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

[Nidhog153]

The Eternal War between Chaos and Aeldari gods has ended. Gone is the mighty Aeldari Empire, and the Warp now belongs to the Ruinous Powers of madness, violence, decadence, and despair.

Isha, Goddess of Life, has managed to escape Nurgle's capture, but in a universe filled with unspeakable horrors, unknowable aliens, and uncaring followers the path ahead is overshadowed with grim darkness.

 

[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.
—-------------------------------------------------

'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.

—------------------------------------------

'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]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

TItle: I just thought it would be great to have an ironic title for a section that's in the Sea of Souls where there is no forwards or backwards, yet a linear sense of progression from one state to the next. i.e. Aeldari Pantheons existed, then died. For a place that doesn't have a concept of time, the very fact that these things have an order of occurrence is insane. There's no way an 'eternal' war can end, but it did.

Main Part: No real references to other books or real world events. There is a some foreshadowing here for future events.

Specifically, the Chaos gods infecting each other when they hit each other with their full might.

Isha using a Wraithbone spear to fight against the creatures of Nurgle, using her minions (the plants and animals), or a medium (the wind and ice) is also foreshadowing for that same future chapter.

Also, although I left the scale of Isha's domain vague on purpose, it's the size of several planets in real-space.

I wrote about it somewhere else, but the events in the chapter are a very loose reference to the fate of the Aeldari.

The acts of the gods are more symbolisms of what the canon Eldar did to rebuild.

Khaine drawing out his aspects and focussing on brutal training etc. was a nod to how the Eldar rebuilt part of their society by using the Aspect shrines to focus their minds and block out Slaanesh.

Morai Heg's pouch symbolises the way the Eldar split apart to follow their own paths; Corsair, Craftworlder, Outcast, Exodite, Commoragh, etc.
They're no longer the one united Eldar empire, but all chasing their own destinies.

Cegorach holding the strings of fate for the Harlequins is a nod to the fact that becoming a Harlequin is one way to prevent being soul sucked by Slaanesh.

Asuryan was more of a, "That would be kinda cool to have him do, rather than just be the guy that screwed up everything." sort of moment. Anyways, Slaanesh broke Asuryan's edict when she killed him a second time. (Isha's being freed from the tree being a foreshadowing of that.) Plus, the flames of Asuryan are a thing, and I needed a reason for them to fall out of the Warp so Eldar could collect them.

If I had to add anything to the above it would be that Asuryan's role as the one who commands the mortals elevated to gods and the one who binds the gods and restrains them to certain functions is a reference to a future plot point.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: I had a hard time coming up with a title, because there was no rule or previous example I could fall back on. I almost gave up and just had chapter numbers.

Main Part: This is a really short chapter, but coming up with the next part's Tech Priest sass was taking longer than I'd liked, so I just made it its own seperate chapter. It also gave me a feeling of what length I wanted. I used to write until I had 10,000 word chapters before posting, but editing and reviewing such huge chunks of writing is soul sucking, so I'm not going back to that format without being paid for it. Although, I ended up going for +5000 word chapters recently, so I might end up with chapters that long someday.

The drafting process for long chapters is way worse. If you feel like 1 scene isn't going right, you can scrap that and recycle stuff pretty easily. If you have a chapter with multiple scenes that cross-reference each other, redrafting one scene can force you to change stuff that you actually liked or felt was good.

I've legitamately burst out laughing like the Joker because I realized re-writing one scene screwed up 3 weeks worth of work. (That's probably why I'm borderline insane at the moment.) So, yeah, future writers. Keep the chapters short and stylish.

It's insignificant for the reader, but making this first chapter so short allowed me to figure out a good pace and way to set-up chapters. 1 scene+optional flashback per chapter is my current rule. Anything more, and it just gets tiring. That might lead to slower plot progression, but I wanted the story to be as showy as possible, so what I want to say is often in the actions and descriptions of the characters as it is their words.

The only bit of foreshadowing is where Isha's body is strong enough to land on the planet without being hurt. It's not normal flesh and blood, but a symbolic construction of all the information that lies within her. However, like the Emperor's blazing figure on a golden path, Isha has her own 'true' form that does not look like her mortal body as well.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: I still had trouble writing chapter titles, but at this point I was thinking it would be best to just have them be as descriptive as possible. The one twist was that Isha frees herself at the end, only to be trapped on the planet by the Emperor, so it was a bait and switch that made the chapter title true. I think that was when I decided that the chapter titles should not only be descriptive, but have an element of irony or sarcasm to them.

Main Part: The Xenobiologis dialogue was really fun to write. I don't think we'll get a similarly comedic section any time soon because vivisection and mentions of genitalia are apparently borderline content for the Creative Writing rules. Gallows humor kind of needs that stuff to be sinisterly funny. More Tech Priests will appear... someday... probably... maybe!

I have an anime-ish comedy interaction planned between with the Emperor and Isha, but from what they're talking about, it'll have to be placed after they go to Terra. I have a bad feeling shippers will start flocking here after that section. (If it ever gets posted.)

The idea that one of Isha's weapons being her voice and her Truth really grew here during the drafting stages. This was the time when the prologue and Chapter 2 were being drafted at the same time, so ideas shown here flowed backwards into the prologue.

Well, to tell the truth, that entire part with Isha's Truth and the effect it had on everyone was the part that was written first (Not this Chapter, but the entire story). The idea about the target being the Tech Priests came much later. You can sort of tell, since the last part talks about wine, but the Tech Priests don't drink wine. That's because that section didn't have Tech Priests until much later.

I think I started writing the Prologue after I had the part of Isha's voice/Truth done, so I kind of wanted Isha and Slaanesh to be song/voice based after that. It felt right because the Aeldari are such graceful aliens, and they also do the bonesinging thing. There was also a not insignificant pleasure taken in the macabre irony that the two gods who are most opposed to each other share a core trait. That's sort of an underlying theme for the story.

As for foreshadowing, the only one I can remember putting here is that Isha is strong enough to tear blast doors apart. That's relevant later. Also, her song and voice will come up again.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.
Title: This chapter title had some people confused to what it was referencing. The explanation is below.

"Avē Imperātor." and "Pax Hūmānus." are references to imperialistic conquest and cruelty.

"Avē Imperātor." comes from Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant which is the (supposed) greeting criminals and captives (prisoners of war/kidnapped peasants) were forced to give to the Emperor Claudius before they were ordered to die in a mock naval battle for his amusement.7

"Pax Hūmānus." is a reference to "Pax Germanica" which is a from WW I propaganda when Germany invaded Belgium and France.

In short, it was to stress the Isha is not a refugee or beggar coming to the Emperor. She is an unwilling captive of the Emperor and is only following him because she has no choice.

Main Part: The fact that Isha turned into a furry for a moment was foreshadowing that she was undecided regarding whether it would be better to let the Emperor imprison her in a dream sleep, or whether she should fight. It was only after she was wrapped in chains that she came to a conclusion that being sent into a dream sleep would not be optimal for her or her children.

Cegorach's section references some theatrical terms. The most obtuse is probably the one below. I was quite frustrated nobody got the joke at the time.

Restorative comedy is a comedy style that was used to portray men and women getting together, fighting, and having shennanigans.
Ignoring the part that it's the Eldar talking about it, the point was that everyone in the audience thought that was a stupid idea.
The Emperor is neither male nor female. Isha is gendered femininely, but she isn't a woman.
That's the joke.
*sigh I feel like an Eldar having to explain my language to a Mon-keigh.

 

[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]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Diaspora = the dispersion or spread of a people from their original homeland. So, it's pretty on the nose.

Main Part: I wanted to show the cold calculating portions of the Emperor here. He also had no orginal intent of letting Isha speak to her children. He was just going to kill them and be done with it while still deciding what to do with her. It was only after she offered to parlay with her children that he allows her to do that.

That of course shows that the Emperor has other plans for Isha, besides using her to talk her children out of a fight. They were mentioned much later when he thinks about all the gene-tech and him hoping to use Isha as a source of information alluding to the fact that he was hoping to use her to better the Primarchs and Space Marines.

Additionally, there was a lot of foreshadowing in this section. Isha was leading the Emperor to an old battlefield where there were weapons she could offer the Emperor to see how receptive he was to her.

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."​

Some people on other sites were saying that Isha doesn't seem to be cunning enough. I think she's pretty cunning, and the fact that all those people didn't see that through foreshadowing like this probably proves my point even more.

 

[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 I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Yes, the connection to Everqueen is pretty obvious here, since the Emperor and Khaine are both described as Gods of Death. However, this does also allude to the fact that Isha and the Emperor were borderline thinking of just killing each other in this chapter.

Main Part: I was worried I'd made the Emperor too big of a bad person here. Also, the conflict was meant to take place in the hallway with a Custodes, but I felt it better to have Isha all by herself and singing. In the original draft, she was meant to investigate a Custodes out of curiosity, and that attracted the Emperor's ire.

That cheeky nature of Isha in the drafts is still part of the character. She does the entire stretch thing to illustrate that fey personality without giving an obvious reason for the Emperor to be so mean to her.

 

[Bob113]

The order of the threadmarks is mixed up.

 

[Nidhog153]

The order of the threadmarks is mixed up.

Click to shrink...

Fixed, I think.

 

[Bob113]

Fixed, I think.

Click to shrink...

I'm still seeing 1 and prologue after 2-5. Which was weird because when I was reading chapter 4 it was out of order, then I went to chapter 5, read that, checked it and it was fine. Then I refreshed and it was back out of order. I think the site just hates this whole thread.

 

[Nidhog153]

I'm still seeing 1 and prologue after 2-5. Which was weird because when I was reading chapter 4 it was out of order, then I went to chapter 5, read that, checked it and it was fine. Then I refreshed and it was back out of order. I think the site just hates this whole thread.

Click to shrink...

Well, I've just tried to reorganize the thread order 4 or 5 times, and it just goes back to a jumbled mess every time. I'm going to wait and see if it fixes itself for a while.

Edit: I've fixed the order, but it seems like it's taking a while to apply the fix.

Edit 2: I've confirmed that the Reader Mode shows the threads in order.

 

[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]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.
Title: Well, it's the Core-worlders starting their new society that mirrors Commorragh. That's about it. Although, it has a double meaning in that Isha gives them a "new order" to come to her at the end.

Main Part: Chapter 6 was made to humanize some of the characters that would appear, so they aren't just crazy murder-hobos that you don't have to feel bad for. Well... they are crazy murder-hobos, but they don't want to be crazy murder-hobos. Does that make sense?

Also, all the names in this story were made using ChatGPT. I had it make a list of fake Druhkari names, took the two I felt were the least cringe, mixed them up, and used it.
The Tech Priest names were also made using the same method. I hate making names.

I wanted to show a way that you could see how the Druhkari got the way they did, without being it just 'they're all just psycho-addicts aliens'.

 

[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 I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It says what it says on the tin. Although it refers to both the Core Worlders, and the Emperor using Lysander to introduce Isha to the rest of humanity. He has to figure out what to say and how to describe her to the rest of the imperial navy.

Main Part: The Emperor was written by SOMEONE (Looks in mirror) who just wrote about him being a massive a$$. I know where the story goes, so I know he's not always bad, but I really felt I needed to portray that with someone other than Malcador who should be stuck on Terra because the Emperor is in space.

Enter Lysander and this chapter. He literally didn't exist until I realized that the Emperor really came off as space-Hitler for the entire first section of this story.

The Emperor had maybe 1 or 2 redeeming scenes, but they were so far away that I was afraid it would turn people off.

Some might find that the Emperor being so considerate to be weird, but the tone was taken from his interaction with Vertic Order in "Mechanicum: Book 9". He heals the robotic steed of Vertic Order, and introduces himself. Not as nice as the Emperor in this scene, but the tone describes someone who can at least appear to care for others.

Also, I received some comments on some other sites that the Emperor having a fleet was weird. The Bucephelus was always in the Emperor's possession. It was never built on Terra, or Mars. It's some DAoT ship that's bigger than a Gloriana class, and possibly even bigger than the Phalanx. As for the fleet, it's a mish-mash of conscripted vessels from the colonies raided by the Core worlders, stuff he kept from the DAoT, and some other random ships.

We have no official dimensions of the Bucephelus, so I decided to never describe its exact size.

 

[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
—----------------------------------------
"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.
—----------------------------------------
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—----------------------------------------

'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 I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It says what it says. This time, there's no double meaning. It's just showing how miserable Isha was until the Fall.

Main Part: Shaimesh and the Dark Muses were hard to fit in here. However, there were a few core things that I really wanted to be in the story.
1. The Fall is an event caused by mortal hands; not gods or daemons.
2. The cause is both small and big at the same time.
3. It has to be a tragedy.

Yeah, so it's because of number 3 that everyone in Shaimesh's story dies.

I was expecting people to ask whether Shaimesh would return in the story, because he and the rest of his followers are all trapped in Blackstone coffins, and thus their soul, although in eternal torment, still exists in a coherent state. (Not sane, however.)

Also, he does have knowledge of the Webway, which is what the Emperor was after in the later parts of the Crusade.

I was never going to answer such questions, but it was sort of a surprise that no-one asked them.

This chapter alone had 3 or 4 drafts that got changed, re-typed, expanded, etc. Lhilitu has like 4 versions of her, Shaimesh had 3. Everyone else had 2.

 

[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/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: This is a butchered quote from a Christian prayer/letter by Daniel Yordy. I'm not Christian, but I wanted the title of the chapter where the Aeldari meets their goddess for the first time in their life to be based on a prayer. There were almost no candidates, and hence this butchered quote which in its own context has no association to the contents of the chapter. However, the letter is titled "In the Womb of the Church" so it's a sort of coincidence that a maternal reference exists between the letter and the chapter. Yeah, it wasn't intentional so I don't want to take credit for it.

Main Part: This entire chapter is just to show things from the Aeldari perspective.

Spoiler: Future chapter

And foreshadow events 3~4 chapters away.

The way they're so non-plussed about the size of the Bucephelus was particularly fun to write, and also inspired that dark retort from Kyrazis about them being the relic of a fallen people.

To be honest, their dialogue felt more Necron in that section. "INFERIOR VESSEL SIGHTED" (Kudos to anyone who gets the quote)

I've been foreshadowing that the meeting with Isha was never going to go smoothly. Even children with their biological parents don't always get along.

The way I see it, the Coreworlders seeing Isha is like a grownup seeing their dad/mom coming back from getting milk after 20 years(i.e. they felt that they were abandoned by their parents). Of course, for the anaology to work, I have to add that the reason the parent went missing was because they were falsely accused of a crime and were sent to jail for no reason.
Anyways, this Writer's note is more rambly because it deals with a lot of emotions and ideas that are hard to visualise, so the chapter is short compared to the importance of the event.

The reason I have the Aeldari not be all "Oh, Mother! Yay!" is for the following:
1. I don't think that's much fun.
2. Grimdark
3. Love is really weird.

To delve into number 3, I'd just like to say that sometimes it's precisely because we feel such a strong maternal/paternal connections with someone that we're forced to reject them.

If I were to describe it more thoroughly with visual imagery; it would be that the love from a parent sometimes feels like a noose around your neck, or a chain around your heart. You don't want to do what the parent wants because you feel that they have a huge amount of influence over you because of the love you feel for them, and that for some reason feels unfair.

I would probably use those words to describe teenage rebellion as well, although there's also hormones involved in that so it's not all twisted emotions.

If Craftworld Aeldari met Isha, I guess they would have a different reaction. They have foreknowledge that she is a goddess, and can rationalize some of the emotions they feel for her.

The Core Worlders who are ignorant of her feel that instinctual connection and have no way of rationalizing it because they don't know what she represents, so their reactions become more volatile.

I use a lot of fire imagery. It's a bit on the nose, but there's no better way to describe an all consuming explosion of feeling.

Oh, yeah. That section with Lysander and her looking through the wall of the ship was used to foreshadow/provide context for this section. She sees beyond physical objects, and can focus on land marks from orbit.

Since I've rambled on for a long time, I might as well provide some extra context for what is happening.

Kyrazis may perceive that Isha is looking at him and him alone, but she's actually watching each and everyone of them. She's also talking to all of them at the same time, so although only Kyrazis seems to be the one doing the talking with Isha for the thousands of Aeldari that's because the chapter is from his perspective alone. She's actually having similar conversations with all of the Aeldari at the same time.

That's hard to explain, and harder to visualize. It also diminishes the weight of the emotions felt by each character. That's why I chose to write from only Kyrazis's perspective.

 

[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 I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: The Fall was originally going to be multi-part. However, it was going to be split between their time on the planet, and what happens after they got off the planet.

Main Part: Finally, all those foreshadowings and small details I put into all of Kyrazis's scenes can be collected and revealed. Not all were planned, but I think I got enough in there so people can find things on a second or third read.

The way Kyrazis seemed to worry about his left gauntlet, and the way he injures himself was foreshadowing for the Spiked Kiss.

There are a lot of reference to a gradual decline in this chapter, and at least one reference to Slaanesh which shows that She who Thirsts has already begun to influence the sub-concious of all the Aeldari without their knowledge. Kyrazis's sister's request for 6 spars is part of that. There's no reason for it to be any number, but for some reason she gravitated to the number 6. That's hinting at the way Slaanesh has begun to influence them.

That was also foreshadowed with the scene with Isha and Khaine, and how Isha merely brushing against the souls around her inspired stories of fae creatures and fairies. Slaanesh is doing the same to the Aeldari, although in Hir case, the Aeldari are both creating Hir, and being affected by Hir at the same time, leading to a vicious positive feed-back loop that accelerates the longer it goes on.

I also finally acheived my dream of having an entirely nameless character. Kyrazis's sister. I'm not joking. I don't have a name for her. Give her one on your own if you must. I hate names in general. If I could live in a world where I didn't have to worry about other people's names, I would be probably 5% happier than I would be now.

However, even though she has no name, I like to think she has enough personality traits that she's not a hanging-on character like some harem-isekai anime.

Some people might not like that I took away the focus from Isha and the Emperor, but everyone just goes over the Fall as if it was no big deal. Like, it just happened. No questions of what it was like for the people there, or why they seemed so lax about the visions of doom and destruction.

Isha, the Emperor, and their companions/soldiers are the main focus for the story. There's no point writing from the perspective of gods all the time.

Also, for those worried about pacing, I know that it's slow. I have made a concerted effort to speed it up in the next chapter. After this flashback, things should be going from scene to scene quickly, with only one or two sections of debate or slice-of-life-esque writing. Although, there will be different perspectives for some of the fight scenes, which may draw out some of the scenes.

If you come to this story with the same approach as a GW 40K book, you're not going to like how long this one is. The GW books are written very economically. i.e. there's a lot of phrasing that looks rushed, lazy, and non-sensical at times.

Also, as forewarning, my writing style is close to Kinoko Nasu, or the original writer of the Garden of Sinners, Fate/Stay Night, and Tsukihime series. That means the pacing is very slow when it's slow, but fast when its fast.

 

[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 I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Pacing for horror stuff is really difficult. Each section needs to flow and ebb at just the right moments. Hence, I decided to post what could be two chapters as one.

Main Part: I'm doing this in a FAQ format, because there are probably some points people will have common questions about.

What happened to Kyrazis's sister?

She is a proto-Solitaire right now. Aeldari who have had their soul fated to fall into Slaanesh's grasp are known to have Warp immunity, and as they are tied to her, their actions can have symbolic effects on Hir and Hir minions. The scripted death of an Aeldari Solitaire against a Khornate daemon was enough to banish a host of Slaanesh's minions as it re-enacted Slaanesh's defeat by Khorne at Hir inception.

Her soul was unfortunately sent to Slaanesh by her brother's two hands. As the God of Excess, its sadistic plans to torment the remaining sibling with guilt and nightmares accidentally created a creature that is immune to Hir and Hir minions. As always, Chaos is self-defeating.

She is already within Hir belly, but her bond to her still living twin keeps her in the materium.

Cegorach does a similar thing with his Harlequins, sending them into Slaanesh's mouth with the string of their fate still tied to his fingers. Like bait on a fishing line, the servants of the Laughing God are devoured by Slaanesh, yet are not damned eternally for it is Cegorach's fingers that control their every move; and the Mad God always has the last laugh.

If Kyrazis dies, so does his sister. It is his life that keeps her here, and nothing else. Perhaps she senses this at an instinctive level, and assists in his escape because of that.

Being so close to Slaanesh on a spiritual level has its side-effects. Much like Isha and the Emperor affect all those around them, Slaanesh also changes everything she touches. Besides being immune to much of the Warp's effects, Kyrazis's sister sees the world as Slaanesh and Hir minions do. She is at home here on this crone world in the Eye of Terror. (If a human reference point is necessary, she would feel like a Kriegsman on a paradise world anywhere else.)

There are mention of children on the ship, do they also have to murder to stop Slaanesh?
Yes, they do, and although it isn't portrayed in the story they are probably more dangerous than the older Aeldari because they are being raised in this environment. Killing and sadism is being taught to them in their formative years. They truly will be Druhkari should they grow up. I'm fairly certain having children butcher babies (and enjoy it) would put me in violation of SB Forum rules. They will show up before Isha at a later date.

What did the Elarine daemon mean when Kyrazis wasn't ready?
Slaanesh is excess incarnate. After failing to torment Kyrazis with guilt by going overboard with her cruelty and creating a proto-Solitaire, she seeks to instill the greatest amount of pain for the longest duration possible. Kyrazis now serves as a proxy for Hir will, inflicting suffering and sadism upon the humans in the region, and further damning the remains of his race that he saved to Slaanesh's hands. His actions also instill fear and hatred of the Aeldari in general, further alienating and isolating them from the other species in the galaxy, leaving them alone in their fight against Chaos.

It is with great amusement and anticipation that Slaanesh waits for the time Kyrazis's soul comes before Hir so Hir Keepers of Secrets can reveal everything he has done for himself and others was merely another part of Hir plans and did nothing but feed Hir belly.

You mentioned a lot of foreshadowing and Chekhov's guns, what were they?
Oh, I can't count them all anymore. There's some minor ones, such as the fact that there was no mention of Celerion or either of the True Guardians, indicating that these named characters would not make it out of the Flashback as they are not mentioned in the chapters that come after it in the timeline.

Some major ones that I can remember off the top of my head are:

From Chapter 10: The Fall (Part 1)
The woman's blood from the arena assisting in his deception.
The mention of psychic feints, and his profficiency with them.
The spokesman playing an important role in influencing people.
Him mentioning that he had a brief interest in ranged weapons when the sim-battle arena was brought up, so he knows how to use a Shuriken catapult, and knows basic fire-arm safety.

From other chapters
The way the bridge staff keeps mentioning his name like it's an honorific.
Mordraxus's covered face and bent back. (Now you know that they are already starving when Isha calls to them as that bent back only appears in Mordraxus when he is starving)
The Seer dying a horrible death.
The fact that there are noble hanger-ons aboard the ship.

There are probably others, but I didn't exactly make a list. I find that interferes with pacing, because it forces you to do things that might not flow well with the speed the story has to move at.

Is Kyrazis's sister dead?
No, she is not. If she were, Kyrazis would feel it. Their souls are intertwined, and unlike 40K Eldar, they have been intertwined for over 5000 years. Kyrazis is probably 5 or 10 times as old as the average Eldar in 40K. However, there are Eldar that are 10,000 years old so he is not the oldest of his species. (Yes, there is a reason I used Aeldari and Eldar differently.)

There was a lot that didn't go into this chapter due to pacing and SB Forum rules. I made a concious effort not to make too many gorey scenes. Some of the noises made in the alley were by creatures who were planned to make an appearance, but two eldritch horrors seemed to be enough for that section. I was also pretty sure that adding actual mentions of daemons making the living buntings would be against SB Forum rules. Breaking joints with crab claws and twisting limbs into rope is also a pretty long process, so it would be odd for Kyrazis to see it when he's sprinting through the alley.

The later sections of them on the ship are slightly rushed because, although I could write about them going into turbo-depression, this chapter is depressing enough as it is. Not to mention that watching people fall into depression isn't the most entertaining thing to see. That sort of weight needs to be reserved for more important characters. Not the nameless masses aboard those ships.

 

[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.