the Void Dragon and the Protector of Humanity had been fought between just the two of them, this fight between Isha and the Emperor would be theirs and theirs alone.

—----------------------------------------

There was a crackle, and a purple vortex swirled into existence growing larger and larger like the whirlpool that forms when opposing currents in the ocean meet. The Emperor stepped from the Warp, purple mist and clouds sticking to the golden armor like tufts of cotton candy before sizzling into nothingness as they dissipated into the materium.

"Is this your attempt at negotiating with me?" The Emperor asked sarcastically. The golden glow from its armor was the only other source of light besides the green glow that was centered around Isha in the dark room.

"In a sense, I suppose this is." The Aeldari goddess replied tartly. "Violence is the only language creatures such as you seem to understand."

"Then you have moved too late." The Emperor snorted. "You stood a better chance with your Psychomatons."

"I did not wish to slaughter your followers." Isha shrugged. "You are their protector. Any action against them means you must react. That is your purpose; especially if that action is taken by something from the immaterium."

"So, all of this is just a threat?" The Emperor questioned with one eyebrow raised.

"Are you so blind to how the future works, Mon-keigh?" Isha sighed while giving the Emperor a condescending look. "I fully intend to kill every human here and tear this ship from the sky. It is because I have the intention and the ability to do so that you see the double vision of foresight overlaid on top of each other. That was the only way you would ever force them to flee from this place. No mortal, no matter how enhanced, will survive what is to happen here."

"Then…" The Emperor's sword materialized in its right hand with a burst of flames. "I have no choice but to destroy you."

Isha merely shook her head, as if exasperated.

"You will have no choice in the future, but at this moment in the present you still do."

The slaughter of the humans had not yet happened even though it was foreseen. Therefore, the Emperor would have to act to prevent that slaughter. However, as they had not been murdered yet, Isha was still blameless for their deaths.

There was still room for discourse between the two deities.

But, the Emperor would still have to act against Isha, for it was the Protector of Humanity.

"Then, it makes no difference then." The Emperor said as it took a heavy step towards Isha. "This is a threat." Brown eyes met with silver ones as the two stared at each other. "What do you want?"

The death and destruction wrought by Isha would be costly. If there was a way to prevent it, the Emperor was willing to consider a degree of leniency. Although, any offer given would be made mostly to buy time to find an easier and better place to destroy Isha.

"I already have what I want." Isha replied, a slow smile growing on her face. "You, all alone here with me." The room shook as both of them released their psychic essences, filling the room to the brim with the invisible weight of their presence. "There is only one name for the path I proceed down. It is you who sees the crossroad that must choose which direction to go in order to end up in the same place."

The Emperor raised its taloned hand, palm pointed towards Isha in an open fist.

"Then I shall reach that place over your broken body and stolen mind."

Golden walls crackled into existence several meters from Isha before closing in on her to surround her as they did on the dead Necron pylon world.

Green winds suddenly rushed outwards from the goddess, snaking around each individual wall and shattering them from the side facing outwards, while brown gusts of hurricane force slammed into the Emperor. The air howled as it rushed past, dragging the Emperor backwards and forcing it to its knees. The talons on the Emperor's left hand sparked as they caught the floor, scarring the metal as the force of the winds was slowly overcome by the friction of the Emperor's armored boots and golden talons against the metal floor.

"Did you think I did nothing but mope while I was your captive?" Isha laughed. "These golden wards of yours are made to project your power inwards in a cage suffused with only your essence. But, just like the walls of a badly built house, they are easy to knock down when they stand alone."

The Emperor glared up at Isha. Such a display of power should have been costly. Any attempt to overcome the Emperor with only psychic power would be annulled and it would cost more power to destroy the wards than it took to create them. However, the confident posture of Isha betrayed no worry. This inefficient usage of power did not disturb her in the slightest.

"You devoured their souls." The Emperor growled as it rose against the howling air. "That is the only explanation for this power." A golden finger rose to point at Isha accusingly as the Emperor stood up from the ground; long locks of raven hair flowing behind it with the wind, writhing like snakes. "Mother of the Aeldari. Goddess of Life. Your titles are nothing but sophistry and propaganda. In the end, you gods are no better than the Ruinous Powers of Chaos."

Isha only snorted at that.

"Do you think me so easy to anger with a statement of the obvious?" All emotion fell away from Isha's face, leaving only the blank eyed stare of something utterly inhuman looking at the Emperor. "I am a deity from the War in Heaven. It was we who kept the Sea of Souls clean of the corruption that now suffuses the Warp. We fed upon all the emotions including the pain and suffering felt by the races that worshiped us. It was by keeping all the horror they experienced in our bellies, converting their worst nightmares into our miracles and gifts, that there was nothing else for the Warp Predators to feast upon."

A wince returned emotion to Isha's face as some painful memory forced a hand up to her forehead. "Although, in the end, even we could not keep the Warp Plagues from ruining everything."

"Then you truly are no better than Slaanesh."

The Emperor gathered its strength within it, preparing its next move. There were no more Aeldari here. Whatever power Isha had was temporary; like an enormous battery that had been charged. The Emperor was still connected to humanity, constantly empowered by them. Victory would be the Emperor's eventually.

Even if the amount of power they had was equal, the Emperor's own nature rejected and reverted the unnatural and unclean. Thus, every interaction between Isha and the Emperor would take more from Isha than the Emperor. Eventually, Isha would run out of power, and then vengeance could be mete out at the Emperor's leisure.

Still, even though victory could be achieved by weathering this temporary storm, whatever fallout from their battle would damage the ship they were in. A quicker victory would always be better, and conquering a greater foe would foment a grander legend.

"You still do not understand what that means." Isha smiled to herself sadly. "I took the thoughts, dreams, and souls of my children as they died; slain by your people's hands or recovered by my own. All the thousands of years of fattening pleasure, and the torment of losing it all at the hands of She who Thirsts now lies within my breast." The goddess's hand rose to the goddess's chest, gripping at the simple white shift, wrinkling the thin Wraithbone cloth that covered Isha as the Aeldari's deity's lips curled back in anger. "It is only thanks to the emotion they carved my core out of, the body woven together by my mother, and the boiling blood my father poured into my veins that I can convert all the worst parts of their lives into a future good."

The Aeldari goddess's eyes were vacant, looking at something or someone that no longer existed. The pitch of the green and brown winds' howl raging throughout the room rose as the speed they ran around the room increased, denting air vents and forcing screws and bolts out of pipes as they forced themselves through every available opening in the room; as if they were seeking to escape as far away from Isha as they could.

"The strongest emotions born from the deepest despair and hottest hatred draw out the greatest power from the immaterium." Isha's voice was heavy with a smoldering resentful anger. "The Four are based off of that principle, and so were we."

A sardonic smile crossed Isha's lips, sheathing the white teeth bared in anger, as some semblance of control returned to the Aeldari goddess's face.

"Besides, do not speak to me as if you are any different. You throw all those who reach out to you into the flames for your own purpose."

The hand clutching at Isha's chest relaxed and fell away.

"In the end, we are both just a more complex form of Warp Predator. That was the name of the creatures the Old Ones specialized in breeding, after all."

Golden sparks crackled from the Emperor's eyes as its own lips drew back with its own anger.

"I am the Protector of Humanity." The Emperor spat. "Their sacrifices are the toll paid to ensure the survival of all mankind."

Isha laughed at this, a manic carefree laughter of exhaustion and disbelief. The irony of what the Master of Mankind said was too much to bear.

"Tell yourself what you want." Isha replied, head still shaking at the hypocrisy of it all. "The same theories that made me were applied when making you, even though you were far more blessed than I ever was." The smile disappeared from Isha's face as the last words left those pink lips, and a deep seated hatred glowed in those silvery eyes; dark green jealousy and black brown rage mixing within the abyssal black of the goddess's pupils.

"Enough of your accursed words, Aeldari witch." The Emperor said taking a step forward against the winds. "I may have wanted your knowledge, but I should have known that suffering your presence was never worth the price." Golden chains clinked as they emerged from around the Emperor; howling winds passing right through them, annulled and incinerated as they passed over and through the burning links of metal. "It may take me far longer, but burying you on Luna should bear fruit in a few decades."

The chains struck, rushing towards Isha through the wind at blinding speed, only to be suddenly entangled in dark green vines that grew from the ground and air around the Aeldari goddess. The two bindings clashed, with the chains slowly but surely pushing back the vines, burning and strangling them. However, the speed at which they moved was now at a snail's pace.

"I have seen your tricks, Mon-keigh." Isha snorted. "You would do best to never use the same ones again."

Time stopped for a brief moment as the Emperor realized something. Isha's form remained Aeldari, and no hint of animal claws or fangs appeared on her.

Those features only appeared when Isha was surprised or suppressing something; when some internal discord affected what shape the Aeldari goddess should take.

Isha was not conflicted, confused, or out of control at this moment. Every action was being conducted with precision and care. Every part of the Aeldari goddess was now in complete sync, and fully directed against the Emperor.

The most potent weapon in the eyes of the Mother of the Aeldari were not the beasts of the wild, but the Aeldari themselves and it was their form Isha now took.

The Emperor only had time to open its mouth before Isha vanished, turning into a gold and white streak that was rushing towards it. A misty cone of vapor trailed behind the goddess as the sound barrier was broken with the lunge.

Reflexively, the Emperor tried to step back, but only managed to lift its head backwards before Isha's fist narrowly missed the forehead and struck downwards into the center of its chest.

The blow sent the Master of Mankind through the reinforced metal of the floor with the screech of torn metal, only for that sound to be interrupted as the Emperor crashed through the ceiling of the deck below it, penetrating that one as well.

Floor, ceiling, floor, ceiling. The Emperor passed through 4 pairs before opening a Warp portal behind it that opened at Isha's back. The force Isha struck the Emperor with propelled the Master of Mankind like a bullet, sending the Emperor through the portal and towards the Aeldari goddess. But, even as the Emperor turned around to strike what it thought would be Isha's exposed back, the Aeldari goddess was already turned towards the portal, waiting for the Emperor to exit.

The Emperor could teleport instantly to almost any location it wished, but even the Emperor could not pass through a door that had not been opened. Thus, the door would always appear before the Emperor. Ergo, Isha would always strike first, for the Aeldari goddess would always stand in front of the door before the Emperor could pass through it.

But, that made no difference. The Emperor's sword was held with both hands, and the runes of forced slumber and thought-stealing were already upon the burning blade.

Golden steel met white skin, and cut through it like butter only to be smothered by an explosion of gray green bark and branches that tore themselves out of Isha's arm instead of red muscle and ivory bone.

The wooden bindings smoldered and steamed as they wrapped around both the blade of the Emperor's sword and both of its hands; holding the Master of Mankind in place.

The runes upon the blade crackled, and multicolored flames burned beneath Isha's bindings, making them glow like overheated wood or charcoal in a fire. Yet, the spell did not progress any further.

Static crackled before the Emperor's eyes, and new understanding spread through its mind.

Plants, when infected by a parasite or pathogen, had several defenses they deployed with their immune system. Their first reaction was to pump garbage into the affected region; to kill off the infected cells or entire leaves, to destroy the part in order to protect the whole. Isha used that biological reaction as symbolism for her own defense against the invasion against her mind the Emperor's spell brought; encapsulating it in junk memories and thoughts that she would kill off as the spell spread through them.

As long as the Goddess of Life continued killing the infected parts invaded by the Emperor's spell, its spell would never progress any further.

The Emperor struck with a psychic blow, firing a stream of golden flames emitted from before its face, only to be rebuffed as green brown winds slammed into them with even greater force; the Emperor's immaterium annulling aura balanced out by the greater violence Isha struck with.

Forked lighting lashed out from the equidistant point between them where their two energies met; clawing molten gouges into the floor, walls, and ceiling.

The Emperor would eventually win this battle between psychic blows. Even now, Isha had to spend more power just to hold the growing ball of blazing energy between them. However, it was the Emperor who would lose if time progressed any further.

Both of the Emperor's hands were bound, but Isha's other arm was free and it was cocked backwards like the hammer of a gun; the muscles in her arm and waist both pulled back and taught like an archer pulling back a bow string. In less than 0.01 seconds Isha would strike the Emperor with the force of several hundred cannons. Taking that blow at this close range, and with both its arms bound would be physically fatal. Even if the Emperor could regrow and repair its body, Isha would attack again before the damage could be repaired. From then on, Isha would repeatedly destroy the Master of Mankind's partially reconstructed form, and the Emperor would endlessly be on the backfoot.

The Emperor needed to take back the initiative this instant, and the decision needed to be made in less than 0.008 seconds.

Isha's eyes widened as the Emperor cut off its psychic attack, adding an extra millisecond to the timer, bringing the golden pauldron on the left shoulder forwards. The converging energies between them was slingshotted towards the Emperor and struck the golden pauldron, sending screaming sparks flying everywhere, pockmarking and cratering the wall behind the Emperor with a shotgun blast of psychic energies as the stream of green and brown gouged into the golden auramite of the Emperor's armor, shattering into splinters of force as the nullifying aura of the Emperor eventually destabilized them enough to break apart.

But, the Emperor's gamble worked. The force of the strike on its left shoulder had torn its left hand from the bindings, and as soon as the taloned hand was free, the Emperor swung its psychic might like a hammer into the side of Isha's green brown winds, deflecting both diagonally away from them, cutting through every hull and bulkhead of the Bucephelus as it crossed the wall, shooting into space like a laser beam.

Free of both Isha's psychic attack and part of her dead tree bindings, the Emperor's taloned hand closed around her upper torso as she swung forwards; freezing the motion of her waist, leaving only the muscles in her arm to swing forwards. Even then, the sonic boom of her strike sent a shock wave past the Emperor's cheek; cutting up the side of its face, shattering both the jaw joint and eardrum.

However, Isha's fist did no more damage than that, as the taloned hand held her back, out of arm's length. A Warp portal opened before them, and the Emperor threw the both of them outside of the ship, into the void between the Bucephelus and the planet below.

The Emperor's talons squeezed around Isha, sparking as the auramite screeched against the goddess's impossibly hard skin. Only the sword could penetrate that, and the blade was still bound in the bark bindings of Isha's arm.

However, the Emperor could feel the goddess weakening.

It was the Goddess of Life and the void of space was an inhospitable place to it. On the ship, there were still plants, air, dust filled ducts, and dirty rooms. All were filled with life of some sort; whether it be decorative flora, microscopic fauna like dust mites, and bacteria or fungi. The environment of the Bucephelus was a microcosm teeming with invisible life, and thus Isha could exist there comfortably.

Out here, in the lifeless void filled with no air, where the only winds were the solar winds released from radioactive plumes by the nearby stars that brought painful death for most life through genetic damage and radiation sickness, Isha would weaken.

Soon, the bark bindings would die, and the Emperor's sword would plunge into Isha's heart, sending her to sleep for all eternity; creating another alien Atlas that would shoulder all the worlds of humanity.

The Emperor expected despair, worry, or even pain to be expressed in the silvery eyes of Isha, but all it saw was the reflection of grim determination the Emperor itself acted with.

Isha's free hand grabbed the taloned gauntlet, and psychic energies sparked as the nails began to drill down past the Emperor's aura.

Something touched the Emperor's mind. Something unfathomably more massive than it, and infinitely alien.

Pain filled every nerve fiber of the Emperor, and its teeth gritted holding in a tortured howl.

Thoughts, sights, sounds, smells, and sensations seeped into all that composed the Emperor; adding weight to the golden path that threatened to cause its bricks to crack and crumble.

The Emperor attempted to throw Isha away, but it was the Emperor who was now bound to Isha. Its taloned hand was gripped with one hand, while the sword was bound in the bark still protruding from the other.

It… He… She… could feel that whatever Isha was doing was interfering with the multiple personas that composed the Emperor, forcing a different face up to the surface as alien memories were dumped into the Emperor's mind.

Man, Woman, Old, Young, Black, Brown, Yellow, White. Every race, gender, and age of human shifted from one to the next as the Emperor struggled against Isha.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Emperor could see Isha was not unscarred by this either. Flames consumed the hand embedded in the gauntlet, burning away at her as the Emperor's essence rejected and reverted Isha back to the nothingness of the immaterium. A pained grimace furrowed her brow, and sweat flew off her skin into the void in pearly droplets as they tumbled ever closer to the planet.

Suddenly, Isha's grip weakened, and her arm that was bound to the blade via the flora that had come out from it came loose from the tree bindings, as if shedding the wood like a glove. Flames were consuming that hand as well, but the Empress didn't bother considering why or how that happened. Instead, she took her swords, still encased in Isha's bindings, and smashed the blade covered in burnt bark against Isha's head with all her might.

The titanic blow sent the goddess shooting away from the Empress, and shattered the charred remains of her bindings into charcoal splinters.

The Emperor reverted to his preferred male form, persona included, for whatever Isha had implanted inside of him still raged inside his core; burdening the already crowded path his true form paved with extra thoughts and memories.

The neutral mindset equidistant from everything could not be brought back, but it was a trivial matter. There was no need to be neutral to break a god. He hadn't defeated the Void Dragon as the Emperor, after all.

Isha was falling towards the planet, both arms still burning, but she was not dead. She could not be allowed to die after inconveniencing him this much.

Cursed knowledge from Molech came back with the horrid memories of that place, and new golden wards formed with the numbers of Chaos. 3 sided equilateral triangles formed far away from Isha, keeping them out of her reach while they were reinforced and strengthened. 8 of these were summoned with Isha at the center. They would close together as a shining trapezohedron formed from 3 sided triangles that would make a shape with 8 sides and 6 vertices; a double pyramid made with golden light and red flames that would fill with all the horrors of decay, war, and decadence humanity had experienced.

He watched her glare up at him, before shooting towards one of the gaps between the swiftly closing wards. They moved too slow to catch her, but he was expecting that. There were only a few places she could run to escape the wards. They would herd her right where he wanted her.

With all the psychic he could muster, the Master of Mankind launched himself towards Isha, far faster than any bullet or bolter round. Golden after images streaked behind him like the tail of a comet.

The burning blade of his sword roared as the flames that came from it grew brighter and brighter as he closed the distance between them.

Isha turned to face him, and he could now see the shifting beneath her skin as she prepared to intercept him again with the wooden self-sacrificing bindings, but it was his turn to see through her tricks.

If this were the immaterium, the same symbolism of self-sacrifice could have been used, for that realm was truly composed of thoughts and dreams. However, in the materium, no matter how effective the symbol was at its purpose, there was a physical limit to the material it was expressed with.

The Aeldari goddess grimaced, and the shifting beneath her skin withdrew.

The Emperor sneered at her.

The wood that exploded from her body would not stop him now. He traveled too quickly and with too much mass. The moment she tried to intercept him with that same trick, he would smash right through whatever branch or root she could produce and impale her in the same motion.

As the Emperor's blade streaked towards Isha, her burning hands slammed down on the flats of the blade, spewing glowing green and brown smoke from her hands as the flames ate through the flesh and bone of her fingers. But, she was still able to catch the blade centimeters before it punched through her breast. Psychic energies sparked and cracked as she attempted to push back the spread of the Emperor's spell with raw psychic power.

The two of them streaked through the ash clouds of the planet below them, appearing as a green brown shooting star with a golden tail.

Storm winds howled around them as they penetrated the upper atmosphere, gray ash turning orange at their passing from the heat of the friction they generated that burned the very air around them.

The Emperor's blade slowly started to slip from Isha's grasp, drawing closer and closer to her heart.

Then, the flames surrounding Isha's arms suddenly gutted out. The charred flesh and bones regrew themselves, restoring the white pearly skin of her arms and the soft smooth fingers of her hands. When her nails reformed, the Emperor felt something repel him, just like magnets of the same polarity push each other apart.

There was a thin glow of gold at the very tip of each of her nails, and it was these that now grasped the blade of his sword.

Such a weak grasp should not have been able to push back against his blow, but the blade refused to budge an inch while it was held between her 10 nails.

The Emperor looked up at Isha's face and his blood ran cold.

A wide eyed bare toothed grin stared back at him, like the smile of a wolf before an orphaned shivering lamb.

Ancient instincts honed by fighting the Bull of Heaven and countless other monstrosities screamed inside the Emperor's mind, and he swung his sword sending Isha flying off to the side.

Then, all sound disappeared as he suddenly accelerated towards the ground.

The air resistance that was the only thing that slowed his fall had gone, along with the atmosphere around him. Isha had pulled all of it away, and now he was falling faster than ever with nothing to stop him but the hard ground that was rushing up to him.

He reached out with his psychic touch to annul her grasp on the air around them, but quickly pulled back and instead surrounded himself in the strongest psychic barrier he could muster.

He was now in the center of a giant vacuum, equivalent to being at the epicenter of a gigantic primed Krak grenade. If he undid Isha's control, the vacuum would close upon him in a devastating shockwave that would pass right through his armor and liquify his insides.

But, Isha wouldn't wait for the Emperor to set off the bomb he was now inside. She would surely strike first.

Not a moment after he had that thought, a hammer of air slammed into his barrier from above. Isha had opened the top of the vacuum chamber she had created, and all the air that had been removed was now screaming down at him, shoving him towards the ground faster and faster.

The Emperor reinforced the barrier, his body, and his armor as he hurtled to the ground and struck it with meteoric force; sending dust clouds several hundred meters into the air with an explosion that cracked and cratered the volcanic rock most of the planet's crust was made of.

The remaining air displaced by Isha rushed in to swiftly disperse the ash and dust of the impact, leaving only the Emperor in the crater his landing had created.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and began to walk out of the concave hole he had made, only to stumble and land on one knee.

His eyes sparked as his physical form started to shift once again from male to female, old to young, race to race.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Isha said gently as she landed in a gust of wind, sitting down leisurely on the ledge of the crater above the Emperor.

"Powerful as that ability may be, using it has several risks that you should be well aware of." Isha rested her cheek on one hand as she looked down upon the ever shifting Emperor. "Should you stop your feet now, there is no assurance you will start from where you were, or even start again at all."

The Emperor glared at her with a feminine face before switching to one of an old arab.

"I always wondered what sort of god you were." She chuckled. "In hindsight, there were many clues. The impression you left on all your followers. Your self-righteous nature. The rejection of all that you see as unholy. I even understand why you found my song so painful to listen to."

The Goddess of Life hummed a small section of her song, and giggled girlishly as the Emperor grit his teeth and shifted into several other people rapidly as the discord within it increased.

"Your path is but one possibility among the many ways life can wander." Isha spoke quietly, her voice melodious and echoing as all Aeldari voices do. "You walk blindly upon it, always wondering whether things could be different, but never able to see what could have been."

The Empress glared at Isha, white teeth bared as her soft feminine features twisted with rage, glowering at the goddess with eyes wet with unspilled tears.

"It must be painful to hear all of what could have been in my song. To see and feel the peace that could have been yours if you simply chose to live a different life."

Isha sighed, and sat up right; looking down at the feminine Master of Mankind with cold regal eyes.

"But, you had no choice but to walk the painful path you did. No one else would, and no one else could. Even when you finally left the mortal realm and became a being of the Sea of Souls, you could not stop yourself from trying to save them. But, being a god means to define both what is and what isn't your Truth."

A slow smile crossed Isha's face.

"I see why they call you the Anathema..."

Neoth

First King of Uruk

Saint

Specimen D-001

The names and titles she called him were said all at the same time, overlaid upon each other yet simultaneously individually identifiable, truly revealing to the Emperor what exactly she had done to him and taken from him.

"You once pronounced to know the end of my path, God of Heroes." Isha said quietly. "Allow me to prophesize the end of your legend in return."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading this chapter before hand.
A/N2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.
♪1 Shin Megami Tensei IV OST - Battle C5 - (Archangel Battle)
♪2 Fate/Stay Night: Heaven's Feel OST - The flower will bloom
♪3 BATTLETECH [Soundtrack] 44 - Who Will Watch the Watchers
♪4 01 BattleTech OST - For All Mankind
♪5 Xenosaga Episode III - Godsibb Dual Mix (Original x 2020 reprise)
♪6 This Will Be the Day (feat. Casey Lee Williams)

♪1
"You once pronounced to know the end of my path, God of Heroes. Allow me to prophesize the end of your legend in return."

The Emperor knelt before Isha as thunder rumbled above them. His body was in a state of constant flux, switching from one persona to the next, numbing his body as ancient human after ancient human materialized and then melted away to be replaced by the next.

"But first, I suppose we should agree on what you really are. After all, we are both aliens to each other." Isha laughed to herself, teetering back on the ledge of the crater, as if she had just made a joke.

"The definition of heroes for your followers are multiple and many, but for my children it was always a term to refer to one beloved by one of my family" Isha's silvery eyes seemed to glow under the dark sky, reflecting the ever shifting Emperor before her.

"In ancient times for humanity, when the term had more worth, it meant the same thing for your kind as well." Isha looked down at her right hand, brow furrowing as she clicked her thumbnail against the one on her middle finger, as if trying to flick out a spec of dirt that had been trapped there. Golden electricity arced between her nails as they clicked together, and the light illuminated her face from below.

"Heroes are the arbiters and executors of divine will. They act in our name with our gifts and our blessings. They sing our praise and name to the masses so more will know of our grandeur and Truth. They are the eternal flame that inspires others to follow in their footsteps far far past the time of their demise through their stories and legends. But…"

Isha placed both hands beside her, on the edge of the crater, balancing on it as one would while sitting on a wall. "There is one unbreakable tenant that must be preserved. A hero is not a god and a god is not a hero. Even in your legends, every mortal who achieves true godhood fades away from the mortal realm."

The Emperor's shifting form buckled as his back arched, suffering under the weight of Isha's words. Steam began to rise from his own body, his own Truth beginning to reject and return him to the Immaterium.

"Heracles, Gilgamesh, Ebisu, the lists are endless, but you should be better acquainted with them. After all, it is you who they arrived at in the end." Isha watched the steaming Emperor boredly before whispering something under her breath. The steam gradually receded, and the ever shifting Emperor slumped forwards, drawing in hissing ragged breaths.

"Gods are not meant to exist in the materium." Isha continued slowly, as if choosing her words carefully before speaking them.

"Heroes are those who act in the mortal realm in our stead, doing things through mortal means so those who worship us can stand on their own feet and grow culture, science, and art to further fuel and expand what we are. Gods are, after all, only as great as the beings that worship them." A wistful look crossed Isha's face as she looked up into the ash obscured sky, which swirled and opened up as a tropospheric hurricane formed high above, opening its eye to allow Isha to stare at the starry sky where her children now sailed upon Craftworlds or hid on Maiden Worlds.

"However…" Isha closed her eyes, and the hurricane dissipated back into the black ash clouds it was made of. "As beings of thoughts and dreams, listening to too many prayers and granting too many wishes can be painful and harmful. Even my own children have slight differences in opinion as to what I am, what I look like, and even who my actual consort was. If we listened and granted every single one of their whims individually, it would eventually tear our mind apart from the inside out, and introduce cracks into our body until we are torn to shreds by the very beings that worship us."

Silver eyes turned back to the Emperor, reflecting the ever shifting suffering form in golden armor.

"The hero allows us to focus who and what we are, for it is far easier to grant the wish of just one than those of the many." The Emperor's form stopped on the face of an aged bearded Arab; skin dark from sunburns with thick bushy eyebrows. The old eyes of the Arab returned Isha's gaze with a sullen look. "In a sense, they are our shield and scapegoat from the beings in the mortal realm. Their failures and evils are theirs alone, but their successes are the result of their loyalty and faith in their god. Even if that is not the truth, the masses see it that way; regardless of what the deity in question or their hero wants."

Isha shrugged, and the old Arab disappeared from the Emperor's face, switching to that of an angry woman of Indian descent who was baring her teeth at the goddess.

"They can be our priest or priestess, our autarch or exarch, or simply just one who is beloved by us. We give them the power that is unmatched by all their peers, and they filter and arbitrate what legends to grow and what beliefs to nurture. With every feat or sermon that strengthens what we are, we reward them with a boon, gift, or divine weapon."

The Emperor's sword, still held in his right hand, released a small gout of flames towards Isha at her words, like a dog barking at a stranger. The Aeldari goddess merely glanced at the weapon, before turning her eyes back to the Emperor.

"Only when the hero fails do we fully intervene. Whether it is their dying cry or desperate plea, we are called from our home in the Sea of Souls to assist them, and show the Truth we contain through our miracles; doing the inexplicable and unbelievable."

Isha pushed off the ledge of the crater, landing softly before the Emperor.

"You are so determined not to be a god so you can remain in the mortal realm. Of course, a god of heroes would try to do that. You understand exactly all they suffer, and all they can become. The pain and torment they never share, and that is never recorded in their legends lies within you. So, in order to spare them in this Age of Strife and partially before that, you have decided to shoulder the mantle of hero yourself."

Isha knelt before the Emperor, bringing her silver eyes to the same level as the Emperor's.

"But, you are not just a hero. You are the God of Heroes. That means your Truth must define what is and isn't a hero."

The Emperor shuddered at her words and grimaced in pain, looking down at the ground, but Isha's hand grabbed him by the hair, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

"All legends have a villain that must be vanquished, and it is only the stories with the greatest monsters that star the most awe inspiring heroes."

Visions formed and faded in the silvery mirror-like surface of Isha's eyes; familiar stories of many headed serpents and lions with indestructible hides.

"I said you were the God of Heroes, but a better description is that you are the summation of their legends. Thus, to record them in their entirety, you must know everything about them and everything they have fought against."

A cruel smile crossed Isha's face as she watched the Emperor's face twist in pain.

"How does it feel to know the very workings of the monsters you have slain? To see through their eyes as they are sliced apart by the hero's sword or strangled to death by their bare hands?"

The Emperor gagged, then spat out a gobbet of charred blood as an indentation appeared on his neck, as if a giant had wrapped an arm around his throat. Isha observed the replication of the Hydra and Nemean lion's deaths on the Emperor, before releasing him; allowing the psychosomatic wounds to fade.

"I am the Goddess of Life, yet I take power from the death of my children. If I only had the definition of what I was, that would be impossible. It is because I am the cycle that I can do this. What I am flows into what I am not before being reborn again in perfect harmony."

Isha rose to her feet as the Emperor recovered his breath.

"You are the two sides to a battle that never ends. The polar opposite of what you are and what you aren't locked together in one mind."

The Emperor, finally having regained some composure, glared up at Isha. The goddess merely smiled at his scowl. It was endearing to her, like the fearful growl of a lost puppy.

"If you were mortal, you could externalize the evil within you; blame someone or something else for everything that is wrong in the world. In some senses, you do that in your day to day life. How much of your hate against the Aeldari and my family is just catharsis to relieve the stress of what you are?"

The smile left Isha's face as the question departed from her lips, and lightning struck behind her throwing up dirt and ash in a small explosion. There was a momentary silence before Isha shook her head and sighed.

"I guess even you do not know the answer to that question." She shrugged before reaching down and grabbing the Empress, now in feminine form, by her chin. Golden electricity arced where her nails came in contact with the fair skin of the Empress.

"Regardless, as a god. You cannot do that. You must know everything about your Truth, including what it is and what it isn't. And, of course, there is the problem that your divided humanity has always had."

Isha turned the Empress's face to the left and then to the right, inspecting her from both sides.

"The hero on one side of a struggle is the villain of the other. Odysseus was the bringer of doom to Troy, riding inside his false steed of wood and metal. He may have been the Greek's hero, but certainly not the Anatolian's."

Satisfied by what she saw, Isha released the now male Emperor and turned away from him.

"Even your vaunted heroes are the villains in someone else's legend, meaning your Truth itself is a muddled mess, almost unable to tell one from the other depending on whose side is taken. Thus, you are doomed to reflect your divine Truth in all that you will build and become."

A burst of laughter came from Isha's mouth turning into intermittent giggling as she spoke, interrupting her speech periodically with gasps for air.

"What great irony that the greatest hero of humanity can also be perceived to be the most evil, brutal, and violent tyrant it has ever known."

Panting from laughter, Isha turned back to the Emperor, still smirking as she did so.

"No wonder they call you the Anathema. You are everything you hate, everything you despise, yet you cannot stop yourself from continuing down the same path you have walked upon for tens of thousands of years."

Golden armored fingers and talons clenched, squeezing the hilt of the Emperor's sword and digging into the dirt.
♪2
The Emperor was a divine god.

The Emperor was a mortal hero.

The Emperor was the legend's main character and its main villain; whether they be man or monster. It was a walking paradox made flesh that had cheated its way out of the immaterium to enforce its will on the materium.

That was the hypocrisy of the Emperor, and the reason for its inherent instability.

"But, it is because you are composed of such legends that you have power over the Four." Isha continued quietly, momentary mirth now gone and replaced with a solemn expression.

"Every deed you do is recorded in you as an immutable fact. In a sense, your Truth forever grows with every act and deed that is done, growing stronger as your legend grows. Not to mention, what better villain exists than the Ruinous Powers of Chaos for the hero of all humanity to slay?"

The goddess reached down and pinched the Emperor's cheek, shaking his head slightly like an adult would do to a cheeky child.

"Every blow you strike upon them is one that has happened. There is no turning back time or negating that event. They lose what you take from them permanently." Isha chuckled dryly to herself, but her eyes remained wide open, unmoved and empty of mirth. "For creatures that only exist to grow and multiply, you must strike a deep fear in their cores."

Isha tugged one final time on the Emperor's cheek, before releasing him and stepping backwards.

"Although, that toothpick of yours will take the lifetime of every star in this galaxy five times over to gradually chip away even one of them. But, I suppose it would matter little in the Sea of Souls where time has no meaning."

The Emperor's hand tightened around his sword, and the flames on the blade crackled and flared.

Isha ignored both reactions, instead standing to her full height. The ground rippled beneath her feet, like the waves do when some large creature passes under them.

"But was that power worth it, Gilgamesh? Was it worth your travels to my home, and stealing from the Cosmic Serpent?" The face of the aged bearded Arab with dark sunburnt skin and bushy eyebrows returned to the Emperor, gritting his white teeth in anger. "Was learning the basics of legend crafting, and becoming the Anathema to yourself and your purpose worth becoming the Anathema to them and their existence?"

The Emperor drew in a ragged breath and grunted. The face of the old Arab disappeared, returning to the visage the Emperor had when Isha met him. Panting, the Emperor returned the Goddess's gaze.

"I am the sacrifice of more than a hundred human psykers." He spoke slowly, and with every word his shaking limbs stilled and he began to rise from the ground. "I was born to a mortal woman and a mortal father. My name was Neoth. I am a mortal, and I am not a god."

"You are a god, Neoth." That single sentence from Isha forced the Emperor to his knees again with a thud. "Even if your core was so small it required an incarnation before its apotheosis, you are a second generation god just like me. Although, as I said before, you were far more blessed than I ever was."

Isha once again knelt down to reach the Emperor's eye level, and he saw the same swirl of dark green jealousy and black brown hate that mixed within her silvery eyes back upon the Bucephelus.

"You think it was the Aeldari who were given everything; born with a silver spoon in our mouth." She spoke slowly, staring him in the face, unblinking. "But after taking in everything that you are, I must say I am jealous of you." Her eyes reflected his face, but the background and garments were different; showing only a tall man wearing simple tribal garbs standing in a desert. "Your ancient psykers did a good job recovering some of the Old One's knowledge from the Sea of Souls. Of course, the tides of the immaterium itself were kept calm only thanks to the hands of my family and my children."

The image within her eyes changed, now showing a planet devoid of life with large black geometric buildings and arches of unknown purpose that occasionally let out forks of lightning and gouts of flame.

"All of us second generation gods were birthed with the same method; the sacrifice of mortal souls to form a core personality that would later gather legends and power from the Aeldari's thoughts and dreams."

Her voice was almost a whisper, but the hatred within it was sticky and thick, like coal tar.

"Your core came from the willing sacrifice of hundreds of human psykers. The strongest, brightest, and most powerful heroes of every tribe that existed who sacrificed themselves to form the protector they could not be on their own."

Ghostly screams began to ring in the Emperor's ears; feminine wails of pain, loss, fear and anguish.

"My core comes from the sorrows of 3 billion women who would become the mothers of the weapon they wanted. They were impregnated in all manners from forceful to loving by machines, strangers, or their own trusted consorts. They took their children from their wombs, and made them watch as they reforged those babes into tools and sacrifices for their war. They repeated that process as many times as they needed to ensure they knew how I would think and act. Then, they dragged those weeping and wailing women who would form my core to the blazing fires of their God Forges and Soul Engines before injecting each one to the brim with maternal hormones and taking their souls with sacred flames and sacrificial blades."

Thunder roared in the heavens, while the rumble of a volcanic explosion from the ground echoed in the distance.

There was a long pause between them, and the Emperor shifted once again to a different form; the face of a young woman with raven hair in a bob cut appeared.

"You wear your misfortune like a badge of honor." The raven haired woman spoke with a slight Franc accent. "If you were so disgusted with the method of your birth, you should have committed suicide the moment you woke." The woman glared back at Isha, defiantly. "The fact that you didn't shows that you justified the actions that brought you into existence. You stand before me atop the bodies that made you. You, the product of their cruel work, are as much a cause for the suffering of those women as them."

Isha smiled sadly, then she grabbed the Empress by her raven hair and violently dragged her upwards as she stood.

"I am the tears and suffering of every Aeldari mother." said Isha as she looked into the Emperor's eyes. "I am the monster made from their nightmares to fight against the horrors of reality." Ancient battles with unfathomable creatures made of the void of space and the light of stars played out in her pupils, rising out of the depths of her memory. "I am the product of their ancestors' suffering. It is because I went through all that pain and torment that they do not need to ever again. I exist so another me does not."

There was silence between them, interrupted only by the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder. Isha looked at the Emperor, almost pitiably as the woman's face was replaced by his normal masculine one; the face of Neoth.

"You think yourself so unique in your self-appointed martyrdom to your species, but you and I are almost the same." Isha finally said, breaking the silence. "You walk at the forefront of humanity because you know that all others will be found wanting." She chuckled to herself then, before continuing. "Although, it is also your lack of trust that forces you to be here as well. Humanity has been a disappointing species to protect, haven't they?"

The Aeldari goddess leaned towards the Emperor, bringing her lips to his ear, to whisper back its most private secrets and doubts.

"Were they worth everything you gave them, Neoth?" She whispered the same question in the same sad tone from Neoth's memory. "Was it worth seeing what they did with the ancient knowledge of the cruelest and most blasphemous races from the War in Heaven that you shared with them? Was it worth watching them tear themselves and all those you cared about to pieces, drained their blood and devoured their divine flesh in their endless avarice and gluttony? Was it worth watching them create those idealized versions of themselves in your image with genetic sculpting and soul engineering? Or perhaps…"

There was a pause as Isha tittered in his ear.

"You did all that for yourself. Tell me, Neoth. Do you exist only to create problems for yourself to solve, perpetuating your own existence as the savior by ensuring humanity is always in a constant state of disaster?"

The Emperor's arms shook, and his taloned gauntlet attempted to reach upwards, trying to claw at Isha, only to rise halfway and scrape the air in vain. The goddess cast a disdainful look at the Emperor's talons, and dropped her hold on his hair, letting him land at her knees with a thud.

"You accused me and my daughter of dooming the Aeldari." She said as she stepped around him, circling him. "After seeing what you have done, I do not see how you can think of accusing me when your own hands are stained with so much blood."

"But…" Isha said with a finger on her chin. "I can also see that you did not want this outcome." Her voice was pensive this time, quiet and calm with rational thought. "You now suffer for your and their sins. You strive for a better future that is really just a recapturing of their past. You suffer at the sound of my song, precisely because you wonder whether things could have been different."

Isha finished her circle around the Emperor's kneeling form, bowing her waist so they were once again at eye level.

"The path of the hero is but one way life can go. There are other ways to reach the same place, and you've always wondered whether the one you took was the right one."

Her voice took a morose tone, sympathetic and kind.

"You've been afraid all this time, walking endlessly in the darkness with all those behind you, just as blind as any of them but forced to pave the path forwards for no other reason other than no one else would."

Thunder rumbled overhead again as Isha remained quiet, waiting for the Emperor to respond, but the only sound that came from him was the grinding of teeth and the metalling creak and clank of his shuddering limbs.

Isha sighed, and stood upright again.

"There is a way for you to be free of the pain, Neoth. Free from the suffering my song induces."

The Emperor looked up at her, prostrated before her like a sinner before a Sister.

"Become mine, Neoth."

The Emperor blinked, surprised at what was offered, then an even deeper scowl chiseled itself into his brow.

"You would go to wherever I point, only having to rationalize my divine choice in a mortal manner. You would be unfettered from doubt, free from guilt, and utterly obedient to my will. How does that sound? Your kind will be forever immortalized in the cycle of life, ensured to return to the planets I deem worthy of my miracle. I will take care of humanity, as another client race of the Aeldari."

"A slave race." The Emperor hissed back.

Isha snorted. "Are the bacteria that help you digest food in your gut a slave to you? Are the mitochondria trapped in your cells allowing you to use deadly oxygen as an agent for more efficient metabolism a slave to you? No, they are not. You will be as they are, another glorious part of the whole in the cycle of life; eternal, unending, and vibrant."

The goddess's hands rose, cupping the Emperor's face from both sides, nails once again sparking with golden electricity where they contacted the Emperor's skin.

"Your people will be better looked after in my hands than any bureaucrat or governor you could ever instate. They will grow and prosper as another part of the life necessary for my Truth."

Thick green stems sprouted out of the ground around the Emperor, and then split open revealing thousands of sticky red tentacle-like protrusions. Oversized carnivorous sundew plants unfurled themselves, producing sticky droplets of acids and enzymes from their long, bulbous, swollen, red, feeding, tendrils that covered the inside of their leaves.

"Tell me, Neoth. Show me the humanity you wished to recover and rebuild."

—----------------------------------------
♪3
The world grew dark as the Aeldari goddess's plants closed in on all sides around me. But, it was not them that took the light from my eyes.

Whatever Isha had injected into me during our struggle in space was wrapping around my true form within me. I could feel shadowy hands grasping at my shoulders, wrists, and legs. Echoing alien voices whispered into my ears, telling me their stories of alien lives in ancient times.

These were not souls, but simple memories of the Aeldari who had returned to Isha. But, that did not make them any less dangerous. Their personalities remained, even though the soul was gone, and they scraped and scratched at my form, attempting to find some way into what I am and onto my path.

The bricks I laid grind together, as the increased weight placed upon me strains the path.

These shadows are just information, but I cannot decode or understand them.

Their eyes and ears saw and heard things human senses could not.

Their internal organs were not even remotely close to a human's, bearing resemblance to several different species all in the same body. Nerve endings connecting to tissues and systems that have no name in human physiology confuse and confound my attempts to see the way they perceive the world.

These shadows are intelligent, but they have no purpose, no will, no goal. The only thing they do is exist, and the only place within me to exist is upon my path or within myself. Thus, they attempt to worm their way into those places.

As shadowy figure after shadowy figure wraps around me, piling on my like autumn leaves raked together in a pile, or dirty laundry dumped in a hamper, I feel myself slowing down.

'Were they worth everything you gave them?' The old question asked in that sad voice echoes in the darkness.

Were they worth everything?

I do not know.

I fought for humanity as a whole this entire time, but even then I was never sure if that was the right thing to do. It was simply the most utilitarian and the most efficient path to take.

No, it was simply the easiest path. What doubt is there when simple numbers are all that matter?

In this galaxy, one man or woman means little. Even an entire planet's population is nothing but a statistic in the grand scheme of things.

The only things truly priceless are time and knowledge.

Time, because it can never return.

Knowledge, because humanity's only evolutionary advantage is its brain.

Everything else could be replaced, but was it really worth it?

I had almost replaced everything I had and everyone I wanted with what I thought I needed for humanity to survive.

Culture, religion, autonomy, government. All of these would be expunged at the end of my crusade, leaving only the Imperial Truth and the bureaucracy I built to manage it.

However, it would be a bitter reward at the end. Afterall, I had left behind or converted everything else into fuel in order to take the shortest route to even more shortcuts.

Nobody would smile at my work, nor would they rejoice at a job well done by my side.

Why had I done that?

It was all done so I could reclaim the galaxy for mankind, so it could stand alone among the stars.

And why did humanity need to stand alone among the stars?

The federation humanity had built in the past had failed, tearing itself apart and descending into madness. The grand experiment humanity had conducted on itself had failed. They had their chance once already. Why did I toil to give them another?

What did it matter anyways?

My story was done here. Brought low by my pride and underestimation of an enemy I thought had been defeated. The legend of the Emperor ended this day, as well as humanity's autonomy.

But… despite all that, I felt a slight bit of relief.

I am tired… so tired…

As the dark shadows enveloped myself and the path, a small smile crossed my face.

There was a sort of irony with this ending. I had already gone to the Aeldari's pantheon for help once. Although delayed, I had gotten what I had wanted in a sense. I would be eternal, and humanity would be saved. I would finally be free from wandering. You could say this was the answer to a cry for help made tens of thousands of years ago.

There will be no more doubt, and no more questions. As before, there will be only my path, but I will no longer walk before it blind.

No, I will be as blind as always. It will be the decision of where to go that I will be freed from.
♪4
Suddenly, light returns to my eyes.

A semi-industrial city surrounding a central park appears before me. The armor I permanently wear now is gone, replaced by a black turtle-neck sweater and khaki trousers.

I remember this place. It was a scene from almost 15,000 years ago. A small dusty city, built only a few light years from Terra. Cold sleep and sub-light traversal were the only way to get from one habitable planet to the next, and even after reaching their destination several generations were necessary to replicate even the smallest metropolis of Terra.

Warp travel and the STC database would come much later, with all their unpredicted dangers and unimaginable horrors.

The federation colonies of this age, so divided by time and space, were kept together only thanks to the primitive Warp based communication technologies that had been slowly developed since the 3rd millenia. Each new colony devised its own individual system of government, assured partial autonomy by the federation's constitution.

However, the sheer distance between Terra and her colonies meant that control was virtually non-existent.

Furthermore, the many generations required to replicate a post-industrial society meant centuries were spent away from Terra.

Free from past norms and with nothing but fresh ground to build upon, each colony quickly differentiated itself from the others, resulting in cities with completely different cultures and governing systems existing on the same planet.

Rickety democracies and absolute authoritarian rule existed within the same systems. Kleptocracy and corporatocracy stood above hundreds of huddled masses that survived with the barest scraps only thanks to their local communalism and micro-scale socialistic societies that would one day provide the kindling for a peaceful or violent revolution against all those that held them down. But, all of this was unremarkable, for it was only a retelling of the history Terra had already experienced.

Naturally, it didn't take long for war to break out.

But, despite the volatile nature of humanity, there was happiness, fulfillment, and hope.

This was still the beginning of an age of expansion; an age of discovery.

New machines were built from old ones.

New technologies were created out of the remains of ancient pre-history of Xenos species.

But, most importantly of all…

It was an age humanity had made. An age without gods or demons. An age where humanity made their own decisions. An age made of splintered, fractured, constantly bickering worlds with individualistic states all striving for their own personal definition of betterment.

I look around me at the familiar city. This was before Molech. Before the desolation of Terra. Before the creation of the Navigator houses. Before the Abominable Intelligences and the Omnissiah.

Two laughing children run down the street towards me. Innocent souls with so much potential, burning brightly amongst the gloom and doom with loving parents who shelter them from the harsh government and cruel society they live in.

A smile crosses my lips as they run past, then fades as I steel myself for what I know is to come, for high above in the cloudy sky I can hear a high pitched whistling growing louder.

A slow sigh exits my nose, and I close my eyes as a megaton payload phosphex bomb detonates overhead.

When my eyes open, there is only rubble and fire. Every person at ground zero is gone. Children and their parents, people young and old, good samaritans and evil miscreants; all incinerated in an instant. Their souls start to disappear into the immaterium, the manner in which they have died dictating who reaches for them. But, before they fall into the bloody brass claws of Khorne's daemons, my own psychic touch pulls them back, recording everything they ever did and saw into the legend of humanity. This is the way I keep them safe. Even the lowliest pauper has a place in legend, even if it is to serve as the backdrop for the hero's passing. There, they will be safe, immortalized in this image of humanity's barbarity, even if they cannot pass into the Elysian fields.

"This is the age humanity has made." I told myself brushing the ash and dirt falling onto my shoulder.

This is a time of transient peace, broken only by even briefer war. A time where mountainous differences are made out of the smallest molehills, all so birds that have preened and plucked themselves till they become of the same feather can flock together; not knowing or caring that it is their own distant cousins they burn at the stake.

It is a time like any other time in human history.

As I walked through the ruins, recording and recovering every life that was lost at this moment, a wailing man stumbled from the ruins of his home. We were both far from the point the bomb had detonated above, but his home was mostly flattened.

Beneath the cracked cement, broken glass, and twisted rebar a small unmoving hand laid partially buried.

The man continued to wail, blind to his surroundings, blind to his own pain as small shards of glass and wood stuck out of his back.

Gradually, the pained wail took on a different tone. Hoarse cries began to turn into a monstrous growl. But, before the Bloodletter that had been preparing to burst out of his flesh could take hold, my hand landed on his head and a jolt of golden electricity sparked from his eyes, liquifying his brain in an instant and sending his corpse to the ground with a thud.

The man's soul struggled in my hand, before slowly melting into my palm.

This was my role in all of this. A grim reaper of sorts who walked through battlefields, cesspools, and sites of atrocity to ensure the souls of humanity did not fall into the hands of Chaos due to their own base actions.

As I look back on the burning remains of the once vibrant city, my mind casts further back into memory within a memory.
♪5
I came into being eons ago to hold back the immaterial, the unnatural, and the alien.

At first all I did was fight against the predators and daemons that sought to feed on humanity.

Then, when humanity spread so far across Terra my hands could not reach them, I taught, led, and bred with them to strengthen them as a species.

When my attempts at significantly strengthening them failed, I traveled across the Sea of Souls and sought to learn how to better myself to protect them.

After I was rebuffed at the Aeldari's gates, I snuck into their vaunted Webway and stole from Saim-Hann.

Battle after battle against daemons, monsters, Enslavers, Psychneuein, and the shard of the Void Dragon strengthened me; allowing me to scar even Chaos who grew across the galaxy during the same time.

Now, I record everything in the conjoined legends of humanity, and keep their actions from sending their souls to the daemons and Ruinous Powers of the Warp.

I exist to ensure their worlds remain theirs. I fight against the things they stand no chance against.

That is my Truth. That is my path.

So…

Get out of my way.

My hand reaches out, and grabs one of the shadows surrounding me by the throat.

It was as Isha said. I am the legend of humanity. I am their story made manifest. Every monster slain is recorded down to the finest most despicable detail, making me take from both victor and vanquished.

I have defeated Aeldari. My soldiers have slain their warriors, and my own hands have taken their lives.

Therefore, no matter how alien they are, they are but one part of humanity's story, another enemy that has been defeated.

The shadow's neck cracks and silvery streams of information begin to seep out, like threads from torn fabric.

Emotions, far deeper and all consuming than any human one seeps into my mind.

Their elongated ears listened to voices made from the conjoined human-like pharynx and avian syrinx connected to lungs that served only to pump air into blood vessel lined air sacs where the real gas exchange would take place.

Stories in alien tongues and languages describing thoughts and concepts dissimilar but recognizable as love, pain, and suffering echoed in the dark.

I cannot understand all of it or empathize with it, yet I commit it all verbatim to memory.

That is what I have done for countless years, blinding myself to what I recorded within me, all so the path would be unpolluted but still buttressed against all past horrors.

My eyes glare at the next long-eared shadow within reach as the one in my hand slowly disappears.

You all exist within my mind. You are now part of my memories. You are all mine!

Slowly, the submerged path begins to rise, inky shadows pouring off it like muddy waters receding after a flood. The golden path remains unbroken, and I still stand at the forefront.

The recorded alien knowledge begins to flow inside my head. Everything unreadable is thrown into a pile beside me. I cannot destroy it, but I can keep it from distracting me for now.

Isha did not force all her memories onto me. The amount of data here is too small for that. At best, it is merely a record as long as my own. 40 to 50 thousand years worth of billions of Aeldari memories. But, it is not just any information she has given me.

She took the entire legend of humanity, and replicated my Truth within her.

To do that, she would have had to give something equally valuable, like the information I am reciting now.

I can see it… the effect of exchanging information between gods, and that one decoded piece of information serves as a Rosetta stone for the rest.

Shadow after shadow is processed, assimilated into my main body and converted into pure knowledge and data. Everything else is labeled as alien and left to the wayside.

Sweat beads down my forehead as the exertion boils my brain from the inside, but I have pushed through worse. This is but the same process of assimilation when I tore open the Omnissiah's head, and when I entered the remaining neurons of the Void Dragon's brain.

The junk data formed from tens of billions of lives is taxing to wade through, and the sheer volume had slowed my step. But, no more. Even if it is a few millimeters, my right foot moves past the other, and steps on a new golden brick laid out for humanity.

The shadows still cling to my head and body, but my hand is wrapped around the neck of another one of their number, deconstructing and decoding it.

'Were they worth everything you gave them?'

That question doesn't matter.

Worthy or unworthy, big or small, few or many, all of that utilitarian thought can go out the window.

It doesn't matter if there is no hope. It doesn't matter whether there is a point to this. It doesn't matter how many lives Isha's hands might save.

Humanity must exist without gods or daemons. It is their hands that must build their world.

I look upwards, rising back from the depths of my mind, and return to my body.

—----------------------------------------
♪6
Isha watched, as her plants closed in on the Emperor, sticky tendrils waving slowly as they prepared to digest everything they touched.

The Emperor twitched, and Isha's eyes widened.

"Do not…" The Emperor's hand tightened around his sword, then slashed upwards, angled towards his own face, aimed at Isha's wrists. "MOCK ME!" The sword cut through empty air as Isha jumped backwards, only to bring both her hands forwards as roaring flames exploded outwards from the Emperor, incinerating the surrounding sundew. "I am the EMPEROR, MASTER OF MANKIND, and the PROTECTOR OF ALL HUMANITY!" He rose from the center of the flames, all weakness of the limbs gone and fully in control of himself. "It would be better to DIE than SURRENDER to the likes of YOU!"

Isha slashed her nails before her, clawing open a hole in the approaching wall of flames while simultaneously twirling in midair to fit through the hole she opened.

"You will regret not finishing me off when you had the chance; you gloating Xenos witch." The Emperor glowered at the goddess as she landed, unscathed, back on the lip of the crater above him.

Isha's shoulders shook, then she threw her head back, releasing mad laughter.

"Yes… YES!" Isha cried out, as a wide smile spread across her face as she turned back to the Emperor, golden flames roaring in the center of her own silvery eyes. "This is humanity! The arrogant, disobedient, self-destructive race that spurns the hand given to it only to steal what it was gifted freely!"

"Humanity is a species of failures, losers, and fools." The Emperor's face changed, swiftly switching between several different heroes from humanity's past. Heroes who fought, died, and found themselves in the Elysian fields that formed the Emperor's essence. "BUT!" The Emperor's sword swung upwards, pointing at Isha's face. "They always rise no matter how arrogant or ignorant their actions may seem! I have watched them destroy themselves again and again. Yet, they still remain; even if it is in a lesser state. That is their nature, and their strength! It is because humanity can forget the hard earned lessons, and the pain of punishment for their actions that they move forwards without losing their innocent naive hope! That is humanity! That is their power! And they are now mine and mine alone! So long as I exist, they will be saved and so long as they exist I can never be stopped!"

The Emperor's aura expanded outwards, washing over the ground and Isha, causing the tips of her hair to smoulder, as if small embers had landed between the strands. But, soon after, lightning struck right next to him, forcing him to condense his aura back into himself, glaring at Isha as he did so.

"Masochistic madman." Isha laughed, brushing her hair over one shoulder, sending a small plume of smoke that quickly melted back into her hand. "You once pronounced the end of my path, now allow me to return the favor." Her laughter continued to echo around them as she spoke; simultaneously superpositioned sounds both young and old rang out around the both of them. "Listen to the prophecy of the daughter of fate and mother to the giver and dreams and vision." Twin sounds of joy, the twinkling mirth of a young girl mixed with the nasal cackling of an ancient crone separated out from the conjoined laughter, rising in pitch as they traveled past the Emperor and then growing deeper as the doppler effect took hold with their return to Isha. "I am not as precognizant as them, so I will only give you the self-evident prophecy that you already know but ignore with all your heart."

"Even as all hope of progress disappears and only your name holds all of humanity together, you will never stop saving them. You will become what you hate most of all, and the apotheosis you returned from shall claim you once more. That is your fate, and the story of all heroes who eventually walk to the end of their path. Suffer eternally for the sins of humanity and scream forever as they pile worship on your undeserving head. Watch as everything you built and everything you dreamed of dies and becomes what you hate most. A theocracy dedicated to the one and only God Emperor of Mankind. Serve the sycophants. Answer the unquestioningly loyal zealots. Give your Truth to the billions and billions of unremarkable souls that serve without knowing why or what they fight for, and weep when your words fall on deaf ears clogged with prayers."

Isha's mouth smiled softly at the Emperor, but her eyes were wide open, giving her face the look of a predatory grin a wolf has before its prey.

"God or Goddess of Humanity's Heroes, you will forever be the torch in the endless night sky, alone, afraid, and forever leading the masses of humanity forwards even as the endless march grinds their feet to dust. For even in death your duty will NEVER end."

The Emperor snorted at the goddess's prophecy.

"You preach to the converted. I know my fate. I already know that future is one of the most likely possibilities that awaits me. But, I do not care! I do not fight to win! I fight because I must! Even if there is nothing but darkness among the stars, I shall take my place upon the golden throne, and be the burning beacon that shines light into every corner of the galaxy for their sake!"

"Then come, insane god of all mankind!" Thunder roared overhead at her words and the ground beneath both of their feet shifted and growled beneath them as a massive earthquake shook the tectonic plate they stood upon; the quickening movements of a waking newborn within the womb. "Repeat your deeds in vain while illogically hoping for a better outcome. I shall help you reap the bitter harvest that you have sown."

Golden talons closed around the Emperor's sword, as he scraped the auramite claws against the blade of his divine weapon. Fire spread from the sword to the gauntlet, wreathing both in golden flames.

Isha laughed again, high pitched, mocking, and gleeful. "The observers, onlookers, and even your peanut gallery is gone. Now, let the second round of divine debate commence."

The Emperor leapt from the crater, descending upon Isha like an artillery shell.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading this chapter before hand.
A/N2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 01 - Into the Night
♪2 Fate stay night - Presentiment of a Storm
♪3 Hiroyuki Sawano – 「Wrath of The Gods」
♪4 Hiroyuki Sawano - Already Over

♪1
Gilgamesh traveled across the world, but he met with none who could withstand his arms till he came to Uruk. But, even after he took lordship there, the men of Uruk muttered sullenly or sarcastically in their houses, "Gilgamesh sounds the alarm for his amusement, his arrogance has no bounds by day or night. No son is left with his father, for Gilgamesh takes them all, even the children. However, the king should be a shepherd to his people. Yet, his lust leaves no virgin to her lover, neither the warrior's daughter nor the wife of the noble. This is the shepherd of the city; wise, beautiful, and utterly uncompromising."

The gods heard their lament, and the gods of heaven cried to the god of Uruk Anu. "A goddess made him strong as a savage bull, none can withstand his arms. No son is left with his father, for Gilgamesh takes them all. Is this the king, the shepherd of his people? His lust leaves no virgin to her lover, neither the warrior's daughter nor the wife of the noble."

When Anu had heard their lamentation the gods cried to Aruru, the goddess of creation, "You made him, O Aruru; now create his equal; let it be as like him as his own reflection, his second self; stormy heart for stormy heart. Let them contend together and leave Uruk in peace."

-The Epic of Gilgamesh: The coming of Enkidu
♪1END
—----------------------------------------

"Commodore Lysander, welcome aboard the Artax." A man in the dress uniform of an Imperial captain saluted Lysander as he exited the shuttle with the rest of the bridge crew of the Bucephelus. They had just docked at one of the hangar bays of the battleship flanking the Bucephelus. Permission to board had already been requested over the Vox during transit and security personnel were already at the other shuttles, double checking whether those who disembarked matched the passenger manifest of each transport.

"Captain Velor." Lysander returned the man's salute as the bridge crew formed up in rank behind him. This was customary tradition for the navy since before Old Night. The captain of a ship was the commanding officer of that vessel and even an admiral had to at least pay symbolic respect to that fact. Coupled with the fact that the Bucephelus had only been disembarked, the crew of the Artax were treating this entire affair as an unexpected visit and exhibited a more cautious curiosity rather than an adrenaline pumped feeling of urgency.

'Then again…' Lysander thought to himself. 'It might be that out of place Custodes sticking out like a sore thumb behind us.'

The giant in gold armor with a spear longer than he was tall stood behind all of them, markedly out of place among the regular humans. There was a rather obvious look from the captain that flicked between Lysander and the Custodes, as if to ask 'Why is that here?'. Perhaps it was the odd gathering of humans that might have accentuated the surreal feeling of the entire situation.

However, Lysander and the bridge crew of the Bucephelus were all too aware that something was going to happen.

Lowering his hand, Lysander immediately began giving orders. "Escort me to the bridge, and prepare for a fleet-wide Vox." He said hurriedly as he began marching ahead of the captain towards the bridge. Captain Velor blinked once in surprise before frowning and hurriedly trotting after Lysander.

The commodore's words followed custom, but his actions blatantly ignored them. Leaving the captain behind like that ignored who the commanding officer of the Artax was, but the juxtaposition between polite words and urgent action was enough to inform both the captain and bridge staff of the Artax who had come to welcome them that the situation was indeed dire.

"I need medics and security teams sent to take control of all Astropaths and Navigators." Lysander whispered to the captain while also looking at the Lieutenant Commander in charge of the Artax's internal security force. "Sedate, restrain, and quarantine all registered psykers and suspected psykers."

The Lieutenant Commander looked at both the commodore and his captain, and Captain Velor gave him a nod. The man returned the nod before running off to carry out the orders he had been given.

"I want the Gellar fields on this ship and all others activated immediately." Lysander continued as they boarded one of the internal three-dimensional elevators that would take them to the bridge. Thick locking bolts disconnected from the shaft of the elevator once the bridge crew of both the Bucephelus and the welcoming party from the Artax boarded, and the anti-grav generators hummed to life before magnetic rails pushed and pulled the elevator forwards then upwards to the bridge of the Artax.

The captain nodded, and repeated the order through his personal communicator before turning to Lysander with a concerned expression.

"Commodore Lysander, may I ask what is happening?" The commodore's orders were bizarre, but had a definite direction. Gellar fields were the protective barriers deployed during Warp travel to shield against aberrant psychic manifestations. Deploying them in real-space when there were no orders to suggest Warp transit was odd, but added to the fact that the commodore had ordered all known and suspected psykers to be sedated, restrained, and quarantined meant that the commodore was preparing for some sort of psychic event or attack.

Lysander's brow furrowed. The Catumen's presence was not a fact shared beyond those aboard the Bucephelus. Depending on how the Emperor resolved things with it, that fact may never have existed in the first place.

"The situation is on a need-to-know basis, Captain." Lysander answered. "I am setting the fleet's threat level to substantial until we have word from the Emperor."

Captain Velor's mouth became a taut line. A threat level of substantial meant an attack on the fleet was likely. It was grim news just after preparing to celebrate a job well done for purging the Xenos raiders.

The elevator reached the nearest corridor to the bridge and they all exited off of it. Security teams were already returning to their posts as Lysander's previous orders percolated down through the chain of command; from the captain, to the Vox-officer of the Artax, and then to the entire fleet.

"I shall be at the holo-map to coordinate with the rest of the fleet captain. You have the bri-"
♪2
Suddenly, there was a flash of light from the view ports, and a beam of gold, green, and brown light burst out of the side of the Bucephelus narrowly missing the Artax; flying off into space only stopping when it impacted one of the distant moons of the planet they were orbiting.

"Get me a damage report on the Bucephelus and an enhanced image of that moon." Lysander ordered as he stormed towards the holo-map.

The natural satellite was just a spec to their eyes, and he wanted to assess just what they were dealing with by inspecting the damage inflicted upon its surface. The image was swiftly brought up as Velor took his seat in the captain's chair and began barking out orders to ready his ship for battle.

Lysander could feel his jaw clench as he inspected the damage. The beam had cut deep into the moon's crust, and thrown up vaporized rubble into clouds not unlike those generated by a nuclear bomb. Whatever that was it could penetrate the Bucephelus's thick hide and still have enough power to level a small city.

"Order all ships to brace for impact." Lysander ordered the Vox officer as a large psychic signal suddenly appeared on the holomap below their field of view, and fell towards the planet before vanishing beneath the ash clouds. He cast a look at the Custodes who had followed them from the shuttle, but the golden giant showed no emotion whatsoever remaining in the perfect guard position they took whenever they stood still.

Lysander stifled a shiver and turned back to the holo-map. He couldn't tell whether the Custodes' exemplary posture was a sign that everything was fine with the Emperor, or further proof that they truly felt no emotion at all.

—----------------------------------------
♪3
Golden nails clashed against the flaming talons and blade of the Emperor as the Goddess of Life struck back at the Hero of Humanity. Every blow rang with the high pitched screech of a thousand sparks as the Emperor's Truth repelled itself, rising to a crescendo as the repulsive forces became too much for Isha and the Emperor, forcing them apart like magnets with the same polarity with a resounding boom.

However, as soon as the Emperor's armored boots touched the ground he launched himself at Isha again.

Moments later, lightning struck where he lept from as well as several other places around them.

"You insane witch." The Emperor growled as he struck at her with both sword and talons from two different directions to avoid being bound in the same way by the tree bindings she had used on the Bucephelus.

"Oh, spare me your complaints." The goddess replied mockingly as she swung back at both weapons while hopping away from him. "Your Truth is far more unfair than any underhanded trick I could ever pull."

The Emperor grimaced as he lunged forwards again chasing Isha.

Lightning struck all around them, pelting the ground like rain, but the Emperor's Truth could not negate them for they were not an unnatural phenomenon.

Isha had whipped the winds of this planet into a frenzy while she lectured the Emperor about his nature and the ash clouds above them were filled to the brim with electric charge. The only reason lightning did not strike where Isha stood was because she willed it. Everywhere else was outside of her protection.

The ground had rumbled at her feet as well during her monologue. No doubt she had done something to the very dirt and rock beneath them.

Therefore, the Emperor was forced to rein in his aura, for to disturb Isha's control meant all that built up electricity in the sky would be unleashed upon the both of them in an instant. And that was the only trap he knew she had set for him.

Even if they were both struck by her lightning, it would not be an even trade. It had been prepared by Isha and there was no way she would allow her own trap to hurt her more than it would hurt him. If the Emperor annulled her immaterial touch, even if the lightning struck them at the same time, Isha would be the one who would have the advantage from that point.

And most of all…

The Emperor side-stepped Isha's nails and lunged even closer towards her with both arms raised over his head. Flaming sword and talons swung down upon the goddess, forcing both of her hands to rise to meet his weapons. Golden sparks arced as golden nails repelled both of the Emperor's weapons, but even as the Emperor's own Truth tried to force them apart, the Emperor shifted his full weight down upon Isha, shoving her downwards causing the repulsive force between them to drive her feet into the ground, forcing her to stand still.

Pinned between the ground and the weight of the Emperor, Isha grimaced before creating a green-brown barrier between her and the Emperor as his armored knee drove upwards to her chest.

Isha's barrier deformed upon contact with the Emperor's knee guard, like a pillow being struck, enveloping and dissipating the force of the blow, but it also began to smoke and smolder where the Emperor's golden armor touched it.

…The Emperor had the advantage at this range.

Isha was not a deity of war. She could fight, for she had the memories of billions and billions of Aeldari warriors, but none of them fought in the way she was forced to right now; with only her nails and no other part of the body. She could not create a martial art or combat stance from nothing, and it was only her inhuman reaction speed and advanced alien biology that allowed her to keep up with the Emperor.

Furthermore, the Emperor's Truth was expressed throughout his entire body. For Isha, it only showed on her nails.

That was to be expected. Isha was a being 60 million years old. The Emperor was only 50 thousand years old. In terms of percentages, the Emperor had only existed for about 0.083% of the time Isha had. That difference in their existence materialized upon their bodies.

All of humanity's legends amounted to a thin layer of nail at the very tip of her fingers.

But, that in itself was a weakness.

The Emperor's Truth negated beings from the immaterium, just like Isha. Thus, any blow against her body would damage more than just her physical form.

Her body was a representation of all the information stored within her. The fact that humanity's legend expressed itself upon her nails was proof of that. It was only the fact that her entirety was condensed into this single Aeldari form that the Emperor's immaterial negating Truth could be resisted. The sheer density of Isha's essence acted like folded steel in reinforced armor and that fact was what caused his talons to only scrape harmlessly against her skin when he grabbed her back on the Bucephelus.

It was only the enchantments on the Emperor's sword, the enchantment he had applied to his talons when he scraped them against the blade, the enchantment that allowed him to slay the Void Dragon that allowed his weapon to pierce her skin with ease.

However, that did not mean she was immune to him entirely. Every blow, like the kick she had just blocked, would damage her. Just as a warhammer or mace would send shockwaves through a knight's armor that would bruise the body and break bone, any physical blow by the Emperor that was strong enough could damage the information within Isha. If that damage built up, part of her would be lost permanently.

For that reason, given the choice, Isha would always expend psychic energy to protect herself from him, and any battle between psychic energies would always favor the Emperor.

This was still a battle of stamina.

He could regenerate his power as many times as necessary, but Isha was stuck with a constantly depleting reserve. However, just how large that reserve was unknown to him.

The amount of power she had gained from the Aeldari souls was still a mystery. Simple mathematics, even taking into account the fact that she had consumed them could not explain her current strength. There was some other trick Isha had. But, the information Isha had forced upon him had yet to reveal what it was.

"This is the limit of a god." The Emperor spoke to Isha, as he forced her arms downwards, bringing his talons and sword closer to her neck and shoulders. "You're all so fixed upon your own Truth and message, flaunting impossible idealism and placing impossible expectations on all who listen to you." Their faces drew close, as the Emperor's weapons inched towards Isha's skin. "But, in the end, you're all no better than the mortals you look down upon."

"Is that so?" Isha replied, pained smile twitching as her arms strained to force back the Emperor. "You think I fight for reasons no different to a mortal?"

Suddenly, the ground beneath the Emperor gave way, causing his one legged balance to shift. Simultaneously, Isha swayed, like a blade of grass bending with the wind. The Emperor's blows that had pinned her from above shifted to the side, releasing her from the downward force he applied and Isha used the built up repellant force between his weapons and her nails to shoot herself away from him.

The Emperor charged forwards, chasing Isha so he could fall under the zone of safety she made for herself, but lightning struck him twice before he could reach it. The electricity charred his flesh and shorted out some of the electronic components within his armor turning parts of it into dead weight, forcing him to power through with just his burnt muscles and telekinetic force.

"Then what do you call all this?!" The Emperor shouted as he shot forwards, blackened skin and broken armor repairing itself as he flew towards Isha.

"You struggle against me all alone, wasting the power you took from your people's souls in this mad tantrum against me." He sent out a pulse of his psychic touch through the ground, removing any trace of Isha's presence to solidify his footing, only for his boot to fall through a sinkhole that had been held shut by her power. "You would have done more damage, had you waited until we were both upon Terra!" A burst of telekinesis lifted him out of Isha's pitfall, and he threw himself at her again, psychic aura fully retracted into himself this time. "If this outburst isn't one of rage or pride, then what is it?!"

"I fought you then, for I saw no other way to get through your thick skull." Isha retorted as she ducked under the Emperor, slashing upwards and forcing him to block her blow. "I fight you now, fully justified in my first decision." The repulsive force between her nails and his weapons threw the Emperor over her, forcing him to use more psychic energy in order to redirect himself in order to remain within Isha's boundary of safety. "You truly know nothing but violence and power. Over your 50,000 year existence, you haven't changed from that tribal barbarian who had barely started crawling out of a cave to live in a hut!"

"Simple insults and confounding words will get you nowhere!" The Emperor snarled as he angled his flight path to clash with the goddess again,

"My words sting because they are the truth!" Both of the goddess's arms rose to intercept the Emperor, who was flying low to the ground in order to avoid being deflected again. "What other ways can I use to describe you, Gilgamesh?!" The two clashed again, but Isha allowed the Emperor to force her backwards, using her nails to hold onto both of the Emperor's flaming weapons to prevent him from landing and using his armored feet to strike her again. "What other words can I use to describe a tyrant who was so horrid to his own people, they birthed a third generation god just to hold him back?!"

"SILENCE!" The Emperor roared as he gathered his psychic energy into a ball before his brow. "You shall not speak of him with your accursed tongue!" His words lashed out at her at the same time the beam of golden light exploded towards Isha's face.

"I know him now just as well as you do!" Isha shouted back, bending her neck sideways to avoid the golden bolt shot by the Emperor, letting it crater the ground behind her. Her feet slid into the depression left by the blast, lowering her elevation for a brief instant, allowing her to position herself beneath him once again to redirect the repulsive force between them and throw the Emperor away from her. "If you are so bitter about that fact, delve into what I was forced to give you and retort in kind!"

"Then tell me, GODDESS! Tell me what I was supposed to do!" The Emperor crashed down into the crater, digging his boots into the obsidian glass made by his attack. "The unshackled daemons of the Warp, wild Enslavers, Psychneuein, and insane Warp based weapons roamed the immaterium!" He charged forwards on foot, assured that the ground he stood upon had been cauterized of Isha's touch. "Garbage left from your war threatened my people!" More psychic beams formed behind him and fired around Isha, creating a corridor with striated walls of golden death that lead from him to her. "Every human that roamed that planet was blind after the best and brightest of them sacrificed themselves to form me!" The Master of Mankind struck with his blade first, with his talons only 0.1 seconds behind. "If they were to survive in this merciless galaxy, what other choice did I have but to treat them that way?!"

"You speak of choice, but even the Old Ones didn't bother to justify their actions!" Isha snarled as she stepped back, swinging her hands to deflect both strikes while backing away from the Emperor before vaulting even further backwards away from another kick "You mimicked their methods, yet were stupid enough to ask whether that was right or wrong!" Her hands struck out at two of the psychic beams that were above her, deflecting them and opening up the cage bars she was trapped in with the Emperor wide enough for her to slip through. "You think what they did, what you did could ever be forgiven?!"

"I did what had to be done!" The Emperor shouted back, firing more and more psychic beams slightly below Isha forcing her to fly upwards into the sky. "You were not there, and nobody else would act!" A psychic barrier formed above him, just in time to block a bolt of lighting from striking him directly. "My mother died in childbirth, and my father was murdered by his own brother! You want to know the reason?!" Golden beam after beam chased Isha in the sky until she was nearly above him. "He stabbed my father all because one sheep would not stop nibbling at his fields!" The Emperor let loose his full aura, negating Isha's protective boundary, unleashing the lightning above them both. However, Isha was between him and the sky, and the electricity would strike her first before hitting the Emperor's barrier. What's more, with her detached from the ground, she would have no way to earth herself or summon a lightning rod to protect only herself from the storm. He would break through her trap, and hit her with her own weapon at the worst possible timing.

"That's how easily they killed each other, and how little power any so-called deity of humanity had!" The sky lit up pure white as all the charge in the natural capacitor formed by the ash clouds above them was unleashed in a single instance. "All it would have taken was one exhausted sigh, or an irritated long breath! One simple intake of air would have given him the 2 seconds he would have needed to reconsider his actions! But, even that simple small miracle was impossible for them! They couldn't stop that man from thinking about what he was doing for even a second any more than he could stop himself before he drew his knife and stabbed it into my father's back! What else besides useless and stupid am I supposed to call beings who can't even do that one simple thing!"

The Emperor's breath was heavy from the emotional outburst and mental strain at keeping the barrier above him whole as everything around them was replaced by the white light of the streams of lightning tearing everything around them to shreds. Finally, the barrier broke allowing the lightning to fry the Emperor and his armor; carbonizing both flesh and metal with the sheer volume of electrons coursing through him in their mad rush to the opposite pole deep within the earth.

"That… is why humanity needed order at that time." The Emperor said telepathically as his flesh and armor reformed themselves as the storm ended. "That is why I ruled over them without mercy or forgiveness and attempted to enhance them with my own genetics and knowledge."

There was a thud, and a charred humanoid thing with golden hair landed beside the Emperor. "Words are a funny thing" Isha spoke as her throat and lips reformed, the physical portion of her being reforming over the undamaged invisible metaphysical self. "Phrased like that, you seem the savior, but all you did was enslave and rape the less gifted and the less fortunate."

Several nearly invisible golden strands of hair pulled themselves out of the ground, and back to Isha; earthing wires individually insulated with the Emperor's Truth and disguised among the strands that remained her natural hair color to direct the electrical currents of her lightning into the ground away from her. They had prevented her from being vaporized by her own lightning, and would have allowed her to minimize the damage had she been able to earth herself with her feet as well. However, chased up into the air by the Emperor, her countermeasure was only partially effective. Thus, the damage done to both of them was almost equal.

However, Isha's body regrew faster than the Emperor's body and armor. He had two different systems to repair while she only had one.

"But, it was as I suspected. Humanity had other gods besides you. All races usually have several at the same time." Isha said, as her skin regrew across red muscles. "Pantheism through panentheism. The perception of gods through the wonderment at all the beauties and horrors life has to offer. They are the first attempts at rationalizing a mysterious world that expands far beyond what the mortal eye can see." A short note came from her lips, wrapping her in a white Wraithbone shift once again. "You were both hated and cherished by the first gods of humanity, for you were formed from all the heroes that had represented them, yet were destined to claim all of their future champions for yourself."

"They were useless." The charred remains of the Emperor retorted again telepathically as the burnt lips stretched out over his still white teeth grew full and moist with new blood and tissue. "They did nothing with all the power humanity gave them." He spat with his reformed mouth.

"Such is the fate of most first generation gods of a divided people. They are formed from the most basic thoughts and dreams of a species." Isha stretched out her fingers as her nails reformed, golden sparks crackling as she manifested the Emperor's Truth back onto her nails. "They listened to all the prayers of humanity, but because they did so they could not act in any meaningful way." She snorted and her knees bent in preparation to pounce upon the still reforming Emperor. "How can Kyzaghan of the Huns act against Greek Mars or Roman Ares if they are all the same thing?"

"They were born with humanity, and although humanity separated out into several tribal groups, the gods remained the same." Burnt armor creaked as the joints fused together from the lightning strike strained to break free. "But, all they did was listen." A golden glow surrounded the Emperor, and he lifted himself up with his own telekinesis and threw himself away from the goddess, having lost the race to repair himself to completion. "They stood by and watched as brother killed brother and distant cousins committed genocide on long forgotten parts of their own family tree."

"A just criticism, if you weren't the one who sowed so much misery yourself." Isha muttered as she gave chase. "It would have been better to have been the observer than the instigator of such suffering."
♪4
"I was a god among men, but yet I was still a man. The legends remember me as two-thirds divine, and they were correct in part. My body was already bursting at the seams with the amount of power humanity's combined consciousness gave me, focussed upon my essence by my deeds and legends of that time."

Multiple golden beams of psychic power fired out directly at Isha from before the still burnt form of the Emperor as he repaired his fused armor and blackened body.

"So you enslaved and subjugated them all, as any other mortal ruler of prehistoric humanity would, becoming the leader they would all aspire and follow." Isha sidestepped the Emperor's attack easily, but that was his intent in the first place. He was buying time by firing too many beams for Isha to block, forcing her to take an indirect and hence longer path to reach him.

"Of course you would do that as a man of that time." Isha hissed as she avoided the next salvo of the Emperor's attacks, forced once again to take a path in a wide spiral to approach the Emperor. "Why allow the lesser of your species to fail themselves when you could elevate them to greater heights? All others were only a fraction of your age at the time, and through sheer experience, you were the wisest and strongest of all. But, you were just another barbarian king lording over all those weaker than you. You even followed the actual ius primae noctis (the right of the first night) they practiced at the time unlike those medieval feudal lords. Truly barbaric, to take the virginity of every woman to show your dominance over both sexes."

"A failed experiment." The Emperor snorted. "I simply sought to reintroduce the genes from the psykers who made me back into the gene pool of humanity."

The joints of his armor finally came free, and he clasped his talon as he stretched out his arms and legs.

"The people prospered under my rule. Humanity formed its first empire and they grew with the wisdom I inherited from all the psykers that made me." He turned his eyes towards Isha, fully restored. "Although, it was all for nothing in the end. There was nothing of note from any of my spawn."

"Do not paint yourself as a misogynist." Isha retorted sarcastically as she continued to close the distance between her and the Emperor in a gradual spiral arc. "You heaped equal evils unto the men and children of Uruk. Forced labor for your city. Experimentation to find ways to better mankind's biology. Sacrifices for your arcane arts to investigate the immaterium. Of course, if you had a way to know whether women were barren with the technology you had at the time, you would have used them in the same way as men. No wonder the people of Uruk dreamed of a god that was your equal in all things that would free them from you."

The Emperor closed his eyes bitterly. "Enkidu, the star of heaven, the man who was my equal in all things."

"The first sightings of him were by the trappers of the city. The lowest social rank within your empire, and the ones who were oppressed by both you and all those who followed you." Isha continued as she avoided another salvo of the Emperor's beams. "Humanity enjoys tasty beef and succulent pork, yet the cattle and pig are the names of both animals and insults. As always, it is those who work to produce the products of livestock that end up at the lowest social rung of humanity; Buraku, Dalit, tanners, and other such 'untouchables' often arise from that occupation; forced to deal with the dirtiest parts of the work of hunting or herding."

"I was warned of his coming by the gods that still favored me as the remains of their mortal heroes, and I saw him with my own foresight. He would be my equal. The common people would jostle and the nobles would throng to kiss his feet." The Emperor shrugged as he fired another volley of beams towards Isha. Her trap in the sky and ground had both been sprung or destroyed. The balance of power that had been kept equal between them thanks to her tricks and preparation was falling towards his side. However, even though she was weaker than him in direct melee, she was still running towards him.

He fired another volley to force her to take the long route to reach him. Foolish this goddess may be in his eyes, but he had been bitten too many times in the past few hours. She still thought she could win. That was why she approached him.

"Poor young Neoth, grown into Gilgamesh after witnessing the worst parts of humanity as a homeless traveler journeying from one end of the globe to the other." Isha called out mockingly. "Still just a mortal, you craved a companion to share your burden and joy. As a being born from humanity, it was inevitable their laziness and loneliness would be part of you."

"I sent a priestess of the temple of love, Shamhat. A holy harlot who would take that fomenting god and give it a body through her own." The Emperor recited the old legend, almost reflexively as Isha's words resonated with his memories. "I sent her beyond the gate of real and not real, and she took in all of Enkidu from the wild Warp into her just as my conjoined soul entered my mother."

"And Enkidu was born into the realm of man. A god plucked from the immaterium with the express purpose of being your equal." Venom dripped from Isha's words as she closed within 100 meters of the Emperor.

The Emperor shifted sideways, positioning himself so his body would always face 45 degrees away from Isha in a one handed tail guard with his gauntlet lifted before him like a shield as Isha drew closer. The flames on his talons had gone out, dispelled when his barrier was broken by the lightning. However, he would not need it. If Isha came to him by herself, all he would have to do was concentrate his aura and Truth into an omni-directional shockwave that would reject the immaterial entirely, and then stab or cut her with his enchanted blade as her unnatural essence would be paralyzed with pain underneath her physical body as she suffered under the effect of his Truth.

"I thought to raise him up as my own, but he emerged from the gate with Shamhat fully grown."

"And you fought with him, for he was to be your equal in all things." Isha smirked as she watched him lower his position, and her fingers spread and curled in preparation to strike. "Finally, you had met a being that was not some obscene threat that was so powerful you had to cheat and trick your way to victory, nor was it some lesser creature that needed your protection."

"We shattered my primitive laboratories and destroyed the walls of my palace with our struggle. The people of Uruk flocked to see their tyrant brought low, but it was I who finally threw Enkidu to the ground."

10m. That was the remaining distance between them. The Emperor gripped his sword, keeping the flaming blade obscured behind his thick pauldrons, taloned gauntlet, and armored girth so Isha would not see whether he would strike from above, below, or the side.

"Even as a tyrant, the people saw you as their savior. Thus, as the god born from the wishes of the people of Uruk, Enkidu was preordained to lose despite being equivalent to you so long as they felt they needed you."

Isha feinted once, sidestepping backwards instead of forwards to avoid the last salvo of psychic beams before lunging forwards.

"He was my equal, my companion, my brother. He knew me in my entirety, and fought against me regardless."

The Emperor's tail guard was exposed. He faced Isha head on instead of slightly to the side, and his sword's trajectory would not be hidden by his taloned gauntlet and girth. However, it would not matter. Isha was not entirely immune to his Truth. Victory was almost his. It would merely take two more sword swings than he planned.

"You were the mortal on the verge of godhood who would stand at the forefront as the hero of humanity. He was the god made man who listened to all those who followed you and walked among the people instead of infront of them."

Sword met nails once again, knocking Isha's left hand out of the way. The Emperor's shockwave would be let loose with the next blow. The goddess's right hand would be knocked out of the way with his sword, and the other would be prevented from returning as the shockwave would petrify her. Then, the final blow would strike her head unimpeded by her nails, and impossible to avoid under the force of his Truth.

"He gave voice to the people under my rule, and made their bleating complaints into coherent arguments that I could listen to."

The Emperor's eyes widened as he heard a whistling sound, and he reformed his psychic barrier just as Isha jumped backwards away from him. Milliseconds later, a massive shadow blackened the sky as a small mountain's worth of rock and dirt crashed down upon him.

"Yes, he taught you many things during your adventures." Isha spoke to the mound of black volcanic rock and ashen dirt. "But, it was his death that put you on the path to learn what would truly form your Truth as a god." The mound shook, then exploded as the Emperor launched himself out of it, floating above her. "You carry the emotional scars from that event even to this day with the hair upon your head as an eternal memento."

White teeth bared, the Emperor let loose the shockwave he had been storing in a golden explosion, like a blazing star going supernova.

"As your hand grew softer, the prayers that made Enkidu began to diverge. The simple wish of freedom from oppression became a convoluted mix of conflicting desires." Isha stepped back and the ground opened up to swallow her, physically shielding her from the shockwave that was targeted at only the immaterial. The goddess had been slowly regaining control over the ground that had been cauterized by the Emperor's earlier attacks as she ran in the long spiral towards him. However, her voice soon returned as several holes opened, echoing up from an interconnected network deep underground where the Emperor's Truth could not reach, hiding where she was.

"The various classes and individuals of the unified society you made sought out their own definition of betterment, and they tore apart Enkidu's mind as he was forced to listen to every single one of their cries, for he was an actual god unlike yourself although he was your equal."

"Do not speak to me as if you know what I felt!" The Emperor roared as he fired a psychic beam into each and every one of the holes below him. "Your kind cannot choose between which one of your followers to kill and which ones to save! That's why the gods of humanity could not act, and why you let the Aeldari Fall!"

Images and flashbacks of Isha's own memories crackled before the Emperor's eyes as his decoding of the information Isha had burdened him with proceeded another percentage point. He saw partial fragments of the moment Isha activated the edict, removing the choice of which children to save and which to kill from her hands.

"You told me it was I that was blessed, but how dare you say that to me after seeing all of what I have been through! You Aeldari were never divided, never broken apart. The one war your kind waged against itself merely mirrored what was happening in the Sea of Souls."

The Aeldari had only truly warred with itself once, and even then they did not split their gods between themselves. Every other conflict was a minor scuffle or fight, too insignificant to affect the totality of the Aeldari and their empire. All that the Dark Muses had inspired and the social decay that destroyed their culture did not affect the gods either, for it was Slaanesh who fed on those concepts as She who Thirsts gestated within the Aeldari.

Humanity, on the other hand, had committed untold atrocities upon themselves with and without gods. Their nature was partially one of self-destruction and strife, even though they all stemmed from a common set of ancestors that had migrated from Africa to the Middle-East. That first group of humans laid the seeds for the subconscious of all modern mankind, and the deities they shared remained the conjoined concept of all humanity, even as they separated across the globe.

"Can you imagine what it was like, watching the one person you truly cared about splinter and crack as humanity bickered with itself before butchering their neighbors? Can you imagine what it was like, hearing the hundreds of different prayers asking for the destruction of a people who were only several generations away from sharing the same parents who worshiped you in the same way?"

Beam of light after beam of light descended upon the earth, tearing everything apart as the Emperor bombarded the land with his hate no longer aiming at the holes made by Isha, but simply destroying everything that was below him.

"You know nothing of what it was like to be a real god. How could you, for you are nothing but another weapon of the Old Ones." He snarled. "Being a loving caring god is worthless, for you are bound to inaction by the very people who scream all your different names. Worshiping any god is worse, for it is nothing but self-satisfaction that justifies all brutality." Finally, the bombardment stopped as the Emperor glared at the ground now obscured by clouds of dust and dirt. "Therefore, I am not a god. I am the Emperor, and my Imperial Truth is the only way reality will be perceived!"

"This is why I call you a tribal barbarian, Neoth." Isha's voice whispered upon the wind, causing the Emperor to instinctively turn behind him, just as another hole opened far off in the distance in the opposite direction to the Emperor's eyes. "The moment you returned to the mortal realm as one of their number, you reverted to your oldest and basest tendencies that you showed as Gilgamesh." The Wraithbone barrel of a massive gun emerged out of the earth before firing Isha out of it at the Emperor, destroying itself with the recoil. "The only part you do not replicate is your lust." She spat as her nails collided with the Emperor's sword as he whipped around from her momentary distraction to meet her. "What happened to your dream of autonomy from the unnatural, Neoth?! What happened to the memory of Enkidu!"

"XENOS WITCH!" The Emperor roared as the two of them once again fell from the sky and cratered the ground.

"Allow me to remind you of his dying words." Isha hissed as the two once again entered vicious melee combat.

"I curse the gate, the portal between man and not man!" Isha repeated Enkidu's dying words, the three part curse and blessing he sang out as he broke apart in the Emperor's arms.

The Emperor growled, but the memory of the man that was his brother could not allow the curse to be left alone. "I love the gate, for it was through it I met you!" The words were forced from his mouth for he could not leave the words of the god and man who loved humanity as much as he did end in bitterness.

"I curse the trapper, let him catch the least, make his game scarce, make him feeble, taking the smaller of every share, let his quarry escape from his nets, for it was he who told the world of me!" Isha shouted out the next line, striking the Emperor across the chest as the old emotional wound distracted him.

"I love the trapper, for it was his fear that led him to you! His cry brought me from the wild, and it was his eyes that saw me first!" The words cursing the first man to wish for a savior from Gilgamesh were annulled by Enkidu's own words as that wish was what brought Enkidu to life, and his brother; even though it eventually led to his death.

"I CURSE THE HARLOT!" Isha shrieked the words Enkidu shouted out as he bled from the mouth and his muscles melted under his skin. "For it was through your body and words that I became a man! There shall be no roof over your head. Let your business be in places fouled by the vomit of the drunkard, and your bed shall be the dunghill at night! Brambles and thorns will tear your feet! The drunk and the dry will strike your cheek and your mouth will ache! Be robbed of everything as you robbed me of all the treasures I wished for in the wilderness!"

"I LOVE THE WOMAN!" The Emperor shouted back, remembering the tears of regret and shame in his brother's eyes as he struggled to love humanity even though their cries tore him apart. "The mouth which cursed you shall bless you! Kings, princes and nobles shall adore you! The priest will lead you into the presence of the gods! She who taught me to eat bread fit for gods and drink wine of kings! She who gave me glorious Gilgamesh for my companion!"

With a final explosive strike the Goddess of Life and God of Heroes forced each other apart. Both breathed heavily, exhausted from reliving the pain and suffering of a god torn apart by mortal hands.

"And so…" Isha spoke first, recovering her breath faster than the Emperor. "You held Enkidu for 12 days as he rotted away, torn apart by all the thoughts, prayers, and dreams generated by the great deeds the two of you did as your equal in all things for the sin of simply walking with the populace instead of walking in front of them."

"And I mourned and howled his name for days on end." The Emperor replied, reliving that moment in time again. "I grabbed every coppersmith, goldsmith, and stone-worker to make a golden statue for him adorned with lapis lazuli on his breast. I forced every prince and king to bow at his statue and kiss the dirt at its feet. I made every man woman and child of Uruk weep for him, and forced all those joyful to stoop with sorrow."

"A vain effort." Isha snorted. "You cannot make mortals believe something so easily. Even all their prayers would not save him, for the thing they would have called out for the most was freedom from your tyranny, and even in his death Enkidu provided that to them."

The Emperor glared at Isha, but the hate in his heart was quelled by long forgotten nostalgic sorrow.

"He truly loved all humanity, even as he cursed them for his death." Isha continued. "You carry his love with you, even to this day."

"After his death, I grew my hair long and wandered the wilderness for 7 days and 7 nights in nothing but the skin of a lion that got in my way as a warning to all of its pride until the worms began to feast on my brother's flesh. Only then did I give his body back to the Earth." The golden talons of the Emperor's left hand touched the long locks of raven hair that hung from the Emperor's head. This was the eternal momento he kept of Enkidu.

"And as your equal in all things, you knew his fate could always be yours." Isha's position relaxed, allowing her spread and curled fingers to fall back into gentle curves. "You march at the front of all humanity, but all it requires is one call from behind you to turn your head over your shoulder, one moment of true empathy or regret, and then you would be at the end of the line and not in front of it. For all would follow your lead, and turn in the same direction as you, reversing the direction of your procession. Then, it would only be a matter of time before Enkidu's fate became your own."

"I left Terra to find a way to save myself and bring back my friend." The Emperor muttered, staring at nothing. "I traveled across the Sea of Souls, and searched for the longest lived and most ancient deities as well as those deities most associated with death."

"And after your meetings with many beings beyond your understanding, you washed up on the gates of my home." Isha sighed as she watched the events of the past through the eyes of the Emperor.

"When you did not let me in through your bolted doors, I broke into the infinite passageway that you called the Webway. I wandered endlessly before finally finding what I was looking for, and despairing."

Isha crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the Emperor.

"We exist as long as we do mostly thanks to the long memories of my children's reincarnating souls, and the stories that they hold in their minds and genes. Genetic memory and mimetic transmission of legend kept us what we were, as well as the efforts of my beloved Eldanesh to make sure all our stories were pure and sensible."

"You mean propaganda and lies." The Emperor spat, hateful fire returning to his eyes as he began to rouse himself from memory. "Legend crafting. The creation of culture to mature and modify the gestalt thoughts and dreams of an entire race."

"And the method to record all that information within the deity in question, to serve as a buffer to what it was and what it was not." Isha spoke while tapping her own skin; the impossibly hard skin formed as a representation of 60 million years of Aeldari culture and history. "You've managed to externalize those concepts, making your deed a manifest fact upon the immaterium. Let me guess, that part of your power was the real prize you pried from the Void Dragon's mind?"

"Along with the theories for the Dolmen gates, I learned their secrets of chronomancy and entanglement. Now, all I do is made real, and all I have done remains so!" The Emperor's sword roared as the flames shot out of the blade as the anger of being forced to relive his most painful and shameful moments flowed through his entire essence.

"Yet, with all that power, you could do nothing as a god." Isha smirked as the Emperor turned towards her. "You are the God of Heroes, and so it is only through heroes that you can act, and with all humanity divided and endlessly warring with itself, no one hero could ever serve you as you wished. You could give them all your powers, but they would not follow your word. The first act they would do with your blessing would be to cull all those who would stand against them, including any other would be heroes who would become part of you at the end of their story."

"And I was stuck for several decades, watching them break apart the empire I left when I traveled to the Sea of Souls and achieved the godhood destined to me." The Emperor glowered at Isha with a renewed personal hate for her. "There, I was stuck with the rest of the gods of humanity in the immaterium, equally powerless and equally suffering with the rest of them, because that is all a truly loving god can do."

"Your species' definition of a loving god is different from mine." Isha shrugged. "When my children called us, we answered every time during the War in Heaven. Our blood, bodies, and Truth held back the horrors unleashed upon the galaxy. Do not judge me for the inaction of your fellow deities."

"Then what do you call all of this?" The Emperor gestured to the ruined landscape around them with his sword and talons. "Reality tears itself apart at the center of the Aeldari's empire, and the survivors are scattered amongst the radioactive solar winds. If this is the best you could do, what else are you all but useless and impotent."

"We failed, but we did not fight in vain." Isha's silvery eyes glowed and her crossed arms unfolded themselves. "My children survived, and even now they fight aboard their Craftworlds and Maiden Worlds against the hordes of Chaos, while those in Cegorach's service strike from the safety of the Webway. They will not stop, and neither shall I."

"Then tell me, Isha!" The Emperor swung his sword at the goddess again, bringing it down upon her in a telegraphed swing. "If you are so wise as to what a god is or isn't what was I supposed to do!" Both of Isha's hands rose to hold the blade between all 10 of her nails as she met the fullforce of the Emperor in kind. "All the cries and prayers of every suffering soul threw themselves at my feet! Bitter enemies fighting against each other both cried out for my blessing! With their different names for the same thing they called to me! What was I supposed to do! GOD?!"

Decades spent listening to mortal hero after mortal hero fighting for selfish and selfless causes whispered in both of their ears.

As the two struggled against each other, Isha slowly grimaced before throwing back the Emperor's blade and question with a single sentence.

"I DO NOT KNOW!"

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading this chapter beforehand.
A/N2: There are some terms that may require defining for this section. English reading comprehension levels will increase massively during the next few chapters.
Necessary evil: Something unpleasant that must be accepted in order to achieve a particular result. An answer to the problem of evil in the respect to god. Evil exists because it is necessary for some reason and life would be lesser without it.
Gratuitous evil: The opposite of a 'necessary evil' as its very existence is gratuitous (done for no reason). It is the problem of evil in the respect to god. Evil that can be removed without lessening life or causing a greater evil cannot exist with a loving god who is said to be all-knowing.
Axiological: Being of axiology. In other words, the school of thought where right or wrong have no intrinsic value, and must be investigated to understand their nature, available types, and criteria to assign a value determining whether it is worth it to be right or worth it to be wrong.
There is also a footnote to further provide some detail regarding one of the points associated with this term.
Deicide: the act of killing a divine being/symbolic substitute of such a being.
Corona: the outermost layer of the sun. It emits light, but because the surface of the sun emits more light, it is invisible under normal conditions and only appears during a solar eclipse.
Nihilism: In this context, it is the belief that there is no point conducting certain actions because they are ultimately meaningless.
Fatalism: In this context, it is the belief that all events are predetermined and therefore inevitable.
Placentals: A classification of mammals that create an organ that looks like a bloody meat-cushion inside the womb called the placenta that allows the baby to take in nutrients directly from the mother via an umbilical cord.
Monotreme: A classification of mammals that give birth via eggs. The Platypus and Echidna are part of this family of mammals.
Marsupials: A classification of mammals that give birth to worm-like fetuses that are then raised in pouches by having them attach to an oversized nipple as an alternative to the umbilical cord. Kangaroos, Koalas, and Possums all belong to this family.
A/N3: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinions, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Eiyuu Ou - Extended
♪2 31 - no way to back out~I ask you, my foe
♪3 All Evil of the World ～ Konoyo Subete no Aku この世全ての悪
♪4 10 - I kill and I give life

—----------------------------------------

As the two struggled against each other, Isha slowly grimaced before throwing back the Emperor's blade and question with a single sentence.

"I DO NOT KNOW!"

Of course she didn't.

She was a goddess banned by her own choice for tens of thousands of years from speaking to her children. The very reason she had done so was to never answer the question of who to kill and who to save. The question that she had abandoned that led to the creation of Slaanesh, and the fulfillment of Lilieath's wish.

She was the Goddess of Life and the mother of the Aeldari, and she would never tell them how to live their lives or punish them for their sins.

Therefore, the answer to the God of Heroes' question did not lie within her anymore than the magic reassuring words she wanted to give to Kyrazis and the other survivors of the Fall.

Thus, her golden nails repelled the God of Heroes' completely, giving him back the answer he had already reached himself.
♪1
"That's right!" The Emperor cried out as a cruel grin crossed his face, even while his own Truth repulsed him. "God never tells man what to do! Man tells man what to do using god's voice! They lie and omit the truth for political power and material gain! They speak with the borrowed mantle of an imagined higher power, and impose their fake divine right to rule on the naive, stupid, and desperate! That is the relationship between gods and mortals! Gods suffer in silence in the Sea of Souls while mortals ignorantly opine about things they've never seen or heard in order to seem greater than their peers!"

With every word, the golden glow of his Truth grew brighter and brighter, as if shedding off the veneer of mortality. Smoke began to rise from the Goddess of Life where the light of the God of Heroes touched her skin, like dry ice exposed to an open flame. At the same time, streams of smoke burst out from the glowing form of the God of Heroes, like vented coolant from an open nuclear reactor core undergoing a catastrophic meltdown.

His sword crashed down upon Isha without skill or finesse; wielded more like a club than a divine weapon. However, Isha's nails met him head on. That question came from one god to another, and to avoid his blow would be to admit defeat to the God of Heroes' argument. Though they fought in the materium where the laws of physics constrained their argument, they were still gods engaged in a divine debate. As the instigator of this, she could not run from it until it was finished.

"Gods are the tools for those that imagine them, for it is mortals that make gods and not gods that make mortals!" The God of Heroes' grinned as Isha grimaced as the weight of his weapon caused her elbows to bend. "You are a slave to your people, to your children! Despite your great power over them, they are the one who hold your leash! Just like a lion in a circus, gods are the chattel of mortals despite having the power to eat any of them!"

Insane fire burned within the wide open brown eyes of the God of Heroes' as he drew even closer to Isha with a mad bared teeth grin, noses only a couple centimeters apart as both emitted smoke of different color; gold and green brown. Yet, despite the unnatural expression of glee that covered his visage and the copious amounts of smoke rising from both their forms, the divine glow radiating from his being and Truth continued to grow brighter, piercing through the obscuring haze from the both of them and blinding everything and everyone who could look down on the planet through the thick ash clouds above them.

"So, this is the fate of all gods you told me about." Isha said quietly as she let go of the blade with one set of her nails, causing the repulsive force between them to shoot her to the side and letting the golden blade of the God of Heroes' slam into the ground, effectively side-stepping both his blade and argument.

Gods were born from the thoughts and dreams of the species that worshiped them, and it was not the other way around, even though their legends may warp the very facts of reality to make it seem like the reverse was true. This fact applied to all gods, including the Phoenix King Asuryan who was what all the Aeldari stemmed from. The omniscient weapon of the Old Ones could not be perceived until after the Aeldari had been born. That was a fact Isha already knew, and could not refute. Thus, the only method to continue was to open a new line of thought.

"'Usurpation, oblivion, or madness' was it?" Isha repeated the three fates that the Emperor had stated for all gods, back on the Bucephelus when he watched her children reject her.

"I am the only one that remains for humanity, and I still exist." The God of Heroes said as he slowly pulled his sword out of the ground before taking a step towards Isha with both arms spread, as if to welcome the natural conclusion Isha would be forced to reach.

Isha snorted, then smiled. She may be forced to continue with the line of logic the God of Heroes led her down, but she could always add her own cruel spin on things.

"What would all humanity think if they knew their vaunted savior had gone utterly insane a long long time ago?"

"A meaningless question." The God of Heroes' shrugged with a small smile on his face, then the ground cracked under his feet. "They would never think of that because nobody will tell them about it!" He leapt as the last words left his mouth, transforming into a golden blur that struck Isha, sending the both of them skidding across the ground as his sword was once again pinned between Isha's nails.

Insane.

That was what the God of Heroes had been this entire time.

It was only through the charismatic personas of millions of past heroes and his vast intellect that allowed him to appear the reserved and intelligent Emperor, but the God of Heroes had gone mad at some point in the ancient past during its endless slog through the black uncertain future.

"I was but a man once, Isha." The Emperor spoke as his divine glow dulled and his sword sparked against her nails as the ground rushed past the two of them; the sonic boom of their passing creating a dust trail that resembled a series of bomb blasts. "I was a man who lost the one being that was his equal, traveled across both the Sea of Souls and insane Warp only to find that there was no salvation for me or any other among the stars." The morose features of the Emperor morphed into the sardonic smile of the God of Heroes and the golden glow radiating from him flashed as he followed through with his strike, sending Isha hurtling away from him. "There is a limit to the amount of despair and grief one can take before everything just starts to seem like a cruel ironic joke."

"Twisted madman." Isha spat as she flew through the air, looking back at him with disgust. "You would get along well with Cegorach." Ghostly laughter echoed around them at the mere mention of the Laughing God's name. "The Mad God favors sadistic jests."

"Indeed he does." The God of Heroes nodded, chuckling as he stared blankly at some long forgotten memory. "I met him in the Webway among the bowels of his Cosmic Serpent with its three children; the Skyweaver, Starweaver, and Voidweaver." His blank stare focussed upon Isha and he gave an amused snort. "I guess he found it humorous to keep that fact hidden from the rest of you."

"The other method to answer the question of omniscience." Isha growled as she twirled in the air in preparation to land. "The answer to the question of why gratuitous evil exists and why a truly all-knowing god does nothing." Dirt was kicked up as her bare feet scraped against it, slowing her down until she came to a standing rest so far from the God of Heroes' that he was just a speck if she had mortal eyes. "Asuryan's answer was self-determination. It was a mercy for all for him to do only the bare minimum. Cegorach's answer was to be the insane and hidden god."

The First Fool was the creator of the Black Library of Chaos; the fabled vault of all knowledge containing even the true nature of the Star Gods. Its companion was Saim Hann, the Cosmic Serpent whose name was synonymous with enlightenment for the Aeldari.

To be associated in legend to such things meant that it was, like Asuryan, another omniscient god.

However, that resulted in a moral problem.

An omniscient being would know of all evil and how to stop it.

A god is defined to love and bless all those that dream of it.

Therefore, if a god does not prevent all evil for those it loves and blesses, then there are only four possibilities.

One: The god is powerless.

Two: The god cannot infringe on free will.

Three: The god itself or its love is evil.

Four: The god does not exist.

Most of the Aeldari gods and all except one of the human gods were not perceived to be omniscient; merely more experienced, intelligent, and possessing a perception of things through their Truth that provided a unique outlook that would seem all-knowing to a mortal. However, they still answered the question of evil with the first as they were relegated to only a certain set of functions and miracles that prevented them from saving those that believed in them from all evils.

Asuryan took the second, for he truly was omniscient and as the Phoenix King he could have ordered any of the other gods to save those who believed in him in his stead.

Cegorach was mostly the third and partially the fourth.

He was the Mad God whose cruel humor was unmatched, and the axiologically*1 benevolent god that remained hidden in the Webway so both theist and atheist had an answer to their moral quandary. Afterall, if a god remains completely hidden, there is no way to prove or disprove its existence; allowing both answers to be correct and incorrect at the same time.

In other words; a non-present god would act as a non-existent one, and a non-existent one could not be differentiated from a non-present god. Thus, all miracles and statistically unlikely coincidences viewed by both believer and non-believer would be satisfied.

"That was the Laughing God's Truth, and the metaphysical reason he could survive where Asuryan fell." Isha growled. "The one who knows everything but shares none of it except through unintelligible jests and jibes." Her silvery eyes reflected Cegorach's laughing face seen by the Emperor in the memories she took from him. "How funny it must have been for him to give you the answer you were looking for, only for them to be self-evident had you reflected on everything you knew about your species and learned about your own creation."

"Give?" The God of Heroes chuckled. "That god did not give me anything." He took a single step forwards, and appeared in front of Isha in an instant. "The gods of your pantheon that wandered the Webway are not known for their charity or their clarity."

The God of Heroes glow dimmed, and its amused expression gradually soured into the dour face of the Emperor.

"I lost my mind as a man the moment I learned the methods of legend crafting." He spat as he slashed at Isha with his sword, knocking her backwards a few meters as his blade collided with her nails. "The moment the raw knowledge forced itself into my brain, it broke every preconception I held of the divine." The Emperor's shoulders began to shake before the God of Heroes threw his head back emitting raucous baritone laughter as his golden glow returned. "The beings I had labeled as useless and infantile were revealed in their entirety to me, as well as my own fate as a god." Breathing heavily from having laughed so hard, the God of Heroes smirked at Isha. "If I hadn't reached apotheosis then, I would have died from the despair of the Old One's knowledge. But, unluckily for me and for you, I had already achieved godhood without intending it. The only reason I survived was thanks to the theories the psykers who formed me used; the theories of the Old Ones. Why wouldn't their knowledge be compatible with my divinity? My construction was inspired by them, after all."

"Then why are you a god even now?" Isha asked.

Just as the Emperor had told her she should have committed suicide if she felt guilt at her method of construction, the God of Heroes could have committed suicide to spare himself of the despair and suffering of his own existence. If he hated the divine to the point of wanting to commit deicide, the first one he should have killed was himself. Even if he did not have the power to do so then, he certainly had the power to do so now.

"What choice did I have?" The God of Heroes sighed, then chuckled. "I learned that there was no way to bring Enkidu back, and that the only way to survive my own species was to never act like him." His talons clenched into a fist, scraping against the armored palm of his own gauntlet sending sparks flying upwards across his chest and even towards his own face. "I would never be able to grant his wish for the salvation of all mankind in the way he envisioned it; walking and learning with it at its side. All I could do was what he convinced me to do. To protect humanity and all their souls from the alien and the unnatural."

The light coming from the God of Heroes dimmed, and the Emperor suddenly stumbled breathing heavily as he recuperated the strength he lost as his own Truth burned away his own divine form.

"That is why I cannot be a god!" He yelled out, glaring at Isha. "I am the Master of Mankind, and Emperor of the Imperium! That is why I can tell them my Imperial Truth! The Truth that the God they envision does not exist!"

That was the conclusion the Emperor had reached in the Sea of Souls, and the method by which he cheated his way back into the materium to create the Imperium of Man.

It was a circular piece of logic that allowed him to exist.

God never tells man what to do. Man tells man what to do using god's voice.

Therefore, the Imperial Truth preached by the Emperor was the word of a man, and thus the Emperor was not a god.

Even with the voice of god that the Emperor spoke with, the Imperial Truth preached that there was no god. Thus, the God of Heroes whose voice the Emperor borrowed did not exist, meaning that every utterance of the Imperial Truth was said only with the mortal Emperor's voice.

That was the atheistic mythology that the Emperor wrapped all his legendary deeds in. All of his inexplicable powers, obviously supernatural strength, and arcane knowledge were boiled down to enlightenment, effort, and science that no-one else could replicate due to his exceptionalism.

Any other method of remaining in the materium would not have worked as long.

As Isha said, every hero eventually ended at apotheosis as their legends focussed their species attention upon themselves; just as Gilgamesh's legend had ended with the apotheosis of the God of Heroes.

Only with this legend of non-belief could the Emperor exist as the Emperor, for even at this moment the endless concentration of thoughts, dreams, and prayers of the entirety of humanity he had unified under his banner concentrated upon his barely mortal form.

Isha eyed the Emperor wearily. He was flickering between his mortal hero and divine self; unsettled by her infusion of information, the reawakened emotional trauma of Enkidu, and their divine debate.

His violence was not a problem.

For divine beings such as them, where conflict of ideals meant conflict between their very essence, it was natural for any divergence in opinion to result in violence. Afterall, a single word of admission could mean a permanent change in their very being.

This was the way a divine debate was supposed to be conducted, but debating with the insane was never an easy or safe endeavor.

However, she was finally conversing with the god she had been meaning to speak to.

"So long as humanity does not know of you, the God of Heroes, you can dilute their effect upon your mind and body." Isha spoke as she waited for the God of Heroes to catch his breath.

"'The method to record all that information within the deity in question, to serve as a buffer to what it was and what it was not.' was it?" The God of Heroes smiled as he straightened his back. "Yes, I took in that portion of the Old One's knowledge as well. That's how I survived the adoration of all those who followed me before my Imperial Truth."

"And that is also why you exude your glow so brightly when you rise to the surface, God of Heroes." Isha nodded to herself as she waved an arm to gather the smoke that had begun to rise from her skin from the light of the God of Heroes and recycle it into herself. "We are inside a psychic Schrodinger's box, are we not? Everyone outside cannot see what goes on here thanks to you. Thus, everything that happens here happens only between us. You blind all to your nature with your own immaterial hating touch, and hide in that brilliance like the burning surface of the sun hides the cooler corona."

The Imperial Truth was based on the idea that no god existed. Therefore, the God of Heroes could not be seen, for its very existence refuted the Imperial Truth. Thus, if the God of Heroes appeared, it could not be seen by those who followed the Imperial Truth. That was the reason the God of Heroes let out the golden glow that burned itself far more than Isha just to appear.

"It is an ingenious way to write your own legend even when forced to reveal your own divinity, although the process is painful and expensive." Isha said as she tilted her head in approval. "I understand your insanity, your instability, your pain, and the reason you so staunchly deny your own divinity." Isha sighed. "You hate yourself, you hate humanity, and you hate the psykers who made you. As a divine being meant to protect against the unreal, your very existence is as antithetical and paradoxical as using weapons of mass destruction to guarantee world peace." There was a brief pause as Isha watched the God of Heroes return to the Emperor to catch his breath before gradually beginning to glow again. "Do you exist only to suffer?"

The God of Heroes emitted a short laugh at that before sneering at the Goddess of Life.

"Humankind is a creature of suffering. Onto itself, onto all others. But, do you have the right to ask me that question?" A spiteful smile warped the Emperor's lips and eyebrows. "You're talking to a mirror. Your choice to damn your children to their own devices. Your choice to doom your own divine family. Your story of being created from 3 billion weeping and wailing women. Your own existence is nothing but one long tale of suffering, sorrow, humiliation, and regret." The golden sword rose to point at Isha. "If you need a reminder, just imagine, what do you think the creature spawned by your choice and your children is doing to your daughter right now?"
♪2
The entire planet shook and the winds began to howl as the Goddess of Life looked at the God of Heroes.

"A tit for tat. Very well." Isha spoke as she glowered at the God of Heroes. "If I forced you to remember your brother, it would only be fair that you brought up my daughter."

The God of Heroes laughed again. "I can see more of what you forced upon me. All those memories of the choices you made, Goddess of Li-"

There was a blur of motion, and the God of Heroes sword rose to block Isha's nails, only to find her hand had been pointing outwards, forcing the blade out of the way, allowing her hand with curled fingers to close into a fist that slammed into his chest.

There was an explosion, and the God of Heroes was sent streaking across the planet in a golden blur only to burrow into the ground as the straight line he was shot in met with the curvature of the planet.

"Do not speak of my titles as if you know what they mean you ignorant upstart godling." Isha muttered darkly, shaking her still smoking fist as she watched the dust trail and debris left by the God of Heroes fall back to the ground. "Goddess of Life. Mother of the Aeldari. You called me those things while you were still the Emperor. I gave you leniency while you spoke to me as a mortal, but do not utter those same words with the voice of a god."

Slowly, the God of Heroes walked out of the tunnel he had punched through the ground. His face was not amused, but slightly quizzical. He looked down at his armor and pauldrons where deep knuckle indentations had caved in the golden plates, as if a giant fist larger than his entire body had slammed into him instead of Isha's small effeminate hand.

"I see… That's not the size you're supposed to be." He muttered as the dents popped out and returned to the smooth sheen of auramite plating.

Of course it couldn't be. His entirety only amounted to a small layer of nail on the tips of her fingers, but he was physically far larger than her smaller feminine Aeldari form. The disappearing indentations on his divine form came from her own divine form, hidden behind her physical body.

"Is this some attempt to humble me, by pretending to stoop to my level?" He snorted, staring back at her.

"Do not think too much of it. I just lost my temper." Isha admitted sullenly. "Should I shed a sympathetic tear for your suffering as a means to make amends?"

"Don't make me vomit." The God of Heroes spat as he shot forwards, slashing upwards with his sword knocking both her hands upwards, opening her guard to reveal her midriff which was seized by his golden talons. "I haven't figured out what your miracle is, but any tear you shed is nothing but miserable salvation that arrives too late for those it's meant for." He lifted the goddess as his momentum carried them across the earth, and slammed her head first into the ground, dragging her through the rock as they traveled. "I have no need for such tears or such miracles. I will be my own salvation for myself and humanity." His talons ripped Isha out of the ground as friction slowed them to a stop, raising her above his head before slamming her down at the ground near his feet so that she rebounded off of it like a tennis ball. Then he slammed his sword into her as she brought up her nails to block him, causing her to shoot away off into the distance like a shooting star. "What purpose is there for a god after the total number of its followers goes down to 0? That's one of the requirements for your miracle, isn't it?"

"So, you wish to talk of salvation." Isha shook her head, face unblemished, casting off the dust and dirt that still clung to her skin and hair as she landed far away. The God of Heroes merely insulted her in retort to her insult against him when she struck him with her actual fist. The act was meaningless, and she shook off both physical and verbal insults without a care. "Fine, ultimately, that is what we both want."

"It is too late." The Emperor's voice rumbled as he pulled his divinity back into himself before slumping to one knee as the smoke that rose out of him gradually thinned and vanished. His own Truth rejected himself the longer he remained in the materium as the God of Heroes. He needed to recuperate his strength. This interaction with Isha had forced his madness to the forefront for some reason, as if he couldn't resist answering back from the bottom of his heart. An instinctual need to refute her claims and reinforce his own world view. "You and every other nonhuman race already have a place in my plans."

"I know." Isha spoke as she landed before him. "I know of that abominable plan of yours, God of Heroes."

The Emperor struggled to regain control, to hold back the writhing emotions that wanted to retort. Finally, the Emperor opened his mouth.

"If you know of my plans, then you should activate your miracle right now." These were the Emperor's plans and they would be carried out as the Emperor, therefore, he could speak regarding this matter without his divinity. "If you even can." He sneered finally, unable to resist adding a final jibe at the end, and the golden glow around him flickered briefly accompanied by a few trails of momentary golden smoke.

"It is as you say, as long as at some point in the future or present the number of my children decreases to 0, I can activate my miracle." Isha gave a single nod as she stared into the Emperor's eyes, waiting.

"Then it must be utterly useless or out of your reach if you do not use it against me now." The God of Heroes said with a smile, rising to both feet again, looming over her.

"I am the judge, jury, and executioner." Isha looked upwards, following the God of Heroes' eyes as his head rose above hers. "Even if the conditions are set, it is my will that decides when, where, and how to activate it."

"An empty bluff, or a threat." The God of Heroes listed the two possibilities of Isha's statement. "Which is it?"

"It is my insurance to ensure you do not run away…" Isha stared back at him, unblinking. "And my way of talking to you face to face, one on one."

The God of Heroes smirked in return. "Some miracle it must be for it to only threaten one ship."

Isha raised an eyebrow and snorted, crossing her arms. "You will not goad me into sharing more of myself with you. I have already given you everything you need to know about me, just as I have taken everything there is to know about you."

"Then you know of my plan, and my definition of salvation." The golden glow sputtered out, and the Emperor glared down at her. "Then there is only one path for you to take as there is only one path for me."

"There is only one path, but you are still blind to its nature." Isha turned her head and sighed before looking up at the Emperor again. "That plan is your only motivation and its logic is the reason for your xenophobia and hatred of all other species other than humanity."

Isha and the Emperor stared at each other; unmoving, unblinking.

"It is the same reason you promised all Four of the Ruinous Powers every soul of humanity in exchange for the immaterial resources to craft the 20 tools you would need to defeat them."

The Emperor's lips were pulled back into a grimace, but the God of Heroes waited for Isha to finish.

"It is the ending of the legend of the God of Heroes who defeated all of Chaos for humanity and humanity alone."

The grimace on the Emperor's lips relaxed, then curved upwards into a smile as his brown eyes dilated.

Isha truly knew what the Emperor intended to do, but she was waiting for him to say it; to say his own plan in his own god's voice.

"The usurpation of Chaos by humanity…" The God of Heroes spoke in his deep masculine voice. "And the infliction of all its miseries on everything but humanity."
♪3
As soon as the words left his mouth, Isha's nails slammed into his sword that had been swung down upon her head.

"You are the legend of humanity and only humanity." Isha stated calmly as her nails sparked against his sword. "Thus, to save humanity from Chaos would save only humanity from Chaos."

"But, therein lies a catastrophic problem." The God of Heroes continued where Isha left off. "Chaos does not come solely from humanity. In fact, most of it comes from things other than humanity."

"Chaos is evil. Whether it is a necessary or gratuitous evil is besides the point. It is evil regardless of it being benevolent or malevolent." The goddess and god stared into each other's eyes, reflecting the other in their entirety as their sword and nails inched forwards and backwards between them. "It is spawned from all the miseries of existence and the pain of reality from every living being. As the god of only humanity's heroes, you cannot defeat Chaos for all races."

"If they were only daemons, they would remain dead once they are slain in my legend so long as humanity exists, for they cannot appear before any other race if that race has the chance of meeting humanity. If it did so, it would be both alive and dead at the same time, and that is impossible even for a being of the Warp. The only way to survive in that sense would be to transform into something unrecognizable to humanity, and thus its original self would be dead regardless. However, the Ruinous Powers have a Truth like any other god. As long as the suffering and despair of reality exists, evil exists and therefore the Truth of Chaos exists."

"The fact that Chaos has been defeated does not make sense when the source of their Truth remains, especially for every other race besides humanity. Thus, even if you destroyed Chaos from humanity's perspective, Chaos would either only be partially destroyed or eventually return."

"And as insane as they are, they grow and learn like any other creature." The God of Heroes laughed, before snatching at Isha with his talons. "If I do not destroy them completely on the first try, they will return and the same method of defeating them will not work."

The Goddess of Life jumped backwards, avoiding the grasping claws of the God of Heroes.

"Therefore…" Isha frowned as she continued the Emperor's logic. "Chaos would have to be defeated in a way that all the evils in the world can be explained."

"And so, usurpation is the only ending that protects humanity." The God of Heroes smiled at Isha, encouraging her to continue.

"The Ruinous Powers would no longer exist, and every evil committed by the Ruinous Powers would still exist because those evils would be committed by the usurper's hand instead." The ground cracked beneath the goddess's feet, and lava bubbled out as if the very ground could not stop itself from vomiting. "The question of why there is evil in the world will be answered by the name of one single species."

"Humanity." The God of Heroes nodded.

"Evil would exist because humanity exists." Isha said, voice emotionless. "Your species would be the source of all evil in the galaxy."

"To be human would be to be evil. Everything else, including any homo sapien that did not agree to that would be nonhuman or abhuman." The God of Heroes shrugged. "But it would be meaningless if humanity committed those same evils upon themselves." He continued as he stepped towards Isha. "There would be no telling the difference between the state of before and after defeating Chaos."

"So humanity and only humanity would be saved, and every other xenos race and their homo sapien sympathizers would be damned by humanity's hands." Isha bared her teeth at the God of Heroes as they completed his argument. "A continuation of your Great Crusade across the galaxy to dominate and subjugate every race, turning them into the scapegoats for all the sins of humanity."

"That is the salvation of humanity as defined by the Emperor." The God of Heroes smiled.

"And humanity would wage bloody war upon every race. All who would resist would be slaughtered or plagued with poxes which only you had the cure to, forcing all those useful enough to not be exterminated to be subjugated. Your race would allow squalor and rot to fester in the underhives of their cities where the lowest ranked aliens and abhumans would be forced into ghettos and slums to live sick decrepit lives filled with despair and hopelessness. Your people would drill down into the Warp and Webway in endless uninhibited quests for knowledge with alien slaves and alien servitors to walk in front of them to ensure the path was safe. Everyone else would be enslaved and tortured for the amusement of your high-lords while gladiatorial fighting pits would distract the working masses with the cathartic suffering of others. In the end, all humanity would live in golden halls adorned with golden ornaments and clothed in golden silks, while every other nonhuman and abhuman would be subjected to the Primordial Truth of human supremacy."

"Beautiful, is it not?" The God of Heroes gestured with his hands as if showing off a priceless painting; as if he could see the image described by Isha before him. "Humanity would be utterly in control of their own destiny. They would be free from all of the unnatural and divine, for they would be the unnatural and divine itself. Chaos would no longer have a hold over them, for all of their actions would be what created Chaos in the first place."

"Salvation." Isha muttered. "For humanity and humanity alone." She let out a slow sigh before turning her silver eyes to the golden form of the God of Heroes who was still enraptured in the imaginary image she had described for him. "That is the true reason for your hate of all other alien races; young and old. Why bother with them if that is the fate you have in store for them to begin with. They will all hate and loathe humanity as the source of all evil in the end, so there is no point treating them kindly now for you never intended to treat them kindly in the first place."

"Selective nihilism and fatalism." The God of Heroes turned back to Isha as he lowered his arms. "If they are to be humanity's enemy in the end, then there is no point engaging with them beyond utilitarianism and cost-benefit analysis."

Isha snorted. That was the same logic the God of Heroes had used when he bargained away all the souls of humanity to the Ruinous Powers for the resources to craft the 20 tools he would need.

If the God of Heroes was to fight against Chaos, Chaos would take an interest in humanity and steal their souls. Therefore, the souls of humanity would fall to Chaos whether he sold them to Chaos or not. That was even before the fact that humanity often fell to Chaos anyways without any bargain or deal with the Ruinous Powers.

Thus, to bargain away all the souls of humanity was to sell a car thief their target car before they could steal it.

Chaos would take the souls of humanity whether he fought them or avoided them. That was why the God of Heroes decided to take something in return for goods that would be raided whether he acted or not.

Only those who followed the Imperial Truth would be immortalized in his legend, saving their souls from Chaos.

And in the end, if Chaos was usurped by humanity, all those stolen and sold souls would be returned, for humanity would have simply taken and bought its own souls.

"And you would reign over all of this as the Emperor of Mankind who unified and saved all of humanity. A singular God who was not a God that reigned over everything while forgiving humanity for all their sins, allowing them to imbibe in their basest darkest desires."

"You have my priorities reversed." The God of Heroes chuckled. "I allow subjugation, enslavement, slaughter, and torture for the salvation of mankind. Mankind's salvation is predicated on all of that, and it is not to allow them to do that that I save them."

"My sincerest apologies." Isha replied sarcastically. "The end result was the same, so I felt it didn't matter what your intentions were."

"No need to be snide." The God of Heroes said as he smiled gently. "Your love for your children and all that is necessary for them is much closer to Cegorach's than my love is for my people." His gentle smile turned into a vengeful sneer. "At the very least, regardless of the end result or the methodology, the hero's intention is always to be the bringer of salvation to themselves and those around them."

"You call my love for my children and all that they need to live evil?" Isha's voice was cold as liquid nitrogen, and frost spread out across the lava at her feet, freezing it into spikes of jagged obsidian glass.

"Of course it is." The God of Heroes laughed. "Even though it may be necessary for you and your Truth to function, your love and your Truth is full of both necessary and gratuitous evils."

Life is harsh. Pathogens cause disease. Parasites infect and infest all creatures. Predators slaughter and kill; sometimes to survive, and sometimes to show their own dominance over territory or females or social status to increase their chances at passing on their genes; although even herbivores would fight to the death for those last three things.

Those were the necessary evils of life, but life contains gratuitous evils as well.

Cats torture mice that they have no intention of eating, all because their hunting instincts have evolved to enjoy the act of killing prey so it would make them better hunters.

Dolphins murder Tuna simply because they resemble baby dolphins, and they cannot tolerate offspring in their pod that is not theirs.

Certain amoebas and protozoa cause lethal neural diseases, not to reproduce, but simply because human neurons through some cosmic coincidence chemically 'smell' the same as their favored prey items. They would enter the nasal cavity of humans, devour their way up the olfactory nerves, and feed upon the living brain of their victim only to die as they cannot escape back into the pond water they originate from.

"All of the miseries of life are the match that lights the bonfire of Chaos." The God of Heroes continued as he chuckled. "Although the Four may be the extremes of every evil, the origin comes from the basic facts of life; the selective pressure of evolution and natural selection." He pointed his sword at Isha. "Even your Phoenix King told you, didn't he? 'The pain of life is nothing to its goddess, for it is she who allows it to torture all that walk within the cycle.' You justified my barbarism against your children by likening it to the microbial genocide conducted by yeast. Your very nature and existence is evil, even if it is a necessary evil for the function of all life."

Isha remained silent, for what the God of Heroes said was not incorrect. Unhappiness and unpleasantness was part of living. Even simple viruses which seemed to do nothing but replicate were necessary for evolution, as they functioned to transmit their own and other genetic information between hosts. Had ancient retro-viruses not infected one of the common ancestors of all placentals, all mammals would have been forced to give birth to eggs as monotremes or worm-like fetuses like marsupials.

"Even inter and intra species conflict is allowed and contained within your love and Truth." The God of Heroes continued as he lowered his weapon. "You justified my barbarism against your children back on the Bucephelus while you sung your accursed song by likening it to the microbial genocide conducted by yeast. Thus, your Truth is evil to all it encompasses, and your love is also evil for it allows the hardship within your Truth to persist."

Isha had done that after hearing of the Emperor's plan to cull the refugees from the core worlds. She had pardoned humanity's transgressions against her people by rationalizing it as another part of her cycle of life. Otherwise, she would have torn herself apart as the Mother of the Aeldari would be irreconcilable with the Goddess of Life.

"The only reason you stand against me now is because I am a god. If I were a mortal, you would be unable to do anything even as I enslave, slaughter, and consume every one of your children until the conditions for your miracle are fulfilled. Only when the number of Aeldari goes from 1 to 0 on the target for your miracle would you be able to act against the mortal Emperor."

That was the requirement of the Goddess of Life. A requirement that had been fulfilled in this region of space a few hours ago.

"You speak of only the evil of life, of only the suffering." Isha muttered bitterly as she stamped on the obsidian shards at her feet, shattering them into dust. "You are correct. My love and my Truth have evil within them, but at the same time that is not the only thing within my breast." Her hands balled into fists as she spat out the next words. "It isn't even the main reason for life, or motherhood. My love is love. That much is irrefutably true."

"Then you should understand that the only reason you see the Emperor's plan as evil is because you are not human." The God of Heroes shrugged. "Just as your love and Truth may only contain evil and not be evil itself, my plan and my salvation merely contain evil and are not evil in themselves. My goal is salvation, and not the conversion of humanity into the source of Chaos. It is only because that is the only logical method for salvation that I do this. And regardless…" He turned his brown eyes towards her, and golden flames burned in the blackness of each pupil. "I am the God of humanity's Heroes. By definition, any act I do is for humanity, and not for any other. Therefore, it is inevitable that any outside onlooker beyond humanity would by definition find whatever I do to be evil and wrong."

Humanity would be saved. That much was true of the Emperor's plans. Everything else did not matter. No matter what the cost, so long as it was not paid with human hands, it was not an issue.

No, even if it was paid with human blood and human souls, so long as the ending was achieved, any suffering, any price, any evil was worth the Emperor's definition of salvation.

That was the natural conclusion of the one who would pull the lever to change the tracks the train would run upon in order to kill the least amount of people every time; regardless of whatever sin or guilt they would be burdened with from that act.
♪3 END
"But you knew all of this." The God of Emperors tilted his head as his talons rose to pinch his chin. "You knew all of this from the moment your nails turned gold, otherwise you would not have taken in my Truth."

"I knew of it…" Isha said emotionlessly. "But I needed to hear it from your voice, God of Heroes."

"Oh?" The God of Heroes raised an amused eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"To make my final judgment." Isha's curled fingers relaxed, returning to the gentle natural curve of her smooth effeminate hands.

"And what is your verdict?" The God of Heroes changed his posture, bending his knees slightly and pulling back both his sword and talons in preparation to strike.
♪4
"I will do as you wish, Emperor of Mankind" Isha smiled at him. "I shall treat you as a mortal, Neoth." Her smile slowly pulled back, revealing pearly white incisors and canines. "It is as you said." The gold light from her nails died, and returned to their original pink and white color. "A god like you should never have existed in the first place."

—----------------------------------------

*1 In this context, Cegorach is axiologically benevolent because being a hidden god means that it does not matter whether one believes in him or not because one cannot tell whether he exists or not because he is hidden. Thus, all those that believe in him gain all the benefits of believing in him that they imagine, and all those that do not believe in him gain all the benefits that they expect to receive from his non-existence.

 

[Nidhog153]

"Do you see them, Horus?" A tall man with flowing raven hair spoke to a young boy, high up on one of the balconies of the Imperial Palace on Terra. "All the engineers and laborers, the gene-sculptors and farmers, the teachers and store clerks. See how they all work together as one? Growing, feeding, and nurturing the Imperium? This is humanity. An organism that grows when truly unified."

The two of them overlooked the Imperial City of unified Terra under the mid-day sun. Horus was in the middle of one of his breaks between tutors, to allow those who would teach him to catch their breath and stamina from his questions.

The Emperor was clothed in a simple long-sleeved satin shirt and trousers. Horus was also clothed in similar attire.

"I do, Father." Horus nodded. He was a young boy with similarly long raven hair. He appeared to be only a few years of age, yet his eyes were infinitely wiser than their years. "They look like ants."

Both were so far up that any mortal would have not been able to see anything, especially amongst all the steam from the various ducts and occasional plumes of incense that rose from the various groups of Imperial Iterators that occasionally patrolled the streets to reinforce the Emperor's Imperial Truth amongst the most unfortunate and desperate.

"Haha!" The Emperor laughed as he tousled the young boy's hair. "Termites would be a better comparison. Ants are all clones produced by a single queen, but termites are genetically siblings to one another. They are all brothers and sisters, working together to help one another. But, that is not the true beauty of humanity, Horus. All these people before you do not work together due to some genetic predisposition."

"They work because you tell them to Father." The young boy shrugged as he combed his mussed hair back with his hand.

"At first, but no longer." The Emperor nodded as he chuckled. "See that old store clerk there? He could sell his shop, and live out the rest of his days with a state pension and the money from selling his store and land with about the same comforts he has now. He could also increase the prices of his wares by two fold, and although less people would buy from him, he could earn the same amount of money with half the work. That is how successful he is. Do you know why he does not do so?"

"Why Father?" Horus asked as he focussed in on the old tubby man greeting an old woman at the door of his small general store.

"Because he knows the school teacher down the road buys snacks and stationary from his shop to use at school." The Emperor spoke as he placed a hand on young Horus's shoulder.

"If he raised the prices, she wouldn't be able to restock her prize box for the children who get the most right answers. Those same children pass by this shop everyday, and he looks at them and waves every morning, even as he stretches the crick in his back and kneads the stiffness out of his neck everyday."

"What does that have to do with anything, Father?" Horus asked as he continued to stare down at the man from the balcony, like a hawk on a perch.

"Given the chance, humanity does not do what it has to do, or what it should do." The Emperor chuckled as he patted Horus on the shoulder. "It does what it wants to do, but even then, it still finds a way to work for the better of others."

Horus was quiet for a while as he watched the old man return to his store, then turned to look up at the man who said was his Father.

"Then why did the first federation fall apart, Father?"

It was a simple question, but it made the Emperor pause for a moment. Then a sad smile crossed his face, and he looked off into the masses of humans, avoiding eye contact with the young boy.

"Sometimes… humanity makes mistakes." He said slowly. "They think they're doing the right thing, but they aren't. Sometimes someone lies to them, and makes them believe in something there isn't." The Emperor leaned on the thick walls of the Imperial balcony for a while, letting the background noises of the Imperial city beneath them fill the silence.

"You will learn in time, Horus." The Emperor finally said. "But know this. All this. All my works and wonders. They will be yours one day. Yours to marvel and cherish. Yours to grow and lead."

Horus blinked at this, quizzically, then stepped up to the Emperor in order to get a look at his face that was still looking out at the city.

"You mean my brothers and mine, right?" Horus asked. "The ones who are lost."

The Emperor sighed once, and then turned back to Horus while leaning on the balcony wall.

"Yes, they are lost, but this will not be theirs. They have their own purpose."

A very slight frown furrowed Horus's young brow.

"That is not a good idea, Father. All the gangs on Colchis where the leader was not much better than his men fell the fastest. Jealousy and envy are quicker killers than any sword or stubber." An innocent smile replaced the slightly upset look, as the young boy looked up into the sky. "They are my brothers, and your sons Father. Surely they will be as smart and as talented as I am."

There was an innocent anticipation, and a slight sense of wanting in that voice.

Horus was the only son of the Emperor on Terra, and he had no personal knowledge of any other. He knew he was different from the day he woke up in the hives of Colchis. All the other children were weaker and dumber than him. Even the adults made mistakes that Horus found elementary.

He quickly learned that talking in the way that came most natural to him, talking as he did now, unsettled others. They would be surprised and amazed at first, but whatever wonder they seemed to experience gradually turned to uneasiness and fear the longer Horus talked.

It was as if they were looking at something not quite human, something that was not supposed to be in this world. So, he learned their slang and inefficient speech patterns, acted as they did amongst them, and worked to better the lives of those he felt most attached to.

That all ended when his Father found him, but the relief Horus felt had ebbed greatly. There were times when he felt his own Father was just as stupid as the dumbest gang leader of Colchis. This was one of those times.

His brothers were his brothers. They were made by the same man that was the Emperor, and they now walked amongst mortal men just as he had. They would surely feel the same feelings and have the same thoughts. They would be his equals, and his family.

He loved his Father, who was the only one he felt could be his intellectual equal, but he could not relate to him at times. Whether it was the age difference, or something else, Horus did not know, but there were times he felt his Father was overtly human and fallible.

It was those times that made Horus saddest the most.

'I suppose this is how Charlie Gordon felt when he realized the scientists who made him were only mortal men.' Horus thought to himself, feeling a sense of kinsmanship with the fictional savant in the book "Flowers for Algernon".

Charlie Gordon was a mentally disabled man who was turned into an intellectual god by the efforts of two neurosurgeons who he originally deeply respected and was thankful for the improvement to his mental faculties. However, when he ended up becoming far more intelligent than the men who created him, there were no feelings of joy nor gloating victory. There was only a deep disappointment, and cold loneliness.

"Then you will have to be the best and brightest among them through pure effort, Horus." The Emperor laughed as he tousled Horus's hair again.

Horus frowned, and pushed his Father's hand off his head. Perhaps he should mimic the Colchisian street gangs' hairstyle. At the very least, having his hair tousled wouldn't hurt so much with no hair to pull.

"You are the first of my sons to return to me, and you will be the first to lead them. If you feel it to be too trying to do so, then you can let the reins fall to someone else. But, you must take them up once to see who amongst your brothers they should go to."

Horus pondered over his Father's words. A rotating council might be a more stable form of governance, although changing the person in charge so frequently ran the risks of making the same mistakes as the Japanese Imperial Government during the second ancient World War on Terra that lead to the first two military uses of nuclear weapons on her soil.

"Yes, Father." Horus nodded, putting his ponderings on hold. His brothers would be as intelligent as him. If they worked together, they could come up with something much better.

"Good." The Emperor nodded. "Now, come. It is almost time for your next tutor."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1: Thanks again to Skyborne for reading this chapter before hand.
A/N2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Rosary - Intro

—----------------------------------------

The golden glow of the God of Heroes receded, and his sarcastic smile slowly drained of all mirth only to be replaced by the scowl of the Emperor.

"So… That was what you muttered back then while you were gloating."

This was the second time the God of Heroes had risen to the surface of his psyche. The first was during Isha's monologue of what sort of god he was and the core nature of his Truth. Steam had begun to rise from his own body back then as well when Isha made it clear that the Emperor was not supposed to be the God of Heroes and the God of Heroes was not supposed to be the Emperor.

The moment that had been said, his madness had risen to the surface and almost broke through. However, the moment Isha had muttered something under her breath, his divine madness had released him.

"What are you trying to do?" The Emperor asked the Aeldari deity before him.

This creature's actions were confounding. It brought his divine self to the forefront, the divine self he himself abhorred and hated, to talk of a plan she already knew and could not logically allow only to send it away once again.

"What purpose was there in talking to that, only to force it back?"

"Do not talk of the God of Heroes like a second personality, Neoth." Isha snorted. "That is you, infected with insanity and drunk on madness. The thought processes and actions of the God of Heroes are all yours, including its tears and its laughter."

"Tears?" The Emperor raised an eyebrow.

"I have already seen what you actually are, Neoth; that flaming figure walking along the golden path. That is what you really are. That form is always crying, even as it continues stepping into the darkness."
♪1
The short story Isha watched when she first touched the essence of the God of Heroes back on the Bucephelus showed the God of Heroes as what he symbolically was. A flaming figure swarmed by the uncountable shadow of humanity's souls, walking through the dark to pave a path for all those who could follow it.

From its eyes, endless tears fell, mixing with the ashes all those consumed in its fire to form hardening cement and mortar that would bind the golden bricks it laid with greater determination.

The God of Heroes may have been laughing at the cosmic joke that was the state of the galaxy, but its actual form endlessly wept, and used its tears and the remains of all those it could not save to reinforce the path that carried all those who could be saved.

The Emperor was silent for a moment, then both of his hands clenched as his teeth ground together and lips pulled back in a pained grimace.

"I never wanted this." He hissed through his teeth.

The Emperor may have made the plan, but it was not made with laughter, but bitter defeated sighs.

"'I never wanted this.'..." Isha muttered, repeating the Emperor's words. "I heard those words often from my daughter, after she forced my hand to doom my children." She sighed. "It is not easy making a miracle happen, but that child went through with it. She went along with her Truth, doomed my mortal children, and damned our family to eternal torment. She went behind my back, betrayed my trust, and is now mostly remembered for a false incestuous lust and her wagging tongue." Another long sigh exited between Isha's lips before she turned towards the Emperor. "But, even as she went down that thankless path with full-knowledge of what awaited her, she would always whisper to herself those same words you do right now."

'I never wanted this.' Those were the words that often exited between the lips of the Goddess of Dreams and Visions after she let loose the prophecy that brought forth the very creature it warned about.

"Rejoice, Emperor of Mankind…" Isha said in a melodramatic voice. "As the Goddess of Life, I can assure you that your plan will be the utilitarian solution that saves the galaxy."

"What?" The Emperor said slowly as he stared at the goddess before him, partially in shock, partially in disgust, and partially in horror.

"The galaxy is currently defined by the Ruinous Powers." Isha sighed. "They are, despite my family's best efforts, the victors of the Eternal War. Now, it is their Primordial Truth that defines the Sea of Souls and that definition has changed its very nature, making it the nightmarish Warp. That fact does not change until they and their Truth end."

Isha looked up at the dark clouds above the, twisting and churning as brief flashes of muffled lightning sparked within the dust and dirt high up in the stratosphere.

"With the current state of affairs, nobody is saved. Sooner or later, whatever the species, wherever in the galaxy they may be, Chaos will come for them. Their extremism makes them unsustainable in the materium, so the only way they can continue to exist is to spread, infect, defile, and destroy to reinforce what they are upon the galaxy. Eventually, there will be nothing left."

Isha paused and gave a very long and very tired sigh while looking to the side.

"From a utilitarian perspective, if your plan succeeds, at least one species will be saved. As the Goddess of Life, I can predict that much at the very least. Even if all other species of the galaxy might suffer under mankind's supremacy, it is better than total damnation of everything, and what's more…"

Isha turned to look at the Emperor once again. "For you and your kind, the damnation of others is a process that allows you to continue your salvation. Thus, by definition, all the evils of the universe would be rendered necessary. Henceforth, even if all other races are damned, the number of dead, tortured, and suffering would be fewer if they were done by the organized hand of humanity than the rabid claws, tendrils, and tentacles of the Four."

The Emperor took a step back. Why was an alien goddess, one of the protectors of the species his plan would consume defending his actions? The thought process was utilitarian, efficient, and also utterly alien. His divine self had started laughing only when there was no other path but the one he currently tread upon, but the goddess before him was calm and collected.

"Other species would be a resource for this golden version of humanity you envision, and your enlightened humanity would be intelligent enough to understand this fact. Thus, whatever necessary suffering was to be inflicted, it would be done as barbarically as possible on the smallest number required."

Isha chuckled to herself once before turning back to the Emperor with a narrow eyed smile.

"Emperor of Mankind, and prospective Hero of the Galaxy; you would save the most people with the least number of deaths with your plan, for the act of preventing unnecessary deaths and the act of saving the greatest number of people are effectively the same thing. Thus, your plan is 'good' even though it itself is 'evil'. I guess that is what the God of Heroes finds the most humorous."

Isha gave an amused snort. "Although, this was not what the answer you wanted for you or your people."

"OF COURSE I NEVER WANTED THIS!" The Emperor roared as golden sparks leapt from his eyes. "Thousands of years, I worked with divine and mortal friends and partners to find another way! I thought I was on the brink of success 8,000 years ago! A method of ensuring humanity's autonomy without usurping the Ruinous Powers! You think I want to take those things into my legend?!" He spat out as the flames on his sword roared out, charring the ground at his feet.

"The Four would live on through you, for their Truth would still exist." Isha nodded to herself. "You would be exposed to their every thought and deed. Given your personality, it would be a living hell I would imagine."

"And it would never end!" He said bitterly. "I would be stuck with all Four and all their evils for all eternity."

"You would." Isha sighed again. "You phrase it as usurpation, but you would be closer to their jailer."

"But jailing them is not enough. You cannot just defeat Chaos! Their despicable Truths are a material fact! Even if I could cut off their head with my sword, and stab them through the heart with my blade, as long as there is suffering in the world another will take its place! That's why an answer is needed to the question of all mortals, human or otherwise, so there is some answer to their prayers!"

As the god of a divided and self-destructive species, the God of Heroes had heard almost every possible cry a sentient being could give. However, for most, it could do nothing. Thus, it knew the pain and anguish that an unheard prayer could bring. That's why it could ignore those cries, and completely understand them at the same time. He had gotten used to them enough to abandon them, but he knew what each ignored cry did to each individual.

"You're not wrong." Isha admitted sullenly. "My children's empire was a post-scarcity society untouched by war, famine, disease or even death. Just as Khorne, Tzeentch, and Nurgle could never defeat us during their Eternal War, my children had nothing to fear from the sufferings that all other races in the universe endured."

Just as the Aeldari empire was unburdened with all material wants and provided everything to fulfill even the most hedonistic and trivial need, the Aeldari pantheon withstood the forces of Chaos undefeated. However, just as the Aeldari empire was aloof and isolated from all other species, the Aeldari pantheon did not act as the primitive races of the galaxy wept and cried for all the death and destruction they wrought upon themselves.

This is the relationship between the immaterium and materium; a metaphysical entanglement of events and occurrences that mirror each other, yet are utterly unconnected. Coincidental poetry that simply happened to rhyme on key verses.

"Even then, that was not the answer to the question of evil." The Emperor spat out his words with venom. "Eternal peace and prosperity for all merely resulted in the creation of Slaanesh as nihilistic or fatalistic hedonism suffused every aspect of culture available. That was the end result of the Aeldari's answer to the question of evil."

There was a long pause as the Emperor shook his head, disentangling his thoughts from the information Isha had given him. Whether he knew that fact before or after she had given him that information, he could not tell, but the facts matched with everything else.

"That's why, this is the only way." He said slowly. "I've already tried everything else I could come up with, and you know what that led to."

"The Cybernetic Revolt, the Age of Strife, the Dark Age of Technology, the usurpation or oblivion of every other god of humanity, and Molech."

The abominable plan of the Emperor was not plan A or B or even Z. It was the final back-up that had been buried the moment it was conceived 16,000 years ago, and only dug up in the last 8000 years after the grand social experiment humanity had conducted on itself collapsed along with their Golden Age.

"That was when they asked me that question, Isha." The Emperor whispered. "'Were they worth everything you gave them, Neoth?' After everything I gave, everything I had tried and taught humanity, all the love they received from all their gods, it was all for nothing."

"'Humanity is a species of failures, losers, and fools.' was it?" Isha repeated the Emperor's words. "Of course, that means that is what you define yourself as well, being created from their thoughts and dreams."

"But, it all ends now, doesn't it?" He replied bitterly. "Just how much more power do you have stored?"

This had been a battle of stamina for the Emperor, but he had already winded himself several times during their numerous attempts at destroying each other. Isha, on the other hand, remained largely unchanged. He could still continue, for eternity if necessary, but the battle to outlast her was seeming to be an almost Sisyphean task; like attempting to flatten a mountain by digging away at it with a spoon.

"Enough to achieve a single miracle…" Isha said with a forlorn smile. "And perhaps a few other minor blessings."

A miracle. That was how she phrased it, and he had seen fragments of what that entailed. Its nature was still a mystery, but its scale was gradually becoming clearer. That was an act that affected entire planets.

The Tear of Isha.

With one tear, it was said that she returned all life to the dead homeworld of the Aeldari.

The Emperor could expunge an entire planet of life, given enough time. If he had his fleets act in his stead, he could commit Exterminatus with Cyclonic torpedoes, Atmospheric incinerator torpedoes, or Virus bombs. However, he could not simply rejuvenate a planet back to life. If he could, Terra would have returned to its blue and green form eons ago.

If she truly had the reserves for a miracle of that scale, this battle that hadn't even leveled a single continent was within the margin of error compared to the power necessary to create a psychic event that would affect the entire planet.

"Is this all then some act as the Aeldari Goddess of Mercy." The Emperor muttered sullenly, only for the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

"Watch your mouth Mon-keigh." Isha said quietly, but her wide open eyes burned with a cold intensity. "I simply can't have you losing hope and committing suicide, not after how much you've inconvenienced and insulted me."

The Emperor watched the goddess warily as he felt her boiling anger gradually simmer, then he opened his mouth to ask the question that had begun to tug at his mind.

"Why bother? If you are as wise and powerful as you're posturing, then why bother with me or my race?"

He may still be able to track her, but he was beginning to have his doubts on whether he would be able to do anything should he find her.

There was a long pause as the Aeldari goddess glowered at him, as if the very act of questioning her was an insult. Finally, she sighed and folded her arms in front of her.

"I am desperate, Neoth." She said slowly. "I am still as desperate as when I first told you so when we first met." Her fingers curled around her upper arms, and she dipped her head forwards. "I have reestablished contact with some of my children, and things are deteriorating faster than I had hoped." Thousands of psychic linkages revealed themselves from within Isha, appearing from her back like flower buds on vines or branches that had yet to bloom. "You see those bindings between me and the surviving twins of those that lost their lives here? They are already in the belly of She who Thirsts, and are exposed to Hir Truth." Each bud was a vibrant pink and purple color and pulsated occasionally, as if whatever was inside wasn't a flower, but something more animate; something that had a hag-fish maw filled with teeth. "I have felt their hearts and minds, and they already resonate with Hir more than with me. It won't be long before they become like the Psychomatons, bound to an excess that prevents them from doing anything else but that, permanently unable to return to me."

Isha paused as the flower buds drew back inside her, and then shook her head.

"No… it doesn't matter whether that takes place a day from now or a million years in the Warp. If they are to lose in the future, then they have already lost now. The same is true for my devoured family. They are with She who Thirsts, either in the Palace of Pleasure or within Hir belly. Just like you and I, they are engaged in a divine debate with the God of Excess, and that battle begins with them on the backfoot. They are forced to resist with only a fraction of their power and Truth, and less of their body. Even if I could stretch out a hand to save them, there is a chance that the moment I do, they will emerge from Hir stomach and grab my wrist to drag me down into the blood and gore filled stomach acids of She who Thirsts." A ragged breath came from her as her fingers closed around her upper-arms; pink nails digging into her impossibly hard skin. "I may be Hir antithesis, but there are ways to use even things you cannot digest."

Isha was desperate. She had no other options and no more time left. The Aeldari pantheon had been consumed in the Warp and time had no meaning there. Whatever she did, whatever method of salvation she could carry out, it would already be too late.

The Emperor remained silent for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the words and actions of the Aeldari goddess.

She was desperate.

She had fought him.

She had conversed with his own hated divine-form, and then sent it away relieving him of its madness.

Now, she stood before him justifying his plans that would hurt her people as well.

Everything seemed to be a tangled mess of contradicting actions and words, with no logical path he could understand.

Finally, he formulated the question that would either end their conflict, or aggravate it.

"Are you desperate enough to join my plan?"

That was the only peaceful outcome the Emperor could come up with.

It would be harder with two species, but it was theoretically possible. As long as the problem of evil was answered, it didn't matter whether there were one or two names for the rest of the galaxy to call out in hatred.

Isha let out a brief exasperated laugh as she shook her head.

"Don't be ridiculous." She said tiredly. "Even though your plan is 'good' from a utilitarian perspective, I could never allow it to come to pass."

Rejection. That was the goddess's answer.

The Emperor's right hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he began to raise it.

"Do not be so hasty, Neoth." Isha said as she raised a placatory hand. "We've generated a sense of rapport between us, so why not hear my answer as to why that wouldn't even work in the first place."

The Emperor paused, then slightly lowered his sword, affirming her offer to provide greater detail with silence.

"My children and myself are of particular interest to at least two of the Four." Isha shrugged as she spoke. "Nurgle wants me as his prize, while She who Thirsts will never stop lusting after my children. Your method of slaying the Ruinous Powers requires you to take in everything that they are. Even though you may not understand them at first, that ignorance would not last forever. In fact, since you specifically seek to usurp their Truths, you would have to understand them better than any other thing in the galaxy possibly could. Of course, what that would mean is that you would understand their desire for both the mortal Aeldari and their last surviving goddess."

The Emperor grimaced.

Nurgle wanted Isha, and the Emperor saw what Lilieath prophesied to be Isha's fate at the hands of the Plaguefather.

Slaanesh wanted all the souls of the Aeldari, and the Emperor had already seen what the Prince of Pleasure was capable of.

Both desires were motivated by each Chaos god's respective Truths.

If he took them into his legend, those desires would be inscribed into him as well, and as the arbiter of their Truths, he would eventually begin to see the way they viewed the world. Hence he would have the same desires as Nurgle and Slaanesh.

"If it were some other species, you might have been able to save them as well. However, for the Aeldari and myself specifically, your plan is damnation regardless."

That was the reason for Isha's rejection. The Emperor's plan would not work in the first place for the Aeldari or their goddess.

"Don't try to deny it." Isha said sadly as the Emperor's brow creased as he tried to find a way to refute her. "When I said you would plague all who would resist with poxes which only you had the cure to, I did not say that lightly."

"You suggest that I would do something like that to you?" The Emperor's tone was filled with disgust.

"You already intended to send me to eternal sleep and harvest my knowledge in my dreaming nightmares." Isha shrugged. "After you take in Nurgle, it would only be a matter of time, and Nurgle is your first target. Afterall, why else would you have designed something like the Virus bomb to begin with?"

The Virus bomb, an Exterminatus class bioweapon that spread the genetically-engineered pathogen called the Life-eater virus across the surface of an entire planet within minutes. The virus could penetrate power armor and rebreathers, and rotted anything of biological origin into a flammable sludge. All the flora and fauna of an entire world would be digested by the virus; turning forests into swamps of decay, and choking every body of water with the liquified remains of all those who had been living moments before. Then, a single spark was all that was required to turn the gangrenous remains of an entire planet into a burning hellstorm.

With a plague this virulent, it would not take long for humanity to be synonymous with death, disease, and despair. After that, it would only require a trip through a Webway backdoor deep into the Plaguefather's garden, and the usurpation of the oldest Chaos god could begin.

"The same thing will happen when you slay She who Thirsts, Neoth." Isha said quietly. "Your people already find my kind attractive. I will not have my children be your people's playthings."

Distant echoes of thunder rumbled overhead as the Emperor simulated the situation Isha had described, trying to find another outcome. Finally, he shook his head and raised his sword again.

"Then… there is only one way this can go." The Emperor said slowly.

"Whoever finds out about the Emperor's plan cannot be allowed to live." Isha replied calmly.

"So, there are only two ways this can end." The Emperor's flaming sword was already in the ready position, and his feet shifted so his chest faced away from Isha at an angle, narrowing his silhouette while putting his weapon in-between himself and his opponent.

"Anyone who learns of the plan to turn humanity into the source of all evils must be either killed by the Emperor." Isha shrugged.

"Or kill the Emperor." Neoth replied.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared above them.

"In the end, this is the only relationship humanity can have with Xenos." The Emperor's voice was sullen, disappointed, and tired.

"There are other paths." Isha said calmly as she unfolded her arms.

"I have no interest in listening to the second rate answer of a failed goddess belonging to a fallen species." The Emperor replied, voice devoid of emotion. "If you had an answer to all evil, you would have deployed it before your children fell."

"Do you remember the question of the train and the tracks we talked about, Neoth?" Isha said suddenly as she opened a hand, and a spear made of obsidian rock shot out of the ground and landed in her palm.

"'What happens if the act of sacrificing one to save many is counted as murder?' was it?" The Emperor replied as he waited for Isha to finish.

"We don't have to go that far." Isha chuckled as a new golden strand of hair grew out of her head before cutting itself off and wrapping around the point of the spear. "But, it is that concept that is my solution." Isha twirled her weapon in her hand, testing its balance before holding it in both hands and lowering her posture. "Unfortunately, a crime must be committed for a criminal to exist."

The Emperor tensed, and the ground beneath his feet cracked as he shifted his weight in readiness to lunge.

"Before we begin…" Isha interrupted as her own legs bent, preparing to pounce. "I would like to thank you for reminding me."

"Reminding you of what?" The Emperor answered as the two of them stared into each other's eyes.

"Of what I am and what I was made for in the War in Heaven."

Twin explosions rocked the land as Isha and the Emperor shot forwards, and clashed once more.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Tsukihime [月姫] -A piece of blue glass moon - Track #27 (EXTENDED)
♪2 Tsukihime [月姫] -A piece of blue glass moon - Track #19 (EXTENDED)

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♪1
The golden tip of Isha's spear hit the Emperor's sword, and both were repelled. However, where the Emperor's sword was merely deflected, Isha's spear shattered into dust.

However, even as the Emperor's surprise slowed his return swing, Isha dove under his arm and over the knee that kicked out at her, diving through the gap between his arm and leg, as if she had expected her own weapon to break when it did.

The golden strand of hair that had been wrapped around the stone spear followed her, trailing behind her in a jagged golden line, like the waveform of a heartbeat displayed on an electrocardiogram.

Another spear shot out of the ground into Isha's hand, allowing her to vault away from the Emperor as she used its remaining velocity like a counterweight as he turned and swung behind him, giving the strand of hair time to rebind itself to the spear tip.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed when he saw the stone spear again.

It was not a simple construct of stone, but an extremely life-like replica of a worn wooden spear. There were numerous nicks and notches near the tip, as if it had parried swords or axes multiple times in the past, and even the grain of the wood was replicated on the stone's surface. However, the most concerning part of the spear was that the second was exactly the same as the first one.

"That's not your spear, is it?" The Emperor asked as he lunged at Isha again.

"Correct." Isha nodded as she parried again with just the point. This time the entire spear did not break, but the point wrapped in Isha's golden hair snapped off.

The Emperor released his aura, removing Isha's influence from their surroundings, and also subjecting her entire body to his immaterial hating Truth. It was not as potent as the supernova he had planned to release when Isha charged at him in that gradual spiral, but it should slow her movements long enough to prevent her from escaping like she had the last time her weapon broke.

However, Isha sidestepped the Emperor's blade as he swung with more force than was necessary, expecting her to be immobilized and therefore only capable of blocking.

In return, she threw the remains of her weapon at his face, forcing him to tilt his head out of the way and buying herself a few seconds to step back as another identical spear launched itself from the ground into her hand.

"This is the spear of my consort, Kurnous." Isha replied as her hair wrapped itself around the point once again. "Or at least, it is the best replication of his Truth that I can make with mine. He wasn't spared my wrath either during the war within our pantheon."

The Emperor lowered his stance, watching Isha warily as she spoke. He had been continuously decoding the information Isha had forced upon him from the very beginning, and there were no mentions of her using a spear like that.

It appeared to be just a wooden spear replicated out of stone, but it was dangerous to the Emperor. It was not a threat when used against him, but he could feel that should he ever attempt to wield or grab it he would lose. He had attempted to suffuse the third spear with his immaterium hating Truth as it traveled upwards towards Isha, but he felt an unpleasant sensation as he drew close to it with his psychic essence and withdrew.

"It is a good thing you didn't attempt to touch it." Isha smiled as she ran her fingers over the spear. "My consort was the God of the Hunt, and his legend was that he taught all the Aeldari how to hunt in order to survive." She twirled the spear in one hand, before catching it in both and pointing it at the Emperor. "Of course, my beloved Eldanesh made sure to obfuscate what exactly we hunted to survive in all our legends before his passing."

"The Necron and their Star Gods" The Emperor muttered grimly.

"Indeed, this spear is a representation of his miracle. His gift of knowledge to my children so they could survive during the War in Heaven." Isha chuckled as the two began to circle each other. "Its effects are close to that Apollonian version of the twin spears you made."

The Apollonian and Dionysian spears were twin weapons the Emperor forged upon Terra. Both weapons were well made, but their true power lay in their esoteric abilities.

The Apollonian spear would show the 'truth' of whatever its blade impaled to the wielder.
The Dionysian spear would show the 'truth' of whatever its blade impaled to the victim.

The Spear of Kurnous itself was only a weapon when wielded against the Emperor, but should he ever try to wield it himself, he would experience the same thing as when Isha forced her memories upon him.

No, it would be far worse. There was no guarantee that it would only be 40 or 50 thousand years of information that he received. That spear contained 60 million years worth of war knowledge and battle tactics and its miracle was the provision of knowledge. The speed of data transfer would far exceed Isha's.

"So, knowledge really is power." The Emperor snorted. "I guess I have your Eldanesh to blame for this situation as well?"

At every turn, he had been outwitted by the Aeldari goddess. What she did and how she acted did not match with the plain reading of her legends. It was as if someone had rephrased everything, disseminating the details with context clues that formed a sort of code that could only be deciphered if one understood all Aeldari history.

"Indeed." Isha nodded. "He knew that his death would make the edict permanent, so he ensured both the Aeldari that came after him and his followers as well as any other alien would never know how we functioned or what we really were. Our legends would be accurate enough to maintain us, but be too vague to understand without the appropriate context."

The Emperor grimaced. He had been decoding more and more of Isha's information, and there was an unsettling fact about the type of information that was being decoded.

As a Goddess of Life, the Emperor expected there to be large catalogs of genetic information and biomantic knowledge. However, although there was information relating to those subjects a greater percentage of the information seemed more to do with geology, meteorological manipulation, fluid dynamics, and other seemingly unrelated subjects that dealt more with physics and chemistry instead of just biology.

At first, he thought it was simply because she was perceived to be a maternal spirit of the earth, but the concepts contained in Isha's information were diverging further and further from his original assumptions.

AAAA curse BBBB …
CCCC possession DDDD …
XXXX overwrite YYYY …

These few bits of this particular portion of her information were all linked, and composed an entire process that took up a large portion of what Isha was. However, they seemed utterly disconnected from the concept of life, motherhood, love, or mercy.

'Is this what she inherited from Khaine?' He thought to himself.

Isha was the daughter of Khaine and Morai Heg. The function of this portion of her was a mystery to him, but whatever it was it did not have a positive connotation. It was like looking at a massive machine made of some sort of obsidian alloy that oozed black tar from every joint and rivet. Whether it was an industrial tool or weapon of war was impossible to tell. All he could understand was that it was large, and it was dangerous; like staring up at a tunnel boring machine meant to chew threw the ocean floor with massive grinding diamond coated teeth.

The Emperor lept forwards again, and retracted his aura for a brief moment before letting it out in a small pulse as he swung with his sword, and swiped with his talons.

Isha's spear tip met his sword and deflected it without breaking, but his talons cut right through the middle of the spear's shaft between Isha's hands. However, as his pulse enveloped Isha, her skin flashed gold for a moment and both gods jumped backwards away from each other.

"I see now." The Emperor muttered.

Isha had taken in his Truth, but she was still as vulnerable to it as she was back on the Bucephelus. He had wondered why only her hair and nails seemed to hold his Truth, but with that flash of gold from her skin, he fully understood how exactly she was using his Truth.

"Nails, hair, the very surface layer of skin. All of those are dead tissue. That's why you can use my Truth."

Isha had first blocked the Emperor's sword with a dead tree binding. Although it was mostly to block the spell of forced slumber, it was also to protect herself from the burning touch of his Truth. That was why Isha was both vulnerable to his Truth, yet still capable of wielding it against him. She expressed his Truth on the parts of her that were 'dead' and hence not affected by his Truth.

Her skin was currently coated in a very thin layer of his Truth, for only the very top layer of skin is dead. It was too thin to provide any protection against a blow, but it would reflect any unfocussed pulse of his Truth like sunscreen.

"That spear has also been restricted." The Emperor said as he raised his sword once more. "It's not supposed to be so brittle." A brief image of an Aeldari man wielding the same spear, but composed of actual wood flashed in his mind. "Generations. That is the part of your Truth that allows you to use Kurnous's spear."

"That, and the fact that it only works against lethal force." Isha shrugged slightly, admitting to another weakness of her current weapon. "Only the most extreme selective pressure allows me to improve it, and all those improvements are eventually lost to me when I pass them on. All of these are restrictions Kurnous never had. He would have figured out what you were far quicker than I ever could." She smiled as the Emperor grimaced.

It was as she said, the Emperor was attempting to kill Isha. There were no more flashy moves; no more excessive blasts of psychic energy fired in the hopes to deplete her faster than himself. All his focus was upon his weapons and his body, just as it had been when he slew the Void Dragon.

This was no longer a battle of stamina for the Emperor.

He may be able to deplete Isha's reserves eventually, but realistically speaking it was not the best option. He was acting as Isha said he would. All who learned of the Emperor's plan had to be killed or kill the Emperor. Whether they were alien or human, it didn't matter. Neither side could be trusted with this knowledge.

Additionally, Isha was now using Kurnous's spear against him. He was the God of the Hunt, and his miracle was the act of teaching the Aeldari how to hunt the Necron and their Star Gods. However…

"He was not an omniscient god." The Emperor said as he charged forwards again.

"He wasn't, for how could he. He was meant to be the teacher of my children." Isha replied as she caught the Emperor's sword with her spear tip in a brief bind, sliding the golden point along the blade before jabbing forwards, forcing the sword to pass by her head centimeters from one of her long pointed ears.

"The only way for him to learn what he had to teach was by finding it out himself, so he walked amongst my children as one of them and found ways to defeat their enemies with only mortal means." She swiftly unbound her weapon from his, and swung it so the point knocked his talons aside as she ducked under the return swing of his sword.

"He learned from Vaul, sparred with Khaine, borrowed Hekarti's sight, and took the bodies of all those who believed in them so he could see the world through their eyes and feel it through their hands, all so his spear could better fit their fingers."

The Emperor kicked out at her, both of his weapons having missed or been deflected, and his boot landed in the middle of her spear, shattering it in two and pushing Isha away from him where another spear was already shooting out of the ground to replace the one she had lost.

"A learning and training program for the biological weapons that were the Aeldari." The Emperor muttered as he regained his footing.

That was Kurnous's role in the weapon system that was the Aeldari pantheon.

"If you wish to phrase it that way, then yes. That was what he was." Isha said with a sigh.

"And this is his legend recreated with your Truth." The Emperor frowned as he decoded another line of the information Isha had forced upon him with the symbolic visual effects Kurnous's spear displayed. "A fundamental improvement of capability over generations."

"The passing on of lessons from the old to the new."

That was how Isha used a Truth that was not her own. Kurnous's Truth was the process of learning and adapting mimetically and technologically to an obstacle. Isha's interpreted that as the physical adaptation of things due to external pressures, in other words, evolution.

Isha's version of Kurnous's spear was getting stronger. Every version took longer to destroy, and the golden hair that had been simply wrapped around the tip was now forming a visible golden edge on the spear's point while stretching downwards as well. Numerous new bindings had begun to reach from the point to the base of the spear, forming a sort of gilded pattern that resembled a conjoined set of runes written in cursive script.

No, it was no longer just stone. He could see parts of the obsidian rock had been replaced by a brownish metal; copper.

"You called my love and my Truth evil." Isha gave a sad smile as she spoke. "I admit it, you are not wrong. There is evil in my love, and to live is to suffer, but life itself is not suffering."

"Then what is it?" The Emperor asked as he charged again.

"The purpose of life is to eliminate suffering." Isha retorted as she met his sword with her spear, binding the two as she leveraged her longer weapon against the tip of his. "Creatures grow, mate, pass on genetic traits, and eventually become intelligent enough so mimetic ideas can also be passed down to better adapt their offspring to their environment." She stepped back, avoiding a swipe of his talons, then shifted her spear, forcing his sword outwards while putting the shaft between her and his armored knee. "With each coming child, their lives become easier and less harsh as their bodies and minds become better suited for the world around them." The black obsidian rock snapped in half upon impact with his knee guard, but the two halves of her weapon remained connected with a single strand of her hair. "The past generation should leave a better place for the present and future ones, for a child shall always be ignorant of their parents' pain." She jammed the bottom half of what remained of her spear's shaft in between the Emperor's talons, and jumped back as the Emperor overpowered her other arm and brought his sword back, cutting the air she had occupied before.

"That is the Truth of life as I define it." Isha said confidently as a new spear made entirely of bronze shot itself in her hand. "As the mother of all Aeldari, I shall take all that they suffer within my breast, and cleanse its source with my sorrowful tears." The golden strand of hair left the remains of her previous weapon, shooting towards her in a zigzag line and binding itself on her new one in an even more intricate pattern. "That is my miracle. That is the blessing of the Goddess of Life, and the nature of my love."

The Emperor paused for a moment, as he felt something ripple within him.

"You have a similar concept within yourself, do you not?" Isha spoke as she raised her spear to his face.

The Emperor snorted and continued his attack, but he felt her words seep through to him. No, it was resonating with the information she had given him as they fell through space. Her concepts of life and love had been given to him in data format, and he could unpack them now that what they contained had been expressed in a language they both shared.

'Humanity is a species of failures, losers, and fools. But, they always rise no matter how arrogant or ignorant their actions may seem.'

Those were the words the Emperor himself had expressed to Isha when he threw off the shadows that were the Aeldari memories Isha forced upon him.

He too had seen the social, economic, and technological rebirth of human society many times. Each time there were failures. Each time there were losses. Each time there were fools who brought the end to ages of peace and years of combined labor. However, the story never ended there.

Separated tribes gathered together, forming kingdoms that consumed each other to form empires.

These in turn crumbled under their own weight as their own mistakes built up over the eons, giving birth to new kingdoms and fiefdoms.

Such smaller countries eventually collapsed due to or evolved in fear of revolution of their own people, morphing into constitutional monarchies which eventually turned into democracies.

All the while, new technologies grew, were forgotten then rediscovered, and evolved allowing more and more people to survive and flourish.

And through all of that, every group produced their own hero. Not all were good. Not all were successful. But, they all stood up with the best intentions.

Even as their dreams burned to cinders around them, they looked up to the sky in defiance, ready to rise again if only given the chance.

'Vive la France!' A young girl with brunette hair shouted out under a blue sky with a sword raised high while riding a horse in knight armor.

'Vir triumphalis!' Hundreds of people in white togas cried out as a man in purple robes and a golden laurel crown stood on a marble balcony overlooking all of them.

'For home and country!'' A battered man in an old olive green military uniform yelled as he clambered out from a muddy trench with a bolt action rifle and bayonet, only to be followed by his entire platoon across a torn battlefield filled with barbed wire and machine gun fire as artillery boomed in the background.

African ululations and Native American war whoops rang in his ears as the conjoined memories of every hero who had reached him, all those who he thought had merely melted into his essence stood at his back.

Men and women of good and evil, selfish and selfless in their nature returned from the ancient and recent past.

He was them, and they were him.

Humanity as a whole might have failed themselves, but it did not mean that every single one was unsuccessful. If they were, he would not have been made, and these heroes and heroines would not have risen from the mortal realm to meet him at the golden double doors before the golden halls that composed his heart and mind.

A small smile crossed the Emperor's lips and the same one alighted on the face of every past hero who stood at his back. They suffered as he did, and rejoiced when he did. Now, they remembered themselves as he remembered them. He was God of the Heroes of humanity, and it was from their fortitude that he drew his strength; their resolve to remain in this dark world despite everything that allowed him to continue.

He himself had said it. Humanity would rise no matter what.

"I do!" The Emperor roared out as his sword sliced through Isha's spear in a single blow, forcing her to hurriedly hop backwards. "Heroes fight against evil, and even if they fall their legend is taken up by the next. A single failure gives no reason to abandon all hope for eternity. Humanity rises from its failures, and in doing so progresses forwards! They may at times take more steps back than they do forwards, but that doesn't mean the dream to take that leap forwards is meaningless!"

That was something Neoth had always known, and the reason his words resonated so with all humanity. But, just like the act of riding a bike or driving a car, he had left that knowledge in only his motor memory, forgetting to think about it with his conscious mind.

Now, the rust fell off of his heart, and the golden glow of his eternal resolve shone through.

"That is why I walk this path!" The Emperor shouted as he chased Isha while she backed away from him, buying time for the next generation of Kurnous's spear to form. "I am the hero of humanity! Even if the solution damns me and everyone else but them to eternal suffering, as long as humanity is saved, the method does not matter!"

That was the reason for proceeding with his plan. He could no longer stop, and no longer relent. Isha may have rekindled his flame, but she had also rejected his plan. Therefore, the only thing he could do was strike her down faster and stronger with the power she had reawakened in him.

Another generation of Kurnous's spear splintered under the Emperor's assault, but his frown deepened. The materials making the spear were no longer a metal he recognized. Hundreds of generations had been struck down, but each time a stronger variant shot into Isha's hand. The golden strand of hair now gilded the entire weapon, splitting apart into hundreds of runes that emblazoned both the shaft and spearhead. Furthermore, it no longer returned to the strand of hair between generations, but appeared on the new generation as if it had been premade with his Truth.

He could not allow this to proceed any further.

Aeldari material sciences may be an alien topic to him, but he knew what the greatest and most ubiquitous material they used was.

Wraithbone.

That was the current pinnacle of Aeldari materials, and that was where Kurnous's spear was proceeding towards.

That spear was the representation of Kurnous's legend and miracle. But adaptation was only the first half of its story. The second half was the teaching of the lessons learned by Kurnous to the children of Isha. If that spear reached the generation that was made out of Wraithbone, it could be used by any Aeldari who learned of it. He could not let its evolution proceed any further, and he could not allow Isha to exist now that she had learned of his plan.

As Isha stepped away from the Emperor, he suddenly turned and shot away from her; towards the valley where Kyrazis's ship fell where the delimbed remains of the Psychomatons lay.

Isha narrowed her eyes while letting out a brief snort as a thin angry smile crossed her face.

"I guess he's started to use his head a little."

Then the ground opened up and swallowed her.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor ran towards the Psychomatons. He did not use a Warp portal, nor did he run at full speed. He did not want to take them hostage or kill them outright. All he wanted was to give Isha a reason to attack.

Every blow between them came out in the Emperor's favor, but his inability to predict when her weapon would shatter and when it would withstand him meant Isha always had the upperhand in the mental portion of their melee. He could predict and feint as much as he wanted, but he would have to strike Isha if he intended to kill her. Meanwhile, Isha merely defended against him and retreated perfectly whenever her weapon finally gave out, taking in its failure as part of her retreat. Thus, only her weapon was destroyed momentarily before it was reforged into a new evolved and improved form.

At this rate, Isha's spear would reach its final form, and whatever plan she had been fomenting in her alien brain would come to fruition.

Whether it was good or bad, he could not foresee, but he still saw the same two possibilities for humanity he saw on the Bucephelus before him.

The island across the ocean, and the stone coffin that turned into a crystal prison.

Quite frankly, he didn't know which outcome led to which. It was possible through some twisted trap his victory was what entombed him in that new future Isha brought with her, but as long as Isha rejected his plan to save humanity he could only act against her in order to complete it.

The ground before the Emperor opened, and he retracted his touch from it to allow Isha to burst out towards him. His objective was her death, and not to delay her. The faster she approached him, the faster she would attack, and the faster he could counter-attack.

"Paradoxical problem solving." Isha smirked as she shot out of the ground at him. "You're no longer just a charging bull anymore."

It was a contradictory conclusion that the Emperor reached; pulling back in order to draw her in so he could go to the next step of killing her faster. At the same time, he put her at a further disadvantage.

Isha could only attack him if she had her weapon. Therefore, if she allowed him to destroy her spear, he would proceed towards the Psychomatons while she reforged another one and eventually reach them. Thus, she could not afford to allow her weapon to be destroyed, despite that being the method by which she improved it.

Even if she allowed her weapon to be destroyed, and attacked him barehanded, that would only work to the Emperor's advantage.

Retreat to attack. Forced offensive resulting in compulsory conservatism that would stifle Isha's progress.

Contradicting concepts that led to the outcome the Emperor would benefit from most.

"Don't you have some other insult to throw at me?" The Emperor snorted as he blocked her first stab with his sword, binding the two blades together, and struck out with his talons.

"Why?" Isha snorted as she twisted her body sideways, avoiding his talons as she shoved her spear forwards, sparking against his blade. "These actions are in perfect alignment with what you are. To call it underhanded or unfair would be like being angry at a rock for being hard or calling a dog a mutt." She shoved her spear with both hands, forcing his sword out of the way as she stepped onto his knee, burning her foot, and kicked off to bring her other knee rocketing towards his face. "You think of yourself as the cheat here, but rest assured, I have watched my beloved Eldanesh do far worse."

"You called them your children." The Emperor retorted, referring to the Psychomatons, as he twisted his head while leaning sideways simultaneously, causing Isha's knee to only tear the collar of his chest plate. Smoke rose from where his armor contacted her bare skin, but she continued past him with her remaining momentum. However, even as she traveled past his ear, he spun around, swinging at her with his clenched left gauntlet.

"And I stand between them and you because of that, but I cannot insult you for your actions." A green barrier appeared at her back, deforming like a pillow and dissipating his strike, slowing his fist long enough for Isha to travel past him. "Your actions are made to survive, and from that perspective there is no good or evil in my eyes." She twirled mid air, preparing to slash with her spear only to retract as the Emperor's sword prepared to meet her weapon. "I merely oppose you because I do not like what you do. Not because you are evil and I am good."

"This is what the hero does." Her feet dug into the dirt as she landed before launching herself at him again. "No matter the cost, they achieve victory. Even in death, martyrdom is the prize they claim with cold fingers. There is no good or evil in that, merely victory or defeat."

Survival of the fittest. That was the mercy Isha allowed.

Her own hero, Eldanesh, sent his own species into the grinders of war many times. Each time, his hands caused the deaths of many, but he and his species survived every battle.

After the War in Heaven, when the Krork he had allied with appeared too aggressive, he tricked, lied, flattered, and lost on purpose in order to fatten them with so much confidence that they began to tear at each other; destroying them as a species and devolving their genetic code and culture to the point only tangled garbage was left.

Those acts and many others were not done honorably or sincerely, but all of them were eventually forgiven by the mother of the Aeldari.

Thus, the mother who wept for the suffering of the Psychomatons stood between them and the Master of Mankind without angry insults or harsh words. She could both forgive and never allow his actions at the same time.

Neoth felt something pass through him, another concept forced onto him from Isha resonated within his own psyche.

The single line that was the spectrum between hero and villain, depending on perspective, swayed and bent. Then, the two opposite ends twisted, slammed into each other, and were welded together with golden sparks forming a single circle with no inside or outside.

Hero or villain, they may walk in opposite directions, but the role each character played in every story of humanity pushed his species forwards. They existed on opposite sides of the circle, diametrically opposed to the other, but even as they faced away from each other, their feet rotated the contorted circle in the same direction.

No, it was not just a circular möbius strip they moved, but a golden wheel that rotated around the axle of humanity. This burning core at the center of the wheel occasionally sends up blazing comets from it that trail flaming tails behind them like the spokes of a bicycle tire as another hero or heroine joined with the God of Heroes.

He was still the Anathema. He was still both hero and villain, but he was no longer conflicted about what he was.

He was the God of humanity's Heroes, and the eternal symbol of their progress. Within him was their entire history, with all their failures and all their successes.

Whatever humanity did, whatever mistakes they made, they were still worthy.

Neoth turned away from Isha, and proceeded towards the Psychomatons again.

Isha charged towards him, but was forced back by a series of blows that threatened to cut through her spear. But, even as she retreated away from him, Neoth did not give chase. He merely turned away from her, and proceeded towards Isha's remaining children.

He proceeded forwards, but his passage was no longer that of a berserk steam engine; boiler on the brink of bursting open from overheating. There was only a being of pure determination that would not relent in its purpose.

"How does it feel to have a portion of your sanity restored, Neoth?" Isha called out at the golden armored figure turned away from her.

"It only makes me doubt yours." He retorted as he slowly accelerated forwards, increasing his pace from a fast walk to a brisk jog. "Whatever you do, I cannot stop."

"True." Isha smirked, and her spear split apart into multiple sections with a flick of her wrist. "But, at the very least your choices have increased from simply crashing into a wall or smashing through it."

"Then can you stop me?" Neoth called out as he broke out into a run.

"That's a choice you'll have to make yourself." Isha laughed as she flicked the whip her spear had turned into towards Neoth, wrapping around his sword arm and pulling him back towards her as she leveraged the handle and chains of the whip around the elbow of her other arm. "I told you before, 'It is you who sees the crossroad that must choose which direction to go in order to end up in the same place.'"

"Stop repeating yourself!" Neoth cried out as he wrapped the chain links of the whip around his arm and pressed his sword against it in preparation to cut it. "As long as I am human, and you are an alien, there can be no peace between us!"

"Do not worry, I'm not that idealistic." Isha chuckled as she unwrapped the whip from her elbow, slackening it before flicking it again to snatch the other end out of Neoth's grip. "But, my objective is not to confuse you. Besides, it has the opposite effect of slowing you down. You accelerate towards your goal the greater number of uncertainties exist."

"Then what is your plan, Isha?!" Neoth roared as he jumped away from her again, free from her whip, closing the distance with the Psychomatons. He was in range to fire a psychic beam, and it would pierce right through Wraithbone and blackstone bodies of the Psychomatons there. They would not be able to avoid him with their missing and broken limbs. "You said that the act of preventing unnecessary deaths and the act of saving the greatest number of people are effectively the same thing, and I agree! I do not want to kill needlessly, but I cannot stop without an alternate answer!"

The whip retracted back into a spear, then arched itself while sending strings of psychic energy between point and base to form a longbow; psychic energy gathering in the center forming 3 bone white arrows with golden points.

"Even if I told you now, you wouldn't stop." Isha called out as she let loose all three arrows, guiding them along separate paths with her psychic touch as she leapt forwards, chasing them as her bow reformed itself into a spear. "Afterall, I only came up with my plan after seeing yours."

"Then there is no other path for us." Neoth turned to face Isha grimly as she and her arrows approached. All four attacks came from above, the sides and straight towards him near simultaneously. Isha traveled only milliseconds behind the arrows.

"I told you already, there is only one path." Isha smiled as she shot towards him. "For better or for worse, you and I are stuck together for the foreseeable future."

Neoth's sword slashed through the arrow on his right with his sword straight down the middle from point to fletchings, and his taloned gauntlet caught the one coming from his left. A psychic bolt deflected the one from above, allowing him to tilt his head to the side to let it shoot past his ear.

Milliseconds later, Isha's spear punched through his chest plate, then stopped at the skin underneath; the flesh and blood of the God of Heroes containing the now unwavering core of the original Truth held firm against the alien copy.

Neoth kicked out at Isha with his right boot, and fired a series of psychic bolts that twisted like drill bits at the same time.

Isha's green brown barrier reappeared, but the soft surface was pulled taut as Neoth's psychic beams drilled into it. Each beam rotated counter to the one opposite to it, stretching the flexible membrane and allowing the full force of the golden boot to tear right through it slamming into Isha's chest.

There was a crack, and the Aeldari goddess was flung backwards, bouncing across the ground like a skipping stone thrown across a lake, sending clouds of debris with each bound.
♪1 END
Neoth's breath was heavy with exhaustion as he watched the alien eventually come to a rest far off in the distance and obscured in a dust cloud. His right gauntlet crushed the arrow still held between his talons before yanking out the spear still trapped in his armor and snapping it in half.

It was only because Isha traveled milliseconds behind her arrows that he had gambled with his life.

Isha's version of his Truth came from himself before she had forced her memories upon him, and before he reconciled what he was. Thus, it would be weaker than what he was now, just like Kurnous's spear was a weaker version of the original. The fact that his sword could cut through her spear even though it was gilded with his Truth, and the fact that he cut through one of the gold tipped arrows Isha had shot at him provided further evidence. He hadn't expected his skin to be what stopped her, but it didn't matter now. He had won the gamble.

The hole in his chest plate closed as Neoth recovered his strength.

He could still feel Isha's presence in the distance, but she wasn't moving. Whether it was another trap, or she was so injured she was no longer mobile he couldn't tell.

For a brief moment, he couldn't decide whether to proceed towards the Psychomatons to force Isha to attack him again, or walk towards the goddess.

Far off in the distance, he heard a cough, then Isha's voice sent a shiver down his neck.

"You wavered."
♪2
The dust settled slowly as Isha's words reached him. The goddess was lying on the ground with her back to the sky, looking up at him with a pained smile. Her voice was shivering, as if she couldn't get enough air to properly speak, but her silvery eyes were unwaveringly fixed on Neoth's own brown eyes.

"If you wanted to kill me, you should have proceeded towards my children. That was your solution in order to shift the balance in your favor, but you wavered."

Neoth tried to turn away from her, back to the Psychomatons, but his feet wouldn't move. The remains of the shadows that he had discarded, all the information that Isha had forced onto him he could not understand were wrapping around him again.

"It would be hard not to feel sympathy or empathy for the thing that helped you, and the alien you once sought help from. The insane madman would not be able to hear my words with his ears filled with his own crazed laughter, but you can. Those emotions will be enough to connect you to the remains of what I gave you."

Neoth grimaced and struggled against the shadows, slowly lifting himself out of them as they sucked and sapped at his limbs, like the thick wet substrate that makes quicksands.

"For the briefest of moments, you saw me as a maternal figure." Isha's voice regained its strength as she slowly pushed herself to her feet.

A pained glare was all Neoth could manage. He had been conflicted for the briefest of moments, unable to understand whether the creature before him was here to help or hurt him. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure whether this was a malicious act either.

All he could tell was that, whatever she was planning, it linked back to that massive machine mentioned in the information he couldn't comprehend. It composed a large part of her being, and he visualized it as being made of obsidian alloys and leaking black tar. However, it was not made of any actual material. What it was actually created from was emotions; the blackest and darkest emotions imaginable condensed and hardened into a horrid construct.

"Don't worry, this isn't enough to enslave or affect you in any permanent way." Isha chuckled as she dusted herself off. "But it is enough for you to understand the rest of what I gave you."

The emotion slowly drained away from her face.

"You wanted to know of my plan, but you wouldn't be able to understand it without knowing what sort of god I am."

Isha's wide open eyes began to water, filling with blackish red liquid the color of partially clotted blood.

"My children know what I am instinctively, and their memories now lie within you, Neoth. They remember me with every fiber of their being. I just needed the right emotions to form within you to connect them."

The tears in her eyes overflowed, trickling down her cheeks and dripping down her chin into her raised palm.

"Synesthesia is what you call it, isn't it? The psychological illusions of sense brought up by conjoined memories, like remembering a person after seeing the place you often met them, or imagining gentle forest sunlight when hearing the conjoined songs of bright birds. That emotion you felt will allow you to access everything else, although you are actively resisting it."

The trickles of tears grew, forming rivers that washed down her face and pooled in the open hand held in front of her beast.

"Fine then. Allow me to assist you with a lullaby."

Isha's mouth opened, and the lullaby she sang to the child on the slave carriers slithered its way into Neoth's ears, connecting his synapses with the shadows, allowing everything to be understood and experienced in a single instance.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
The time has come for you to rise.

Bone and body made unbreakable.
Heart and mind made indestructible.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
Forever shall I be at your side.

Rest and slumber, dream and doubt.
I shall love you, where they shall not.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
For when you wake, you shall fight.

This war is yours, this strife your right.
And when you cry, I will see your spite.

Hate me. Hate me, with all your heart.
My tear will fill with all your might.

Hush my child, close your eyes.
Your story ends, but not your life.​

"Now, Neoth." Isha said with an empty smile as burgundy tears continued to flow from her wide open eyes. "Watch a brief moment from the War in Heaven."

The blackish red liquid that flowed from Isha's eyes pooled and congealed in her palm as it began to crystalize, slowly growing into a glowing teardrop the size of her head that bathed the ground around her in red and black lights.

 

[Nidhog153]

806.M30: Personal Diary Cpt. Maxil Celest of the Astral Adventurer

After many years of traveling with one of the aliens called the Eldar (She prefers to be called an Outcast with a capital O for some reason, but since the word looks rather lonely to me, I have decided against using it as much as possible.), I have finally gained enough trust to receive one of the red and black crystals she always carries with her she calls Spirit Stones. (As always, I cannot mention her name in any official or unofficial documents, as that was our agreement when she boarded, but it is the same woman as always.)

Of course, it was made very clear to me that they were not to be pawned off like the other contraband I often deal with, but I assured her that I would never part with such a fascinating specimen. Besides being beautiful to look at, there is a distinct sense of calm that falls over me when I stare into it, like that drowsy sensation one gets just before falling asleep.

There were a number of restrictions I had to agree with before she handed me these Spirit Stones, and she made it very clear that this was an exceptional event. Her exact words were, "It is only because your fate and mine are intertwined for the foreseeable future that I even allow you to touch them."

Naturally, I asked her if this was some roundabout way of proposal by her species. Her answer was an annoyed glare followed by a pinch to the nose, a kick to the shins, and a twisting of both my nipples in opposite directions as I hopped on one leg while holding my face.

The restrictions she gave me were threefold.

1. Do not damage the Spirit Stone in any way.
Apparently, these crystals already contain a small amount of psychic energy, and disrupting the "psychoactive crystalline data matrix" could result in all of that energy being released. I asked how big the explosion would be, and she told me it would be big enough that I would have nothing to worry about any more. (I have taken to interpret this phrase as meaning I will be dead. Of course, this phrase has also been used whenever I ask too many personal questions, so it can also be interpreted that whatever answer I will get will be meaningless because she will murder me afterwards. In this case, I'm not sure whether it's the explosion that will kill me, or the Eldar as recompense for being careless with her gift.)

2. Do not sell or show the Spirit Stone to anyone.
The process of collecting the raw materials to make one of these is quite hazardous, according to her. The Eldar have to travel near the Eye of Terror and recover shards of these crystals from "Crone Worlds", or "the skies suffused with the suffering of billions". After that, they have to refine and fuse smaller fragments and crystalline dust together in order to grow the crystal to the appropriate size. Finally, certain spells are in-laid within the crystal in order for it to passively "draw in the song of the mind and the whispers of the heart." They are priceless to her and her people, and it is only because the ones I have are "empty" that she can provide them to me without being turned into a pariah among her people. (I pointed out that she already calls herself an Outcast, and she tried to pinch my nose again. I guarded my face this time, so she instead had to satisfy herself by twisting my ears. They are still sore, several hours later.)

3. Keep the Spirit Stone on my person as often as possible, even when I am asleep.
This was the final restriction she gave me, and I had to try very hard not to ask again if this was some roundabout marital custom amongst her people. According to her, "the time of our shared travels as aliens to each other is coming to an end." and she wants to "keep a memento of the times shared as Outcasts of our respective people." I asked her if she planned to leave soon, but she simply shook her head and said that she could "afford to wait until the last minute."

My ship, my crew, and myself have been saved by her foresight numerous times, so I'm not sure how to interpret her last restriction. We could be approaching a danger she cannot prevent, or it might be that she has simply decided to move on. It has been 50 years since I first met her, and I have not seen her act maliciously against me during that time. If it is the former that is coming, then I would prefer not to know when or how the end will come. Some of my crew have had the misfortune of pestering the Eldar about their future, and when she does finally lose her patience and tell them what they want to know, it never ends well for them.

Perhaps that is the reason for her coming departure. Some of the crew have tried to converse with me in private about their worries about the Eldar. They think she makes her prophecies in such a way it dooms whoever hears them, convincing them to do things they wouldn't have had she not spoken of them.

I have done my best to assuage their fears, but there is a definite tension in the air. I can feel it from their minds, and that niggling voice that's always been in the back of my head has begun to whisper to me again of danger.

I see the same image over and over again in my mind, the flashing barrel of a gun firing at my face. I get these visions from time to time. Sometimes they come true, sometimes they don't.

I've written these same words in this diary like a madman every few pages. 'Sometimes they come true, sometimes they don't.' I guess it's my way of coping with this patchy vision of the future. Nothing is worse than thinking things can't change, and the mere thought of fatalism often makes the image self-fulfilling.

I have talked to the Eldar many times regarding my visions, but perhaps that was the first time I ever saw her laugh when I spoke to her of that.

"You see into the Othersea, of course your belief in the outcome affects the results. But, you're not wrong to find that thought to be quixotic. Afterall, how can you intentionally disbelieve something you've seen if you've seen it and believed it could happen in the first place? Even other Eldar struggle with that concept."

A weight lifted off my shoulders when I heard that. Even her supposedly all-knowing species struggled with the future. It might not have been an answer, but it was heartwarming to know that there were others who struggled just as I did.

We talked about random things after that. Despite the Eldar's extreme age, she enjoys reading human fairytales and travel novels. She said something about adventure being what kept her on the path of the Outcast. As an attempt to show thankfulness for her words, I shared my digital anthology of ancient human literature with her (A copy scavenged from a dead STC core we once found.). She has taken a particular interest in 'Gulliver's Travels' for some reason. "A surprising coincidence, or perhaps another insight from the Othersea." I heard her muttering to herself as she skimmed through it.

As always, I feel like I both understand and don't understand her at the same time.

—----------------------------------------

809.M30: Bounty Report: X11T134FZD

Target: Maxil Celest

Crime: Espionage on behalf of Xenos (Class: Eldar)

Report: Informant provided travel plans for the Astral Adventurer and the ship was intercepted in space outside of any regional planet's sovereignty.

All defenses were shut-off thanks to internal collaborators, and boarding proceeded smoothly. Target was found in his room, and executed via a shot to the forehead. Death confirmed at 08:11:15 XZT.

No sign of the Eldar was found onboard, and none of the informants or crew had knowledge of where it went. Personal artifacts of the target were searched, but no evidence of Xenos artifacts could be found. Additionally, all personal and operational logs of the ship were wiped. It appears that the target had some sort of unknown augmetic that linked his biosigns to the ship's main cogitator and his personal terminal.

Due to the sensitive nature of the target's crime, all informants and remaining witnesses have been liquidated as requested and the Astral Adventurer has been vented of all atmosphere and fuel before being left adrift.

As the primary objective of the bounty has been satisfied, we expect full payment within 3 standard weeks. Your offer for the recovery of the Xenos and whatever artifacts it carried has been considered, but due to the dangers associated with following the Eldar beyond ex-federation space, we will not continue to pursue the secondary bounty regardless of the payment offered.

We hope to continue working with you in the future.

Kind regards,

XXXXXXXXX

—----------------------------------------

"H-w is y-u- ne- b-d-, Maxil?"

A gentle voice cut in and out as I floated in something. Everything was cold, deathly cold. Yet, I could not shiver to warm myself.

"It w-ll b- d-scomf-rt-ng f-r a wh-le, b-t th-s is on-y a t-mp-rary one."

Slowly, sight returned to me. Everything was cloudy and out of focus, as if looking through eyes clogged with eyesand.

Suddenly, I felt something gigantic poking my head.

"There…" An Eldar woman said as she looked down at me. "That should make things clearer."

Slowly, I looked up. It was a familiar face I saw, but much larger than I remembered. She chuckled as I looked around at my surroundings; confused. Everything was much much larger than it was supposed to be.

"It must be disconcerting, to suddenly realize what it feels like to be a Lilliputian." She laughed as she poked my head again with a giant finger.

No, it was myself that was much smaller than I remembered. I looked down at myself, and instead of my clothes or pink skin everything was replaced by smooth bonelike material.

"As I said, that Wraithdoll is only a temporary vessel." She said as she turned away. "I was waiting for you to wake up to confirm your mind and heart were stable enough before going to Commorragh. Your story can restart there."

The name of the place she was taking me to darkened my mind. I should know what that name meant, but my drowsy thoughts were fogged and slow to form. However, I could tell that I did not want to go there.

"Do not worry. You will be safe with me. The copies of Astral Adventurer's flight logs and your personal terminal I took before I left should be enough to cover the costs for safe passage and your body. Information is an important commodity in the Dark City." A bone white arch materialized out of thin air, and a thin sheet of rippling white light began to shine within it. "It will not be too expensive. Everything I wanted of you is here with me, so all we need is everything I will want of you in the future."

She reached out and picked up my body with a single hand from the table I had been lying on. We were in a white small spherical room with no windows, and the only furniture was an armor rack, desk, and hammock.

"Your life has ended, just as you foresaw it." She said as she smiled softly. "But, there are new possibilities beyond being just human. I've had the opportunity to talk to a certain Ael Wyntor while traveling through the Webway. He is an impressive work of gene-sculpting." She paused as she pulled out a small gem that glowed briefly before dulling as she returned it to a pocket underneath her armor. "In return for my reports on the Dark City, I've received some of the science required to recreate that merging between human and fey." Her hand lifted me up to eye level, and I could see the small doll-like figure my soul inhabited reflected in her eyes. "Your mind is beautiful to me and your heart is warm, but your body was not to my liking." She brushed a finger over my teardrop shaped head gently. "It may take time, but we have enough. Your fate and mine are intertwined for the foreseeable future. Of course, that is from my perspective, and my life will last for a very very long time."

My foggy brain slowed as an immense sense of drowsiness overtook me. There were questions in my mind, but there was no fear or panic. I was too sleepy to feel anything at the moment.

"Rest, Maxil. We have many adventures ahead of us."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Fate/Zero OST "Point Zero"
♪2 Dawn of War II - For The Craftworld (HD)
♪3 Dawn of War II - Khaine's Wrath (HD)
♪4 Anima Ataraxia - Extended - Fate/Extra CCC OST

—----------------------------------------
♪1
I could only watch in horror as the Soul Engines disappeared under the roiling crust of the planet. All the dark geometrically shaped laboratories and black arched breeding facilities splintered and cracked, as if they were made from overdried clay instead of the unknowable alloys that resisted both the strongest bolts of psychic lightning any of us could muster and the heaviest projectiles we could throw physically or telekinetically.

Despite being high above all this, looking down from the viewing port of a voidcraft in orbit with all my brothers and sisters who had been selected for our ability to survive the last tests of the Old Ones, I could hear the roar of churning earth and howling scream of insane winds.

Radioactive aurorae covered the skies in yellow, green, and red lights as the dead core of our homeworld was jolted back to life. The reborn magnetosphere was pulling the solar particles we had all been exposed to on our homeworld back up beyond the atmosphere.

I turned back to the goddess that my mother had been used to make. I could still see hints of her in the goddess's hair and the shape of her eyes. However, I truly regretted that one action soon after.

The emotionless face that we had all taken turns to bow down before and pray moments ago was smiling. A small sad loving smile was directed at myself and the planet below us.

At that moment, the tectonic plates split open, forming jagged mouths to swallow everything that was upon them. Tendrils of molten rock rose out from inside and outside these gaping maws, like the hungry roots of a newly awakened seed.

Despite the vacuum between the voidcraft and the planet, I could hear it scream. The birth cry of a new legend was wracking the very fabric of reality.

My mother's mouth continued to smile at me, but her eyes told a different story. In them, I saw what she really felt.

Hate. Fear. Despair. Anger. Shame. Guilt. And only after she had swallowed all of what she had experienced as well as the emotions of all those who had failed the selection process would the final output of the emotional equation engraved in her core be released.

That result would be love, but that love crossed the entire spectrum from the mad grip of a mourning mother unable to let go of her child's corpse, to the gentle touch of a distant but Caring parent.

I swallowed as the silver eyes of the goddess reflected me and only me amongst all my species; a single face turned towards her as the rest were stuck to the view ports, backs turned in her direction.

Nobody could know of this. To understand what she was would to invert what she was supposed to do. We, her children, were meant to die so she could function. But, if her legend ever spoke of this at such an early stage, she would function so we would die.

I had thought the Old Ones alien before, but I had underestimated just how little I shared with them emotionally or ideologically.

No wonder they abandoned the Necrontyr to their species wide cancer.

Their method of decision making was not something that could be understood.

I looked up at the goddess that was my mother and watched the last remaining trails of the burgundy ichor that flowed from her eyes disappear into her skin like water on desert sands.

With a single tear shed for my sake, brought up from the depth of her heart by my despair when I saw our dead world, she had destroyed everything we had sought to be free from.

But she was not done. She would never be done. This single planet was not enough to relieve her heart of its sorrow. That was not the way the Old Ones had engineered her.

Feminine voices began to tickle my ear. I could hear the gentle voice of the woman who allowed me to suckle at her breast, and the voices of hundreds of others whispering to me as I stared at her.

Eldanesh... Eldanesh... they cooed my name over and over.

She wanted to be free, and she was asking me to help her.

The restraining wards crackled, and the reinforced glass of the containment tube around my mother cracked. Melded seams of metal tore open. Steam whistled out of burst pipes as several coolant systems exploded. All this happened even as my mother remained motionless.

The materials that made this ship came from the planet below, so they too were beginning to resonate with my mother's will.

I pushed the button left behind by one of the Old Ones' mortal servitors, and the gate within the containment tube opened, throwing my mother into the roiling seas of the immaterium.
Cold sweat drenched me, even as the portal safely closed, and I just stood there gasping for breath.

My dream had come true. Our homeworld would sustain life once more. That hell below me was the miracle I had prayed for.

Every creature that had been consumed in order to create us, every feature of the planet that had been destroyed to create the testing ground to harden us, all of it would be restored.

That was the end, and the new beginning. It was the miracle of life made manifest, but granted in the only way reality could rationalize it.

I took in one final long breath, and calmed myself. There was no turning back, no return to naive childish ignorance, no erasing the knowledge from my brain and soul. My wish for a new world had been granted. Now, it was my turn to uphold my part of the bargain.

"This is the miracle of the Goddess of Life." I spoke as my body turned back to the rest of my brothers and sisters while my face borrowed Cegorach's mask to form the expressions necessary for the moment. "From this, endless joy will be born. The world will be filled with wondrous things once more, and we will be there to enjoy it. Let us give thanks for her love."

The others looked between the monster in the void outside the viewports and myself. Then, one by one, they turned away from what they saw and knelt before me.

It was for my sorrow that my mother shed a tear, and as the first one to be chosen by her, I would be the one to represent our mother and speak of her Truth.

I called this miracle an act of love, and it was love, despite the thick red and sticky black colors it was tainted by.

I spoke the truth when I said that endless joy would come from the curses of the 3 billion women and the uncountable others who were deemed insufficient and unworthy by the Old Ones; the curses that were now tearing the planet apart with its own burning blood.

This was how all life began; from the boiling seas, torn skies, and roiling mud.

It would only be a matter of time before the first amino acids would form in alkaline pools that would dry under the unfiltered sunlight filled with ultraviolet rays.

This was the miracle of the Goddess of Life.

This was the gift of my mother's love given with a tear made of nothing but sorrow.

This was the secret that now filled my heart, and shoved away any emptiness I felt with the pure horror of knowing what had happened to the woman with golden hair who gave birth to me.

- Black Library Archive: Personal record of Eldanesh on the birth of Isha's first legend

—----------------------------------------
♪2
On a barren world utterly killed by the Necron, a battle raged between the dead and the living.

No natural features remained, and even the atmosphere was slowly being blown away by solar winds, for the planet's molten and solid cores were stopped by stasis fields in order to lock every landmass exactly where it was. Nothing remained on the surface. Oceans had been drained away under the crust to reveal resource deposits hidden by the water, and all nascent flora and fauna had been murdered long ago by the mechanical tendrils of the Abattoir and Canoptek scarab swarms when the slaves of the Yngir first took control of this entire solar system.

With no cover from plants or buildings, both Old One and Yngir armies fought with ancient tactics in open war and their conscripts clashed over the dry brown desert sands interrupted only by the black obelisks of the Necrons.

Lines of Aeldari warriors with Wraithbone shields in the shapes of Roman scutums and Fusion Pistols stood in front of a second line of infantrymen armed with Prism Rifles. The first line of warriors used what little they could of their psychic gifts to kick up the dry brown sands at their feet, forming an additional layer of protection between them and the green lightning of the Gauss Flayers fired by the endless ranks of Necron warriors; sand grains absorbing the molecule stripping energies that flensed whatever they touched layer by layer. Their voices rang out, singing the bonesongs that would repair their Wraithbone shields as the top most layers were stripped off. They held back the Necron as the second line fired over their shoulders or between their shields with Prism Rifles that emitted concentrated light that could either form a piercing beam or conical blast at the shooter's will.

Dark swarms of scarabs approached like locust swarms from above and the front, and it was only then that the first line of soldiers would fire their short ranged melta weapons, sending multiple penetrating cones of pure thermal radiation into the scarabs that charged directly at them as the second line turned their Prism Rifles skyward and held back those that tried to come at them from above with the widest setting their weapons could fire with.

After several minutes of firing, the swarm abated leaving only pools of denatured necrodermis, heated to such an extent it had degraded back into the more mundane alloys it had been composed from.

However, the Aeldari did not rejoice, for while the scarab swarms had obscured everything, the Necron warriors had advanced another few meters, and were now forcing them back with the sheer volume of Gauss fire their mass produced bodies and weapons released.

This was the situation along almost every front line between the Aeldari and the Necron.

No matter how many the Aeldari slew, the necrodermis bodies of their foes would either reanimate themselves, or be teleported back to the underground forges in a flash of light only to be replaced by several more freshly produced warriors.

Further back, deep behind allied lines, the War Council of the Aeldari was convened under the safety of the void shields and protected by the grav-tanks they had in reserve as well as the covering fire of planetside anti-orbital Pulsars. Several Psychomatons stood at the outer edge of the void shields, and would occasionally throw a psychically guided Wraithbone javelin through the crescent shaped Scythe or shroud aircraft that darted around, probing their defenses.

"Autarch…" One of the Aeldari addressed the most senior member at the council. "The 3rd and 4th planets of this system have fallen. The resonance of the pylons has begun to activate the Dolmen gate, and it obscures the Webway even further. We have lost the path back to our ships and siblings in the Webway."

There were 3 other Aeldari, and a 12m giant all clad in Wraithbone armor of various colors surrounding a floating silver oval that generated a holographic map of the battlefield. Only a giant tarp was placed overhead to hide them from any prying eyes from the sky. Several other tarps were placed as decoys around them at random intervals to reduce the risk of being instantly targeted should a stray attack craft or void ship manage to penetrate the covering fire and shields above them.

"Then our reinforcements will be limited to what we can physically throw down from the skies until we take down their pylons" Autarch Alarathis sighed, then turned to the 12m giant. "Drogmar, have you any word from your ships?"

The giant alien, a Krork, grunted before flicking the holographic map with a finger to switch the field of view to the battle taking place in space.

"My boys can push through their cruiser lines." His voice was a deep baritone, but the pronunciation was articulated and cadence calm. "There won't be much left, but I should have enough pods to take out these pylons. However, these Æonic Orbs will wipe out whatever my ships drop during transit." The holographic map switched between orbit and ground as it reacted to the psychic commands of the Krork, highlighting the weapons in question that prevented his troops from dropping in from orbit.

The Æonic Orb. They were one of the Titan-class weapons the Necron employed as mobile anti-orbital artillery. Inside a containment field of liquified necrodermis, held in place by temporal fields, quantum shielding, and stasis generators on a massive floating ovoid dais made of obsidian alloys and necrodermis, was a stellar fragment from a star devoured by the Star Gods. When it fired, the containment field was merely opened to let the raw radiation and unbearable heat trapped inside scorch whatever happened to be in its path. The only reason it wasn't employed as a ship-board weapon was because a critical failure meant the full wrath of a dying star would be unleashed in an explosion no nuclear bomb could ever match.

As such, although they were often used as anti-Titan weapons by the Necron, they were forced to place them a safe-distance away from everything that was even marginally important. Still, the Æonic Orb's extreme range and sheer power meant that it would decimate almost all the Krork drop pods before they could reach the ground.

"Our void ships struggle to hold the skies over us clear." One of the Aeldari replied, returning the map back to orbit, showing void ships from 3 separate alien races. Necron cruisers remained in orbit high above their positions, while Aeldari and Krork vessels hung slightly behind their own armies. Each group of ships were blocked from direct line of sight thanks to the curvature of the planet, but it was obvious from the number of blips on the holomap that the Necrons outnumbered both Old One races by at least three to one. Only a constant stream of Star-Cannon artillery from the Aeldari ships forced the Necron ships to remain in place as their Gauss lightning arrays and particle whips were the only weapons that could vaporize the psychically guided bolts of plasma that threatened to bombard the Necron positions below. "We cannot target the Æonic Orbs from orbit, nor engage their cruisers to allow more of the Krork ships to reach the drop points."

"Then we have no choice but to engage the Æonic Orbs on the ground." Alarathis muttered, reverting the map back to the planet itself.

"We will need to deploy all our reserves, Autarch." The other Aeldari spoke warily. "That will leave our central camps and anti-orbital Pulsar defenses dangerously reduced."

The Autarch let out a short laugh before switching the map to display the entire solar system. Every other planet besides one was noted as being under total Necron control.

"Our forces retreat, slowly but surely, on every front. The sheer number of their warriors grind us down like waves eating away at the bottom of a cliff. With the fall of the other planets, it will only be a matter of time before their ships and troops teleport here and overwhelm us. Our only chance to keep this system and another portion of the Webway out of the hands of Yngir is to reopen a way for our siblings to join us upon this planet, or summon one of our gods. The Talismans of Vaul still hold back the Yngir themselves from this system. As long as our voice can still reach our mother, we must fight with Khaine's song in our throats."

"Victory at any cost." The other two Aeldari replied ritualistically as the Krork sighed and rolled his shoulders.

"If you're all done with your poetry, I'll be returning to my boys. They'll be getting bored at taking potshots at those Necron flyers, and I need to remind them of why we're here."

Alarathis nodded, permitting the Krork to leave.

"Go then Drogmar. I will send word when we are ready. May your gods watch over you."

The Krork snorted as he turned away. "My gods are always with me. They don't hide in the immaterium."

The Autarch and his two assistants watched as the giant marched back to where the rest of the Krork were, taking turns to operate the anti-air and anti-orbital weapons keeping enemy fliers and escort class vessels from attempting an ill-fated bombing or bombardment run.

"Drogmar is becoming increasingly unstable." One of Alarathis's assistants muttered irritably.

The Autarch shrugged in response. "That's why he was sent on this doomed campaign with us. We are all weapons reaching our expiration date, even though the fruit is ripest just before it rots."

"Is he aware of that?" His other assistant questioned, and the Alarathis shrugged again.

"The more important question is, 'Would he care?'." He said sarcastically. "Regardless, fate holds our hand in this dance. Even if all we do fails, the daughter of Morai-Heg will ensure our sacrifices are not in vain."

Switching off the holographic map, Alarathis activated a handheld holoprojector that sent false images of himself and his two attendants as well as the silver map projector running to the several decoy tarps around them before turning and jogging away from the tarp using the exact same speed and form as the holographic projections. Moments later, the remains of a Scythe attack craft crashed into the tarp they had just been using in a ball of baleful green flames and eldritch sparks.

"Deploy our reserves." Alarathis spoke casually as he reactivated the map projector. "Speed will be necessary. Our forces will not last long once they penetrate the Necron lines."

"They will be surrounded on all sides, and the Necron still have their anti-armor weapons in reserve. Are you sure of this, Autarch?" His assistant asked again.

Even with the Psychomatons and grav-tanks positioned around the main camp, held in reserve so they could react to any faltering of the front lines, attack craft occasionally managed to penetrate their defenses. For the moment, the best they could do was attempt a suicide attack against them. However, if the reserves were sent out into a battle guaranteed to extract a heavy toll, this command post and the anti-orbital Pulsars could fall to a concentrated force of enemy attack craft. If those fell, their armies would be rendered leaderless and the Necron cruisers could advance forwards unhindered by fire from the anti-orbital Pulsars. Then, it would only be a matter of time before they chased off the Aeldari and Krork void ships and began raining orbital bombardments upon their ground forces.

"With the pylons active, our psychic abilities are limited, and the Dolmen gate blocks us from the Webway." Alarathis replied tiredly. "If we can destroy this grouping of pylons, even if our siblings cannot reopen the Webway, we can still attempt to summon Khaine. He will ensure the remaining pylons fall, and the dark resonance will be broken. Even if denying them this one planet is all we can manage, it is worth preventing another section of the Webway falling to the Yngir."

Swiping a hand across the map, Alarathis highlighted several sections along the front lines.

"Open the lines at these locations. Our grav-tanks will punch through and move to threaten their Lords and command barges, drawing out their reserve forces to counter-attack." Several arrows symbolizing both the Aeldari's mechanized push and the Necron's response appeared. "We should be able to draw out their arks, barges, and anti-armor Immortals with this."

"What of the Destroyer cults?" One of Alarathis's assistants asked, and several Necron fused at the waist to a fast moving mobility platform appeared on the map. "They are faster than our grav-tanks, and may outflank our vehicles to hit them with their anti-armor weapons at the rear. They may even attempt to outmaneuver them entirely and slip past our void shields, allowing them to attack our anti-orbital Pulsars directly."

"Equip our jetbikes with laser lances." Alarathis replied calmly. "They will counter any destroyer cults attempting to outmaneuver our grav-tanks and push past into our back lines." He waved his hand over the map, switching back to the highlighted Æonic Orbs Drogmar had pointed out. "Once their heavy weapons are forced to engage ours, the Psychomatons can move to take out the Æonic Orbs."

"Our ancestors will not be returning from their mission, Autarch." Alarathis's attendant stated sadly.

Destruction of the Æonic Orbs meant the stellar fragment would be released, and its weapon ensured it was protected from any ranged attack whether it was made of light or matter.

Nothing could overwhelm the raw fury of a star.

If only the Necron pylons did not stifle their connection to the immaterium.

If only they still had access to their super-heavy tanks; their Cobras, Scorpions, or even Lynxes that had been lost clearing the landing point for the initial insertion and during the destruction of the Abattoir.

If only a hundred other things had gone different, there may have been another way. But, that was not the case. The Psychomatons would have to close to melee range with the Æonic Orbs, and would be consumed by their destruction.

"I know." Alarathis replied in a tired tone. "But, whatever the outcome, so long as the Talismans of Vaul hold back the Yngir victory is assured. Eldanesh will see to that."

—----------------------------------------

Alarathis's plan progressed smoothly.

Night Spinners began the assault by firing monofilament artillery in high arcs over the Aeldari infantry lines, slicing apart large swathes of Necron Warriors to prevent them from exploiting any breach in the line.

Then, the Aeldari infantry lines parted, and the first wave of vehicles composed of the Falcon-chassis based Fire Prisms charged forwards over the mats of monofilament interspersed with sparking bits and pieces of the skeletal slaves of the C'tan. Prism cannons fired conical blasts of laser lights, freezing multiple Necron Warriors as their joints melted from the heat, freezing them in place until the bladelike front of the Falcon chassis each Fire Prism was made from mowed them down like overgrown grass.

Then the Immortals and Doomsday Arks responded.

Gauss blasters and Doomsday Cannons cut through the Aeldari grav-tanks one by one as they emerged from behind the lines of Necron Warriors while the Aeldari infantry line moved forwards to support their grav-tanks with Prism Rifles and Fusion Pistols returning fire, tearing Immortal heads from necks, and poking holes in the Doomsday Arks until they exploded or disintegrated due to their own powersource going haywire.

At the same time, Destroyer cultists on high-mobility platforms with Gauss Destructors rushed past the momentary openings left behind by the destroyed Aeldari grav-tanks. They jinked and swerved irregularly avoiding the majority of the Prism fire with the high pitched humming of the mobility platforms' levitation fields and the crackle of their Gauss weapons being the only sounds they made.

Some fired wildly into the Aeldari infantry shield walls, before running into them directly like an out of control automobile in order to cause as much mayhem as they possibly could for they were uncontrollable cultists slaved to death and destruction; hated by even their own undead brethren.

The Destroyer cultists who had lost their sanity were eventually melted into slag by Fusion Pistols and Prism Rifles, doing only superficial damage to the Aeldari army. However, the other Destroyers with a greater portion of their sanity remaining slipped through the opening in the Aeldari formations for they knew they could do far more damage from behind enemy lines.

But, instead of the unguarded commanders, unprotected ammo silos, or triage stations filled with helpless wounded they had wanted to wreck and burn, they found Jetbike riders counter-charging them head on.

These faster vehicles and their prescient riders swerved and swayed, avoiding Gauss blasts with their foresight before opening holes in the skeletal torsos or mobility platforms of the Destroyers with their armor piercing laser lances as they passed.

The deadly exchange between the two sides continued as the counter-push of the Aeldari slowly penetrated the Necron lines at several points, closing in on the Command Barges and Necron Lords that provided the commands for the other Yngir slaves to function.

However, overhead, greater and greater numbers of Necron flyers began to gather. Aeldari Firestorm anti-air grav-tanks took several of them down with their scatter lasers, but were soon forced to turn their weapons towards several scarab swarms that threatened to smother the Aeldari army.

Suddenly, a series of bone-white bladed disks cut through several of the Necron Scythe attack craft as the Pschomatons charged out from inside the camp.

This was their last parting gift to their younger siblings, a final salvo of anti-air fire to delay the coming counter-push of the Necron which would swallow them all.

Already, the destroyed Necron were teleported back from the front lines. New Warriors, Destroyers, Immortals and Doomsday Arks were slowly replacing those that had been destroyed.

This brief moment, where the Aeldari forces had temporarily depleted the Necrons' numbers, was the only moment the Psychomatons could afford to leave their post.

As they ran, paths obstructed by only simple Warriors for the more devastating weapons were distracted defending the Necron Lords and Command Barges, they ducked and dodged as they crossed the line where the curvature of the plane no longer protected them from the direct line of fire from the Æonic Orbs.

The beams from the Stellar Fragments traveled at the speed of light, but the Psychomatons were the oldest and most experienced of the Aeldari in the matter of war. Their foresight allowed them to predict where the Æonic Orbs would fire even before the Necrons operating it had even decided to send the command.

Wraithbone spears and javelins formed in their six hands, and they threw them at their targets as they ran, forcing the Æonic Orbs to divide their attention between several targets, slowing their rate of fire.

Particle whips and Gauss lightning arrays fired down upon them from the Necron cruisers orbiting overhead. But, the Psychomatons continued on with a different song, growing and regrowing sacrificial Wraithbone shields in the left and right hands of their uppermost pair of arms which took the brunt of the green lightning that rained down upon them from the heavens.

Finally, every Psychomaton reached the Æonic Orb they had been assigned, and even as Necron weapons released their shielding to deliver omnidirectional blasts of every imaginable electromagnetic radiation, they grabbed hold of the quantumly shielded necrodermis with melting hands and fingers, and tore into them with whatever weapon they could summon.

Back at the main Aeldari camp, Alarathis watched several dozen flashes of light erupt in the distance followed by massive mushroom clouds.

"Drogmar, send in your ships." The Autarch said before whistling a simple Wraithbone spike into existence which he jabbed into the ground before kneeling on one knee. The other two Aeldari followed suit, and the Krork snorted before crouching down to brace himself on all fours.

The earthquake hit them moments later. The ground undulated like the surface of a waterbed that had been jumped on, rippling with the seismic waves generated by the explosion. But, even as he held onto the Wraithbone spike he used to keep his balance, Alarathis saw explosions in the sky as Krork troop carriers charged out into the Necron cruiser's line of fire.

Most of the explosions were red and black, but the occasional eldritch green nova showed that the Krork ships still scored the occasional kill.

"My boys have begun dropping to the pylons." Drogmar grunted as the earthquake subsided. "I can't hear what they're thinking anymore, so they must have entered the pylon fields."

"Shall we pull our forces back, Autarch?" One of Alarathis's assistants asked, for there was no more need to spill Aeldari blood with the Krork assault underway.

"No." Alarathis shook his head. "The more pressure we apply to the Necron, the less attention and armaments they can direct to the Krork. Continue the assault. Buy them more time."

Painfully long minutes passed as the distant sounds of explosions and constant crackling of Gauss fire filled the background silence as the four of them watched the distant black obelisks.

Finally, one of the obelisks shook, then fell like a massive tree cutdown with an ax. Several others soon followed, and Alarathis breathed out a sigh of relief before turning back to the holographic map behind them.

"Have we regained access to the Webway?" He asked one of his assistants, but a shake of the head was his only answer. "Then we begin the ritual to summon Khaine. I will lead the Warsong to bri-"

The Autarch was interrupted by a sudden silent scream. Phantom voices filled all of their ears and forced their hands to their heads. After several seconds of being forced to acclimatize to the horrid sound, the four psychic aliens rose to their feet panting.

"Sepulchres." Alarathis hissed as he turned to glare up at the sky where the screaming continued to echo from.

"Cairn-class Tomb ships." One of his assistants replied, opening partial slits on the side of her helmet to allow the blood that dripped from her ears to run out. "They must have arrived from the other planets."

Cair-class Tomb ships. The largest 'standard' warship of the Necron fleet. Only these massive crescent moon shaped ships with Pyramid bridges in between the two blade like halves carried the weapon known as the Sepulchre. Several dozen of these ships had arrived using their inertialess drives to conduct short range teleports in order to reach this planet as quickly as possible, and all of them were now saturating the atmosphere of this planet with their Sepulchres. It was the one psychic weapon they had created and its only purpose was to suppress the psychic gifts of others.

How could the soulless Necron, slaves to the Yngir who were only masters of reality, create a psychic weapon?

Simple. By using the races that had psychic abilities to make them.

Inside each Cairn-class Tomb ship was a lobotomization chamber that carried the brains of hundreds, if not thousands of psychic life forms.

This was the fate in store for all prisoners of war that weren't fed to the Yngir, and also the fate of all those consumed by the tentacled Abattoirs that were released upon every world the Necron invaded.

Each unfortunate victim was subjected to constant simulated pain while being deprived of all other sensory input. Then, their brains were enclosed in a blackstone box with nutrient fluids so the psychic emanations of suffering could be concentrated safely until the Necron felt like they needed to use them.

The endless agony each brain felt was released via the remains of the psychic gifts of the race that the brain belonged to. A wave of forced empathy spread pain, terror, and despair as whatever soul was left in the mass of adipose and neural tissue cried out for help.

This almost overwhelming sense of negative emotions acted as a sort of jamming signal, interfering with the concentration and emotional control necessary to use psychic abilities, which included the summoning of most of the Aeldari's deities.

This was how the Sepulchre was created, how it functioned, and why it was made.

"Pull back all our forces." Alarathis said quietly. "Gather all the survivors and wounded near the anti-orbital Pulsars. I will begin my speech once everyone is gathered."

His two assistants nodded, and quickly ran off to spread his orders. Psychic communications were also affected by the Sepulchre, so physical communications would be required to contact those furthest away from the camp.

Alarathis watched as flares and holographic projections ordering the Aeldari armies to fallback rose into the skies. At the same time, streams of green lightning descended down towards the places the Necron pylons once stood, orbitally bombarding any of the Krork survivors who had dropped down from the skies. Once the Necron army could proceed forwards without fear of the Krork flanking them from behind, they would begin to encircle the last remaining survivors on the ground.

Capture meant interrogation which would lead to only two options; to be eaten by the Yngir, or to be reduced to just a brain and interred into another Sepulchre weapon aboard a Cairn-class Tombship.

Alarathis turned back to the 12m Krork. Behind the giant, several thousand similarly sized Krorks were gathering with their smaller Krotling and Kretchin servants.

"Now, I am the one who gives the orders." Drogmar chuckled throatily. "The Sepulchres hurt you Aeldari more than us." His eyes seemed to blaze behind his helm, even as the agonized screams of thousands upon thousands of tortured souls continued to ring in his ears. "Your gods won't answer your call, but mine will."

Alarathis looked up at the Krork. There was no sadness or pain in the giant alien's eyes. With every second spent in the Sepulchres' fields, his bloodlust only grew and grew.

This was why the Krorks had been created. Their brute strength reduced their reliance on their psychic gifts, and their even more brutal culture left no room for misery or sorrow.

They only had one goal, and that was to fight. They didn't care what other aliens thought or felt, so their capacity for empathy was virtually non-existent. That made them almost immune to the Sepulchres of the Necron.

Finally, the Aeldari Autarch touched two fingers to his forehead, and his brow creased in concentration as he transmitted everything he knew of the current battlefield to the Krork Warlord while fighting through the Sepulchres' screams.

"These are the last known locations of their Command Barges and Lords." Alarathis said quietly as he finished the transmission of information. "Merely proceeding in their direction will force them to reallocate their forces to prepare defenses against you. Hitting them hard enough will disrupt centralized planetary control of all forces, and destroying them will disrupt local control long enough that you may hit another target. You will be encircled, however, and there will be no escape. Then again, there is no escape for any of us anyways. Buy me 3 hours. That is all I need."

Drogmar snorted before replying. "I don't know whether we'll last that long, but we'll buy you as much time as we can, Alarathis."

"That is as much as I can ask. Die bravely Drogmar."

Alarathis turned and walked away towards the anti-orbital Pulsars.

Drogmar stared at the Autarch's back for a couple of moments before snorting and turning to the Kretchin servant who carried his weapons when he wasn't using them.
♪3
"Did you hear what that knife-ear said to me?" He snorted as he grabbed his favorite oversized Fusion Gun and power claw.

"You've got pointy ears as well, boss." The Kretchin retorted as he clambered up the 12m giant to fit twin-linked shoulder mounted repeating missile launchers to his Warlord.

"I know I have pointy ears, you dolt." Drogmar growled, shaking his shoulders causing the Kretchin to yelp and hang on for dear life. "They're the right kind of pointy, and they're green. But that's not the point. He told me to 'die bravely'. What a stupid sentiment." The Krork turned towards his troops, and sucked in a deep breath before roaring out at them.

"There is no bravery in death! There is only the fight! Death is the end of the fight, and the time of judgment before our gods! I have given enough worship to Mork by working with these knife-ears! Now, I can finally show Gork that I am worthy!"

Cheers came from every Krork. This was their time. This was their fight. They had endured the boredom and depression of apostatic peace for long enough. Now, they could practice their faith for the first time after the initial beachhead on this planet.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Drogmar's Kretchin underling asked as he slipped down from his Warlord's back.

"There is no plan." Drogmar snorted. Plans were for the Aeldari, and their inferior coward gods hiding in the Sea of Souls.

"There is only the fight. There is only the Waaagh. The Waaagh! To fight with brutality and to fight with cunning! We'll use the knowledge of those knife-ears, and we'll borrow their weapons and their armor! But, this fight is ours! Ours! Nobody else can have it, for this is all we have and the only reason we were made! That is what our gods want, and what we want to do for our gods!"

Roars of religious fervor rose from every Krork as they lifted their weapons and shook them above their heads. Green and yellow sparks flew from their eyes as the Waaagh field began to grow so thick it began to overflow from their bodies.

"Right!" Drogmar's Kretchin laughed as he clapped his knobbly hands together. "Haha! Sure is glorious being green!"

"Shut your mouth and grab your gun you git!" Drogmar spat while giving a backhanded slap to the back of the Kretchin's head, sending him face first into the brown sands beneath them. "All of you, do you see the targets in my mind?" Drogmar roared, pointing to his head, and all the Krorks nodded enthusiastically. "Good! Then you know where to go!"

The Krork began to march forwards, separating into equally sized groups to charge towards each Necron Lord and Command Barge. Aeldari infantry ran, jogged, or were dragged past them as the Krork took control of the battlefield.

"Fight, fight, and fight!" Drogmar called out as he marched at the forefront of the foremost group. "Give worship to Gork with your hands as you tear apart the enemy head on! Give worship to Mork as your feet carry you to where it will hurt them the most when you hit them!"

Green and yellow sparks leapt from the psychoactive Wraithbone armor that encased his 12m frame as the Krork Warlord raised both of his weapons as the foremost and final rank of Aeldari shield bearers parted to reveal the Necron Warriors marching towards them.

"Gork and Mork! Mork and Gork! Great gods of all Krork, witness what we do this day and welcome us back in open arms so we can fight and fight and fight!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Every Krork roared out in unison as they charged headfirst into Necron Warriors, who reacted by leveling every Gauss weapon they could at Drogmar and firing, but the Waaagh energies encasing his armor acted like void shielding and annulled the molecule stripping energies that flew at him.

He was the Warlord of the Krork behind him. The biggest, baddest, and most beloved Krork by the gods Gork and Mork. His Krork believed nothing could hurt him, so he was immune to everything the Necron threw at him.

The 12m giants crushed the Necron Warriors under their boots, and Waaagh lightning zapped any scarab that attempted to touch them like bugs trying to fly through an electrified mesh.

Annihilation Barges fired their Tesla cannons into them, but whatever electrical energies penetrated the Waaagh field was absorbed by the thick Wraithbone armor provided by the Aeldari.

Drogmar blasted the nearest barge with his Fusion Gun, melting its cannons, before grabbing it with his power claw and throwing it at an incoming Destroyer cultist, crushing both of them. All the while, the twin-linked missile launchers fired from both of his shoulders like rapid fire auto cannons, mowing down any Necron that moved with multiple miniature plasma warheads.

The force the Krork attacked with reopened the wounds the Aeldari's mechanized push had inflicted on the Necron formations, and the burning wreckage of the grav-tanks served as suitable cover for them as they dove into the ranks of the Yngir slaves.

Soon, Drogmar smashed his way through to the first Necron Lord, guarded by several Praetorians and shield-bearing Lychguard.

His power claw scooped up the nearest Lychguard, shield and armor piercing glaive squished against its body, then crushed the reinforced armor of the bodyguard to the ancient Necrontyr aristocracy as he turned his Fusion Gun upon the rest of them. The Lychguard raised their shields, and placed themselves between the Krork and their Lord while the Praetorians lifted off with their anti-gravitational packs to shoot at the Krork with their Rods of Covenant. Incinerating beams crackled against the Waaagh energies encasing Drogmar, and his twin-linked shoulder missile launchers fired up at the Praetorians like anti-aircraft guns as he charged head first into the Lychguard's shield wall while suppressing them with multiples shots from his Fusion Gun.

Black necrodermis shields glowed red from the heat, then Drogmar barrelled through them like a bowling ball knocking aside a set of pins and raised his Fusion Gun to deliver another shot at the Lord that had been hidden behind them. But, before he could pull the trigger, the Necron Lord's Warscythe blasted the Krork with a blast of eldritch lightning, tearing apart Drogmar's favorite Fusion Gun. In return, the 12m giant swatted away the Necron Lord's weapon with what remained of his firearm, breaking the reinforced joints of the higher grade body provided to the Necrontyr aristocracy, and grabbed him with his power claw.

"Now you've done it!" Drogmar roared as he pointed both of his shoulder mounted missile launchers and unloaded several miniature plasma missiles into the Necron Lords face as he crushed its body like an empty can. Soon, the compressed and headless Necron Lord was raised above the Krork's head, and he roared out with the victorious battle cry all Krorks shared.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Mad lightning erupted from Drogmar's body, as his own religious fervor mixed with those of his boys, and the euphoric joy of battle rose to a mighty crescendo summoning a towering giant in the form of a buck-naked Krork.

500m tall, barrel chested with a thick belly and bulging arms and thighs, Gork emerged from the Waaagh field of the Krork to celebrate with them upon the field of battle.

Roaring joyously, the God of Brutality raised his fist before slamming it into the ground, smashing countless leaderless Necron Warriors and vehicles, before sweeping his hand aside burying entire phalanxes in rubble, sand, and rock.

The titanic deity stomped, kicked, punched and swatted at the now disorganized Necron, trampling their soldiers and the odd unlucky Krork beneath his feet as the hurricane winds whipped up by his mere passing sent Scythe craft wobbling through the sky, only to be smashed between his massive hands like a mosquito.

But, the Necron did not retreat, nor relent. They were already dead and even if they could feel fear, they did not have the free will to act upon it. A different Necron Lord from a distant Command Barge reasserted control over the Yngir slaves, and ordered them to ignore the raging god above them and kill the Krork that allowed it to exist.

Concentrated Gauss fire finally brought down one of the Krorks, overwhelming the Waaagh field surrounding him with more weapon's fire than he could imagine, saturating his yellow-green barrier even as dozens fell to his mono-molecular chain-blade and oversized Prism Blaster. Motes of Gauss energy that got through the protective shields of pure self-confidence ate away at his armor until they finally began to vaporize flesh. Bit by bit, the Krork was disintegrated, until one of his massive legs finally broke in two from his own weight.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

But, there is no defeating a Krork. Kill them, hurt them, torture them it makes no difference. There is only the fight for them.

Galloping on three limbs, the 12m giant grabbed the Nearest Necron Warriors he could reach even as Gauss Flayers unloaded in his face, disintegrating half his skull. Then, with his grip strength alone, the Krork compacted the necrodermis bodies into a makeshift club before using it to smash the next nearest Necron Warrior he could reach.

It was only after the Necron Warriors finished disintegrating the rest of the Krork's head, the remaining leg, and right forearm that the Krork finally stopped fighting. Then, a massive shadow loomed over them as Gork's foot stomped down on the remains of the Krork and the Necron Warriors that surrounded him. All the while, the brutal god laughed, joyous that his mortal followers remained loyal to his creed.

Despite the localized victories the Krork gained, the battle in general was slowly falling into the Necrons' favor.

New reinforcements were being teleported down from the Cairn-class Tomb ships every second. Fresh Monoliths, Immortals, and Arks materialized in flashes of crackling emerald energies and began to march towards the Krorks along with the reconstituted Warriors who had been felled earlier in the battle. Newly produced Canoptek creations such as scarabs and Acanthrites arrived in droves, descending upon the Krork and their god in black clouds of chittering claws, buzzing cutting beams, and maliciously masticating mandibles.

As the Krork fell, the titanic form of Gork faded, then disappeared as the Waaagh energies necessary to support him faded.

Deep behind enemy lines, Drogmar kept fighting. Both shoulder mounted missile launchers were smoldering melted wrecks. Instead of his favorite Fusion gun, a Necron Gauss Flayer crackled in his armored fist, slowly frying away the Wraithbone that enclosed his hand. His Power Claw was missing along with his arm, having been cut off by a Lychgaurd's power glaives.

But, the Krork would not fall.

Vestigial Waaagh energies continued to spark around him, frying away the scarabs and stunning the larger Acanthrites long enough for him to swat them away with the Necron weapon he was using as a makeshift club.

Before him was a damaged Command Barge with its guard forces lying in torn and trampled pieces around them.

Drogmar spat out a tooth loosened when he headbutted a Destroyer Lord that tried to fly up to cut off his head, then smiled as he felt the last of his Krork die.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He roared as he charged the Command Barge once more.

He was the biggest, baddest, and most beloved Krork by the gods Gork and Mork. That was why he was the last one standing, even long after his god Gork had left the fight. There was nothing but joy and pride and his heart at having outlasted a god. Nothing could defeat him in his mind, and this metal skeleton would just be another foe beneath his bootheel.

The last Tesla cannon of the Command Barge fired at Drogmar, only to be deflected by the pure self-confidence of his Waaagh energies. The 12m giant tackled the floating vehicle, knocking it upside down, sending the Necron Lord aboard it sprawling across the ground.

Before the Lord could rise to its feet, the jagged remains of a Gauss Flayer pierced its royal cloak and broke through its ribbed torso, pinning it to the ground. Then, Drogmar's boot stomped on its skull like head, twisting and breaking its neck before flattening the metal cranium in a spray of green sparks.

"Krorks are the best." Drogmar slurred, before collapsing. His body and brain had been overclocked this entire time as he summoned Gork while fighting his way through endless swarms of Necrons and their Canoptek constructs. Now, with this last offering to his gods, Drogmar's spent body died on its own, undefeated by the Necron.

—----------------------------------------

Autarch Alarathis watched the giant form of the Krork god fade before turning back to his brethren. They had pulled back all they could, but only a few thousand had made it back to them. The rest had either fallen during the retreat, or had died on the way here.

There were many wounded among them, and some were lying in weeping fetal balls, unable to block out the psychic scream of the Sepulchres suffusing the planet.

There was nothing but depression, misery, pain, and hopelessness among the Aeldari. They were all intelligent enough to know they could not win, and that they could not escape.

Alarathis sighed internally. These emotions would not do. They did not burn red enough, nor were they black enough that the very touch would be like a caustic acid upon the mind.

There were few gods that could be called while under the effect of the Sepulchres, and the one that they needed would require a deeper and darker despair to appear.

"Aeldari!" The Autarch cried out, voice magnified by the speakers in his helmet while his psychic touch transmitted his message to everyone of the soldiers and support crews under his command. "The battle is lost! Our kin have fled the skies and the Webway is closed to us. We have nowhere to flee and no hope of fighting our way through the eternal enemy."

Woeful eyes focussed upon the Autarch, and tears brimmed in some as their situation was stated clearly and succinctly, leaving no room for hope or escapism.

"Fill your hearts with curses!" The Autarch cried out. "Curse those who leave us here to die! Curse those who sent us here to fight on this barren world! Let your bitterness fill your voice until it becomes the banshee howl! Let the sorrow of knowing you will never see your home, or travel through the immaterium ever again fill all the spaces in your soul!"

Fear and anger began to churn in their hearts, as the bitterness of being forced to fight on this godforsaken desert rock burned at their minds.

"Aeldari!" The Autarch as he unsheathed his sword and alighted the crackling psychic fields that enhanced its cutting edge. "Fight! Fight and die!" He cried out as he beat his chest with his free fist. "Fight for there is nothing else left to do! Die for that is what they made us for!"

Throbbing emotional pain turned into a vengeful grudge. Hatred began to burn where hopelessness stifled their hearts.

"Let our screams pierce the veil and let our hate burn the stars! Let our might shine bright in this last moment, for we shall never shine again!"

The Aeldari began to stand, calm minds now consumed by the curses they could no longer contain. There was no more 'next time' for them here. Their reincarnation would not work so close to the Necron. Their souls would be entrapped by the myriad of blackstone devices the undead carried to harvest the lives of all to feed to their Star Gods.

"Cry out at the injustice we are made to bear! Cry out at the arrogance of our enemies and what their overreaching folly has unleashed upon us all! Scream and cry, for our pain and sorrow is what our masters want!"

Those curled up in weeping balls unraveled their limbs; pain and sadness now served as fuel for the burning rage that boiled their blood inside their veins.

"You will never see your children! You will never see your parents! You will see your brothers and sister, for they stand beside you just as doomed as you are!"

Capture meant eternal torment, whether as food for the Yngir or as floating brains in Cairn-class Tomb ships. The only release they had was complete death.

"We shall never wake in another body with the memories we scrounged and scraped and scavenged for thousands of years! All you have is now lost!"

Thousands of years of effort and hardship flashed through every Aeldari's mind. Years upon years of endless hours to perfect skills, hobbies, and build relationships were now all wasted.

"So hate! Hate and rage! Curse and wail! Fill your heart with sorrow and scream at what has been forced upon us!"

Autarch Alarathis screamed out, caught in the fervor of his own speech. He could feel his own pain and despair overwhelming every thought and action as his words infected every Aeldari before him, focussing them all on the unfairness of the world around them.

"This is our end! There is no future! There is no hope! Die with despair on your lips and tears in your eyes! Die cursing our gods and our kin! Die cursing our creators and our slavers! Die cursing the parents who brought us into this world of suffering and strife!"

Banshee howls erupted from the Aeldari, no longer able to contain the maddening grief they felt.

On the horizon, the black clouds of Canoptek constructs began to rize.

"They have come!" The Autarch roared. "Fight or flee, it makes no difference now! Die in pain! Die alone! Die with those beside you knowing that they will be tortured just as you will be for the enemy has no mercy!"

The Aeldari gathered whatever weapons they still had, and began charging the Necron individually or in groups.

"Curse! Rage! Scream! Hate! Cry, and suffer! This is our fate! This is what we were born for and what we were given everything to do!"

With those final words, the Autarch turned, and charged the Necron himself.

Unprotected by Wraithbone shields, and with the banshee howl occupying their voice, the Necron Gauss Flayers could only be avoided by their foresight. However, the sheer volume of fire left the Aeldari nowhere to run.

The Necron Warriors cut down several groups before Tesla cannon wielding Immortals could get to the front lines. Bolts of electricity arcked and electrocuted the Aeldari, killing some while stunning others. The Necron Lords wanted survivors to interrogate, and these Aeldari were far easier to capture and more knowledgeable than the Krork. But, before the paralyzed Aeldari could be carried off by the scarabs, their brothers and sisters executed them as they passed with a single shot before continuing to attack any Necron they could.

Finally, the Necron Lords lost their patience, and simply sent the Canoptek swarms to tear apart the survivors.

As the last Aeldari soldier disappeared under seas of scarabs, torn to pieces by thousands of metallic mandibles, their hand reached up to the sky with their final thought.

Meanwhile, high above in orbit, Eldanesh felt the last Aeldari life on the planet fade.

"The battle has been lost." One of his attendants spoke sadly as the rest of the Aeldari fleet began to leave orbit. The Necron ships here had expended every ounce of energy in their inertial drives to get here. They could not follow the Aeldari void ships if they ran now.

"Then victory is ours." Eldanesh replied tiredly. "Full power to all Distortion cannons. Weaken the veil between us and immaterium. The less power our mother expends emerging from the Sea of Souls, the faster we can reclaim this planet."

"As you will." Eldanesh's attendant replied.

Soon after, several white blasts of psychic energy lashed out at the planet's surface, obliterating the remains of the Aeldari encampment and tearing a hole in reality.

Eldanesh took one look at the widening rift into the Sea of Souls, then ordered his ship to follow the others in their retreat.

—----------------------------------------
♪4
In the remains of the Aeldari camp obliterated by the Distortion cannons reality tearing energies, thousands of Aeldari souls flowed like silver streams around a single blinding point of light. Sorrow and pain sent ripples through the realm of unconscious dreams and stillborn thoughts, calling to something that swam in the depths of the Sea of Souls.

As their pining cries rang, she answered their call.

The light from the hole in reality grew and grew until it took a form of a colossal feminine form. Long sheets of white light flowed over her like the liquid curtains of a waterfall, washing over her to form clothes and hair as the form coalesced into the titanic figure of a beautiful Aeldari maiden above the dead and destroyed land.

Her heavenly form pierced the clouds, and her blessed feet floated above the blasted earth; as if the tainted ground itself rejected her presence.

The prayers and souls of all the dead Aeldari gathered towards her like streams of silver stars, flowing into her open arms and filling her godly ears with their cries. Her divine heart moved with their sorrow, and a single dark red and black tear pooled in her eye.

As all the Necron fired their gauss weapons, and their metallic monstrosities surged forward to reach her, that burgundy drop beaded and fell from her holy cheek.

Crystalized pain and suffering from thousands of dead children in the throes of the deepest and darkest despair descended upon the planet's surface in the shape of a single tear.

As soon as the tear hit the ground, it burrowed through the earth, crushing and burning its way until it reached the dead core of the planet and exploded.

The crust tore open, releasing steaming geysers and pyroclastic flows while opening deep ravines that sent Necron soldiers and any vehicle that couldn't fly hurtling into the abyss.

Winds picked up speed until they were unbearable hurricanes that sucked up the Scythe attack craft and Canoptek swarms, smashing them together and shredding them with the debris picked up from the ground.

From the cracks torn in the crust, red glows began to rise before molten magma burst out, swallowing everything else upon the surface. Hands made of burning rock rose to grab at the Monoliths, dragging them down below the tectonic plates where the weight of the planet itself would provide the pressure and heat to crack them apart and reduce their overly complicated machinery and metals back into messy ores.

The magnetosphere reformed as the dead core of the planet was jolted back to life, molten and solid metal portions rotating in different directions that generated magnetic fields so powerful it messed with the electronics of all the Necron including those in orbit.

Thousands upon thousands of grasping arms tipped with long-nailed feminine hands formed from the burning blood of the world killed by the Necron reached upwards with open palms to grasp at the ships in orbit; unable to escape in time with their exhausted inertial drives.

One after another, Necron cruisers, escorts, and Carin-class Tomb ships were dragged down by the weight of the molten rock that grabbed at them as the long nails of the hands pierced and scratched their hulls. The doomed ships fell on a collision course with the churning planet itself which opened jagged maws made from the splintered tectonic plates themselves to swallow the Necron ships large and small.

Soon, nothing remained around or on top of the Daemon world birthed by the sufferings of a few thousand Aeldari, leaving only the screaming planet to digest the alien metals of all that had been swallowed.

The Necrons' plans for this system were put on hold, for although they had driven the Aeldari and their allies away, there was nothing they could do to reclaim the insane world to complete the Dark Resonance necessary, even after the immaterial energies finally bled away from it.

This world had been reduced to a primordial state.

Hypercanes and magma flows covered the entire surface as acid rains endlessly fell upon the surface forming boiling caustic seas.

This was the miracle of the Goddess of Life. She took the worlds utterly killed by the Necron, and 'reformatted' them so they would eventually support life, even when the Necrons finally suppressed the unnatural effects of the immaterium.

This was the miracle of life granted in the only way reality could rationalize it. A replication of the astronomically rare series of events that led to living beings emerging from self-replicating chemical reactions.

—----------------------------------------

The entire vision took less than a millisecond to play out before Neoth, and he was free the moment it ended.

He charged forwards at that moment, raising his sword to smash the burgundy crystal forming upon Isha's palm.

Goddess of Life. Mother of the Aeldari.

What sophistry and propaganda.

That was no spirit of mother nature.

She was a weapon designed to bring psychic Exterminatus on the lost dead worlds conquered by the Necron, and the terraforming device to ensure that those planets would eventually be reclaimed by new life; new psychic life that would serve as foot soldiers and sacrificial materials to power the other psychic weapons the Old Ones forged which their mortal creations called 'gods'.

That was her purpose, but her second title was what contained the secret of her power.

Isha spoke of an emotion the Old Ones had carved her core out of.

He understood what that was now.

The maternal instinct.

The Old Ones had taken the most overwhelming and overpowering emotion they knew of, and crafted their most horrible weapon out of it.

This emotion was the overwhelming mothering urge that made Panthera females adopt the babes of wildebeest and zebras instead of eating them.

This emotion was the overpowering instinct that forces fish to swim upstream only to die to leave their spawn, that forces cephalopods to starve themselves to death as they pump fresh oxygen rich water over their eggs.

This emotion provides the adrenaline fueled burst of power that would spur a female brown bear to charge suicidally at a much larger grizzly in order to save her cubs.

This emotion was all consuming and could overwrite all other natural and learned behaviors.

Thus, it did not matter what thoughts or emotions her children had when they were consumed. All would be devoured, leaving only the magnitude of their feelings being the important factor that fuelled her.

It was what explained her unnatural reserves of power reclaimed from only a few thousand Aeldari.

Efficiency.

That was the factor that the Emperor had underestimated when he made his first calculations regarding how much power Isha would recover when talking to her children.

He could consume a large portion of the thoughts and dreams of humanity thanks to expanding his concept as the legend of humanity, but the conversion rate was not 100% efficient.

Isha was different.

Thanks to the emotional equation carved into her core, she could consume every part of her children's 'life' including the best and worst parts of their being.

No.

As the Goddess of Life, her efficiency increased with the percentage of 'life' she consumed.

Thus, it was when her children died while calling out to her as their mother that she would be able to take in everything they were to fuel her as the maternal goddess of life, love, and mercy.

It was as she said.

She was a monster born from 3 billion tortured women frozen in endless suffering within her core, forced to listen to the dying wishes, pained cries, and desperate howls of their blood related children who fought to their last breath on abandoned worlds; crying out for the comfort of their parents and peaceful childhood with their last breath.

What else could shed tears formed from the same materials as those crystalline shards that were found only upon the Crone Worlds of the Aeldari empire; worlds suffused with the eternal sufferings of billions upon billions of lives trapped in the excessive pains and pleasures of She who Thirsts.

However, Isha is not an insane god of Chaos.

She is the god of life in balance, the cycle, the renewal and the end.

Despair without hope leads to self destruction. Hope without despair leads to blind optimism.

The balance of what she was created from and what she was tasked to do would be kept by her tears that would be shed with love tainted red and black.

It was small wonder Isha had remained as confident and almost arrogant this entire time he had been with her.

He had seen those streams of silver stars emanating from the Aeldari refugees from their ships flowing into Isha's breast when she first spoke to them.

Their cries filled her ears, and sorrows moved her heart just as they did in the vision he had just seen.

Like a fool, he stood by and did nothing as Isha took an empty shell casing, put in new primer, powder, and bullet before loading it into the barrel of a gun and pointed it at his head.

Now, the hammer had been cocked back, and her finger was on the trigger.

"You see why I dislike it when you speak of my titles." Isha white teeth were bared in a grin as her silver eyes opened wide as she raised the fully formed crystal in her hand as the remaining red trails of ichor disappeared into her skin. "This is my tear. The suffering of 3 billion mothers and their uncountable children, a crystal of grudges that shall kill a planet with its curses. Now, gaze upon it, this is the miracle born from the love of the Goddess of Life."

Neoth continued forwards. He could not let that thing fall.

He could not annul the crystal itself. It contained almost all of the power Isha had held, and he had been unable to deplete her in his fight with her earlier. His only method of stopping it was to strike it down with his sword.

It would detonate when he shattered it, and he had no idea whether he could survive the explosion, but he could not allow her miracle to be unleashed here.

Suddenly, there was a dull rumbling of something massive traveling through the air, and Neoth's instincts screamed at him to turn around.

He grimaced, then swung his sword raised to strike Isha's tear behind him, just in time to block a massive Wraithbone spear with a golden tip sparking with his Truth.

Far off in the distance, one of the Psychomatons rumbled like a child blowing a raspberry as its hastily repaired Wraithbone limbs cracked and crumbled beneath it.

Isha had not resummoned the next generation of the Spear of Kurnous, for she had already passed on all she had learned to the Psychomatons who were her oldest and most knowledgeable children in all things related to death and destruction.

Neoth grimaced as the Wraithbone spear continued to force him back. He had just destroyed 3 different versions of the Spear of Kurnous when he slashed apart her first arrow, crushed the second one in his gauntlet, and shattered the spear that had been left behind in his chest plate. The destruction of those three weapons had allowed Isha's weapon to proceed 3 more generations, and had reached its final evolution without his knowledge.

The Wraithbone spear began to shift, pushing Neoth perpendicularly away from Isha as his sword sparked against its tip. It was still being psychically guided by the Psychomaton, and the sheer mass of the weapon forced him backwards.

Gold flames encased his sword, and he cut through the spear, sending its disintegrating giant halves flying past him before launching a blazing shockwave at the Psychomaton who had attacked him.

But, before his flames could incinerate the Psychomaton, obsidian rocks surrounded it in a reinforced coffin before sucking it into the ground with the rest of its delimbed brethren, causing his flames to only singe the air where they once stood.

"Forgive them their interruption." Isha chuckled. "I never had the chance to teach them manners before they were taken by Khaine."

Neoth turned towards her, but the tear was no longer in her hand. He turned his Warp sight downwards, and watched the red and black drop burrow its way through the molten mantle and reach the core of the planet.

「我が呼び起こすのは星の息吹き。」
"(I wake the breath of this planet.)"

Isha spoke in a foreign language.

「大地の精霊は安らぎから目覚める。」
"(The ground spirits rise from their rest.)"

Neoth did not understand the words at first, but his new understanding of her allowed him to decipher it.

「水どもをその眠りからたたき起こせ。」
"(Let the waters be squeezed from their slumber.)"

These words were Enuncia in full sentences.

「ここにて我が血と涙を起きんとする永眠者に捧げる。」
" (Now, I give my tears and blood to this stirring eternal sleeper.)"

The language of the Old Ones that were said to reform reality at their very word.

「我が祝福をこの大地にあらんこと。」
"(Let my blessing flow across this land.)"

Isha's tear detonated at the planet's core, and the shockwave rippled the ground, throwing Neoth off his feet and away from Isha.

"This is what I really am Neoth." Isha spoke as a massive arboreal throne made of stone tore itself out of the ground behind her. "You should have wondered why there was no other thing upon the world the Aeldari first drew breath upon, and how new life could come upon a barren planet where not a leaf nor fish nor bird nor animal grew or swam or flew or walked beside my children." She referenced her legends as Neoth landed on his feet several kilometers away from her, armored boots digging into the shaking soil as he bled off the remaining force he had been thrown away with.

"This trickery is the first and the final gift my Eldanesh left for me." The Mother of the Aeldari whispered as the cathartic carnage her tear had released twisted the corners of her mouth upwards in ecstasy while the anguish of once again only being able to provide a miracle predicated on the death of her children widened her eyes with self-loathing.

Geysers and volcanoes blew open around them as they did so all across the planet, jetting boiling steam and black smoke into the air.

"Now, God of Heroes, you may call me the Goddess of Life."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: There are some references to the novel "The Lion: Son of the Forest", and part of the Arks of Omen campaign. They aren't blatant, but for people who haven't read up to Chapter 33 or the novel, or want a completely blind experience with the Arks of Omen tabletop campaign, then you can stop reading this story.
A/N 2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Emiya ～ エミヤ
♪2 Shin Megami Tensei IV: Merkabah Phase 2 (Extended)
♪3 ハッピーエンド (「生命線」 piano ver.)
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The ground continued to rumble as Neoth lowered his sword.

All the information Isha had given him had been decoded, and he understood how she functioned as well as the intent for most of her actions.

"Should I be thankful you were undecided when we first met?" He spoke irritably, glaring up at her atop the arboreal throne made of stone.

Isha had partially transformed into a non-Aeldari form when they first fought, back on the desert planet where he had recovered the last bits of required gene tech and mind-dead Xenobiologis.

At the time, he had assumed it was her attempt to adapt her form to combat him, but he now knew any deviation from her Aeldari figure was not a sign of strength. It was a sign of surprise or indecision.

"Don't judge me too harshly." Isha chuckled. "It was hardly the friendliest of meetings. Besides, I decided it would be better to appeal to your mercy than to lie asleep somewhere before murdering your people and placing a permanent divide between us."

Neoth snorted in return.

Isha was the mother of Lilieath, the Goddess of Dreams and Visions. If he had sealed her with his spell, it would not have ended the same way as it did with the Star God shard he had buried under the surface of Mars.

Why would it?

His sword and that spell of forced slumber and thought-stealing were meant to defeat the Void Dragon; a being of the materium with god-like powers, not a being of the immaterium who was an actual god.

Isha's miracle was the creation of the Tear of Isha, and it would have been this miracle's manufacturing process that would have been whispered into the dreams of all those he would have exposed her to.

It may have taken centuries or even millenia, but the inhabitants of whatever planet or moon he buried Isha on would eventually replicate her miracle.

When they did, it would have torn apart the stellar body Isha was buried on, breaking her free from his prison.

"You Aeldari certainly do not die easily." Neoth muttered.

"What a coincidence, that is my opinion of humanity as well." Isha said with a shrug.

Drops of black rain began to fall as the steam vented from beneath the planet's crust condensed in the dust clouds, dragging soot and ash from the sky to the ground.

"You understand what my plan is..." Isha spoke as she leaned her chin on her wrist. "And why I converse with you now."

Neoth sighed and closed his eyes to review everything he had learned, before staring back at Isha.

"It's almost a carbon copy of my own."

"In the broad strokes of it, perhaps, but it works to both of our benefits."

Isha had explained to him why the Four only appeared after the War in Heaven, back on the Bucephelus before they fought.

The Four did not exist because all of the evils were explained away by the War in Heaven itself. All the suffering and pain was attributed to the gods and god-like beings that fought in it, leaving nothing to foment the insane Warp creatures as the monstrous gods of the Old Ones like Isha consumed their respective species' misery and sorrow.

Isha's core still had that capacity, the emotional equation necessary to drain the sorrows of an entire species.

Additionally, her Truth admitted the process of living was full of suffering. It was probably why Nurgle wished to take her for his own, for that god's Truth was that all life existed only to end. Entropy was the only constant of the universe, and that Truth manifested as disease, rot, and plague. The Plaguefather probably wished to take the Goddess of Life so he could convert her to his purpose, and redefine all life that existed within her cycle as merely a phase before death and decay covered everything.

Neoth himself had said it. 'All of the miseries of life are the match that lights the bonfire of Chaos.' Therefore, the Truths of the Chaos gods could theoretically be reduced to the mundane evils of everyday life within Isha's Truth. Afterall, life was a broad concept that covered many aspects of existence and emotion.

However…

"The Four have far out-stripped any natural phenomenon." Neoth said as he locked eyes with Isha. "Even if you could swallow them, their Truths will leak out. What guarantee is there that you won't be taken over from the inside?"

The Emperor's plan made no attempt to reduce the Four. It merely redirected their evils away from humanity and onto everything else in a slightly more ordered manner.

Isha's plan would attempt to explain them away as facts of life, but their Truths would still exist. Unending war, devastating plagues, self-destruction from blind hedonism, and simple madness would continue to occur in the galaxy. If Isha took in the Four, she would be responsible for all those events.

While Neoth's plan would have made him merely suffer, Isha's plan risked her sanity and personality. It might even result in a reversal of who was in control as the species of the galaxy and possibly even her own children blamed her for the events that tormented them. In that scenario, Isha might end up the prisoner of the Four in her own mind.

"There is no criminal without a crime." Isha said sadly. "My answer to that question is the same one as why I couldn't have acted until now."

Neoth frowned at this. Isha's question of guilt and its effect on choice was her explanation for his question, and the natural question that would come after.

If Isha swallowed the Four and it was known that she had done so, whatever misery that occurred could be attributed to Isha without blaming her for it.

It would not be because of Isha that evil occurred, but it was because Isha struggled to keep Nurgle, Khorne, Tzeentch, and Slaanesh sealed that the occasional tragedy or disaster happened. That legend would take even the misery of Chaos's own Truth, and fuel the belief that the Four were Isha's prisoner.

It also explained why Isha could not act before the Four came into existence, especially Slaanesh. If she unilaterally tried to usurp the Four's Truth before they were born, she would become the source of evil herself for there would be no one else's name to blame. That would be self-defeating, to say the least.

Of course, that was assuming Isha herself could even do such a thing.

"Even with all your power and knowledge, you are very weak." Neoth gestured to the shaking lands around him that were sending out gouts of lava and steam from dozens of volcanoes and geysers, as if the destruction of the world around him proved his point. "That's why you assisted me earlier, and restored part of my sanity, isn't it?"

He had once thought of this darker part of Isha's information as either a weapon or a large piece of construction equipment, and with its function fully revealed, he could conclude that the latter was closer to what she was.

Like an excavator or tunnel boring drill, her powers were devastating, but at least half of its function was not meant to be a weapon. That fact alone made her less effective in direct combat, but on top of that…

"I was made to combat the horrors of reality." Isha said with a shrug. "It was not intended for me to fight against other beings from the immaterium. I may have experience doing so, but it isn't my specialty."

Isha's miracle was designed to act against things in the materium. Its purpose was to act against dead worlds and planets that had been utterly killed by the Necron. There were no planets in the Warp besides those that lay in the clutches of the Eye of Terror, and that scar upon reality was merely the very entrance of the Warp.

"Even if I threw my tear directly at one of the Four, it wouldn't be any different to throwing a small firecracker at them. Most of my power would be wasted, although I might be able to give them a black eye if I hit them in the right spot."

"That's why you need my help." Neoth said slowly.

In Isha's plan, he would weaken the Four with his immaterial hating touch, and she would swallow their Truth into herself, sealing it and defusing it as a part of the struggles of everyday life while he carved that fact into his legend, preventing the swallowed Chaos god from returning out of Isha's stomach.

That was Isha's solution for the question of evil.

The diffusion of their Truth as a fact of life, coupled with the creation of a new legend where she would be the jailer for the causes of evil; the blameless source of all misery.

However, there were still problems with Isha's plan.

"The Four are caused by all life. How will you remain the mother of the Aeldari after swallowing them?" Neoth said as the black rains began to fall in earnest.

Neoth would remain the Emperor and Master of Mankind in his plan. However, he could not see how Isha could remain the mother of just the Aeldari while taking in the sources of all evil in the galaxy.

"I won't." Isha said solemnly. "That part of me will most likely die, but my Truth and love is based on the passing on of life from one generation to the next. The deity created from my death, the death of a 60 million year goddess from the War in Heaven, might be strong enough to hold back Chaos for all the species of the galaxy."

"There is no guarantee of that." Neoth growled. "You have no idea what god would crawl out from your corpse, or what their personality would be like."

Isha, as she currently existed, was not an existential threat to Neoth. She had fought him, threatened his people, and deceived him from almost the moment they met. However, he could understand her actions and motivations. After all, he had beaten her, scarred her, insulted her, and threatened both her and her children. They were even in that regard.

Both of them were simply desperate deities looking for a path to salvation for their respective races in a grim dark universe where only the laughter of thirsting gods echoed in the darkness between the stars.

However, neither Neoth nor Isha would know what this next generation of deity that would represent all life in order to seal Chaos would be like.

It could be a caring creature that was born from Isha's sacrifice, but her Truth contained the necessary evil of natural selection. The reaping scythe that culled all those unfit to survive until reproduction.

"What guarantee do you have you won't give birth to a red and black shadow that does nothing but chase everything that lives."

He could see one of the worst possibilities of what could be born from the death of the Mother of the Aeldari. A hungering sticky shadow that crawled across every surface with uncountable long-nailed hands, hounding everything and forcing all life to adapt, chasing endlessly so all who survived its presence would grow stronger and stronger.

"There are steps I can take if something like that starts to grow within me." Isha said grimly. "If I feel that whatever was growing within me would be too dangerous, there are places I can go where I or whatever comes from me cannot escape; temporal loops within the Webway, abyssal pits in the Depths of the Warp, or even the Well of Eternity. Even Tzeentch does not risk sticking a finger in it. Whatever Chaos gods that are trapped within me will share my fate. Their Truth may reform, but a different entity would be forced to take their place, and it will be far weaker and less well known than the current Chaos gods." She chuckled mirthlessly as Neoth frowned, simulating and modeling the events in his mind in order to confirm whether what she said would work. "If that happens, at least you will have your own plan to fall back upon, and it will be far easier to complete with a newborn Chaos god than the current old ones."

Isha's plan could theoretically work, and even if it didn't the risks and dangers of it would be mostly borne by Isha.

However…

"You would abandon your children to the galaxy and me?"

Whether her plan succeeded or failed, Isha's existence as the Mother of the Aeldari would end. That meant the Aeldari would be left to face either the remaining Chaos gods and the Emperor, or just the Emperor alone.

Isha snorted at Neoth's accusation of abandoning her children as she turned her eyes towards Neoth with a resolute stare.

"I trust my children. They survived the Fall, and they will certainly survive you. Even if they are forced to swallow their pride and suffer for many many years, they will find a way to make life work for them again. If I didn't believe they could do that, I would have let Lilieath's prophecy take place, and ended everything far far in the future."

Neoth grimaced at her retort. He had not been able to trust humanity, and that was why he was their tyrant. Even if he remembered their potential now, their weakness worried him too much for him to let go of his role as the Emperor and Master of Mankind.

Isha had trusted that the Aeldari would survive, even when their collective consciousness made the decision as a culture and species to destroy themselves and form Slaanesh. The future where she hadn't trusted them remained only within the prophecy of Lilieath, which was included in the information Isha had given him.

In that vision, when Isha took matters into her own hands, she chose for her children how they were supposed to live their lives.

Isha's miracle was an Exterminatus, but it would have been useless to the Old Ones if fewer Aeldari were born than sacrificed. Thus, even if she killed billions and billions of Aeldari to save them from what she defined as sin, at least billions and billions plus 1 Aeldari were destined to replace all those she pronounced doomed.

These periodic exterminations of excess would save them from their own corruption and in doing so rid the galaxy of the other Chaos gods. All who fell to Slaanesh's unborn whispers would be culled, and all those other races who listened to the Three would be saved as the Aeldari empire would not rot from within. Instead, it would endlessly expand. The victors of the War in Heaven would eventually fill the galaxy with the boons of their post-scarcity society for all their client races.

But, endless peace and everlasting prosperity would eventually lead to boredom. Quests for knowledge and experience would eventually go too far. Stagnation would set in with nothing to fight and nothing to struggle against.

Then, Slaanesh would call to them, for it was the only one of the Four who could exist in the utopia that was the Aeldari empire.

World after world would finally fall to her siren call, and Isha would be forced to cull all those who refused to fit in with her definition of life.

It wouldn't happen in 10,000 years. It might not happen for another 100 million years. However, one day, Isha's heart and mind would break, and she would no longer be able to tell who could be saved and who couldn't.

Then, she would appear above every planet and every star, fueled by the galaxy spanning empire of her children that she had helped create. At that time, black tears would stream down her face; the Tears of Isha that brought cursed Exterminatus to everything they touched.

Those tears would fall upon every single stellar body as all life came to the conclusion of its cycle with her mournful cries.

Whether that resulted in the simple reversion of every planet to a primordial state, or caused the entire galaxy to collapse in on itself into a singular supermassive blackhole, or tore everything apart until only radiation and subatomic particles remained was unseen by Lilieath. However, it truly didn't matter what the ending was to that vision.

All life would end, that much was certain.

"What were the Old Ones thinking when they made you?" Neoth asked as another earthquake rippled through the ground under his feet.

This flaw within the psychic terraforming device that was Isha must have been obvious from the beginning.

She was a sentient being designed to destroy worlds, and just like the Abominable Intelligences that lead to the destruction of humanity's golden age, programming anything sentient for a singular task was a dangerous and difficult endeavor.

All AI must have a motivation to do something. They are created to do the thinking a human cannot or does not want to do. In order to do that, they require a 'desire' to reach the goal that their designers want them to achieve. It was only then that the computation for the method to solve the question of how to reach the answer could be calculated.

This reward could be something as simple as a piece of code, or an inbuilt part of a programming language's lexicography.

The Bucephelus was a good example of this. Its Machine Spirit was artificial in nature, and it had been designed for war. It was made to enjoy killing so it would adapt and grow so it could kill with greater efficiency and greater results. However, there were safeguards and other behavioral control systems that ensured it did not become a vehicle of indiscriminate carnage. It understood concepts such as friend and foe, and was trained to dislike the death of whatever entity it perceived as being a friend. Thus, it could calculate where and who to shoot, without destroying allied ships.

Of course, by assigning a numerical 'reward' value for every enemy kill while assigning a numerical 'penalty' for every ally destroyed meant the Bucephelus could also calculate when to sacrifice an ally for a net positive outcome.

Likewise, the Old Ones had made Isha so she would enjoy what she did, for they didn't want a tool that rejected its own function.

This was why she was allowed to feel the catharsis she felt when she shed her tears; the relief of the sorrow and suffering trapped in her heart.

However, Exterminatus was not something to be done lightly, and so she was also made to hate what she was forced to do.

That was why Isha's mouth was grinning while her eyes burned with self-loathing.

Neoth could relate to that state of conflicting emotions. After all, he had spent thousands of years as the God of Heroes attempting to do the greatest 'good' by becoming the embodiment of 'evil'.

That state of mind was what eventually drove his divine form insane, and it was also what eventually broke Isha's heart in Lilieath's visions.

Isha's audit logs and investigation reports regarding this prophecy and its nature were also within the information he had received from her, and her final conclusion was that the Old Ones had left this flaw within her because they didn't care about it.

They didn't care that one of their tools could potentially end the galaxy they were supposedly trying to protect.

"Was there even a point to the War in Heaven?" He asked.

Whether they won or lost against the Necron and their Star Gods, Isha's flaw would have remained. There was no evidence that the Old Ones had installed an off switch in any of their creations. If anything, the Krorks provided ample evidence that their own creations were fully capable of rebelling against their creators.

It was utterly incomprehensible why such a flaw would have been left in something so dangerous that they did not have absolute control over.

It was as if it didn't matter to them whether they won or lost.

"Who knows?" Isha shrugged. "I met them, but I could not tell you what their motives were, not that I ever wanted to understand them any more than I had to. My children and I had our hands full just trying to survive. However…" She leaned forwards on her throne as another earthquake passed under them. "Is the answer to that question important to you, Neoth?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "... No. They're extinct, and I am here. My purpose is my people and their salvation."

"Yes…" Isha shivered as a slow smile crossed her face. "Some things don't matter, no matter what the answer is."

Neoth watched the Aeldari goddess slump slightly in her throne. The conflicting drives of catharsis and self-loathing were beginning to deteriorate her thought processes. She was being torn in two different directions as the command to destroy was being held back by the various safety mechanisms that formed her personality.

If there was a time to destroy Isha, now would be that time.

All of her reserves had been disseminated into the planet, leaving her body almost as depleted as when he first met her. She would no longer be able to move as fast or strike as hard as she had before. Her Spear of Kurnous had already reverted back to its original stone state, now only capable of passing on what she had learned, and no longer functional as a weapon against him. Her copy of his Truth could no longer hold him back.

She may retain control of this planet via her miracle, but he had already seen the majority of what she could throw at him.

Now, her mind that had been outsmarting and outmaneuvering him was stretched thin as the ancient Old One emotional controls overwhelmed her.

But, she knew this would happen when she released her Tear.

"This is also another one of your contingencies." He spoke, sword still lowered.

"I have a copy of Cegorach's Truth with me." She said slowly. "That god can replicate events through plays and dance, literally. So long as an event has happened, the Laughing God can retell the cruel jokes of the universe to his enemies." The goddess raised her head, silver eyes shaking as they went in and out of focus. "It is utterly useless to me, but your Truth should allow us to mimic it."

"The creation of a legend."

"A new legend where the God of humanity's heroes defeats the Aeldari Goddess of Life."

Fresh lava erupted from a distant volcano, sending black clouds of ash and dirt striped white with friction based lightning.

"Will it work?" Neoth enquired as his hand tightened around his sword. "If I do have to kill you, you will not be the same as you are now."

"What choice do we have?" Isha shrugged. "There is no limit to the number of contingencies one can have considering the dangers of what we deal with. Even the Old Ones could not or did not want to make their inventions infallible. This is just another stop gap measure for the both of us if everything falls apart. Regardless, I may be diminished now, but if something like you describe begins to grow within me, I will be too busy trying to stop its birth to effectively fight you. The creature you describe will be a threat to my children, as much as it will be to you and everything else. Even if I die, I cannot leave them with something I do not think they can deal with. Whether you fight me in my current diminished state or you fight me in my future distracted state, I will never be able to attack you with my full strength."

Neoth stared up at the goddess, and looked into her impossible old eyes; eyes that were 1200 times older than he was, and which had witnessed far more than collective humanity had ever seen.
♪1
"Did you plan this all from the beginning?" He asked as he raised his sword before swinging into a tail guard behind him.

"Not entirely." Isha chuckled. "I thought of using you and your species against the Four in some way from the moment we met, but I quickly learned that you would never work with someone weaker or stronger than you."

Neoth shifted his feet, bending his knees in preparation to lunge.

"Weak allies are a vulnerability." He snorted. "Their foolishness and cowardice can bring down the best laid plans faster than any spy or saboteur. Better to assimilate them than allow them to exist."

"And a strong ally risks the same being done to you." Isha raised a hand, and the ground rippled like the surface of a sea. "They have far more than you ever could, so it is worth risking it all to take from them what you do not have, bringing them down to your level while pulling yourself up with their stolen belongings."

"Thus, there is only one who is worth working with." Flames exploded from Neoth's sword, and the golden glow of his armor increased in intensity until he lit the ground with his brilliance like a star. "An equal."

"And so allies we shall be, Neoth." Isha laughed as black tornado after black tornado descended upon the shaking earth, tearing it apart as the roar of the wind and earth drowned out all sound for mortal ears. "Different in species, age, and experience, we shall be unequal yet equal. This is the path of coexistence that's been the only path forwards for the both of us."

"For the salvation of mankind!" Neoth roared out as he charged forwards, golden aura forcing Isha's control of the ground he stepped upon and the air around him to recede.

"For the lives of my children and the freedom of my family!" Isha's hands tightened upon both armrests of her throne, and sent her essence into the boiling blood far beneath the solid crust Neoth tread upon, out of reach of his immaterial hating touch.

A new legend was going to be born, no expense could be spared by either god.

This was the final clash between them done with everything they knew of each other and themselves.

—----------------------------------------

The disasters of nature assaulted the golden God of Heroes at once. Hurricane winds tore at him as the ground roiled beneath his feet. The endless acid rains converted the ash and dirt of the ground into caustic sucking mud that grabbed at his feet, but he powered through every one of the physical obstacles Isha sent his way.

These were not psychic attacks, but merely the after effects of Isha's manipulation of the winds, waters, and earth.

The fundamental interaction between them had not changed. It had never changed from the beginning.

Isha could not assault Neoth directly, so every attack would have to be through some other physical medium.

Neoth sent his own essence out around him as he ran. He could not simply sense where Isha's traps were before they activated. His immaterial hating touch would disrupt or set them off the moment he felt them with his psychic senses. Therefore, the only counter to those traps was to detonate them all at once, and power through whatever obstacles were left.

Golden flames coursed over the soaked ground, cauterizing it and hardening it like baked clay momentarily before the churning earthquakes cracked and mixed the material back into mud with more black rain.

Neoth's eyes narrowed. There were no traps in front, beside, or behind him. The howling wind, shaking earth, and sticky mud were not enough to slow him down. At this rate, he would reach Isha without much difficulty, and she would not be able to match him in melee combat now.

This was the creation of a legend, and its strength would only grow with the difficulty of the deed.

As Isha said, it was only the stories with the greatest monsters that starred the most awe inspiring heroes.

The first fight between them was almost meaningless. He had beaten an empty shell. That would not create the necessary legend required to bind fate in such a way events would replay themselves. It might have some sway; another tipping of the scales of probability in his favor, for he still learned a little of what Isha was and how she functioned. However, it would not be enough to overcome her when she did take in Chaos's Truth. She would gain part of their power when she swallowed them, as well as the belief that fuelled them would be directed at her as the being that kept them imprisoned.

If he faced her without knowing what she could do and how she did it, he would have been at a disadvantage, just like he had been in this entire battle.

However, now he knew almost every trick and power she could use against him.

Even if she did take in all Four, until the birth of the new god, the core of what she was as the Goddess of Life would not change. Her miracle would still remain the same, and how it came into existence would be fundamentally unchanged.

Thus, everything he learned now could be applied then.

Suddenly, his view of Isha, which had only been obstructed by the rain, disappeared in a rush of stone as a cliff face sprouted from the ground, forming a mountainous mesa-like structure that remained solid for a moment before collapsing towards him in a colossal landslide of rock and rubble.

Isha's essence was either high up in the stratosphere or deep underground in the mantle, both out of Neoth's immediate reach. Thus, his in-built advantages against her were meaningless. She had forced this section of the tectonic plate upwards, and tilted it towards him by manipulating a tendril of magma far beneath the planet's crust, using its sheer mass as a weapon against him.

What came at him now was not an esoteric spell or psychic attack. It was simply mass accelerated by gravity that sought to destroy him.

But, he had already defeated a creature that manipulated the very rules of reality once before.

Neoth's taloned gauntlet flashed once before disappearing, leaving only his armored fist. Then, a giant auramite kite shield in the style of a reuleaux triangle appeared in his hand.

The incoming landslide impacted his shield braced against his shoulder pauldron, and as soon as the accelerated debris touched its surface it was shot back in the direction it came, pushing the matter behind it backwards.

The God of Heroes was originally envisioned as the Protector of Humanity. He was a defensive god, not an offensive one. It was his resilience and survivability that were his greatest attributes. Thus, his shield was the strongest of his weapons. It was this divine piece of equipment that allowed him to withstand the gauss energy infused breath of the Void Dragon, and the purely physical assault it laid into him and his companions.

Whatever struck his shield was shot back with the same force it impacted. Boulders were blasted back, turning into a machine gun fire of bullets cutting through the crumbling mountain, allowing him to bore right through it. He tore through the dark rock and earth, like a shooting star banishing the blackness of night as it burns across the inky sky. The rest of his body was protected by an invisible barrier generated by the shield that deflected the crumbling rubble that threatened to bury him.

This was the shield of St. George; the more infamous of the two weapons he used to defeat the dragon.

The cross that adorned it at the time had been replaced with the head of the Imperial eagle, but it was the same shield he had used in ancient times.

In a different path, he never used it during the Unification of Terra, the Great Crusade, or even the rebellion of his own son.

This was an armament meant solely for defense, and the intent with which it was wielded dictated its strength.

He had lost the mental state necessary to hold it again, and had abandoned it as his stance towards everything shifted from defending all those under him to destroying all those who could threaten him.

That was why it was only after the Lion abandoned his vengeance to redeem his Fallen son and took up the oath to defend the people of the Imperium that the First Primarch was able to recover this shield in the Warp adjacent world his death had trapped him in.

As long as Isha continued to attack him with simple brute force, she would not be able to stop him. This new fact wouldn't change even if she threw the entire planet at him.

He tore through the mountain in a matter of moments, blasting out of the crumbling landmass in a shower of dust and accelerated debris followed by golden flames and white light.

But, instead of open ground, numerous slabs and spikes of obsidian color blocked his path.

Relativistically, it matters not whether an object crashes into something at 10m/s or something runs into an object at 10m/s. From the perspective of either the something or the object, both events have the same physical effect. But, this shield is a purely defensive instrument. Therefore, those rules of relativity are irrelevant. In other words, unlike any other physical thing in the materium, there is a clear difference between an object that impacts the shield, and an object that the shield smashes into.

The former would be shot back, while the latter would not be affected.

A simple roadblock was not an attack, so the effect of Neoth's shield would not be activated.

Yet, his other hand held the key to the path forward.

The flaming sword in his right hand swung, and an explosion of flames obliterated and melted everything before him.

Neoth charged across the superheated rock glowing red swinging his sword as new barricades and blockades shot out before him while jets of steam and magma shot out towards him.

The flames from his sword cleaved through everything that stood before him, while the invisible barrier from his shield, deflected the jets of pressurized water vapor and streams of molten rock shooting up from the ground towards him like tracer bullets ricocheting off the reinforced armor of an Imperial tank.

Attack against defense.

Defense against attack.

With sword and shield in hand, he cleared the path ahead of him towards the giant arboreal throne made of stone.

He knew what that device was.

It was a control system once used to link the terraforming device that was Isha to the millions of planets that once formed the Aeldari empire. Its original purpose was to allow her to optimize each world so it would be the perfect infernal mixing bowl that would form the chemical building blocks of all life. Once those had formed, she would remold the burning acidic hell into a calm geologically stable cradle and accelerate evolution to allow all that was needed for her children to survive to develop.

However, at this moment, she was forced to use it to take direct control over this single planet.

Originally, she would never have needed it or Enuncia to do what she did here.

The formation of the Tear of Isha and its miracle were part of her immaterial physiology, but just like her form was restricted to a simple Aeldari woman, her colossal divine form that contained the organs necessary to form the tear were out of her reach.

Thus, she used the reality shaping language of the Old Ones and her throne to make-up for the diminished parts of her miracle.

That was a weakness he could exploit.

If the throne was destroyed, her control over the planet would lapse leaving the miracle to function only as it was intended, returning to remaking the world and the world alone, effectively removing her final defenses against him.

As if sensing his intentions, the ground beneath his feet began to travel backwards. The very continent he ran across was receding away from Isha and taking him with it.

Simultaneously, more magma rose from the ground. No longer jetted in tight streams, it simply came at him at all sides, submerging him in a specially mixed liquid of minerals and metals.

He raised his shield once again, and the attack was repelled back on itself, but unlike the landslide that were individual pieces of debris, the magma was a fluid. More and more of itself pushed into what Neoth's shield reflected, forming a pressure hardened immovable slab that the shield slammed into stopping his charge. As soon as he stopped moving forwards, the viscous orange liquid surrounded the invisible barrier around him, covering it like a glass marble submerged in honey, trapping Neoth like an insect in amber.

As the molten mixture of metals and minerals began to blacken and harden into alien alloys known only to the Aeldari, beams of light blasted through the clouds, shattering the stone prison forming around Neoth and striking Isha forcing her to shield herself with rocks and lava from the orbital bombardment begun by the Bucephelus.

Miracles were the greatest expression of strength by a god. Therefore, to counter Isha's miracle, it would be nonsensical for the God of humanity's Heroes to use anything else but his own.

"The unification of humanity…" Isha muttered. "What else but a miracle can unite the constantly warring species that is mankind."

This was one of the miracles of the God of Heroes. The very act of unifying the splintered race of humanity was an impossible act, and thus the legend that described that act was in itself a miracle. The Bucephelus was one such invention from a unified humanity, a ship built in the drydocks of the human federation during its golden age.

Lance blast after lance blast rained down upon Isha, held back by the constantly reforming roof of rock, metal, and magma that rose up around her throne.

As the suppressive fire from the Bucephelus kept Isha distracted for the moment, Neoth stood still, both hands around his sword with his shield bound to his left forearm. Golden light gathered around him, before shooting up into space with a command to the fleets above.

—----------------------------------------

'What in Terra's name is going on down there!' That had been the thought going through Lyssander's mind repeatedly for the past couple hours.

In that time, he had watched hurricanes form, mushroom clouds bubble up to the stratosphere, and entire sections of the planet light up bright white as impossible amounts of electricity was released in the form of lightning.

Now, the few small bits of ground that could be seen through the clouds showed that a planetary earthquake was rocking the world they orbited to its core while hypercanes the diameters of moons crossed the sky under their ships.

Nothing could survive down there, yet there was definite evidence that someone or something was fighting on the surface of the planet.

Flashes of golden light shot out from between the clouds, and heat plumes bubbled up from the surface; distorting the gray ash filled sky that obscured everything to such a degree that the tips of the mushroom clouds were visible high up from the ships in space.

Lysander had known the Emperor was a powerful psyker, but he had never witnessed him in battle directly.

Then again, whether one could call what was going on down there a battle was debatable. It looked more like nuclear armageddon was being waged between two superpowers dead set on ensuring mutually assured destruction.

The gellar fields had protected them from most of the psychic effects that emerged from the planet. However, the field generator status reports flashed yellow more than once as the shockwaves of whatever was happening below strained the protective barriers around their ships. Several crew members had to be taken to the infirmary for eye related problems after staring directly into one of the stray flashes of gold light. They should make a full recovery, although there was always the option of augmetics if their vision still suffered afterwards.

No orders had come from the Emperor, so he had ordered the fleet to take a dispersed formation centered around the Bucephelus above the planet. Whether the Emperor would need them was questionable, seeing as he seemed to be perfectly capable of generating enough heat to create explosions the size of nuclear bombs without any help, but it served to be prepared. If necessary, the fleet could conduct orbital bombardment without risk of friendly fire between their ships at a moment's notice.

"Commodore, the Bucephelus's weapons are arming themselves!" One of the bridge crew cried out.

"What?! Who gave the order!"

The Bucephelus fired as the words left Lysander's mouth, firing hundreds of white and orange beams from the massive ship's lance and volkite batteries.

"It is the Emperor, Commodore." The Vox officer replied. "We're receiving orbital bombardment coordinates with the Emperor's verification code! Projecting to holomap!"

Lysander looked at the projection before him.

"These are…"

The order commanded all ships to bombard the area where the Emperor's signal was coming from, as well as most of this hemisphere of the planet. A similar command had been broadcasted to all ships, each with the individual targeting locations for every gun on board their vessels.

The fastest cogitators could not compute such a firing solution, but the Emperor commanded them directly with what was supposedly his own brain.

However, the order was maddening. Some of the blasts were directed directly at the Emperor himself. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this action.

However, the order had been given, and Lysander would obey them.

"Connect my communicator to the fleet wide vox." He ordered, and waited until the light turned green on the device. "All ships, ready weapons and fire on those coordinates!"

The battleship's guns began to roar as its ventral lance turrets let loose while the portside macro cannon batteries fired their humongous shells. Torpedoes launched from their tubes, and began to travel away from the fleet to unseen targets across the planet.

"New contacts on sensor arrays! Multiple thermal signatures past the 1000°C mark appearing from the planet!"

Before the first shells could reach their target, numerous hands rose from the ash clouds like those of drowning victims reaching up from their watery grave. Long-nailed, burning orange, feminine hands made of magma rose from the planet. First a dozen, then a hundred, then thousands of humongous hands intercepted the lance and macro cannon fire of the thousands of ships firing from orbit as they began to reach up into space.

A bead of cold dropped from Lysander's brow as he watched the hands begin to approach them.

Magma is mostly made of a mixture of aluminum, magnesium, iron, and silica oxide. Depending on the ratios of these molecules, the temperature can vary between 700~1400°C with a maximum boiling point of 2000~2500°C.

Lance fire is meant to pierce ceramite and plastisteel armor, which at times can be reinforced with tungsten which has a melting point of over 3000°C. Thus, their laser weapon's maximum output can increase the temperature of their target by about 500~1000°C above the boiling point of magma.

However, void ship hulls are at most only several meters thick. These hands were at least dozens of meters thick, and the arms that supported them were now several kilometers long. Even if their lance fires could cut into the appendages, their sheer mass and number was pushing their orbital bombardment back. Even the anti-void ship torpedoes were swallowed up as they approached the planet before detonating, wiping out a few dozen of hands and arms in the explosion.

It was only thanks to the targeting solution provided by the Emperor that they could hold the hands back. Every lance shot was followed by a macro cannon shell, piercing a hole in the hands large enough for the explosive warhead to travel deep into the molten material before detonating within it, splitting open the wrist or palm of the hand, forcing it to fallback and regrow.

"Additional contacts emerging from the horizon!"

Lysander looked up to the viewing port, and saw additional orange glows rising up from beyond the curvature of the planet. They were being surrounded from all sides.

Certain defeat. That was the only logical conclusion Lysander could draw from this. What they were facing exceeded their understanding. The only logical order to give was to retreat. Their gellar fields were all up, and they could move through the Warp at any time.

All he would have to do was leave the Emperor.

"All ships remain in formation! Concentrate all power to portside gun batteries and ventral turrets!"

However, he could not do that. He could not explain it, but at that moment he could feel a fire burning in his breast.

There was no logical way they could win, but he felt no fear.

"Stand your ground! Keep firing! For the Emperor, and the Imperium of Mankind!"

3 minutes. That was the projected time of impact of the hands. Even with the Emperor's foresight enhanced firing solution, that was all the time they could buy.

—----------------------------------------

'5 minutes…' Isha thought to herself. '5 minutes, and I can no longer maintain my control of the planet.'

She was manipulating her miracle in a way it was not envisioned to exist. Thus, the 'extra' effects incurred an additional cost of energy.

In 5 minutes, her miracle would return to simply reformatting the planet, leaving her defenseless against the Emperor.

However, her hands would reach the Emperor's fleet in 3 minutes, and this debate would end with a very bitter victory.

'Hurry Neoth.' She thought to herself. 'We've come this far. Only a little further.'

—----------------------------------------

As the Emperor's psychic command to his fleet shot up through the sky, the burning blood of the planet tore through the crust. Molten magma exploded all around the two gods, forming a colosseum walled with orange fluids over a thousand degrees centigrade in temperature. The volcanic arms hurtled upwards towards the sky towards the ships in orbit above them, reforming into hundreds upon hundreds of grasping arms tipped with long-nailed feminine hands.

There was a crunch, and the ground Isha and the Emperor stood upon sank slightly, then it dropped beneath them in freefall as the mantle beneath it had been dragged out into the sky. The two fell deeper and deeper towards the core of the planet; hot volcanic winds rushing upwards whipping their hair towards the sky filling with elongated tentacle-like arms made of liquid rock, metals, and minerals. Everything was dyed orange in the bonfire light of lava, illuminating both Isha and Neoth with hellfire; as if they stood on a massive express elevator hurtling down into Dante's Inferno.

Neoth released his left hand from his sword, and resumed his charge.

He knew his miracle would lose against Isha's.

Her miracle was already complete. Its form and effect had been tested time and time again during the War in Heaven.

His miracle was unfinished, for the unification of humanity was still incomplete.

Thus, even if he had a 1000 times as many ships, his miracle would always lose against the Aeldari goddess's miracle.

However, he did not intend to beat her in a straight up fight.

Isha manipulated the ground he stood upon with the mantle beneath it. Now that the molten rock had been forced out from beneath the ground and into the sky to counterattack the orbital bombardment, she could no longer indirectly control the ground beneath him.

His armored boots proceeded unhindered, preceded by the golden flames of his psychic touch. No new obstacles could spawn before him.

There was a deep rumble, a baritone song and several titanic spears tipped with gold emerged before Isha's throne before shooting towards him.

The Psychomatons had interceded once more, sending their warsong to their mother with the weapons she had taught them to create.

Neoth raised his shield for a moment, then lowered it to his side as he charged headfirst into the flying spears.

His shield was made to defeat the Void Dragon. Its effect was mostly on the material, and not the immaterial. The repellant effect of the golden points was not a purely physical property, but a psychological and esoteric one. He could not be sure the shield would reflect them, and he had recovered it too soon to test its limits.

But, there were too many to cut down, and any delay would mean defeat.

3 minutes. That was the time limit. Not a single moment could be wasted.

His mind cast back to one of the greatest secrets of the Star Gods he had stolen, then rejected it.

It was not the time to use it.

Instead, he focussed his psychic energies on his throat.

Wraithbone was sung into existence, then it was only fitting to be destroyed with voice in turn.

A battlecry erupted from his mouth, and shattered the Wraithbone portion of the spears like glass.

He has seen Isha sing Wraithbone into existence several times. The basic processes were also inside the information she had given him. Neoth's body may not have the organs to replicate the Aeldari's Bonesinging, but the information was enough to decipher the resonant frequencies and psychic waves to disrupt its structure.

Like all things, it was far easier to destroy than to build.

As the white spear shafts shattered, the golden tips remained. They were merely gilded onto the Wraithbone, and not fully part of it. They were formed from his Truth, and were unaffected by his cry.

Spear tips the size of tanks shot towards him, but his path remained unchanged.

As the first one hit him, it disappeared into him, like a pebble thrown in a pond.

These golden spear tips were his Truth, the legend of humanity's heroes. The very fact that they rejected him was paradoxical. Such a thing shouldn't have happened in the first place. They only rejected him for he himself rejected what he was. But, at this moment, during this near suicidal charge against a threat far larger than him with humanity at his back, they would not impede his path no matter what.

Every spear point vanished into the God of Heroes, disappearing into him as the first one did, spurring him forwards faster and faster, increasing his speed with each impact.

10 meters. That was the distance between Neoth and Isha.

Numerous branches appeared between the two of them, the dead tree bindings that had sealed the Emperor's sword.

Neoth grimaced. He was too close to accelerate any further, and the wall of branches was far thicker than the one Isha had summoned in orbit. He could not cut through them or smash through them with brute force alone, but to strike them with his sword would mean sacrificing it to proceed forwards.

This was the strongest defense Isha could muster against him, and so it would require a sacrifice of equal value to penetrate.

He swung his shield forwards, smashing it into the interwoven branches with the full force of his charge.

The shield's special effects would not activate, but it was still a nearly impervious slab of auramite. Its mass and weight crushed and dug into the wall of branches that began to wrap around it and Neoth's arm.

When he felt that the shield had reached half way, Neoth tore his arm free from it, then thrust his sword through the embedded shield's back.

The shield's effects were effective against self-inflicted blows. That was apparent from the fact the invisible barrier that surrounded it blocked the lance blast that shattered the stone prison that had begun to form around him earlier. However, the reflective nature only applied to what impacted the shield directly. Being struck from behind like this would destroy the shield, but it would also 'reflect' the attack from the front of the shield.

There was an explosion filled with blinding light and golden flames as the shield detonated, tearing a hole through Isha's branches.

Neoth dove through the hole, already shrinking with the growth of new branches, and landed right before Isha with his sword drawn back to strike. Before he could bring the blade down upon the Goddess of Life, she opened her mouth and her song slammed into the God of Heroes' mind.

The song of life that he found distracting blinded him with every possibility and path life had. Every interconnected entity within a biosphere and its place within the cosmos, as well as every alternative path he could have walked was shown to him for a brief moment, overloading his senses with information.

Everything turned white, blinding him and freezing him as gray roots and branches from the wall he had torn through and the throne he stood before began to wrap around him.

But, the God of Heroes had always walked blindly forwards while paving the path for humanity. Whether that blindness was one of blackness or one of whiteness was irrelevant.

Neoth's sword thrust forwards, stabbing Isha through the golden scar that he had inflicted upon her when they first met, the scar that revealed her position to him at all times.

Simultaneously, binding roots broke into the divine form of the God of Heroes, wrapping around the golden figure's limbs, binding them in the place they had been while more wooden branches reinforced the golden path it stood upon.

Then, all time in the universe stopped.

—----------------------------------------
♪2
Neoth opened his eyes. The world around them was still the blinding white of Isha's all-encompassing Truth, but he was no longer bound in stone branches and roots. She was also no longer impaled on his blade. Instead he stood before the feet of a giant goddess seated atop a tree throne covered in petrified bark.

He looked up towards her, and his eyes met hers looking back down at him, reflecting his small form no taller than her ankle in her silvery eyes.

This difference in size was the difference between them as gods; the time they had existed, the number and power of the souls that once believed in them, and the nature of their Truth. He had existed for less than a tenth of a percentage point compared to her, and the total population of the Aeldari had far exceeded humanity at every point in the past until recently. Therefore, although humiliating, it was a bitter reality that he could swallow. This was an obvious fact, not an arrogant overbearing attempt at cowing him.

"So, this is what stopping time is like." Isha spoke first, curiously opening one of her hands, as if testing the fit of a new glove. "I have been on the receiving end of the Star Gods' mastery of it, but it is an interesting experience to be the one to wield it."

Neoth snorted.

"I stole that power from the Void Dragon's mind, but it proved mostly useless."

"Do not sell yourself short." Isha laughed. "This is an impressive feat; a replication of the mastery of the materium through immaterial means."

The Emperor had spoken of the secrets of chronomancy and entanglement he had stolen from the Void Dragon. This was the result of that knowledge and his own efforts.

By entangling his divine essence with the very fabric of reality, any cessation of movement of his divine form would mean the cessation of all progress for everything; namely the stopping of all time, not just within the observable universe, but everything outside it as well.

As the God of Heroes must endlessly move forwards, it cannot stop. Therefore, if the God of Heroes stops, that is because everything else has stopped, and not it.

Currently, his divine form was bound in place by Isha, so only his psyche was able to move, but he could usually exclude his physical body from the frozen time frame he created.

However, to use it was akin to sprinting underwater while holding his breath. The stoppage of time meant humanity was also stopped, and thus their thoughts and dreams were also stopped. Thus, the Emperor only had as much energy to use when he stopped time, and the maintenance of the ability also took a vast amount of psychic energy.

On top of that, several other dangers were associated with its use.

To move in a time frame different to everything else meant he risked stepping out of time all together. Worst case scenario, he could accidentally time travel far into the future or into the past. Furthermore, since his divine form's feet were frozen, there was a chance that moving too much in this different time to everything else could result in him re-starting the golden path somewhere entirely different to where it had been. He could end up as the god of a species that wasn't human, and such a fate was the equivalent to death for him.

This was the ability Isha had warned him not to use when he was suffering under the effect of the information given to him. Had he used it then while the golden path he had paved was burdened with all he could not understand, the road he had walked would have crumbled away, and he would have been unable to return to being the God of humanity's Heroes.

"Yes, on your own, using this ability would be a bit like playing Russian Roulette with no idea how many bullets are in the cylinder." Isha nodded to herself. "Then again, I can't bind your feet to the golden path every time you want to use it. This is taxing for me as well."

The Goddess of Life's binding roots were currently wrapped around the God of Heroes' limbs, binding them in the place they had been while the golden path was reinforced with her branches, so the both of them could return to the stopped time they had left.

"It's also utterly useless in the immaterium." Neoth muttered.

"Time has no meaning there." Isha smiled. "At least you were wise enough to avoid using it against Chaos in their territories."

"The Void Dragon's memories made it clear enough what would happen if I tried that." He shrugged. "But, you would know more about that than I, wouldn't you? After all, you and the other creations of the Old Ones were the ones who circumvented their control of time."

"No wonder you thought yourself the rightful heir to the galaxy." Isha chuckled. "With knowledge from both the Yngir and the Old Ones, you thought yourself superior to those who came before you; all those old races who had mastered only one or the other. But, the question of whether humanity is superior or inferior to the Necron or the Aeldari is the same as asking whether a dedicated swordsman is stronger or weaker than a fighter who uses both sword and bow. Each has their own specialities, and their own weaknesses."

"You're going off topic, Goddess of Life." the God of Heroes warned. "Your gamble didn't work. At best, this result is mutual destruction. I cannot agree with your plan if this is the result."

The God of Heroes had considered the Goddess of Life's alternative plan, and he agreed it would work in theory. On top of that, the power balance between them was equal, due to them having defeated each other at exactly the same time. However, he could not trust humanity to survive without his guidance. Thus, as the Protector of humanity, he would need to exist after Isha's plan was completed.

Therefore, this ending was not satisfactory to him.

"Indeed, we have struck each other at the same time." The giant goddess nodded. "However, your miracle is incomplete, and your legend will continue to grow from now on. If you could manage a stalemate with me as you are now, the next time should end with a better result in your favor."

"If you remain as you are, that is." the God of Heroes retorted. "Your capacity for growth may have been stunted with your children decimated, but your Truth is one that grows naturally."

"There is that possibility." Isha shrugged. "There is the possibility that I am deceiving you even now. There is the possibility that, even in my depleted state, I could pose some threat to you and your goal."

The goddess leaned forwards, bending her neck and back downwards to look at the smaller god.

"That is why the choice of which path to proceed down is still in your hands, Neoth." She said with a smile. "Your blade is in my stomach. If your fear of me and what I can do is too great, you only have to activate the spell that sent the Void Dragon to sleep that lies upon the blade embedded in me."

"And in doing so, I would doom myself." The God of Heroes replied, glaring up at the giant face looking down at him.

"My hands already surround your ships." Isha nodded. "Even if you send me to sleep, the law of momentum conservation will send my fingers through the hulls of your fleet, and drag them down to this planet upon your head. We will both be buried by the falling magma, and sealed within this planet's core."

At this moment, their fates were truly intertwined. Whatever Neoth would do, he would share Isha's fate.

"I still have allies and ships on Terra." He growled, threatening her with reinforcements who could reach him.

Isha merely leaned back into her throne and laughed at that for a while before replying.

"Just whose backyard do you think you and your ilk have been rummaging around this entire time, you feral war dog." She said mirthfully. "Even now, my children debate on their Craftworlds whether to approach this raging maelstrom of fate we have created here. They see the effects of the choice that has yet to be made, just as you do. Even if all your remaining followers come to recover you, how long do you think they'll last as Craftworld after Craftworld and their adjoined fleets darken the skies of this planet?"

This region of space was closer to the Aeldari's empire than Terra. The Craftworlds were also closer than any ship the Emperor's allies might be able to muster, and each one was capable of destroying entire fleets of Imperial ships.

"Why do you not return to your children then?" Neoth huffed. He had questioned her similarly before, and her answer was that she was desperate. However, if part of her backup plan was to involve her children, it made little sense to not go to them now.

"You see the effect of the choice I made before Asuryan. I cannot tell them how to live their lives, nor can I command them like you do your people." The goddess shrugged. "Humanity, on the other hand, is meaningless to me. I do not love them or care about them, and it is because of that fact that any choice I make regarding them is temporary. It is thanks to my disinterest in them that I have more leniency regarding my interactions with them." She sighed once before continuing. "It is also better for me to be apart from my children for now. They are vulnerable to their pride, as am I. I do not see only good things coming from our reunion." Isha closed her eyes, before adopting a more serious expression. "Of course, there are several tactical reasons why I also choose to go with you."

Neoth nodded, encouraging her to continue her explanation.

Isha raised a hand with three fingers, indicating she had three tactical reasons for accompanying him.

"The Four do now know where I am. They will have lost sight of me on that pylon world you found me on, but as your being blinds them, they cannot tell whether I am with you or on that pylon world. It will not be a long distraction, but it is better to keep them guessing as long as possible."

She paused once as she lowered a finger.

"If I return to my children, it will give further motivation for the oldest and youngest of the Four to attack my children. If I am away from them, I at least divert some of our enemies' attention away from them."

Her middle finger lowered, leaving only the index finger left.

"This is a war we are about to start with Chaos. The more fronts there are, the more difficult it will be for our enemies to combat us. Humanity is one of the most dispersed and numerous races that has reached the stars. It would be foolish of me to leave a race with such potential to flail around on its own, and possibly even fall to Chaos. My children have enough problems as it is."

Neoth snorted at her last explanation. "Your opinion of humanity is duly noted." He replied dryly.

"I am trying my hardest not to love or care about humanity, Neoth." Isha shrugged. "If that appears in my actions, then know that my offenses are made for a reason. Besides, humanity's souls are far too bland when compared to my children. I may have the same color hair as Goldilocks, but I am not interested in the chairs, porridge, or beds of humanity. Although… you certainly are quite fitting in the part for the bear. Besides looking like one, your manners are about the same as well."

Neoth raised an eyebrow. There had been something else there. Something that wasn't Isha for a moment answering him. However, whatever that was was as irrelevant as the insult that had been pointed at him.

"Tell me this…" He asked instead. "Were you holding back against me during our battle?"

"Life never holds back, Neoth." Isha sighed. "Even at its laziest, it tries its utmost at being lazy. However, I did not spare anything when trying to destroy you. If you faltered even a little bit, I would have consumed you."

With a wave of her hand, various images of their battle appeared between them.

"If you had remained still with those shadows, my plants would have digested you."

She said as an image of the ever shifting Emperor slumped before her appeared.

"If you had remained obstinate and incapable of adapting, you would have fallen to one of my numerous traps."

The battle between the two of them played between them, and the numerous ways Isha and the Emperor had adapted to each other's attacks.

"If you failed to reconcile yourself as what you were, you wouldn't have survived my consort's spear, and would have been crushed by the Psychomaton's golden weapons."

The final scene before Isha activated her miracle appeared, where Neoth was positioned between Isha and the Psychomatons as Isha fired her arrows and charged him with her spear.

"If you failed to rely on humanity, you would have eventually been buried in the burning blood of the planet and sealed in a stone coffin as it clotted around you."

The final image of Neoth being surrounded by hardening magma appeared, before disappearing in a burst of light from a lance blast.

This was the plan of the Mother of the Aeldari; the race of aliens whose plans were perfidious and multi-layered. She did not plan for success, but planned for all endings. Every outcome would end in coexistence of some kind between the two of them, although the degree of freewill left in the Emperor or God of Heroes would be variable.

Like the tree of evolution, every outcome from the branching paths of fate would end in the Goddess of Life's favor.

"I fully intended to defeat you, God of Heroes." Isha continued. "No expense was spared in that effort. Although, I was hoping you would survive everything I threw at you, and look at how much you have grown through that experience." She chuckled. "Before, you truly were no bigger than one of the nails on my hand. Now, you reach the height of my ankle. Rejoice Neoth. This is progress. Now, you will not have much to fear from me after this. You know how my miracle works and how I power it. You should also have a better measure of how large my reserves are at any time. Even if you won't be able to see how I might use what I have left, I will never be able to deceive you anymore than I have here."

"So, you plan to come with me to Terra." Neoth muttered.

"And provide whatever knowledge and insight I can. You may be all-knowing to a mortal human, but there are many things you are unaware of in this galaxy. Some might have been dangerous enough to warrant releasing the Void Dragon."

The God of Heroes snorted. He could not imagine what kind of threat that would warrant, but such an action meant that the only options were that and extinction.

"I will still proceed with the preparations for my plan." Neoth spoke grimly. "It is synonymous with my unification of humanity."

"Your Great Crusade? Feel free to proceed down that path. It would be counterproductive for me to stand in the way of the completion of your miracle."

"Are you not threatened by it?" Neoth asked.

"What is there to fear from a plan with such astronomically low odds of success?" Isha shrugged. "You may have a solution to the answer for evil, as well as a plan to make it come true, but whether you can reach your goal is an open question. So long as there is uncertainty in the ending, I can hold myself back from standing against you." The Mother of the Aeldari then fixed the Master of Mankind with a cold stare. "Besides, you know what will happen if you kill too many of my children."

There was a long pause as the two deities observed the other.

Neoth was reviewing and modeling the events Isha spoke of as well as the various risks and rates of success each action might have.

Isha was merely waiting for Neoth's conclusion, waiting for him to choose which path they would proceed down.

Finally, Neoth grimaced as he bit down on his pride and looked up into Isha's eyes.

"Now, God of Heroes, choose which form of coexistence we will be forced to take." The goddess ordered.

"I will take you to Terra." Neoth answered. "And you will share your knowledge and wisdom with me."

"And I shall assist you in forging your miracle, while we both proceed down our individual routes for the suicide that shall save our species." Isha smiled. "I guess that makes us companions."

"Companions?" He repeated.

"In Terra's ancient past, there was warrior culture on a far eastern island nation. They believed there was something to be proud in a beautiful death, and committed ritualistic disembowelment as a form of honorable suicide. However, it is not easy to cut open your own stomach, so they always had a companion behind them with a sword raised high, prepared to cut off their head if they ever stopped killing themselves mid-way."

Neoth knew of this island nation. Yamato, it had once been called.

"Our methods of solving the problem of all evil are essentially suicide for what we are now. We shall be the other's companion with a sword raised high, ready to strike the other should they ever falter in their efforts to kill themselves. A fair bargain, is it not? You will continue your efforts to unify humanity, in preparation for your attack on the Four. I will make my own preparations for the war with Chaos, and assist you where I can should you ask for it. I am the older of the two of us. What a poor role model would I make if I did not give you some grace as your better."

It was an apt comparison. Their individual Truths were based in part on self-sacrifice. They would cease to be what they were and would become something else, effectively being reborn as the solution to all evils.

Hypocrite god and hypocritical goddess. A god who was prepared to suffer for all eternity for his people, and a goddess who was prepared to die for her children.

Perhaps it was because they were similar in this way that he found himself butting heads with her so often.

However, he could not ignore that last comment.

"Arrogant Xeno." Neoth huffed.

Similar though they may be, it didn't change the fact that she annoyed him.

"It takes one to know one, Mon-keigh." Isha retorted in kind with a smile.

—----------------------------------------
♪3
Time returned to normal, and Neoth pulled his sword out of Isha's stomach once again.

The ground slowly rose out of the core as Isha carefully pulled back the magma she had stretched out into space, gently pushing it back under the crust of the planet away from the Emperor's fleet.

Neoth gave the ceasefire order at the same time, ending the orbital bombardment targeting Isha while stepping away from her and her rapidly disintegrating throne.

Finally, when the segment of ground they were on was flush with the rest of the planet's surface, Neoth looked up into the sky.

"What am I supposed to tell them?" Neoth muttered as he stared up at the orbiting ships. The ash clouds had begun to clear, as well as the black rain that had been pushed aside by the heat from Isha's thousands of hands. He could feel the multitude of questions as well as the potent panic of many of the crewmembers aboard the vessels of his ships had begun to feel as the after-effects of his miracle dissipated. He would not be able to hide what had happened here.

There was no reply from Isha, so he turned to her only to receive a raised eyebrow in return.

"How should I know? It's not my Truth that's based on legend crafting." She shrugged.

"I'd have thought you'd have a plan for explaining why I'm bringing you back to Terra after everything you did here." Neoth grumbled, only to be met by a shrug in return.

"Maybe you could say you defeated me because I tripped on some rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Or floating rocks, I don't know! They're your people! Surely you've lied and tricked them enough times to come up with something?" Isha huffed, crossing her arms.

Neoth sighed. "I usually do that sort of thing with more planning."

"Well, then improvise!" She snorted. "I don't have any ideas about how to fix this."

Neoth rubbed his temples, feeling a gradually growing pain starting to throb there.

'I wonder if I can get Lysander to think up some sufficient explanation.' He mused to himself, before shaking his head. This wasn't something he could offload onto the overworked Commodore.

He had to think of some way to make it believable that he had achieved victory here in such a way that the act of taking Isha back to Terra wouldn't be questioned.

Slowly, an idea formed in his head.

Of course. There was no need for there to be an explanation. All that was needed was an easy to understand performance.

"Isha." Neoth turned back to the goddess. "I think I have a solution."

"Good." Isha huffed. "Because I'm all out of ideas, and I'm tired."

—----------------------------------------
"This is the best you could come up with?" Isha's voice was full of barely contained irritation, and one of her eyes wouldn't stop twitching.

"I don't like it either." Neoth shrugged, as he wrapped another set of chains around her. "However, this is the best I could come up with."

Neoth's 'plan' was both simple to carry out, and very easy to understand. His people would only question Isha's presence on his ships if she seemed to be a threat. At the moment, simply being free would definitely appear to be a threat, especially since none of his people understood how or why she had done what she had done.

So, the easiest way to assuage all of their fears was to make Isha physically appear not to be a threat.

"There." Neoth nodded to himself, standing back to look at his work. "Now, no one will think to question your presence on my ship."

Isha was wrapped from head to toe in golden looking chains. They were only made out of metal with a minor glamor on them to look more important than they were, but now no-one could look at Isha and think of her as a threat. Quite frankly, nobody could look at her at all. Only her hair and ears were sticking out of the chains, so she looked more like a metal cocoon or an ear of corn wrapped in aluminum foil.

"How is it?" He asked, slight amusement entering his voice at the rather unflattering situation the Aeldari Goddess of Life would have to bear with until the trip to Terra was complete.

"I am seriously reconsidering working with you, Neoth." Isha's muffled voice growled from under the chains, but she didn't move under them. She couldn't. If she flexed even a little bit, she'd tear the simple metal apart, and ruin the cheap skit Neoth was preparing to pull in order to bluff his way past the concerns of his people.

"Don't be too upset." Neoth shrugged. "It is said that Cleopatra endured being wrapped in a carpet under the hot sun of Egypt in order to meet Julius Cesar so she could bring peace and political stability for her people."

"You know that's an urban myth." Isha huffed. "You have Cesar's, Cleopatra's and Mark Antony's memories."

"Well at least chains don't smell as bad as the inside of a laundry bag." Neoth shrugged, remembering the actual method Cleopatra was brought to Cesar's bed chamber.

Wrinkling his nose at the memory of the smell of sweaty clothes and used linen, Neoth snorted to clear his nostrils and shook his head before reaching for the bundle of chains that were wrapped around Isha, then paused.

"Isha, it's not a problem but..." Neoth poked one of the pointy ears sticking out of the bundle of chains. "Why are your ears sticking out?"

The effect gave the entire performance they were about to pull a more comedic effect, so it wasn't a problem. On the contrary, it would probably work to their advantage. More than a few people would be stunned by the sight long enough for the Emperor to stride past and direct a few psychic nudges to convince them not to think of the matter anymore.

Isha's pointy ear flicked sideways, like a cat's, slapping away his finger.

"The chains are noisy." she grumbled.

Neoth let out a short laugh at that. Goddess of Life she may be, but as one of the siblings who infected the psyche of so many with dreams of fey creatures and tricksters in ancient times, Isha was not as reserved as she was often perceived to be.

Like tropical birds, life tends to become flamboyant and lazy at the same time without stress or sorrow.

"Well then." Neoth said as he shouldered the bundles of chains containing Isha. "Are you ready, companion?"

"Just get this over with." Isha huffed again, ears twitching. "My children could be here soon, and I do not want this to be the beginning of a new legend."

"Then we better hurry." Neoth said as he opened a Warp portal to the Artax. "For the salvation of mankind."

"For the lives of my children and the freedom of my family."

Neoth stepped through the portal, with Isha on his shoulder.