The Lost Primarch Quest

[Ruirk]

So, this omake got a bit out of control. This is in regard to the Edgerunner that fought Morningstar and Venus, and who was ultimately saved by the latter and is now a nominal follower of Venus.

---

One who Brings into the Light

Lucyna felt weightless, as if she were adrift in an endless, featureless sea, gently carried by the rise and fall of invisible waves. The sensation teetered on the edge of pleasantness, a lull that could have been soothing under different circumstances. Yet it gnawed at her, leaving an ache of unease she couldn't shake.

How had she ended up here?

Her mind raced, grasping at fragments of memory that refused to coalesce. Shadows of her last mission flickered through her thoughts—brief flashes of a duel, the Aetherspace churning around here, a laughing, joyous creature, and then... nothing—a void where her recollection should have been.

Lucyna strained against the sensation, trying to will herself to move, act, and remember. But the weightlessness clung to her like a shroud, an oppressive stillness that made her question whether she was awake, dreaming, or somewhere in between.

But what did she actually remember?

Memory was fleeting for Lucyna. She had no memories of her past, none she could recall.

No. That wasn't entirely wrong. Lucyna had willingly surrendered them upon joining the Edgerunner Program, trading the weight of history for the focus of the machine and a soldier's duty.

For her, the mission was everything. Lucyna was ready to fight, bleed, and even die for the Consolidation. No sacrifice was too great, no target too distant or fortified. She was a weapon, honed and unleashed without hesitation, bound to her purpose and nothing else.

But what did it mean to be an Edgerunner? The question surprised her.

It was a title steeped in pride and grim irony, passed down from the predecessors of Section 8. It spoke to their role as pioneers on the razor's edge of humanity's potential but also as those condemned to endure its darkest sacrifices.

Lucyna was no longer human in the eyes of her kin. Her transformation had been both extraordinary and cruel. The surgeries had stripped her of what she once was and rebuilt her into something beyond human.

On the surface, Lucyna looked and spoke like one, but her people saw her as the enemy. A Skinwalker of their own making.

Did that really surprise Lucyna? Her bones and internal organs were sheathed in a self-repairing organic adamantium lattice, unyielding yet unnervingly alive. It gave her resilience far beyond natural limits, making her body a fortress of unbreakable steel wrapped in living flesh. Her flesh was unnaturally pale but also warm.

Her muscles, once fragile sinews of humanity, had been substituted with nano-weaved fibers that pulsed with raw power and precision. These enhancements granted her strength, which could bend reinforced steel, and agility, which defied the limits of biomechanics. All it cost was her ability to embrace another without accidentally crushing their bodies.

These enhancements extended beyond her enhanced physical form into the realm of true ingenuity and terrifying precision. At the heart of her upgrades was a micro-computer core seamlessly integrated into her brain. Unlike conventional digital systems prone to corruption by the malevolent influences of Aetherspace, this core was completely analog, a masterpiece of engineering that defied all known human understanding of such things.

In the traditional sense, her core operated without circuits or processors. Instead, it was a singular construct of condensed technology, analog mechanisms fused into a dense, crystalline lattice. Its design was purely mechanical in principle but so advanced that it functioned with the speed and precision of the finest artificial bits of intelligence, yet no thinking machine lay inside it.

This analog core also housed an integrated direct neural interface (DNI), allowing Lucyna to mentally command her systems and weapons with zero delay. Every action, every thought, translated instantly into reality.

Paired with this core was her right eye, another analog marvel. It wasn't just a replacement for her lost vision but an upgrade beyond comprehension. Built with the same analog principles, the eye could function as an all-purpose sensor. It offered enhanced sight, infrared vision, magnification, and the ability to detect subtle energy fluctuations, such as the disruptions caused by Aetherspace interference.

Together, the core and the eye formed a closed-loop system impervious to external tampering or psychic corruption. The analog design ensured no malicious code, alien sorcery, or Aetheric manipulation could corrupt it. The system was essentially a "black box," an unhackable, untouchable bastion of stability in a universe plagued by chaos and alien "witchcraft."

It was so beautiful…but also so terrible in its design. For Lucyna, the system came with its own dreadful challenges. The analog core processed information in ways that sometimes felt alien to her remaining human brain. It was too precise, too mechanical, and, at times, too clinical. Her right eye's enhanced perception was also a double-edged sword—it exposed her to sights and truths that could unnerve even the most hardened warrior.

Sometimes, she saw things hiding in the corners of her eyes, and the shadows seemed all too real and watchful. Other times, her mind dreamt of unnatural designs, calculations, and visions of monsters around her.

This was to say that the pain of integration had been unbearable at first. Her body and mind warred with themselves before finally adapting—or surrendering. Even now, the dull ache of the enhancements was a constant reminder that she was now the enemy of humanity, a monster made to fight other monsters.

Was it all worth it? The question echoed in Lucyna's mind like a distant, haunting melody. She had never dared to entertain it before—such thoughts were a luxury, a distraction unfit for an Edgerunner. But now, as she floated in an endless sea with a sky she could not recognize, it gnawed at her soul: What was the point of it all?

The water tightened around her, a cold and unyielding force pulling her under.

For a fleeting moment, Lucyna surrendered. She let the darkness close in, allowed the icy embrace of the abyss to smother her, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt at peace.

No more battles. No more enemies. No more ghosts from a forgotten past.

Just the silence of the fathomless deep.

Then, something deep within her stirred—a spark of defiance, a voice screaming against the void. Lucyna did not want to die here. Her spirit surged forth. The analog core in her mind hummed faintly, urging her to get back to the surface with a surge of calculations and life-preserving instincts. A part of her refused to give up, that same determination that had fought through the agony of her transformation and loss of herself, the part that had stared a great enemy in the face and did not back down.

Lucyna's muscles tensed, and she clawed upward with every ounce of strength, even if her enhanced physique should have made this trivial. Every stroke was met with resistance, as though the water itself conspired against her, and her legs felt as if they were bound by unseen hands.

Shadows in the water clung to her, icy and relentless, like the grasp of the dead pulling her down into the abyss.

Lucyna's lungs burned, her vision blurred, but the fire in her soul burned hotter. I don't want to die, she thought, the words scorching through her mind with defiance. I won't let this be my end.

Lucyna channeled her desperate desire to live, but her hatred truly fueled her escape. Hatred for the weakness this moment tried to impose on her. Hatred for the idea that she would meet her end here, drowning in some nameless ocean, forgotten and uncelebrated. No, she resolved. If I die, it will be on my terms, in battle, with my enemies crushed before me.

Amid the chaos of her struggle, an unfamiliar voice broke through, clear and sharp as a blade. It was a woman's voice, tinged with amusement and something deeper—something otherwordly.

"Ah, there is the passion I seek," the voice said, and for a moment, the cold and suffocating ocean felt distant. A strange warmth overtook her, filling her limbs with renewed energy. "Keep struggling, Edgerunner," the voice urged, almost like a challenge.

Lucyna didn't hesitate. Whatever this presence was, it seemed to bolster her, and she would take any advantage to survive. A surge of unnatural strength overtook her, and with one final, desperate effort, she broke through the water's surface. She gasped for air, each breath searing her lungs, but she was alive.

Above her, and now more aware of her surroundings, she saw that the sky stretched vast and alien, its unfamiliar hues swirling in mockery of her struggle.

Yet she refused to be cowed. The fight wasn't over. It was never over. Lucyna hadn't survived everything—pain, war, transformation—to give in now.

Her vision finally cleared, sharp and vivid, and Lucyna realized she was no longer in the open ocean. The gentle sound of waves lapping against sand met her ears as she floated just off the edge of a beach.

Before her lay a strange, alien island, its shores glistening under an unnatural light that came from nowhere and everywhere. The endless ocean surrounded it, merging seamlessly with the horizon and the swirling, alien sky above. Her eyes and core saw that this place was nothing related to the Materium.

Just where was she?

---

Lucyna swam the final distance to the shore, her limbs trembling but steady enough to pull her onto the sand. She lay there for a moment, her chest heaving as she stared up at the expanse above.

This place treated her like she wasn't augmented. It was almost like she was human again, but Lucyna still felt the familiar ache of her bionics. The rules here made no sense. Yet the warmth of the voice lingered, unsettling yet welcome, as if something—or someone—had pulled her back from the brink.

Lucyna pushed herself to her feet, her body steady, but her spirit weighed down as though the essence of her being bore a heavy burden.

The exhaustion wasn't physical—it was deeper; something intangible like this place clawed at her soul. She took a steadying breath and surveyed her surroundings. The island pulsed with an unnatural energy. She wasn't in her reality anymore. This much was clear.

The air, light, and fabric of this place were wrong. The thought struck Lucyna like ice water had been poured on her: Aetherspace. Or perhaps…some kind of pocket dimension? Her cerebral bionic core processed the possibilities quickly, but no conclusion brought her comfort.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her shimmered, and a stone pathway emerged as though summoned by her thoughts. It stretched before the Edgerunner, curving gently into the distance, beckoning her forward.

And that damn voice returned. It was familiar now, a presence that seemed to hum with both menace and curiosity. It echoed within her mind, yet the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"Come find me at my temple, Edgerunner. I'm waiting for you."

The warmth from before was gone, replaced by a quiet challenge, as if this entity knew she would come. Then, as quickly as it had spoken, the voice vanished again, leaving her alone with the path.

Lucyna glanced around, weighing her options. Glancing down, she saw that she still wore the full-body synskin suit, a special blend of white and blue materials that clung to her body like the skin it was trying to mimic. The suit was specked for her role: integrated with analog tactical systems that operated seamlessly with her analog bionics.

Embedded sensor nodes ran along her limbs and torso, passively gathering data and transmitting it directly to her DNI. Faint, circuit-like patterns on the suit's surface pulsed with a faint, warm glow, hinting at the advanced, non-digital systems that would have powered her equipment had she any on her.

So she wasn't completely without anything to aid her.

But as she turned to look beyond the path, her surroundings began to twist and distort, and Lucyna realized that she wasn't anywhere normal. The alien ocean churned in impossible spirals, the sky fractured into kaleidoscopic shards, and the air shimmered as though rejecting her presence. Every direction dissolved into chaos—except for the pathway before her, which remained unnervingly stable.

The message was clear: she could go forward or go nowhere.

Lucyna grimaced, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face as she stared down the path. "Fine," she muttered under her breath, her voice steady despite the tension gripping her. Was this some sort of ploy or game designed to torment her?

She moved cautiously, her sharp eyes scanning the strange terrain as she treaded along the stone path. Her instincts, honed by years of battle and survival, kept her alert to any sign of movement, any indication that she was not alone. Yet, no foes emerged from the shadows, and no unseen watchers revealed themselves.

The lush vegetation was vibrant, teeming with life but alien. The trees towered above her, their trunks spiraling in unnatural patterns while their leaves shimmered in hues between emerald greens, royal purples, and seafoam blues.

Smaller plants along the path glowed faintly, imbued with an inner light. Somewhere above, birds sang hauntingly beautiful melodies but utterly unfamiliar, and the buzzing of unseen insects accompanied the symphony of this alien wilderness.

It should have been peaceful. Idyllic, even.

But Lucyna's unease deepened as she noticed signs of something out of place. Scattered along the path and within the foliage were remnants of ancient battles. Cracked weapons, rusting armor, and toppled stone statues lay half-buried in the earth, consumed by creeping moss and vines.

Here and there, she caught glimpses of shattered banners, their symbols long faded, and fragments of crumbling walls that hinted at structures long since forgotten.

These battlefield relics seemed timeless, existing outside of any era she recognized. None of them matched the style or technology of the Tixburians—or any other faction she had fought or studied. Many were crafted by human hands or machines but seemed Aeldari in nature.

Lucyna knelt beside one of the fragments, brushing away a layer of moss from what appeared to be a blade. Its design was intricate, with grooves and patterns that seemed to hum faintly beneath her fingers as though it was more than a mere tool of war. The edge was dulled by time, but even so, she could feel its latent power, a remnant of whatever battle it had been a part of.

"None of this makes sense," she murmured, rising and letting the fragment fall back to the ground. Her eyes swept over the landscape again, taking in the overgrowth, reclaiming the scars of conflict. Whatever this realm was, it seemed to be caught in a paradox.

Life and death intermingled here; rather, war seemed to have come and gone from it.

Determined to find answers, Lucyna resumed her trek along the path, but soon enough, time and distance seemed to be distorted as well.

The journey stretched endlessly, with no clear markers of progress or the passage of time. Her body, enhanced and conditioned as it was, never felt hunger or thirst, nor did fatigue claim her muscles, yet the sheer mental strain of walking a seemingly endless path began to weigh on Lucyna.

How long had she been walking now? It should have been only a few minutes or an hour? Was it possible that time no longer mattered?

Lucyna also soon picked up something else: the distant echoes of battle. At first, they were so faint that she dismissed them as tricks of her imagination, the remnants of war etched into this place replaying themselves in her mind. But as she walked, they grew more distinct—clashes of steel, guttural war cries, and the occasional thundering impact of what could only be artillery or cannon fire. Instinctively, Lucyna paused and scanned the horizon, her augmented eye focusing and refocusing to catch any movement. Yet the land stretched before her, silent and still, mocking the idea of conflict.

The battle sounds remained maddeningly distant, just beyond reach, no matter how far or fast she walked. Each step brought her to another battlefield, yet these were no longer mere remnants overtaken by nature.

In some, the bodies of the fallen still remained, eerily preserved as if frozen in time. Soldiers in bizarre and alien armor lay where they had fallen, their faces contorted in spiteful rage or ecstatic joy. Weapons, some unfamiliar and others impossibly ancient, were scattered among them.

Whenever Lucyna attempted to touch them, the bodies simply turned into whiffs of smoke and dust, as if they were never there in the first place.

Other battlefields appeared more recent—or untouched by decay altogether. Smoke lingered in the air, and the metallic tang of blood hung over the area, yet no movement stirred. It was as though time had paused mid-conflict, preserving every detail for her to witness.

Lucyna knelt by a massive suit of shattered armor, its size dwarfing even her augmented frame. She saw symbols etched into its unrecognizable plating, glowing faintly with otherworldly energy. Its material was composed of matter and equally alien alloys. Her fingers ran over the cold surface, and she felt the deep gashes where it had been cleaved open, exposing the hollow interior.

Whatever had once piloted this war machine was gone, leaving behind only the shell and the echoes of its purpose lingering on this battlefield. Lucyna couldn't place why, but this battlefield—the strange stillness of it—felt almost familiar. Comfortable, even.

The dead did not cling to despair or bitterness; instead, they embraced their fates willingly. There was no mourning here, only the stoic silence of warriors who had given all for their cause. War had been their last great adventure.

As Lucyna pressed forward, weaving through the remnants of ancient violence, the voice returned. It was softer this time, almost soothing, but its commanding undertone made her stiffen:

"Do you see it, Edgerunner? The Great Struggle is a beautiful symphony. There is no despair for a warrior who sought triumph, nor would they know defeat. Now, come. The answers you seek lie ahead."

Lucyna grimaced, her jaw tightening as frustration boiled over. "Who are you?! Show yourself!" she demanded, her voice cutting through the still air like a blade.

But there was no response. The voice had vanished once more, leaving only the endless path stretching forward, beckoning the Edgerunner onward.

Her gaze flickered to the ground near the ruins of the war machine, catching the glint of something sharp amidst the debris. Kneeling, she picked up what appeared to be a discarded ancient blade. The weapon's verdant glass surface shimmered with an unnatural glow, its edge honed to a terrifying sharpness. It was lighter than she expected but carried an unsettling sense of power.

It was the first complete weapon she had encountered, and she would not let it go to waste. So be it if she had to fight her way out of here. Lucyna wouldn't go down without a fight.

With the blade in hand, Lucyna resumed her trek. But as she moved forward, a sudden gust tore through the air, carrying a cloud of dust and dirt. The storm swept across the path, blinding her entirely—even her advanced bionic eye faltered under the onslaught. She instinctively shielded her face with her arm, gritting her teeth as the wind roared.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the storm subsided. Lowering her arm, Lucyna blinked as her vision cleared to reveal a new sight that stole her breath.

Before her loomed a colossal bastion, its architecture, unlike anything she had ever seen. While its foundation hinted at human design, the intricate details and soaring spires spoke of a culture wholly alien to her experience. The bastion seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky, its highest towers reaching toward the heavens like a defiant hand raised against the cosmos.

Even more striking were the sounds that emanated from within. The air thrummed with the echoes of cheering voices, the synchronized rhythm of marching feet, and the fierce harmony of war chants. It was as if this bastion stood as a sanctuary for warriors, where all who had fought and bled for a cause were welcomed with open arms.

Lucyna felt the stirrings of awe for the first time in an eternity. Yet Lucyna pressed on, her steps steady despite the strange dissonance of her surroundings.

As the bastion grew larger with each step, the details of its purpose became clearer and, with them, more perplexing. It was unmistakably a fortress, a grand military stronghold, with banners and symbols of war etched into its walls. Some were recognizable, others were once again completely alien.

But interwoven with these were depictions of an entirely different nature. Lucyna stopped, her gaze lingering on the first of many murals and statues that lined the path leading to the bastion. What she saw made her cheeks flush—a rare reaction for someone as disciplined as her.

The images were intimate, romantic, and undeniably sexual, depicting acts of passion and connection with an artistry that bordered on reverence. These pieces of art stood alongside more traditional monuments to battle: soldiers locked in combat, shields raised, and weapons clashing.

Some even seemed to merge into one another. It was a cycle of war, love, romance, fury, life, and death. She couldn't deny the power of the juxtaposition. That was the only way to describe this place. Both ideals seemed to exist in perfect harmony, neither overshadowing the other.

As she continued forward, the strange energy of the place seemed to seep into her mind, unbidden and unrelenting. A sudden stab of pain lanced through her thoughts, bringing with it a rush of fragmented memories. She gasped, stumbling as vivid images danced before her vision—scenes of battle, of blood and fire, but also of fleeting moments of intimacy.

Two figures loomed in these recollections, their features indistinct yet familiar. They fought alongside her, their presence a comfort in the chaos of war. But there were also moments of shared passion, stolen between battles, raw and fervent.

Lucyna didn't understand. Were these the same memories she had abandoned before joining the program? And then they left just as painfully fast as they came, leaving Lucyna angry and confused. With the glass blade clenched in hand, the Edgerunner continued her journey.

Moving further inward, the bastion's exterior seemed archaic compared to the towering, gleaming cities of Tixburi, with their sleek lines and advanced designs. Yet, there was an inexplicable familiarity to its construction, as though Lucyna had known places like this long before she'd ever been augmented into an Edgerunner. It was a feeling buried deep in her mind, one she couldn't place and dared not trust.

Then again, she thought grimly, an entire realm like this within Aetherspace defies everything Section 8 understands about it.

The paved path beneath her feet felt solid, as did every surface of this surreal landscape, but her bionic eye detected otherwise. Subtle deviations and impossible angles lurked within the geometry and architecture, distortions too minute for unaugmented senses to notice. No mortal hands or machines had crafted this place. Its design betrayed the touch of a being whose imagination transcended mundane reality.

Knowing this truth unsettled the Edgerunner, and Lucyna continued forward, her grip tightening on the verdant blade she'd found. Her trek soon led her to what could only be the bastion's entrance.

The gateway was an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship—or something beyond craftsmanship. It was formed of a luminous material that seemed to shift in hue, shimmering between the pale green of sea foam and the deep blue of ocean depths. The air around it carried the scent of salt and brine as though it had been carved from the heart of the sea itself.

Adorning the gateway were more depictions of war and love, their imagery woven together with the precision of a grandmaster. Soldiers locked in combat were juxtaposed with lovers entwined in passion, their forms etched into the surface with exquisite detail. However, the runes scattered throughout the design caught Lucyna's attention most.

She recognized them immediately: Aeldari.

What set these runes apart was how they spoke of purpose, battle, and inevitability—concepts that resonated deeply with this place's strange, almost magnetic pull. That the Aeldari's influence lingered here made little sense, yet it somehow felt fitting. Steeling herself, Lucyna stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the glowing gateway.

There was no turning back now.

---

Crossing the gateway was like stepping through the skein of gossamer material. There was a small bit of resistance, almost like it was cleansing Lucyna's body and soul before she stepped onto sacred ground. Reality seemed to ripple and contort, a momentary sensation of disorientation gripping the Edgerunner as space and time folded around her.

When she regained her bearings, Lucyna realized she stood somewhere entirely new. The air felt thinner and charged with energy, and though no windows or vantage points confirmed this, she instinctively knew she had ascended to the top of the bastion.

The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by a faint, melodic chanting that reverberated in the distance. It was an alien tongue, unfamiliar yet strangely harmonious, its cadence weaving with words in Tixburian and other tongues.

"Let Her Passion Guide All."

It hung in the air like a commandment. The law of this bastion. The law of its ruler.

Lucyna ventured further past the tapestries and sculptures, past great works of strife and romance, and with subtle vestiges of a great ocean.

Soon, the corridor opened into a colossal chamber, its scale so immense it could have housed a hundred MABs and still left room to spare. Its floor was littered with the remnants of war—discarded armor, shattered weapons, rusting guns, and the tattered remains of gear from uncountable ages. Each piece bore the scars of battle, their presence telling silent tales of struggle and glory.

Lucyna scanned the room, her bionic eye drinking in the details. The randomness of the debris suggested not a single conflict but an endless sequence of battles waged here. Every step she took echoed faintly against the walls as if the room held its breath, waiting for her arrival or someone else.

Her gaze was drawn forward to the far end of the chamber. There, elevated upon a dais of obsidian-like stone, sat a throne unlike any Lucyna had ever seen.

It was monumental, wrought from the same ethereal material as the gateway. Veins of light pulsed faintly within its surface, glowing with a color that defied description, shifting between shades of aqua, pale green, crimson, and violet.

The throne of a monarch or emperor. But that wasn't right. The throne's design was both majestic and powerful, its contours shaped as though to cradle not just a ruler but a presence—a force.

A god.

Then, the air around Lucyna began to hum with a deep, resonant vibration, as though the entire chamber was coming to life in response to her presence.

A shift was felt in the air. Her eye caught power surging all around her. The great battlefield seemed to awaken.

Something stirred with the discarded relics around her. The scattered weapons rattled against the ground, armor plates shuddered, and fragments of broken gear rose as if guided by an unseen force. All around her, an awakening took place.

Then, her eye spotted the source. Tendrils of radiant light began to extend from the throne akin to roots, seeking sustenance. They reached across the chamber, weaving through the discarded relics with unnatural precision, looking for a willing host.

As they coiled around the relics of war, the objects were lifted into the air, assembling themselves with impossible grace. Weapons floated into place, armor reassembled around invisible forms, guns activated or reloaded, and shields positioned themselves as though preparing for battle.

Lucyna saw debris take on the shapes of warriors, their forms varying wildly. Some bore the sleek and elegant designs of Eldar craft, others the gothic strength of the Imperium, others looked equally foreign, while some were even Tixburian in origin. A host of glowing eyes and the eerie aura surrounding them mark them as constructs of the Aetherspace.

Her all-seeing eye scanned the battlefield as the tendrils withdrew, leaving behind dozens—perhaps hundreds—of spectral warriors. Each one pulsed faintly with the same light as the throne as if connected to the very heart of this bastion. They moved in unison, a tide of determination, their weapons raised and ready.

Their attention was firmly on the Edgerunner. Her core was determining the best action to kill, destroy, or do whatever Lucyna needed to deal with them. Lucyna's hand tightened around the glass blade she had found earlier. She doubted they were here to talk.

A booming voice echoed across the chamber, the same voice that had guided her here, now filled with a commanding presence:

"Prove your worth, Edgerunner. Show me your strength, your resolve, your passion. Keep struggling."

Lucyna grits her teeth as the spectral warriors surge forward, eager for battle. Her body exploded into motion, a perfect fusion of instinct, training, and the predictive algorithms of her DNI core. If she was to fight, she planned on winning.

Her first target was a spectral warrior in Imperial power armor loomed over her, one of the Skinwalker creatures, its chainsword roaring to life as it swung with mechanical precision, but Lucyna was already inside its guard.

Her glass blade flashed upward in a fluid arc, unnaturally carving through the specter's chainsword arm. The blade hummed as it cleaved through the adamantium-like material of the armor as if flak against a power blade. A burst of energy surged from the severed limb, scattering into the air like smoke, but the specter didn't falter. Its bolt pistol raised, aiming directly at her chest.

Lucyna twisted her body, her reflexes enhanced to a level most non-enhanced foes could never hope to keep up with. The entity before her moved almost sluggishly in her vision. She sidestepped and slashed in the same motion, her blade slicing through the specter's helm. A flash of green light escaped as its form disintegrated, leaving only a faint echo of its existence behind.

She didn't stop to admire her work. Lucyna spun to face her next foes: a trio of spectral Aeldari, their speed, and strength evident as they closed the gap. Her DNI core highlighted their movements, calculating precise counters and predicting their attacks with machine-blessed accuracy.

One of the ghost warriors lunged with inhuman agility, its mirror sword aimed at her throat or perhaps looking to decapitate her. Lucyna ducked and countered with a sweeping kick, her enhanced strength staggering the creature, but only momentarily. She pivoted and drove the glass blade through its chest, the weapon glowing as it shattered the energy animating the specter.

The second specter struck from her blind spot, but her bionic eye caught the faintest movement distortion. She blocked with the flat of the blade, the impact jarring but manageable thanks to the reinforced adamantium skeleton under her flesh. She forced the specter back with an almost feral snarl and followed up with a decapitating strike.

By this point, the third hesitated, trying to find a different vector to attack, but that was fatal. Lucyna lunged forward, her blade finding its mark in the specter's throat. The third Eldar dissolved into fragments of light.

Around her, the other spectral warriors moved into position. Some unleashed projectiles—bolts, plasma, and energy beams—while others surged forward in melee waves. On the dance of death continued.

As projectiles streaked through the air, she leaned into their chaotic trajectories, positioning herself so that incoming fire struck the melee specters lunging at her. Explosions of energy rippled around her, tearing through the spectral warriors in showers of light and ash.

Soon, Lucyna developed a rhyme in the chaos. As a Skinwalker lunged, she sidestepped and disarmed it in one fluid motion, snatching a krak grenade from its belt before plunging her glass blade into its chest. Without pause, she twisted and hurled the grenade into a cluster of charging specters. The explosion tore apart several of them, scattering their remnant armor and weapons.

Another foe closed in, a hulking specter armed with what resembled a power axe. Lucyna ducked under its swing, the air crackling with displaced energy as the weapon missed her by inches. In its overextension, she drove a recovered combat knife deep into what should have been its head, wrenching the gun free as the specter collapsed into nothingness.

Lucyna danced across the battlefield with an acrobatic flair, all while dodging attacks or giving herself enough distance to plan her next move. A discarded ancient plasma gun lay nearby, its glowing core still intact. She rolled toward it without hesitation, narrowly avoiding a barrage of lasfire.

Her hand closed around the weapon, and she immediately pivoted, firing at a specter about to flank her. The beam struck true, reducing the target to a smoldering heap. Another trio of specters was reduced to dust once more before overcharging the gun and tossing it to another enemy, causing it to explode.

A few minutes into the bedlam, dozens of the specters were down, and only a hundred more to go. Were it anyone else, it would be a harrowing battle to survive. But Lucyna wasn't looking to merely survive—she wanted to dominate this battle.

Each kill replenished her arsenal. A fragmentation grenade here, a throwing blade there, every item was repurposed with lethal efficiency. She lobbed a frag grenade toward a group of Tixburian specters armed with blast shields, the explosion sending shockwaves through their ranks and leaving them vulnerable to her assault.

She barely had time to adjust before a pair of Eldar specters darted toward her, their movements almost too fast to follow as they brandished twin power glaives. Damn alien ghosts were just as slick and agile as their living counterparts.

Lucyna ducked beneath the first swing, her enhanced reflexes pushing her to the limit as the glaives sliced through the air where her head had been a heartbeat before. Seizing the moment, she pivoted low and drove her glass blade into the "leg" of one specter, the verdant weapon easily cutting through its ephemeral armor. The specter staggered, collapsing into nothingness as its form unraveled.

The second Eldar specter wasted no time, spinning into a series of blindingly fast strikes. Lucyna parried a blow with the hilt of her blade, the force jolting up her arm. Her free hand darted to a grenade she had snagged just moments ago. With practiced precision, she activated it and shoved it into a seam in the specter's armor.

Lucyna kicked off the specter's chest using her enhanced strength, launching herself backward in an acrobatic flip. The grenade detonated mid-motion, sending a shockwave of energy and light tearing through the specter's form. As she landed in a crouch, debris scattered around her, the remnants of her adversaries dissolving into the air like smoke.

"Elegant but fragile," Lucyna muttered, readying herself for the next assault. It was extraordinary how right she felt at this moment. The Edgerunner felt alive. Fates spare her, but she might even be having fun right now.

The voice returned, this time with an unmistakable edge of approval:

"Yes! That fire burns bright. But how long can you sustain it, Edgerunner? Will it consume you—or will you wield it to reshape your fate?"

Lucyna snarled before surging forward, determined to win for herself rather than prove some twisted point of her captor. She would win this gauntlet because Lucyna wasn't going to die here.

And so it went. Lucyna fought like a storm unleashed, her every motion honed to lethal precision, as was the nature of the Edgerunner. Every clash of her glass blade against weapons of countless makes and styles echoed across the vast chamber, often signaling her cutting down one foe or more.

Imperials in their baroque armor charged her, boltguns roaring. She met them head-on, dodging their barrages with inhuman agility before dismantling their formations. Eldar specters danced around her with the grace of predators, their energy weapons whispering promises of death, yet her blade found them, each strike more decisive than the last.

Even warriors she recognized as Tixburians, those who should have been comrades in another life, emerged to challenge her. She faced them all, unflinching, her mind and body moving in perfect synchronization.

Her foes were varied: some fought with primal fury, others with the cold discipline of ancient traditions. All fell, their spectral forms dissipating into the ether, their remnants flowing back to the tendrils connected to the throne. Their relics of war clattered once more to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been cut.

The tide turned in her favor.

---

The tendrils, once omnipresent, began to retract as if retreating from her indomitable will. For every enemy she vanquished, their grip upon this space loosened.

Lucyna was winning.

More than that, she was thriving. Any wounds she sustained were distant memories, already healed by her adamantium-laced body. But it wasn't just her enhancements keeping her in the fight—the feeling of battle lust.

It was an intoxicating high, a passion that transcended physicality. The thrill of the fight, the glory of standing unbroken amid a storm of violence—it sang in her blood and echoed in her soul. Her core struggled to regulate the surge of endorphins and adrenaline, but it couldn't match the overwhelming euphoria coursing through her.

She was alive. Gloriously, fiercely alive. The taste of victory and defiance filled her senses.

This wasn't just a battle. It was art—a symphony of passion, glory, and survival.

Lucyna felt something deeper ignite within her—a connection to this realm and to the emotions it was built upon. She didn't fully understand it, but she embraced it.

It was a feeling of love.

Lucyna stood amidst the aftermath, the stillness of the chamber stark against the fury that had consumed it moments before. Her breaths were steady, her stance unwavering, though her glass blade was slick with the remnants of her spectral foes. The last of the tendrils retreated, dissolving back into the throne in an ethereal cascade.

The voice returned, melodic and commanding, reverberating like a symphony's crescendo.

"Bravo! Oh, such a glorious display! Do you feel it? The passion? The love burning in your heart? I must have a taste of it for myself!"

Lucyna's all-seeing eye caught the first stirrings of energy around the throne. Tendrils of light spiraled upward, weaving an intricate pattern like stitching reality together. The chamber brightened the air, thrumming with an intoxicating power that seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat.

The energy grew, taking form—a shape both alien and human, solid yet shifting, as though the very concept of identity struggled to contain itself. The figure stood, radiant and commanding, their presence filling the vast space as if they were the room's beating heart.

Armor adorned the figure's form, an ornate design that blended the elegance of Eldar craftsmanship with the brutal functionality of Tixburian warfare. The material shimmered like a living entity, shifting aqua, crimson, and violet hues. Their face, obscured yet distinct, bore features that seemed to change with every blink, blending the ideals of beauty, ferocity, and unrelenting will.

Yet Lucyna's wind and core were trying to comprehend what this creature was or its nature. Her all-seeing eye flickered with activity, feeding raw data streams into her mind in some desperate attempt to override whatever her organic side saw. The figure was breathtakingly beautiful to her mortal eye: a manifestation of fierce will and love with features of exquisite symmetry, a commanding presence, and eyes that burned like twin suns captivated her.

But to her bionic core, the goddess was a cacophony of spectacles. Tendrils of warped light spiraled out from her body, defying geometry and logic. What might have been hands shifted into claws or masses of writhing filaments, and her face became painful to look at—a shifting kaleidoscope of forms too alien to process fully. A halo of jagged energy pulsed behind her, threatening to tear at the edges of reality itself.

The two extremes flickered back and forth in Lucyna's perception, beauty and chaos vying for dominance, leaving her both entranced and uneasy. The strain on her human mind was immense, but her Edgerunner training held her together. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let either vision overwhelm her.

The master of this bastion, seemingly aware of Lucyna's dual perception, tilted her head with an amused smile—or was it a sneer? Her voice resonated in both realms of Lucyna's mind, equal parts alluring and painful:

"Ah, I see your senses wrestle with what I am. Do you not realize, Edgerunner? I am whatever you see. I am passion and terror, beauty and chaos. Love and War. Do not shrink away from either. But now, tell me, which do you prefer?"

Lucyna steadied her breathing, her bionic core working overtime to filter the data flooding her mind. Her grip on her blade tightened.

"I don't need to prefer anything," Lucyna said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You're just another challenge to overcome, no matter how you choose to appear."

Yet this defiance thrilled the entity, her reaction bordering on genuine delight—or perhaps something more primal, a mix of fascination and hunger that Lucyna found unnerving. The figure's voice, now closer and richer, resonated with an intoxicating blend of exhilaration and commanding playfulness.

"Oh, your spirit," she purred, her words dripping with admiration and mischief. "It's utterly delicious. You make me tremble with anticipation."

In an instant, faster than Lucyna's enhanced vision could fully track, the creature leaped from her throne and landed on the battlefield, her arrival rippling through the air. She was now only meters away, her presence as overwhelming as a thunderstorm yet as entrancing as a lover's whisper.

"I'm so very glad I didn't kill you outright," the figure said, her lips curving into a smile both radiant and dangerous. With a graceful flourish, she dipped into a bow, the gesture at once elegant and mocking. Rising, she locked her burning gaze on Lucyna.

"I am Venus," she declared, her voice rich with authority. "Goddess of Love and War. Welcome to my realm, Edgerunner. But don't think your journey ends here." She extended a hand toward Lucyna as if offering her a gift—or a challenge. "There's one final test. Stoke the flames within you: your passion, your fury, your drive—and fight!"

Lucyna's grip on the glass blade tightened. Lucyna's core registered the overwhelming power radiating from the goddess at this range—something incalculable, like a star condensed into a single point. Yet her human instincts screamed a different warning: this wasn't just power. It was intent. Passion, fury, and joy are woven into this eldritch being.

Every fiber of her being screamed at her to remain composed. Her bionic eye scanned for weaknesses, escape routes, and anything to give her an edge. Yet her spirit wanted to run her blade through this creature. Her instincts warned that Venus wouldn't be beaten with just skill and strategy—this was a battle of wills, of passions.

Without warning, Venus moved—faster than Lucyna's advanced systems could predict. One moment, she stood poised, almost leisurely; the next, she surged forward in a blur of radiant aqua and purple energy, her speed defying comprehension.

A blade manifested in her hand mid-stride, its surface rippling like molten light. It was a weapon so flawless it seemed to transcend mortal craftsmanship. Its presence exuded elegance and danger, as though it had been forged to be as captivating as deadly.

Her first strike came swift and precise, a calculated slash to measure Lucyna's skill rather than deliver a killing blow. The Edgerunner reacted on instinct, her body moving before her mind could process the threat. She twisted away just in time, the shimmering edge of the blade whispering past her synskin suit, close enough to leave a faint scorch.

Lucyna retaliated instantly, her glass blade cutting through the air in a lethal arc aimed at Venus's midsection. The goddess deflected it easily, her weapon colliding with Lucyna's in a burst of sparks and light. Venus's laughter followed, resonating through the battlefield like the triumphant cry of a victorious warrior.

"Yes!" Venus exclaimed, her voice rich with exhilaration and unbridled joy. "It has been far too long since I danced with a blade in hand." She twirled her weapon effortlessly, her every movement an artful display of power and grace. "You shall be my whetstone, Edgerunner! Let your rage become your passion, and let your passion guide your strikes!"

Venus lunged again, this time with a ferocity that demanded all of Lucyna's focus. Their blades clashed in a furious symphony of strikes, the battlefield alive with the sparks of their duel.

A mortal's determination up against the ecstasy of the divine.

Lucyna readied herself and pounced at the supposed goddess, and the battle was joined again.

But soon enough, the Edgerunner learned that dueling Venus was like attempting to fight a living storm.

The goddess moved with an unrelenting ferocity. Each of her strikes was a blur of radiant energy that left Lucyna's bionic eye struggling to keep pace. There was an unnatural precision and wild abandon to these attacks.

A chaotic yet deliberate rhythm that would have overwhelmed anyone else. Lucyna knew that even her finely honed instincts and enhancements were the only things allowing her to keep pace with Venus.

Yet Venus fought as if this battlefield were her dance floor, each swing of her shimmering blade a graceful step, each dodge and counter an elegant pirouette. Her laughter echoed through the arena like the infectious beat of a club anthem, her voice a mixture of exhilaration and playful goading.

"That's the spirit! Show me more! Feel it! Fight for the sheer beauty of this struggle!"

Lucyna gritted her teeth, pushing herself harder, but a sudden, sharp ache stabbed her mind—an unbidden memory. For a fleeting moment, she was surrounded by familiar faces, their voices filled with warmth and camaraderie. It was a fragment of a time she had buried and spent with those she had cared for and fought for. The memory was so vivid that her focus wavered.

The goddess saw her distraction instantly. Venus's blade arced toward Lucyna's neck in a strike that would have ended the duel then and there. Lucyna barely resisted, the edge grazing close enough to lick her synskin. Her heart pounded as the memory faded.

"Ah, I see it now," Venus purred, her voice dripping with amusement and curiosity. "A fleeting glimpse of love. Your memory is locked away—how fascinating. A black hole of the warp resides inside your head, devouring secrets that not even you can reach. But it seems... this dance is stirring the embers, awakening something, isn't it?"

Lucyna snarled, her jaw clenched tightly as she forced the intrusive thoughts aside. "You can choke on your curiosity," she growled, her voice low and venomous. The goddess's laughter only fueled her rage further.

The Edgerunner shifted her stance, her movements becoming sharper and more aggressive. If finesse wasn't enough, she would let her fury guide her. Her glass blade flashed in a deadly arc, a gleaming extension of her rage. Each strike was relentless, her attacks hammering at Venus with raw, unyielding power.

Venus deflected each blow with dazzling precision, her laughter ringing like the clash of their blades. "I struck a nerve! Good! Let your fury guide you! Rage and passion—they are two sides of the same coin. Let them drive you to even greater heights!"

This goddess really liked to yammer. It annoyed Lucyna because she wasn't fighting for Venus's approval.

She was fighting to win.

Throwing herself back into the fray, Lucyna fought onward. Her every move was a calculated risk, with each swing and thrust meant to probe for even the smallest opening. Lucyna responded with the cold, unrelenting determination of an Edgerunner for every taunt and jest from the goddess.

But, soon enough, the reality of the situation was becoming apparent.

As the duel raged on, Lucyna's chances of winning began to erode with each passing second. Initially, the goddess's movements, impossibly fast and brutal, became even more refined and overwhelming. Every strike she unleashed carried greater weight, every dodge more precise, every parry more effortless.

Lucyna's bionic core churned out calculations at an accelerating pace, each prediction grimmer than the last. Her all-seeing eye, which once gave her the edge in countless battles, now flooded her mind with probabilities of failure. The projected outcomes narrowed into a single, daunting conclusion: she couldn't win this fight. Not at this pace.

Lucyna gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on the glass blade. She refused to give in, even as her body moved slower, her reactions less fluid, and her strikes more frantic. The Edgerunner started looking for another possible advantage.

But the goddess wasn't giving her time to think. Another ferocious slash came hurtling toward Lucyna, forcing her to pivot on instinct. She barely avoided the blade, its edge grazing her synskin and leaving a searing line of pain along her side.

Venus smiled wider, her radiant energy pulsating as if feeding off Lucyna's struggle. "Is this all the fire you have? Oh, don't falter now. The climax is the best part of any performance!"

Lucyna needed to switch tactics, so she darted across the battlefield despite the overwhelming pressure of Venus's presence. She grabbed the same relics that were used against her. Once discarded, they became potential tools, a fleeting advantage in a fight rapidly slipping from her control.

Her glass blade remained in hand, but now she relied on the weapons of the fallen, using their varied forms to create a chaotic flurry of attacks to keep Venus flatfooted. Fallen guns, loose grenades, knives, and even lingering axes, swords, and mauls were useful here.

Soon, the battlefield echoed with sharp cracks and explosions as Lucyna fired shots and hurled grenades, each move designed to keep distance between herself and the goddess. But Venus was undeterred. Her responses were effortless, a symphony of impossible skill that mocked Lucyna's attempts at stalling.

Bullets ricocheted off the goddess's blade, some cutting through the air in precise trajectories toward Lucyna, forcing her to dodge. Plasma bolts fizzled and dispersed as Venus twisted her weapon with uncanny precision, slicing through the searing energy like it was nothing. Even the shrapnel of grenades seemed to part around her, deflected by swift, almost dismissive gestures.

"Oh, clever!" Venus teased, her tone brimming with excitement. "But ranged combat? Against me? Love, that's just playing hard to get. Come on—our passions should be embraced in the glory of the close quarters!"

Lucyna's mind raced. Her bionic core screamed that this strategy was failing, but she couldn't afford to stop. The alternative was closing the distance—and she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Venus, sensing the hesitation, pressed the attack. In one fluid motion, she launched herself forward, covering the distance with terrifying speed. Lucyna narrowly evaded, diving into a roll and tossing another grenade over her shoulder. The explosion rocked the ground, but when Lucyna turned, Venus stood untouched, her glowing form illuminated by the fire.

"Let's see if your spirit burns brighter under pressure!"

Lucyna knew she was running out of time—and options. Her core calculated one final, desperate maneuver, requiring precision, timing, and no room for error. "Just a little longer," she muttered, eyes scanning the battlefield for what she needed. "I only need one shot at this."

She found what she was looking for: a Tixburian Blackout Device. The artifact had been strapped to one of the Tixburian specters, its purpose either unnoticed or deemed unworthy of use by its spectral bearer. Blackout Devices were rare and dangerous tools created for Section 8 operatives to jam Aetherspace in a localized area—a weapon designed to counter psykers. Lucyna doubted it would truly stop a goddess, but it might just give her the opening she needed.

This was her last gamble. Lucyna quickly primed the device, setting a two-second delay before activation, and hurled it toward Venus. The moment it left her hand, the device began to hum ominously, its energy building toward detonation. As the sphere of null space bloomed into existence, it momentarily severed the threads of Aetherspace within its radius. Lucyna didn't wait to see the effect; she surged forward, closing the gap with a desperate leap.

With the Glass Blade gleaming in her hand, its razor edge aimed directly at Venus's heart. Every calculation in her bionic core, every ounce of her human instinct, screamed that this was the moment. As she drove the blade forward, her breath caught—this was the strike that would decide everything.

Then, the battlefield fell silent, and the chaos and intensity of the duel were replaced by an almost surreal calm. Lucyna, still catching her breath, stared at Venus in disbelief, her hands trembling as they gripped the hilt of the glass blade embedded uselessly in the goddess's chest.

But the glass shimmered faintly, mocking her efforts with its inert glow while still protruding from the goddess's chest.

Venus tilted her head, her radiant form flickering with an otherworldly light as she studied Lucyna. Her smile was soft, warm even, yet brimming with a mischievous energy that made it impossible to tell if she was pleased or simply toying with her. "Verdigris," Venus repeated, tapping the blade gently with her finger. "Beautiful material, and also born of my design. Thus, in your case, it is tragically ineffective against me."

Lucyna sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping as the weight of futility settled over her. "Why am I not surprised," she muttered, releasing the blade and stepping back. She looked up at Venus, her expression a mixture of resignation and defiance. "Alright, I give up. You win. Happy?"

An Edgerunner never surrenders, but since Lucyna didn't seem to be in danger and had nothing to kill the goddess with, her next best strategy was to bide her time and evaluate alternative solutions.

Venus blinked in surprise, then let out a delighted laugh, her voice echoing like music. "Happy? Oh, my dear, I'm ecstatic! What an extraordinary performance! I actually had fun! Between you, Lucius, and my little idol, I'm impressed with the number of champions this galaxy produces."

To Lucyna's astonishment, Venus gently patted her on the head as if she were a favored pet. Lucyna recoiled slightly; her pride stung, but the goddess's touch was disarmingly kind.

"You should be proud of yourself," Venus continued, her tone shifting to genuine admiration. "Even if you didn't win, you felt alive, did you not? Dancing on the edge of glory feels good."

Much as she hated to admit it, the goddess was right. She had felt incredible during their duel. More so than she expected. Nevertheless, Lucyna glanced at the goddess warily. "So what happens? You kill me now or later?"

"Oh, darling... I technically already did in our first meeting," the goddess admitted, her tone dripping with an infuriating mixture of playfulness and sincerity.

Lucyna blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "What?" she asked, her voice sharp with confusion. "When did—"

A sudden, stabbing pain lanced through her skull, her bionic core surging to contain it. Her mind unspooled a memory she had pushed into the recesses of oblivion. The war on Tixburi had reached its breaking point. Despite its efforts, the Consolidation had failed to dislodge the Imperium and its allies from the planet. The resulting desperation had led Chairman Yung to authorize the Edgerunner Program. Lucyna, as part of Section 8, had been deployed via the Rabbit Hole to eliminate the source of a memetic infection infecting the minds of the Tixburian populace.

She remembered now. Lucyna had reached the source of the memetic attack and, after arriving and standing amid the materialization of Aetherspace, was...

"You!" she snarled, her eyes narrowing as recognition slammed into her. "You were the source of the memetic attack on the Consolidation. You and... someone else."

"Morningstar," Venus clarified, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. "And yes, you confronted the two of us. Quite bold, but I suppose that was more for your masters sending a single operative to face two gods." She chuckled, clearly amused by the audacity of Section 8. "Still, you fought valiantly, even managed to wound me, but ultimately, you were mortally wounded. Disembowelment. Quite gruesome. But as you lay there, dying, I decided your struggle deserved recognition. I allowed you to claw your way back from the brink—and you did. Congratulations, my dear."

Lucyna's mind reeled. The mission. Her failure. The memory of sinking into the ocean, her body broken, her life ebbing away. She had thought her indomitable will had brought her back from the void, but now... "You gave me a second chance," she murmured, her voice edged with disbelief.

"Correct," Venus purred, her expression a mixture of admiration and amusement. "Your tenacity impressed me. It's not often I see mortals struggle so fiercely. It was a rare treat. And I must say, I don't regret it one bit."

Lucyna's emotions warred within her—anger, gratitude, confusion. She didn't know whether to thank the goddess or curse her. Instead, she asked the only question that mattered now: "So what next?"

Venus's smile widened to a radiant and maddening expression. "How about this? You and I share some wine and talk. You undoubtedly have questions, and I'll happily answer them."

Did Lucyna really have any other choice?

"Fine."

---

The pair exited the throne room—if it could even be called that. The grand chamber's oppressive aura faded as they stepped into a shimmering light and flowing silk corridor, a hallway lined with murals and relics of bygone eras. Lucyna trailed cautiously behind Venus, her cybernetic eye tracking every subtle movement the goddess made. She didn't trust her—couldn't—but for now, she played along.

Their walk was mercifully short. They arrived at a room that exuded opulence, yet it was unlike anything Lucyna had seen before. Plush, deep crimson, and aqua textures dominated the space, while walls bore an eclectic mix of human and alien art.

Lucyna's gaze wandered. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of some of the more provocative paintings, their subjects entwined in acts of intimacy so brazen it made her bionic core glitch for a fraction of a second. Her eye darted to another section, where ancient battles were depicted with remarkable precision—warriors locked in combat, some dying in their lovers' arms, and great victories or defeats. These pieces drew her in more than the lusty depictions.

"Take a seat," Venus said, her voice light and inviting.

Lucyna turned, scanning the room for a chair, but found none. "The pillows, dear," Venus clarified with a playful tilt of her head.

Lucyna spotted an arrangement of large, luxurious floor pillows. They were opulent, sure, but sitting on the floor felt strange—intimate, almost submissive. She hesitated but ultimately relented, lowering herself onto the soft cushions with as much dignity as possible. The pillows, though comfortable, forced her to sit in a position she wasn't accustomed to, and she had to fight the urge to fidget.

The whole experience felt surreal. Lucyna's instincts screamed at her to be ready for anything. Her all-seeing eye and core constantly scanned for threats, cataloging every detail of the room and Venus herself. The goddess stepped away briefly and returned moments later, carrying a decanter of wine and a pair of cups.

Lucyna's eye detected a change as Venus settled onto a pillow opposite her. The aura of power that had clung to the goddess like a second skin began dissipating, fading into the ether.

"Ah, much better," Venus remarked, her voice noticeably different now. It no longer boomed with majestic authority but carried a softer, more intimate quality—still captivating, still musical, but more human in tone.

Lucyna's gaze sharpened as Venus's imposing armor and regal attire melted away, reshaping into a stunning blue summer dress that clung to her form with teasing elegance. The simplicity of the garment contrasted sharply with the overwhelming presence she had projected moments ago. The goddess's tanned skin now glowed warmly in the room's soft light, and her shoulder-length blond hair framed her face like golden silk.

But it was her ears that drew Lucyna's immediate attention. "Your ears," Lucyna blurted out, unable to suppress her surprise. "They look like Eldar ears."

Venus smiled knowingly, tilting her head slightly to better display the delicate curve of her pointed ears. "Astute observation," she said, her tone carrying a playful lilt. "I'm something of a hybrid."

Lucyna's brow furrowed in confusion. A hybrid? Venus continued, her expression calm yet filled with a touch of mischief. "It's a very long story," she said as she poured the wine, the liquid a deep crimson that shimmered faintly in the light.

She handed Lucyna a cup, the rich aroma of the wine immediately filling the Edgerunner's senses. Venus lifted her cup with practiced elegance and smiled, "Hmm, a good vintage."

Lucyna sipped her wine gingerly, surprised by the taste. "It's... good? Different," she muttered, her tone carrying a note of hesitation.

Venus chuckled, her voice warm yet teasing. "Your people ferment a type of berry for wine. This, however, is made from grapes—a fruit from Old Earth."

While the goddess seemed content to educate her guest about ancient viticulture, Lucyna was not. Setting her cup down deliberately, she fixed Venus with a piercing gaze. "I'm not interested in small talk," the Edgerunner said firmly. "I have questions."

Unperturbed, Venus nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips. "Ask away."

"Who are you, really?" Lucyna demanded.

Venus's smirk deepened a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I am the Goddess Venus of the Deorum Pantheon," she began, her voice dripping with theatrical flair. "I am the mistress of the Verdant Sea, the Changer of Hearts, the Beloved One, and the Matron of lovers and warriors. I am an embodiment of Love and War." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a more personal tone. "I also carry a fragment of Khaine within me—the Aeldari God of War, Iron, and Murder. His essence courses through my soul, giving me my hybrid nature. Yet, I was molded and brought into being by the prayers and faith of humanity."

Lucyna's mind worked quickly, committing every word to memory. She had no idea if she would escape this place, but she intended to survive long enough to report this to her superiors. "And where am I?"

Venus gestured around them with a sweeping motion of her arm. "You're in my bastion," she said. "Though it required some... renovations. This was once a palace of luxury—a haven for lovers to find joy and solace. It still holds that essence, but I've reshaped it. You've undoubtedly heard the drumbeats of war and the laughter of soldiers."

"I've seen the battlefields," Lucyna added, her voice tinged with unease. "This place is saturated with echoes of war."

Venus's expression turned wistful, though her smirk never fully disappeared. "War is a terrible thing," she admitted, her tone softening, "but also thrilling and illuminating. It peels away the masks people wear, revealing their true selves. Love and war—they're not so different, really. Both are born from passion, and both leave scars."

Lucyna felt a strange pang of understanding hearing Venus's words, though she quickly pushed it aside. "Why are you working with the Imperium of Man?"

"Why indeed." Venus swirled the wine in her cup, her gaze distant. "Someone I care deeply about asked me to aid another—someone he cares for deeply. In doing so, I gained much: victories, influence, and now…" She turned her piercing eyes back to Lucyna, her smile sharp. "The opportunity to speak with you. A serendipitous occasion."

Lucyna frowned, unconvinced. "Why me? Am I truly that interesting?" Perhaps the goddess was trying to learn something about the Consolidation through her.

"You are," Venus said without hesitation. She leaned forward slightly, her voice low and resonant. "You, Lucyna of Tixburi, both fascinate and puzzle me. Your spirit is shrouded, as is your history. The warp—what you call Aetherspace—cannot fully reveal your story to me."

Lucyna tilted her head, her bionic eye narrowing slightly. She didn't understand how that worked, but it sounded like a rare and unexpected advantage. "What do you know about me?"

Venus's smile softened, though her gaze remained sharp and probing. "I know you are a brave and determined woman. You once loved a young man and a woman, but both are gone. And that while you mistrust others instinctively, you also love them, paradoxically and deeply."

Lucyna's breath caught, her composure faltering for the briefest moment. "You're guessing," she accused, though her voice lacked conviction.

Venus chuckled lightly. "Oh, no. The emotions radiating from your soul are as clear to me as this wine's aroma." She lifted her glass in a mock toast. "You've been shaped by grief, yet you fight like someone who still hopes for something more."

Lucyna's hand tightened around her glass. "I fight only for Tixburi and the Consolidation."

Venus's smile faded slightly, replaced by something almost sympathetic. "As you say, dear."

"Besides, what would you know of my grief?"

"More than you'd think. Love and war, remember? I am no stranger to loss." Venus swirled her wine before drinking, "I am a shell of something far older; who knows the cost of losing someone or something. Be it a single lover or an entire civilization. It all hurts."

Lucyna didn't like where this conversation was heading. She crossed her arms, her tone sharp. "Is there a point to all this?"

Venus tilted her head, seemingly unbothered. "I don't know. You're the one asking questions."

"Fine," Lucyna said, her patience wearing thin. "What do you plan on doing to me? Am I a prisoner here?"

For the first time, Venus looked genuinely offended. "Hardly. You are free to leave at any time." She waved her hand, and one of the room's walls seemed to shimmer and ripple before a hole in reality appeared. It was like looking through a window into another world. "That portal will take you directly outside the Section 8 building. I don't keep warriors from their battlefields."

Lucyna narrowed her eyes at the glowing portal with suspicion on her face. "You'd let an enemy go just like that?"

"Enemy?" Venus repeated, her expression shifting to mild confusion before dawning realization. "Ah, yes, I suppose you would think that. You don't know."

"Don't know what?" Lucyna demanded, her voice tense.

"The war is over, dear," Venus said with a casual shrug. "The Consolidation formally surrendered to the Imperium of Man about two months ago."

The words hit Lucyna like a shockwave. Her eyes widened as she shot to her feet, spilling her wine. "Two months?! But… how long have I been in here?!"

Venus remained seated, her expression calm. "Your soul and body needed to be repaired in this domain," she explained, her tone almost soothing. "And then you had to traverse the island to reach my bastion, which, as I'm sure you noticed, felt far longer than it actually was. Time flows differently here. If you'd taken the wrong path…" She smirked, raising her cup. "Well, let's just say you might still wander the shores."

Lucyna's fists clenched as she processed this. "So, I've been out of the fight for months while you toyed with me in this…this pocket dimension?"

Venus laughed softly. "Everything you endured was very real. And I assure you, I was never toying with you. You fought your way here, survived trials most mortals would fail, and proved yourself in ways that matter."

"That doesn't change that I've been wasting time!" Lucyna snapped.

"Wasting?" Venus arched an elegant brow. "I'd call it refining. And now that you know the truth, you're free to decide what comes next. Will you walk through that portal and return to your world? Or will you stay and hear what else I have to offer?"

Lucyna's jaw clenched as she glared at the portal, the fire in her eyes burning brighter with every second. "I don't care about your offer," she growled. "I am not a traitor." She turned to leave, her decision seemingly made.

Before she could take a step, Venus's hand gently closed around her wrist. "You aren't betraying anyone," the goddess said softly, her tone lacking any edge or condescension. Her golden eyes met Lucyna's with an almost disarming warmth. "If you're willing to listen, I want to provide an opportunity for you—one that could help your world in the long run."

Lucyna scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Why bother?" she spat, her voice trembling with bitterness. "We lost. The Great Work is finished. The Skinwalkers are probably controlling my people by now, stealing anything that isn't bolted down and dismantling the rest."

She cursed under her breath but didn't pull her hand away from Venus's grip. Deep in her mind, a flicker of curiosity mingled with her anger. She hated it, hated herself for it, but there it was—a faint ember of hope refusing to die.

Venus's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Because," she said, her voice soft yet resolute, "you can still do good for your people and the galaxy. The question is whether you will fight for a future when the present feels hopeless."

Lucyna's eyes narrowed her instincts at war with her thoughts. "I've been fighting my whole life," she said, her voice low. "What makes this different?"

Venus released her wrist and gestured toward the wine jug between them. "Perhaps you should sit down," she suggested. "I'll explain everything, and then you can decide if it's worth your time. No tricks. No illusions. Just an honest offer."

Lucyna hesitated, her anger and exhaustion pressing against her resolve. Finally, with a sharp breath, she sat back down, her eyes never leaving the goddess. "Start talking."

"First, I want you to become my follower," Venus remarked with a smile, which confused Lucyna fiercely. "And there is a reason for this. You're going to act as an intermediary between Consolidation and me."

Lucyna narrowed her eyes at the goddess, her suspicion palpable. "Become your follower? You expect me to just sign my soul over because you ask nicely? And why in the galaxy would you need me, of all people, to act as your intermediary?"

Venus's expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "Because you have potential. As for what that entails, well, that would only be revealed in time. Furthermore, the Consolidation needs a bridge to the greater galaxy; you could be that bridge. As my follower, you'd act with impunity, gathering the knowledge and strength your people will need to rise again. And perhaps, in time, you'll see yourself not as a monster but as their champion."

Lucyna shook her head, her voice sharp. "My people won't see me as a champion. To them, I'm a tool, a weapon—and now a living reminder of their failure. Edgerunners don't get happy endings."

Venus tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes gleaming with an almost mischievous light. "People can learn to love a monster, Lucyna," she countered, her voice soft but unyielding. "But if that's not enough for you, then consider this: come with me, and I'll help you gain what you truly desire—your lost memories, the power to decide your fate, and, if you still seek it, a good, worthy death."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Lucyna faltered for the briefest moment. "A good death?" she repeated, bitterness creeping into her tone. "You think I'm looking for some noble end to justify everything I've done?"

"No," Venus replied, her gaze piercing. "I think you're looking for meaning. And meaning, dear Lucyna, can be found in life or death. It's your choice to make."

Lucyna clenched her fists, her thoughts churning. The goddess offered her answers, power, and perhaps redemption—or at least a semblance of it. But at what cost?

"I'll need time to think about this," she finally said, "My government also has to know that I am alive."

Venus smiled warmly, inclining her head. "Unfortunately, I can't let you reach out to your government. But, take all the time you need to decide. That portal remains open should you decide to leave."

"Fine." Lucyna's voice carried a mixture of defiance and resignation. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't think the offer was tempting. The chance to help Tixburi and herself was too good to pass up. "Not like I haven't had to make life-or-death decisions on my own before," she added, her tone tinged with sarcasm.

Venus's expression softened, but a shadow of disappointment flickered in her golden eyes. "Lucyna," she said gently, "you won't be alone. Keep that in mind. I'll help you through whatever challenges lie ahead—just as you will help me."

After that, the goddess left her alone to think about the offer.

What was Lucyna supposed to do here?

The simplest, most logical choice was to walk away through the portal. How could a goddess, no matter how wise or powerful, possibly understand what her people needed? They had lost the war, their future swallowed by the Imperium. Now, it was time for her people to pull together as best they could, but it hadn't been enough.

But what could she do now? What could she really do to help?

If she returned to Section 8, they'd likely lock her away in stasis again—a dreamless, timeless oblivion. Part of her found that prospect almost comforting. No choices, no pain, just…nothing. But was that truly living? Was that what her people needed? No. It was running away.

Venus's offer loomed large in her mind. If she accepted, she might gain the tools to uncover what was happening to the galaxy, to learn about the Imperium and their Skinwalker masters, and whatever other enemies lay in shadow. And if not? At least she could find an end worthy enough.

Skepticism clawed at her, warning her it could all be manipulation, another game to exploit her. Yet, beneath the iron shell she had built around herself, a faint ember of longing sparked. A small, stubborn hope. Was it wrong to want to believe?

Venus hadn't lied to her—not yet.

The goddess had saved, tested her, and offered a way forward.

The lure of regaining her memories gnawed at her as well. What had been taken from her? Could she become more than the weapon she had been forged to be? A dangerous presumption.

No one waited for her on Tixburi. Her people saw her as a monster, a walking weapon they feared and resented. Were any other Edgerunners even alive? Lucyna doubted it. If she returned, it would be to a cold reception at best, imprisonment at worst.

"What's left for me there?" she whispered to the empty room. The answer came back stark and unyielding.

Nothing.

When Venus returned, Lucyna hadn't moved. The glass sword rested across her lap, and her expression was distant yet sharpened by resolve. The goddess stopped, tilting her head with a faint smile.

"Still here," Venus said softly. "I take it you've given my offer some thought?"

Lucyna rose, the weight of the sword in her hand grounding her. "I have," she said, stepping closer. "But let's get one thing straight: I'm not swearing blind loyalty to you. If I do this, it's because it serves my people and myself. Not because I owe you, and certainly not because I believe in you or whatever faith you preach." Her voice hardened, her glare unwavering. "We're partners in this, nothing more. Understand?"

Venus's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with something like admiration. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less from you. Mutual terms, my dear."

The remark left a strange taste in Lucyna's mouth, like biting into something bitter yet undeniable. She had made the logical choice, the only choice that gave her any agency. Yet it felt like a surrender all the same.

Standing with serene confidence bordering on unnerving, Venus made a gesture, and a piece of parchment materialized, its surface covered in elegant, flowing script written in shimmering golden ink.

"This is no binding contract," Venus explained, anticipating Lucyna's skepticism. "It's a simple acknowledgment. A record of our partnership, should you wish to formalize it. I respect your terms and your autonomy, but there is a clause that I can offer you a blessing or favor as I deem fit, and if you wish to keep it, you may do so."

Lucyna glanced at the parchment, her all-seeing eye scanning for hidden traps or veiled commands. She found none. As Venus claimed, it was merely a record—a symbolic gesture.

She picked up the ornate quill beside it, its feather a shade of deep crimson that reminded her of blood. "You do realize," Lucyna said as she hesitated, "if I catch even a whiff of betrayal, I'll make sure this alliance ends painfully."

Just because Lucyna couldn't hurt the goddess now didn't mean she was invulnerable forever. No one was. Even Venus mentioned that Lucyna had wounded her during their first duel.

Venus chuckled softly, her voice melodic and warm. "I wouldn't dream of it, Lucyna. Betrayal is not how partnerships flourish."

With a deep breath, Lucyna signed her name, the golden ink glowing briefly as it absorbed her signature. A subtle hum filled the air, indicating something significant had been set in motion as a flash of light and her glass blade started glowing.

The goddess smirked, "A downpayment for your troubles. Do be sure to give your sword a name at some point."

"Sure," she said, setting the quill down with a firm hand. "So, what now?"

Venus folded the parchment neatly and vanished into a swirl of light. "Now, my dear Edgerunner, we celebrate, and soon, I shall require your skills. We'll be marching to war soon enough."
Lucyna almost felt relieved; a battle would do her some good. "Against who?"

"Against evil." Venus spoke with some finality but soon smiled, "But that will be for later. Let us enjoy good wine and food, and you can ask me more questions."

The goddess extended a hand, and Lucyna hesitated momentarily before shaking it. The gesture, though small, felt monumental. For the first time in a long while, Lucyna felt something akin to purpose stir within her—a faint ember amidst the ashes of a life she had thought long dead.

---

@Daemon Hunter Got a lot bigger than I was expecting.

 

[Anontheashenone4]

For your first question, becoming a Daemonsbane doesn't do anything beyond the -10 it applies to nearby Chaos rolls. It does help with getting more CR and AD stuff later on but that is mainly because the -10 makes it more likely for the Daeonsbane to win big and get traits and Daemonsbane tiers could also give AD or CR related stuff.

For the second question, Daemonsbane is ridiculously above Anathema in power and importance at Tier 11 but is generally less impactful at every other tier.

Anathema itself does not have any tiers to get stronger. Being an Anathema is more akin to a state of being that simply exists while Daemonsbane is a personal journey to power.

Click to shrink...

(For the First answer) All right fair enough-wait a second wouldn't the -10 to everything for demons also affect their corruption bonus?

(For the second answer) Being more powerful I get but . . . importance? What do you mean by importance?

 

[Redleo]

Star Caravan (non canon)
Based on the song by the same name by Black Sabbath and age of Sigmar.
A squal to A New Substance I made while also needing sleep.

---

He was examining the ship which appeared from the warp, it was Magnus his ship the [COLOR=var(--theme-link-color)]Photep[/COLOR]. Gold and red it was impressive.
"we are being hailed!"
"Patch it in."
"Kesar what do you think your doing I can practically hear the screaming from demons before."
"Don't you mean already...no warp time. What can I do you for Magnus?"
"Kesar when I heard the news from the choir I was a bit surprised I didn't think you were into metallurgy at the level of 'breaking a forge'?" Said the surprising to Kesar voice of Vulkan.
"What? Magnus why is Vulkan 'here'?"
"You basically just sent a psychic shockwave which reverberated across the forge of souls-"
"The What?" Vulkan said confused and concerned.
"I did?" The eternal Wardens primarch Said confusion evident."
"YES."
"I was not expecting that, I was working on a new meta material."
"Describe the substances components?"
"Not exactly anything I guess beyond Auramite, bits of star metal and star dust from the after math of sealing the eye of terror. Psychic energy I guess?"
"Kesar you have just done something very.......something." He said as the ship docked to the station.
"Bit indescribable using a conventional language but yes you seemed to have well not made a beacon in the warp but a sort of....vague brightness around you and for some reason the forge of souls is collectively screaming!"
"Can we take a moment to unpack the words 'Forge of Souls' I assume it's a location in the Warp?"
"Yes it's.....actually the best I've been able to uncover is the location where demon engines are forged, that's their war machines."
"I see and I take it this forge uses.....the innocent as fuel!" He said disgusted.
"Any Soul they can get but yes those as well."
"What you have just described is worse then the horrors of the dark eldar. We must lay to siege this forge as our next offensive on the foul demons."
"That would be insainly difficult as hordes of demons from the four gods are sworn to protect it. But we are getting distracted."
"I'll lead you to it."
Keser led his two brothers to the chamber which still burned hot with heat a normal human could not survive, despite it not being currently on. There on the floor was 'it'. It wasn't so much bright as looking into a star, it consisted of grains of dust which sat there on the ground. It was a glowing blue and white sand.
"This is not what I was expecting?"
"Kesar What did you do to the Auramite?!"
"I attempted to create a material with microscopic runes of purity and runes of light in it. It kind of.....broke down as I was channeling the warp energies."
"Kesar....this is raw warp power....but it refined like the warp was taken threw a kalidescopic shard of glass and sorted. But why is-
"You used a star!" Vulkan said pointing to the plates of the chamber and the black metal.
"What!?"
"I had this chamber connected to a single micro star contained in a Necron Star battery."
"You used a Dyson sphere to channel heat and warp resonance to heat up and distille the energy!"
"ARE YOU MAD!?"
"I apologize I realize I should have warned you both and most likely father."
"Yes he's currently messaging me now about i-"
"Oh Malcador as well."
"Should I be worried?"
"Kinda?"
"They are concerned about your experiments but father is very much intrested in a positive way on what you made he says you have given him a 'new possibility'."
"And Malcador?"
"You just distracted someone throwing off a plan five generations on going."
"Ah so not that bad."
"So what do you call this....new star dust?"
"Not sure yet I'm not confident in what it would be good for?"
"Channeling the warp in specific and specialized ways but not close to the gods."
Vulkan impressed gave a smile, it was a hard smile but a smile and a smack on the shoulder.
"You should let me borrow this forge and this material!"
"Thats good but I'm more intrested in why the forces of Tzeetch are moving against this space station?"
"Another attack five generations in the making?"
"No." he said pointing to roughly 'north'.
"We need to fortify the station now!"
"Demons or mortals?"
"Demons and mortals. Psykers mostly."
"A witch cult then."
"It seems our goal is to protect Kesar and the dust."
"I doubt they were counting on two Gloriana Class vessels. filled with legionaries."
"I hope."
"Did you just make a 'joke'?"
"Yes and no."
"Father nine ships have appeared from the warp they are converging on our location!"
"Alert everyone!"
The nine ships were of a variety of makes and conditions from imperial vessels to ships vaguely of Squat design distorted by chaos corruption, to the battered remains of a eldar Corsair.

---

So obviously I had Kesar's new material be Celestium from age of Sigmar a type of realm Stone, think warp stone but specifically of Heaven as in both gods and Star, it grants visions and Tzeetch would ra5her it not be unleashed onto the 40k material. I chose Celestium as a result of not thinking of anything better and enjoying the idea. Non canon but I hope realm stone can be added to the fic. Also sorry about the off color text am doing this on a I pad and it's a bit off.
Greens for Vulkan
Red for Magnus

 

[Anontheashenone4]

Based on the song by the same name by Black Sabbat

Click to shrink...

Is the song called planet Caravan? Because when I look up (Star Caravan song by Black Sabbath) that's all I find

(Also your omake make was really fun to read so thank you for the fun read)

 

[Redleo]

Is the song called planet Caravan? Because when I look up (Star Caravan song by Black Sabbath) that's all I find

(Also your omake make was really fun to read so thank you for the fun read)

Click to shrink...

Yes it was
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvrOzYtnLMA love that song its got a few versions. Also thank you I apricate it!!!

 

[Redleo]

Did we ever get any look at Lorgar's Tech tree he learned and what he was working on before he was killed?

 

[Redleo]

A day in the Processing Vats

---

The vat workers were not hungry, it was rare they ever got hungry though there tended to be two reasons for it. One was the more moral reason in that they were simply disgusted by their work place to the point they would only eat in their quarters. Large vats stood, wide and pipes and shoots dropped their payload into the vats such payload was…loosely described by its workers as such titles as 'Meat', 'Slurp' or more bluntly as 'Junk' or 'Shit'. The payloads were all these things from chewed off finger nails, skin particles, fungus, dead bodies and chemical residue to the rarer uneaten food, chocolate bean husks and fat blobs.

A fact of life and death in the Imperium was the need for these Corpse Workers, even amongst the legendary, near uncompared splendor of the personal ships of the Primarchs a Gloriana-class Battleship such as the Vigilant though in truth it was a place of concern for the Primarch and his sons. Here human suffering and detritus flowed out well and true, here was the largest place of danger in the whole ship for Nurgle corruption.

To that end there were in several key places Runes of Purity put in place by the Primarch himself and his most skilled rune carvers. They wore clothing with untrue copies on their clothing hoping their work would keep them safe and pure of mind.
Sindaerus 'Sind' Almuhu shook his bald, sweaty head as the latest 'payload' fell into the vat, amongst the dead 'rats' thats to say a evolution of the rat or perhaps a pig who could say, was a young women somewhere in her 'unknowns'. Unknowns as in she had been on the ship long enough that the chemicals and fumes made her age undefiable. She had been striped off any equipment deemed as valuable to whatever her job might had been, her back broken from some industrial accident maybe it was a fallen steel rod or barrel. Sind made a effort to not look into her eyes.

"You aint doing you any favors freshie." Said Bogorian 'Bogo' Ghee a older man with torn and tangled hair which he occasionally ripped off and tossed into the vats as a sort of ritual and quirk possibly born of stress.
"She was a person once." The young man said looking at her again, trying to place the face.
"And? We all end up in the same vats even the wardens eventually."
"That's not true…..is it?"
"Once they take their special parts out course why woudnt they? I get you came from some ideal world but here we all end up in the vats."
"It ain't right. Why?"
"Don't you daare question now we be doing our duty, we all got to make this work everyone from the top to the bottom." His accent blared in anger and indignation but his features gone soft/
"Look I get it, we were all there once but you just end up accepting the fascts eventually. We do what we can to help keep the ship alive."
"Do you ever see someone you know?"
"Depends what you mean. People I seen or people I know personally."
"Either or both."
"The ship is a world to itself so no it dosent happen often either way. Once or twince in my life I seen someone I knew personally down here and I am thankful."
"What!?" He said grossed and angered but the old man put a hold on his shoulder softly.
"Thankful I got a chance to say goodbye and they were in any piece to recognize."
"Oh yeah I guess that was something at least."
"You ready to say goodbye?"
"Yeah, goodbye."
"There you go now lets grab the switch all together now." The old man said walking to the left switch and his young student grabbed the right, as they pulled together the vat's first layer closed and began the process of reclaiming.
"It gerts easier I promise." The old man said before whipping his face and moving to the nozzles to listen to the chatter of the pipes.
"Thanks." The younger man said.
"I mean not on the body that's still tough."
"Are there any benefits from the work?"
"Come over hear let me show ya something." The young man followed him to a section of the Vat station where he hid behind some wash rags a metal chamber of some sorts, it was made of scrap metal and had a grinder function.
"We sometimes gut to skim a little off the top."
"You mean steal from the vats?"
"Shuch nothing like that, just a few bits and babs." He took a few chocolate husks out and placed them into the grinder with a thin colorless liquid. After a while he took a end product from the bottom of the machine a small ball of compressed black stuff.
"What is that?"
"Chocolate. Best I can make down here." He said handing the ball to the younger man.
"Eat it, its good." After a moment or two of staring he held it close to his mouth but looked to him questioning first.
"What is in it exactly?"
"You should know better to ask how something is made just try it first." With those words 'Sind' took a bite from it.
"It tastes so sweet! This is amazing I never had something so sweet and chewy." After a few minutes of chewing the old man answered his earlier question.
"I make it with reclaimed sugar, suet, lips, miscellaneous squeezings, tallow, bits of tree, hair, lint, living things and powdered cocoa husks." But even then the younger man still swallowed.
"I love it."
"Sometimes we get little rewards from the ship like this, a few bits we can make into something good."
"Ill remember that." He said with a smile. That's when a beep went off.
"Back to work!" The old man said as they ran to prepare fpr the next payload.

---

Notes

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRW_hhvhEaY
This side story started as me making a rune of Cloning vats but decided to move to reclamation vats and ended up dropping the rune angle and putting it on the ship.
I felt inspired to do another snap shot of the ships crew after thinking of my enginseer story. I know Kesar wishes he could go without corpse recyling but this is the Imperium even the early Imperium, we got quotas to fill.
The chocolate bit was based on disc world ankmorpork chocolate.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to make another omake with Kesar Dorlin just thinking about the current turn's stuff he is dealing with, as well as the Eldar related stuff too. Also wanted to bring up a big idea on the Discord server that was brought up for where Kesar himself could head to.
-----
Marching Across The Maelstrom.

You are Kesar Dorlin, Primarch of the Eternal Wardens and Anathema against Chaos, and you prepare for the next round of compliances.

The Maelstrom was a place of nightmares since ancient times, filled with monsters and madness beyond what many other regions of the galaxy were capable of housing. The Ritual that had banished the overflowing energies of the Warp had not greatly diminished the threats that laid within, only revealed them. Every single day within this domain was a test for the Eleventh Legion, and especially for everyone else attached to your forces.

The reports had come in about the major threats that were detected by the scouting parties, either newly discovered worlds or significant elements by the fleets or the few that emerged from within your domain itself. Laid out and categorised by your First Captain Oriacarius Gielux, his insight mixed in with all the notes and relevant information that were collected, you were able to judge the situation.

The most notable of the Chaos threats discovered, in terms of sheer scale at least, was a Slaaneshi daemon world populated by a type of arachnid xenos that was informally dubbed as the 'scorpions' due to their appearance. A warp storm was swirling around the planet, a remnant of the wider Maelstrom kept active by a large amount of temple structures. The Warp amplifying buildings were all built with a staggering amount of sacrifices used as raw material that, put together, surpassed the previous record holder for such dark acts.

Strange influences were detected by those that came close to the planet itself, dreams and thoughts transmitted to people and machines, both an attack and boast at once. A large army of daemons existed on the world, engaging in their dark delights on the planet's surface and whatever foul acts were conducted in the hundreds of sacrifice-temples, freely able to exist due to the Warp storm. A few signs of some strange form of hybridisation between the native species and the infernal hellspawn that they served, with every hypothesised reason behind it being more disgusting than the last.

Beyond that, the xenos possessed some level of technology that was advanced enough to be worrying, at least in regards to the ability to inflict pain on others. A culture that was practically fermenting in worship of Slaanesh, and a willingness to give up their own lives that was shocking even by the standards of Chaos cultists, it was clear that the world would perhaps have some of the most brutal fighting in a standard operation.

Next on the list was the concerning Hell Forge Nous, a forge world dedicated to worshipping Tzeentch and creating horrific monstrosities of flesh, metal and daemon to either use themselves as well as likely sell to the highest bidders. Baleful creations roaming around the accursed planet, which thankfully was only populated by corrupted people and machinery than being a true daemon world. It wasn't known exactly what was being worked on by the denizens of Nous, but one of their worst creations had been observed elsewhere in the region and gave a horrific clue to what it could be.

Invading a Forge World at all would be a tremendous task, to breach fortified factories that were manned by cyborg warriors and heavy armoured units. Industry on a macro-scale that would be able to supply armies across a subsector harnessed into one single planet and freely used. Not to mention everything that could be done by disregarding the orthodoxical limits of the Cult Mechanicum, as well as harnessing the fell powers fo Chaos. As you and your sons were well aware, since that dreadful beginning with the Gehenna Massacre, there were few things more nightmarish than machinery used as vessels for the Ruinous Powers.

Worse than that, there were very clear signs that you could face something worse than even an 'abominable intelligence' that was twisted by Chaos. On a level of tech-heresy beyond anything you had ever heard about, the Tech-priests of Hell Forge Nous appeared to be trying to make some sort of digital replication of Tzeentch itself. To try remaking a god using such forbidden acts, if word god out to the wider Mechanicum you were positive that they'd be considered Hereteks like few others. Which might at least be one benefit of facing such monsters, you supposed.

Then there was a world that was thankfully free from the influence of Chaos, although not from other forms of strange energy. Gelidanima was a frozen planet of death. With 'soul storms' and fatal blizzards being commonplace, the place was a death world more literal than most examples. In spite of this, a native populace of humans had somehow found the means to survive with the aid of relatively warm areas and a subterranean environment lead by a psychic king of some sort that was thankfully able to be reasoned with.

Unable to be reasoned with were all the undead, monsters and cults of death that existed on the world. As if the hostile environment wasn't enough, the energies of the world had given rise to many horrors that lived past death. Risen, Revenants, some types of fauna. They'd have to be culled if not outright removed, ensuring that no great threats persisted as work on uplifting and working with the local humans went underway. You suspected that there would be a lot of opportunities for research after initial work on the planet was dealt with.

Next was something notable that wasn't based on a planet, and perhaps might not necessarily be a threat. A small fleet claiming to have been descended from the Dark Age of Technology, some sort of mercenary group initially, with impressive levels of military equipment and forces to their name. Titans, stealth units, elite warriors and who knew what else hidden away that wasn't revealed from the scouting observations.

Initial contact was promising, with the group accepting your claim in being a major part as to how the Maelstrom was transformed into its current state and being grateful and awed by what was done. Until suddenly communications turned cold after a few weeks and then later were completely cut, leaving only a message that they would not be friends with the Imperium of Mankind as well as some concerning comments about the Mechanicum's influence and their bias against artificial intelligence. Even with having seceded from the Emperor's rule, the shift in relations hadn't changed. You didn't understand the sudden hostility, or if a fight even needed to happen, but they would certainly be powerful enemies if so.

Under those four massive threats was another significant threat to think about, one that was across your whole domain and not just the Maelstrom region. The Gamma Camps, the rebels that were rising up across the entire Imperium, were an issue that couldn't be ignored and while efforts had been made to quelling many issues or disrupting them before they became a problem, there were three notable groups that had become entrenched.

The Lost Boys were a group that could be dealt with without significant issue, those child soldiers were skilled and had legitimate grievances and could hopefully be brought back in without a fight if you played the situation right. The Weepings Sorrows and the Ravagers? Those two would have to be destroyed, the first acting as nothing more than pitiful raiders acting against other planets out of greed while the second was fuelled by a destructive urge of madness based on misguided revenge. The Ravagers especially was growing too strong, so many recruits joining them based on a plethora of circumstances, and had to be dealt with now.

Seceding and then shifting the Imperial Army's organisational structure and elements of how it acted in your domain had certainly helped many soldiers in your domain, with things working quite well despite some teething issues or controversial ideas being enacted. The Rune World was also a boon unlike many others, the workers of Ogma granting psychic sigils that could empower regiments massively to their delight. Karcer Urial was thankfully able to manage things that needed to be dealt with without more assistance, granting stability for now.

Moving back to the Maelstrom, there were various hotspots too, comparatively lesser threats that the Imperial Army could theoretically handle for the most part with some difficulty. Yet it couldn't be denied that your Eternal Wardens would be best used to act on most of them compared to what even large numbers of Solar Auxilia could attempt on their own.

The first one of the current group of issues was, in defiance of that prior thought, actually a Chaos threat that was able to be dealt with completely without the assistance of the Eleventh Legion. A world possessing an extreme amount of Warp energy that tainted it, seemingly to the point that evidence of it being a former daemon world had been discovered across several sites. The very energy of the planet being used to fuel a large amount of daemon engines that roamed the world, which had mostly been rusted against past conflicts with Nurglite forces.

Perhaps all your work with the Imperial Army, as well as everything your sons had done, had borne fruit. The anti-Chaos guide that you had recently made, the Rune of Silver that spread so widely, maybe the accumulated experience of so much time and conflict in the Maelstrom region. Any answer, maybe all of them, was perhaps how the world was fully conquered by the immense efforts of the Imperial Army. A grand campaign worthy of praise.

The second was a knight world, lead by a group known as House Kasha, that had fallen to the corruption of Chaos. The tyrannical 'nobles' had fallen into worship of Chaos Undivided, with most of the suits being dedicated to serving all four of the major Chaos Gods barring a few observed exceptions. The machines were horrific abominations that were a mixture of flesh and metal, living amalgamations that barely even resembled anything you'd call a Knight at all.

The cultists on the planet were few in number due to constant sacrifices being done to fuel all of the Knights, tithes of souls and bodies granted to keep the mechanical horrors functional. The knight world itself seemed to have become partially daemonic, the very air was poisonous with the spiritual dregs of the victims contaminating the environment. A Knight House would already be be a difficult battle without assistance for most armies, especially on such a tainted landscape and against the fell might of Chaos.

Next was a planet that was as confusing as it was concerning. A seemingly normal human world that had survived the Age of Strife, no signs of notable technology or psychic capability, and were seemingly peaceful. With experience on their side, the Imperial Army scouts that found this world were immediately suspicious and performed several more overviews of the planet. Discovering that the very civilization of the world was in some sort of mental flux, with the people there somehow shifting between memories, emotions, personalities, histories, identities and more. Extremely concerning was that this was some how infectious, a memetic plague that also could spread to and affect anyone through an unknown means of transmission.

Stranger still was the presence of a group of humans that appeared entirely unaffected by this madness, who all attacked Imperial Army soldiers on sight with no word as to why. Despite initial assumptions, including a strangely consistent motif of avian symbols, the threat did not appear to be Chaos-based in nature, even though you knew that your Eternal Wardens would still be useful with their mental resilience training able to work here. Appended to the report was a mention that a foothold was built by the Imperial Army scouts, which would make any attempts of compliance easier, but the mental plague was spreading and needed to be dealt with quickly before there was a significant outbreak.

The fourth threat made your blood boil upon reading it. A large exploration vessel from the Dark Age of Technology that had clearly tried to delve into the roiling waves of the giant Warp rift and come out twisted by the foul denizens there, manned by androids that bowed to Chaos Undivided. The ship was far smaller than Gehenna station, yet the automatons here seemed to be more cognizant and structured than the Khornate Men of Iron you remembered.

Thankfully, from what little the scouts were able to observe, it appeared that the forces there were nowhere near as dangerous as what had once slain over half of your entire Legion at the time. Split between four factions that each represented one of the Ruinous Powers, the weaponry and capabilities seemed to be degraded compared to what a true artificial intelligence could do that had mastered warfare like Epsilon-354. More focused initially on just defending scientific observation than being an army ready to conquer anything in the Maelstrom, this threat was nevertheless a great one against even your Eternal Wardens.

Then there was a world populated by Squats or Kin as they called themselves that had been dealt with by the Imperial Army too, also corrupted by Chaos after facing some sort of rodent xenos known as the Skaven. Almost every fortress had been lost, army defeated and infernal machine brought to destruction. By all means the world was fully taken and colonisation could be focused on, except for one single place left untouched.

The Vault, as it was known, was a massive underground complex that lead to a giant fortified area containing a vast amount of riches that were collected by the recovered records found on the enemy systems. From other Squat worlds, to humans, to Skaven, to Eldar to even one encrypted file that described the possession of something called a 'Sword of Vaul' which was very interesting until the file was appended with a note that it was somehow stolen.

The sixth hotspot was another strange world, although unlike the third the reason for it was abundantly clear. A coven of psykers was ruling a small human colony, and while there was no Chaos presence detected there was something arguably more potentially dangerous being worked on. A cult had formed dedicated to the creation of a god, one based on the extremely ancient 'Aztec' culture of mankind from the scouts had been told by the natives, and said deity appeared to be nearing its creation.

While theoretically you could just leave this world alone now that you didn't have to follow the Imperial Truth's mandate, as the cult and their god might be willing to face Chaos instead of you or at least not attack your domain, you weren't sure if the god would be benevolent at all. In fairness, it wouldn't be the first time you had worked with a god you had otherwise thought was a monster, given how a shard of Kaela Mensha Khaine had worked with you and another willing to spar with you. But that was something known, stable and able to be directed.

Still, regardless if they were hostile or not, a new god being born was without a doubt a significant event for your domain and the Imperium of Mankind. Especially with how the masquerade around the truth about the Warp and divinity was up in smoke, trillions could end up worshipping this deity and who knew what would happen with that if it ended up as a being that was hostile to other groups? Yet if it was benevolent… well, you'd have to see what happened before acting rashly. Contacting the Aeldari and the Thousand Sons might be useful in dealing with this, to at least alert someone else about this god if nothing else.

Finally, there was a creation of Hell Forge Nous. A digital daemon that was made manifest by the infernal work of those that were willing to do anything for knowledge, to grasp at divinity. Initially discovered on a small transport craft, the artificial replica of Tzeentch had managed to overtake a scouting vessel and transform it into a corrupted warship that constantly broadcasted madness as it worked to its mad plans against all life.

Yet again, the Imperial Army had proven itself capable of doing impressive deeds where you suspected that even many of your sons would have difficulty in facing such a foe. An admiral had managed to figure out the best path to take in counteracting the various, seemingly random paths and fighting styles that the warship had taken. Managing to cause the daemon ship to be cornered and fired upon by several other vessels before it managed to escape, suffering a notable amount of damage. Catching the daemonic ship would be an ordeal for most, even with the wounds it had suffered, but with some assistance from the Eleventh Legion it should be possible to end this abomination before it could have any chance to truly run.

That was already a lot of notable situations to deal with, along with all the issues related to seceding that you still were struggling to fully respond to and handle, but as usual the galaxy was a place fraught with things to deal with. Beyond the nearby domains of your brothers, tensions of civil war or economic collapse or both notwithstanding, the Harlequins of the Black Library had decided to call upon the deals you had made in exchange for the boons they gave.

The first thing mentioned was that a staggering force was being built up to face Port Kelthuanesh, a solar system sized megastructure known as an Alderson disk, that was populated by Chaos corrupted Eldar known as Ulwarth. A colossal warzone that would take the entire Eternal Wardens Legion to fully take without support, but the Eldar were extremely resourceful and well-connected indeed going by what had been raised to take this.

Built by the Aeldari Dominion at their height, the thing that you had only heard about in theoretical discussions with your brother Perturabo or some Tech-priests was going to be taken by Archon Sachmis. The Dark Eldar admiral who once managed to defeat Magnus in a duel and then somehow fell in mutual love with Corvus Corax after he beat her in the Imperium's longest recorded naval engagement.

A few champions of your sons would be enough to satisfy this call to arms, to help aid in banishing or delivering true death to some foes in key locations. You had to admit that while you didn't enjoy the idea of working with any denizen of Commorragh, especially one that had so injured one of your beloved brothers, this war seemed like a fascinating way to develop experience for even the strongest of your sons. A true test of might, and likely in a place that was filled with relics and other rewards to be discovered.

The second was something that was potentially more dangerous. A daemon world, or 'Crone world' specifically, in the Eye of Terror was intended to be quickly raided by a powerful yet extremely small group. A surgical strike force that was just going to reach the location as fast as possible, well armed and defended enough to survive the attempt.

After questioning what was so important about a Crone world that such a force was heading there, and why they'd want any of your sons involved for something so brief, the answer was rather enlightening. Only existing in the former homeworlds of the Eldar were the spirit stones, or 'Tears of Isha', that were crystals of psychic potency that could align to an Aeldari and leave them protected against the predations of Chaos. Requiring perfect timing to even harvest any at the right time, on top of facing such a hellish environment and enemies.

It would be best to send one or two of your Daemonsbanes, as small a group as possible to fit with what was intended by the Eldar here. Anything more significant caused the risks of the force being discovered to skyrocket, and you knew that daemons wouldn't hesitate to descend in vast numbers to Eternal Wardens who were caught in the worst possible situation. To slay them, devour them, corrupt them to the whims of Chaos. It would be a dangerous mission, and yet in the name of saving souls against daemons… you understood the necessity of it.

You didn't need to satisfy both requests from the Aeldari, only needing to fulfil one, yet you could not deny the worth of joining either an immense conquest of the biggest megastructure you had heard of in the galaxy or in a stealthy incursion into the most corrupted rift you knew of to infiltrate a new type of daemon world. Building relations with the Eldar was also already a worthwhile proposition, if only to better understand them and gain further access to the wonders that laid within the mystical Black Library. Yet could you truly spare the manpower?

Then there were three reports about threats in the Maelstrom that had not been from the efforts of the Imperial Army, but instead granted to you from the Eldar at your request. Despite the frankly disappointing absence of any actionable intelligence on the mysterious 'Black Covenant' that you had heard about, they had provided you something.

The first two were about Honoured Daemon Princes that were in the nearby region. Starting off with something that was once human and proudly wore their former name, unlike most such examples of their kind. Corporal William Carr, formerly an enhanced soldier from the Dark Age of Technology that was obsessed with war even before his unholy ascension. Now fully dedicated to the art of war, described as being akin to the Doom Slayer except focused on general warfare than just slaughtering hordes before you left a note to the Eldar to never insult any of your sons with such a comparison again. Predicted to just be passing by your domain to gather supplies in their endless quest for greater strength.

Staying for far longer was the 'Tin Man', an ancient Nurglite monstrosity from a time only shortly after when homo sapiens had evolved. Merged with a large mechanical body that resembled a Knight, the former alien daemon was apparently going to be staying within the Maelstrom for the foreseeable future. Working on collecting as many souls as possible to exchange them for upgrading its bloated frame, the thing was already a deadly opponent that was far too agile and tough compared to its diseased appearance. It would be a difficult foe to face without the work of one of your heroes.

Then there was what was possibly the greatest threat of all, and one that was thankfully distant enough that you didn't have to think about facing it on top of everything else. The Empyrean Expanse, a massive empire of Chaos that was ruled by an Exalted Daemon Prince with at least one notable Honoured servant. How large it was, how strong it was, all the forces it had at its disposal and any enemies to the empire were not fully known at this time. But you knew enough to recognise that this was almost certainly going to be the biggest opponent you'd face soon, so with the time available you'd have to prepare for it well.

Yet not all reports of what the scouting party had found were about enemies and potential hostile threats, the Maelstrom was famous for more than just how deadly it was. There was a reason why the Emperor of Mankind, the Mechanicum and countless others were so invested in what laid inside the roiling tides.

A space hulk, named the Crown of Thunder, had been discovered at the edge of an otherwise fairly unnoteworthy system. At least fifty different ships had been fused together to make up its bulk, and relatively untainted by the Immaterium's influence due to several Gellar field generators still working despite however long it had been.

It had turned out to be relatively empty of threats, only a few minor daemons lurking in one corner, but filled to the brim with treasures. The armoury of one battleship was almost fully intact, containing enough haywire explosives to supplement your entire Legion and grant Solarus no end of inspiration. That would have been an amazing find on its own, if not for the fact that another nearly intact storage was found on another vessel from the Dark Age of Technology.

While not weapons or tools in the traditional sense, the area was reinforced in a way that showed just how the cargo was intended to be used. The locking mechanisms had thankfully degraded in a way where they could be bypassed than being totally unusable, as ten million stasis units were depowered and allowed the humans to finally emerge after what had to have been millenia inside.

Calling themselves 'Men of Clay', everyone inside was a type of artificial humanoid meant to act as an biological version of Men of Iron that was meant to be cost effective and easier to control by whomever was designated as their master. Unable to provide much more information as to their history, how they were created, where they were meant to be sent and whatever their intended purpose was, they had nevertheless unanimously declared that they wanted to serve you. Which was a welcome surprise compared to facing them, and a golden opportunity to delve into the workings of genetic engineering from mankind's golden age.

But that was a topic for later, you had more important work to do for the here and now. Ignoring the reports of what your brothers were facing near and far, you had to focus on what you were capable of handling here before you could decide what to reduce or split away to help others. Who among your champions were best to send where, and what you could try doing to maximise efforts for minimal loss. Especially after five thousand of your sons had elected to stay behind with the Imperium of Mankind, which complicated matters.

There was also a consideration of what threats should just be ignored. Just a simple glance at everything you had to deal with, juxtaposed with your forces, and it was clear that not all of them could be faced without stretching the Eleventh Legion beyond the breaking point. Even with the fact that two hotspots were dealt with by the Imperial Army, one with a foothold on the planet and another weakened to a notable degree.

Of the most significant threats, the mercenary-descended group might be able to be ignored entirely if they were willing to simply ignore you and not act hostile in any manner. Potentially even able to allow peaceful coexistence or perhaps join your domain, unless your darker suspicions of why exactly they decided to cut any potential ties with the Imperium were true. Although you could easily imagine such a group joining forces with Epsilon-354 if they found one another, or already knew of each other, and you didn't want to think about facing that.

For the hotspots, the world of infectious madness could simply be ignored. The afflicted Imperial Army soldiers quarantined and hopefully cured, and the denizens on the planet itself had no means of space travel and the memetic plague didn't seem to spread to anyone else in the system. As far as you were aware, at the very least.

The planet that belonged to Squats could be left alone, although it could pose a risk to whatever was inside the Vault depending on whatever the cultists were doing to the relics inside such as bargaining them off to daemons. Or simply destroying them so nobody else got them. Or creating a massive bomb or virus or ritual while safe in their stronghold.

The psyker coven could potentially be left unfought, and you briefly wondered about aiding them to ensure that no work of Chaos was involved to taint the growing deity before dismissing that, but the idea of just ignoring the creation of a new god when it was happening in your domain seemed more than a little foolish. You wondered what the old Aztec culture was like.

As you charted out the best ideas for force composition, preliminary foundations that you'd later discuss in further detail with Oriacarius and Karcer Urial, writing down all your reasoning behind each decision and alternate idea, offering suggestions for the newly created Asura and the Men of Clay. But as for your own role in the coming conflict? That was a major element.

There were several things you could do. You could lead a charge against either the daemon world, decimating the strongest lords and hardened armies while your sons rapidly assaulted and took the temple areas, or the infernal factories of Nous, cutting down whatever towering abominations were there as factories were invaded and torn down of their twisted purpose.

You could head to the invasion of Port Kelthuanesh instead of your sons, as indeed everything you had learned of the Aeldari since you had gained access to the Black Library told you enough about what they were capable of. A system sized Chaos fortress, made and thus filled with technology beyond even the capability of Mars to ever design and construct even back during the Dark Age of Technology? Eldar that had willingly joined with the Ruinous Powers, swelling with infernal might to a level that couldn't be underestimated?

Then there was an idea that initially came about as an idle thought, a brief absurdity, before you began to seriously consider it. You knew that your First Captain would have to restrain himself from trying to physically restrain you, or strangle you out of frustration depending on how badly you worded the thought, but the more you though about it the more it appealed.

You could go and deal with the Slaaneshi world of scorpions. Not with Imperial Army support. Not even with other Eternal Wardens. Just yourself against an entire planet of daemons.

Before you had first delved into the Maelstrom, facing the yawning abyss and then rose up as an Anathema while within its roiling depths, you knew that you would have failed in the attempt. Even if you had fought as perfectly as you were able to do, the sheer numbers and strength of the forces would have eventually ground you down. It was just madness to consider, you alone against this?

But you were not who you were before. You had faced an army of daemons that could have conquered an entire sector of the galaxy and killed them all with your own hands. You had gained a mantle that few had ever achieved in the galaxy, with only one other person alive that still held it in this day and age. You had helped banish an ancient rift and caused the Immaterium itself to shake.

You had carved new Runes to use against the fell monsters you faced, Anathema, Psyker, Daemonsbane and even Chaos itself bent by your will. Been awakened as a wielder of the Warp, your body and soul finally back to normal after such an agonising ordeal. With the secrets of your creator revealed to you, knowledge and techniques from the Black Library, you knew that this could be done.

A part that was deeper than the conscious, the mind that dreamt and was inspired by what you felt under the starlight of the Warp, also knew that this was a battle that you had to win. A victory that would not only be recognised by your domain or your enemies, but by the wider expanse of the flowing Sea of Souls. The path that you walked reaching another step. The power of a monster slayer, the mantle of one who fought against ruin, the domain of the Daemonsbane.

After seceding from the Imperium, after all the recent events that had shaken and reformed so many parts of the galaxy, this was a perfect opportunity to show your strength. Strike the iron while it was hot, as the morale in your domain was at a useful yet fleeting height from all you had done and wider knowledge of the Imperial Truth's lies being revealed. Show people what you were capable of, turn the very tide of the future, just like when you had done the impossible and then became Anathema in the Maelstrom. A beacon of hope to push forwards into the night.

You needed more strength, greater skill, deeper knowledge and to do something like this would be the grindstone you needed. A struggle that could make you reach further heights. Every experience mattered, from sparring against psykers and gods to facing armies that were without end to their numbers. Of everything the Warp recognised, strength stood head and shoulders above all.

You would need such things if you wanted to survive the coming years. To be strong enough to defeat the worst the Maelstrom offer. More importantly, to rise to the point where you could protect your domain from the flames of apocalypse lit by civil war or the conflict between the Orks and Khornates.

If you were wrong, however… if you couldn't do this. Well, likely it'd be a shameful retreat, the work of a fool with an ego underserved after how the last compliance you were in went. Or something far worse if the Ruinous Powers payed attention to the fact that you were alone, in a place swirling with the energies of the Immaterium, and sent in enough reinforcements to stop you. Armies that would expand the forces already on the world by orders of magnitude, or Exalted that would delay you or even do worse depending on how many arrived.

Your mind recalled reports of a world that Crescum Auro and Baldur Voluspa had faced, the two leading your Legion on a world of writhing darkness and fatal madness, the report that it was made by a sorcerer that was beyond the capability of even the Emperor himself. That was a hopefully distant possibility, but you knew that it remained.

Regardless what you chose, whether you tried to play thing safely or charged ahead as you typically did, the Maelstrom was once more proving to be a nightmarish beast to try taming. Yet you would do it, slaying every monster and taking every treasure here for the good of mankind. Of the galaxy. Of every living being that didn't serve Chaos or acted in destruction and evil.

You are Kesar Dorlin, Daemonsbane and Anathema, and you once more declare that the Maelstrom will be fully taken.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to make an omake on Kesar Dorlin's new supersoldier types, the Asura, because I really love the idea of them and thinking about the implications of their existence. More than that, I'm really into thinking about how they'll act and who would be the type to become one.
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The Creation of an Asura.

You are Gisha Sonam, soldier of Valhalla, and you were about to become blessed with a new strength.

You had grown up knowing of Kesar Dorlin, of the Primarch that had descended onto the world from the heavens, of the man who had conquered the infernal armies on your world and then ascended to the galaxy to wage war on Chaos there.

He who changed Valhalla from a decaying world on the precipice of either a slow death, the rampant madness of daemon servants or both to the people that lived on the planet free from the influence of the Warp's darkness. The champion that had slain a Lord of Change that had arrived on the battlefield, a creature so foul and deadly that an entire army might fall to its spells or bend their knees to its psychic whims. He who would one day rise up and banish the Maelstrom, a rift into the howling Warp near the centre of the very galaxy.

It was not just him that had done that last act, of course. The Emperor of Mankind himself had utilised his own radiant might to actually cast out the corruption from the stars, as expected of one who had mastered the Warp enough to create such things as his sons. Perturabo, Jaghatai Khan and Roboute Guilliman and their sons were all justly lauded for their actions in warfare. Indeed it would be shameful to ever disregard the will and capability of any who would face the armies of Chaos, especially such vast and mighty ones at the time.

But you and all others from Valhalla, all other worlds that had experienced both the foul presence of Chaos and the mighty liberation of the Eternal Wardens, knew the secret that so many others did not. Kesar Dorlin was no mere warrior, no mere leader of an army. He was someone who could fight hell itself and come out as the victor. He understood the true gravity of the situation, the sheer terror of this threat that could consume the very fabric of reality, and that only spurred him onwards against things that would leave lesser men as husks and carcasses.

Inspirational to his world like nothing else, to his children armoured in black and white, to the soldiers that fought with him and survived the nightmares. Your parents had been there in the Maelstrom when the initial conflict was waged, enduring so much hellish trials that their bodies were filled with exhaustion and their minds straining under such terrible pressure and circumstances.

Then he had turned the tide of the grand war himself. Fighting alone against armies that were meant to slaughter trillions upon trillions, against princes and generals, against all that tried to snuff out the lights of mankind. Becoming a radiant beacon himself, one to follow into the very maw of apocalypse, one crowned as the Anathema. Hope, determination, faith and strength renewed until victory was achieved. Something so impossible to dream.

It was an honour to have a child of Valhalla ascend into an Eternal Warden, knowing that they would one day fight against the very worst of the Immaterium after being taught by Kesar Dorlin himself. A task that was filled with hardship, a role that few could ever truly be envious of, but it was one that had to be done. The monsters attacked themselves many a time, but rarely did they ever turn up a chance at killing and enslaving those unfortunate souls around them.

Due to circumstances beyond your control, and your parents for that matter, you couldn't be one of the ascended warriors of the Astartes. An annoying restriction that you constantly thought about for a long time, having been ready to serve in the war against Chaos to the best of your ability since as long as you could remember, but you could act elsewhere.

While you didn't have the right temperament or intuitive skillset to work as a Witch Hunter, you regularly worked as the bodyguard of them to help them root out any hidden cultists or signs of daemonic influence wherever you could. Then working closely with the Eternal Wardens as the Astartes tried to keep integrating their efforts more with the Imperial Army. One time you ended up working with the legendary Night Watch operatives that were made by Kesar Dorlin's will, learning just what kind of training they went through to be selected as such.

Becoming one of the Night Watch ended up becoming a goal that you would try to work towards, as even if you didn't make it to being selected you knew you'd develop the skills needed to become at least a member of the Solar Auxilia. Dedicating yourself to becoming as strong as possible, as fast and as accurate a shot as possible, focusing everything to keeping yourself alive and whole even against the forces of Chaos.

Time passed in events great and small. More worlds conquered, one lead by an artificial intelligence that wasn't. The announcement of seceding and changes to the structure of the soldiers that stayed. The wider Imperium erupting into disorder, rebellion and rumours of worse things happening. The grand revelation others had that gods were indeed real, as Valhallans all grimly readied themselves for a reality they had already known since birth. While others might be worried or even ready to leave for safer places, you stayed and were happy to do so.

The Rune World project had been finished and the brilliance of the Primarch was seen with its bounty, battlefields able to wield the Warp safely to devastating effect. Writing out guides to dealing with Chaos, the first edition censored to follow the edict of the Imperial Truth and a new one released when that didn;t matter. How much effort he put into working with the Imperial Army, how his sons fought with common soldiers. He was a leader you were ready to give your life for.

Until suddenly, as an Eternal Warden came before you and you alone, something that you could only compare to a miracle had happened for you.

You were called to place away from outside observation, similar to what you had been to with Witch Hunters in the past. An offer had been given to you and, as you were reeling from the shock, a data-slate had been granted for you to read through and see every single detail.

You were chosen to become an Asura, the new type of augmented warrior invented by Kesar Dorlin. One that didn't need the recruit to be a boy or a child to perform, one that experienced and loyal soldiers like yourself were not only able to go through but considered the ideal candidate to become one of their order. The procedure that was considered to be so safe to undergo that the expected percentage for death didn't even come close to double digits.

Enhanced strength, toughness, reflexes, endurance, senses, mental capability and the possibility to better perceive and thus combat Warp-based threats. Greater equipment and training too.

You, for all your skill and loyalty and efforts against Chaos, had been granted a choice you'd never refuse. The dream of all those born on Valhalla that were ready to follow their Primarch's footsteps wherever they lead. There could only be one answer that you could give to the Astartes before you.

Previous duties able to be pushed aside for this new goal, you boarded a ship and were delivered to a new facility you had never heard about before. All your old gear placed away, most of it to be given to a new Imperial Army soldier with a few mementos allowed to be kept or sent to your family members upon your request. Excitement surging within your heart.

You had met with the others that were chosen for this process. Some from Valhalla like you, most from planets across Kesar's domain, a surprising amount of grim looking souls from somewhere called the Cemetery in the Maelstrom. Everyone was here for a reason, earning the eye of Kesar Dorlin or those he had trusted to search for people. There were Night Watch members, Solar Auxilia warriors, and you were fairly sure that one person was a Witch Hunter if memory served you right.

The augmentation wouldn't happen yet, and perhaps never would for some of the recruits here. This was just the first part of the vetting process. Coming here at all meant that the first stage of the trials had passed. To see if any of you were truly ready, and to help ensure that any who were would survive, you would all have to be refined to a massive degree.

Physical training that made your body protest until your willpower couldn't push it forwards, more health check-ups than you had ever gone through in your life, tests of your mentality to judge your condition and how fitting you were to be blessed by this process. Specialised food to ensure that things developed exactly according to what would give the best results. No detail left unchecked.

Able to be clearly seen in some areas was the bright, gleaming Rune of Will that had been invented by the very hands of Kesar Dorlin. A gift to help those already chosen to have the best chance of success. Reinforcing their mental fortitude, to help push them forwards, to become something more than a mere person. Something to ease the weight of the mind, or make it heavier in the right ways.

After the first three weeks of this regime, the actual enhancements began. Injections that had almost immediately taken effect, a painful but manageable process as time passed. Already feeling your stamina growing stronger, as lungs took in more air and hearts beat at a greater intensity. Doctors and genetic experts showing you some of the results so you understood what was happening.

Health monitoring had more than doubled since the injections were made. Minute adjustments here and there for how the body reacted, to make sure that it accepted the enhancements long enough to reach the next stage of the program. More injections were given to some recruits, different types to different areas, measuring the progress of each organ for each person. Rapidly proceeding to ensure that everything went well, to stabilise anything that wasn't acting as it should.

A few people had fallen ill, rejecting the augmentations or having a reaction to them in an unexpected way, but outside of one very unfortunate example the rest of you were proceeding just as expected. More weeks passed, more injections and tests and training, until the next phase began.

You and many others were directed to the surgical chambers where chirurgeons and Tech-priests were prepared for the cybernetic package each Asura would receive. Decontamination rooms, medical pods, complex rows of biological manipulator instruments, analysers, large cogitators, Servo-skulls that had arrays of arms. The place was so advanced that you briefly wondered if this was what it must have been like to live as an Astartes, as someone on a forge world, to be there in the Dark Age of Technology. This level of machinery would soon become one with you.

You enter one of the medical pods take a deep breath that tastes strange to your tongue, manage to last ten seconds before oblivion takes you. You wake up much later, everything feeling strange and different on a level that it was all-encompassing and almost impossible to ignore. The pains of ascension, the price of the power you were so willing to reach towards.

You're handed a data-slate that showcased what happened, able to read and parse information at a rate far better than before, eyes sharp and able to see things at a clarity that was almost startling for you to witness. Implants that were interwoven with your nervous system, centred within the brain. Your muscles entirely removed and bionic alternatives in their place, most of your bones were either augmented with or completely replaced with adamantium, the blood that beat within your heart exchanged for a synthetic variant that was far more rich and capable than before.

The next two weeks would be a gruelling ordeal in an entirely different way. You could barely sleep for the first few days, trying to adjust to everything, as the dull feeling crept up. Nearly crushing things with your newfound strength as you now trained on how to rein it in, careful to touch anything around you. How you had to adjust to sounds that were suddenly so loud, sights so vivid, thinking in ways that made the seconds stretch on. Even just the weight you now had was something far, far greater than you were used to. You had spent weeks training your body, adjusting to the changes, and now it felt like something of a stranger. Something inside not fitting properly.

It's hard, harder than anything aside from fighting daemons, but you manage to keep yourself afloat. Being patient as you listened to all the words and instructions, looked at all the reports, seen tangible proof of your progress. Tried to get comfortable when you could, slowly able to let yourself sleep close enough to how you used to that it didn't feel too odd. It helped most by being able to talk to other recruits that were going through this, becoming Asura. They understood, you all did.

Finally the last phase of the operation was coming up, the final trial that would mark you complete in your new role as part of this force. Where before it was Tech-priests and normal humans who were involved in overseeing affairs, the Eternal Wardens had once more been involved here. To help pave the path, to ensure that nothing wrong happened one way or another. It was frightening to know what they could end up doing. Exhilarating that you would prove yourself worthy to them.

Guided to a deeper room within the facility, one vast and large and almost empty, then to an antechamber before the main space. Tests of a different sort than checking physical health. Mental state questioned, reviewing how you felt, any lingering pain or discomfort, if you noticed any major differences in thought or personality since this began. It felt like a day of queries and tests had passed before you were finally allowed to enter and see what your ultimate trial was.

Things that were similar to the medical pods that had stripped you of your bones and muscles, opened up your nerves and grey matter, but larger and far more complicated. Humming from the outside with the energy coursing through them, various screens ready to give out a plethora of data to observers. These were the awakening pods. Sensory deprivation chambers that would keep you. Filled with a complex liquid that you'd never know how it was created. Meant to be filled with you too, and something you'd never imagine willingly embracing before you came here.

It was simple in concept. After testing who you were as a person, and then upgrading body and mind, now the soul would be next. Locked in dreams for half a year, without anything else as you remained within the tank, you'd be be touched by the Warp. Its energies filtered, purified, only sparingly given.

You and many others enter the chambers and it begins. You do not know when the proto-sleep takes you, but it sends you away while your body remained here. Bound like a ghost to a new shell, after unravelling it until only the thinnest threads remained.

Lucidity comes like tides, the moon that burns in your mind guiding its path. In the half-awareness, you can almost feel your blood recoil against the cold of Valhalla. Touching the snow. Touching the emptiness. Touching the dirt on battlefields that cling to memories on a level deeper than what a mind could normally carry. The faces of your parents, entire conversations that felt so real, then eyes opening into the darkness and closing again. You cling onto your purpose, the mnemonics that were offered to help clear your mind, remembering your training. Your life. Everything that had lead up to this moment, the time that Gisha Sonam would ascend into one of the Asura.

Some days feel like moments. Some moments feel like days, weeks, months. Time itself seems to flow still like the pod you were cocooned within. You feel like writhing as battle-scars open up. You drift peacefully in oblivion dreams. Your nightmares hammer you like iron on an anvil. You burn like coals placed on the fire. You feel the pain of something within you, something fundamental, changing in the darkness. You feel nothing at all. You smile and imagine yourself out there, radiant and able to fight like never before, to make your wish a reality as you faced your enemies as a champion.

After what feels like an age, of memories and ideas and scenes and nothingness, you begin to feel it. An awareness expanding slightly, lucidity being reinforced, water better filling the container. You feel more comfortable. Refined by the experience until you feel yourself awaken.

The pod opens up and light, real illumination finally emerges after six months. Your eyes were sharp and yet there was no discomfort you felt previously at how vivid, how bright everything was. Your very body felt different too, not lighter or shifted. Just… more whole.

An Astartes of Kesar Dorlin comes to review what happened. A Librarian, you remembered from what the data-slates had mentioned, a psyker who could clearly wield the Warp. You can almost see the energy that sparks from their fingers as they look at you, into your very being, and he nods.

"Congratulations, Gisha Sonam." The words solidify the world around you. "You are now an Asura."

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! This is just an omake based on a crazy idea that was made up in the Discord server once that I really, really wanna try at some point. Also, based on this!
-----
The Brighella, Act 3. Or: 'Two Can Play At That Game.'

"I have an idea." The words come out hesitant, the confidence behind them lightly shaking.

He knew it could be done, there was no question about that element. He could withstand this ordeal and come out the other side at least mostly intact. He just wasn't sure that it was a good idea at all.

The weight of that doubt was enticing. The taste of audacity flavoured by recklessness, heroic bravery and something that a fool would lovingly call madness. The Master of the Black Library had no other choice than to emerge from the shadows and ask the obvious question.

There's silence as the idea is fully savoured. A rare form of shock evident on the mask wearing deity, mild by the standards of the god but no less grand by the fact that there was any at all. Millions of years, the War in Heaven, the Fall of the Aeldari and everything that lead up to it had done much to desensitise and raise the standards for what could surprise the Great Harlequin.

Laughter erupts and echoes across the Black Library. It's such a terrible idea. It's perfect.

-----

You are Dyrrasil, Keeper of Secrets, the Envious.

You are Zruvan-Akoman, Keeper of Secrets, the Proud.

You are Gulalug, Great Unclean One, the Joyful.

You are Ankah'Harkil, Bloodthirster, the Brutal.

You Vekhan, Lord of Change, the Honest.

You are the Brighella. Greater Daemons that had once been mighty fragments of the Ruinous Powers, representing the four Dark Gods that had awakened within the Sea of Souls as timeless beings of magnificent destruction. The endless thoughts, feelings and dreams of countless souls in the mortal plane or taken by the infinite hands of corruption giving rise and sustenance to such terrible nightmare suzerains.

You were all so wonderful, so terrible, so mighty and so cunning. Your potential was vast as immortal champions, as children of the gods, as instruments of torment created to wreak havoc across countless victims over endless kalpas in infinite universes. Your limbs stretching beyond the mere few dimensions that most ephemeral beings were limited to, able to reach into their very souls and devour every morsel as by the mere fact of your existence did you hold victory over all else.

The Sea of Souls was yours. The galaxy would be yours, and the next, and the next, and the next and so on and so forth. You would build mountains of gold, temples of ivory and flesh, the barbed forests grown from the bones of a thousand armies for each branch on each tree, the sunlight will be taken and devoured as the constellations were rearranged into dark silhouettes of their former glory usurped by the whims of those so great that they defied the conceptual idea of 'limit' itself. They are those who exist to exist, eat to eat, to expand until they are the only thing. The wheel that would spin forever, the chariot that would charge endlessly as it crushed every life it met under its spiked rims and cloven hooves. This is the purpose of violent divinity, to be free in every way.

Yes, you warred with each other. For you were hatred personified, either brightly burning as the lightning strikes of elemental wrath to the explosive scream of dying stars to even the lesser yet still radiant rage that blossomed in mere beasts. To not strike one another was to not be what you were, whom you were all meant to be. You were split into countless forms because you were not just the gods, but you were their armies, their hands, their weapons, their eyes and voices, their songs and their instruments. You fought different sides, the same sides, yourselves, your own masters. This was only correct, this was the nature of the flame known as 'Chaos' that burned everything.

Yet here you were within the Black Library. Trapped in its walls, its divine domain, its own burning heat that contained you with biting chains and seals. Like books taken from their shelves and then having their contents rewritten, printed over, annotations from the editor. The story that made up your being, the core of everything that you were as daemons, was stolen and held tightly in the hands of one of the few beings not of the Primordial Truth that could dare defy the will of the gods and succeed. Because Cegorach too was a god, a cunning trickster, one who was well-versed in stories and how to twist them just right. To cheat at the game by having the audacity to win.

What was worse than losing to a deity that could challenge the Ruinous Powers at all, for against such venerable beings there was some way to understand this failure, was to lose to their servants.

Zannis the Harlequin, the Spectre of Ruin, who played the role of Chaos and thus knew how to manipulate the act as all good stagehands did. Adding their own spin to the stories, adjusting the notes to better fit the actors and their stage, able to dance in the darkness and sing to the writhing shadows that spilled over you all. Tuning your shackled voices until they sang just right, able to know exactly how your bodies should be moulded to suit the aesthetics, making you fight and dance not to how you wished but to the designs of the Eldar. Bound to Wraithbone bodies, in different forms, reduced to playthings that were directed by mortals when the opposite was what was natural.

You still fought and bickered and screamed and raged at each other, or as much as you could without being restricted as your leashes were pulled, but all of you silently held an agreement that your currently greater and most hated enemy was your jailer and their master. Of course, the concept of a 'greater enemy' was somewhat different for Neverborn than how most mortals that weren't Orks understood the concept. At a moment's notice, for any slight or random whim or perceived insult could any of you decide that one or more of you were the new target above all else.

Yet timeless as you all were, as prone to going where any feeling took you above any logic or reason that could exist, Chaos flowed across everywhere and could seep through the smallest cracks. If- no, when you found a way to escape it would be taken. Not that it would be easy, for losing your true names like this was a living nightmare beyond many possible fates, but the will of a daemon was a hard thing to break indeed. Unlike your victims, you could withstand far more than this.

That wasn't to say that it didn't leave you with something known as fear as you felt Zannis approach again. As your essence was bound to the Harlequin, to the one that stood above and directed the director too, you could feel something passing by from said connection when it was meant to be sent to you. A knowing glance into the heart when a plan was half-made to escape and then excised, a laugh when rivalries flared up to a point that the mirth couldn't be contained, familiar feelings of darkness and desire when you followed the commands you couldn't resist and were used as tools.

What you all felt now, all five daemons of resplendent power, had made you tense up. Prepared with your hated, your contempt, your spite as you were faced with a mixture of intense joy and an alien feeling of nervousness. Not once had the Harlequin jailer felt such anxiety, an uncertainty that did not exist even as they challenged mighty daemons to tricks and games to bind their being. When the fearless felt fear, when a monster challenged the divine fragments of ruin suddenly shuddered, even daemons like you knew that there was a reason for this feeling. A reason you were involved with.

The doors to your chambers opened, the locked away cell in one of the countless unseen corners of the Black Library. Light flooding the room that contained you when you weren't being directly commanded, unable to do anything than either rehearse the pointless stories or pass the awfully slow linear time by promising death to one another. Openly discussing how to kill Zannis was another fun, if useless, way to make the torment slightly more bearable.

As Dryssil, you immediately stand up and smile. "I hope that the Laughing God will replace you with a writhing worm that will know its place as vermin before us. Or better yet turn you into one, so you suffer one tiny echo of the many eternal punishments I will drag your living corpse through."

Discussing how you would bring vengeance to your jailer to their very face, directing all your hatred in a passionate burst, was also a wonderful experience. Speaking quickly with a voice that existed in the heart and soul, able to say so much to another and impress countless vivid details in each word.

Zruvan-Akoman swiftly joins their hated sibling, eager to not ever lose against their rebellious other shard of the Dark Prince. "No, you will be cast onto living flame that shall seep into your flesh until your blood boils. Then I shall pry your soul as an offering to our unmentionable master, so that they shall deliver me back to the land I truly belong than this dull and lifeless palace of dusty books."

Perhaps it could have ended with one voice speaking against the jailer, for daemons are cunning by nature when they were not feral monsters of pure terror, but the childish nature of pure emotion was a stronger beast to content with and when a competition began all daemons would see that they were the ones who won as was rightful and proper for those that emerged from the Eightfold Path.

Gulalug, ever so happy at their wondrous form inside despite how it could only be made by their prison-shell that bound them to the Harlequins, spoke in tones of mocking delight which was then seasoned with a dash of sincerity. "You will be taken to a garden of corpse-fungus, and as the years turn into centuries will your body be stretched across an entire forest. The roots and branches, the muddy earth, the rustling leaves… all will be your body as you feel yourself being pulled to death."

Following what was, to the Great Unclean One, a rather merciful fate, the burning rage of the bull of snarling rage could not be so easily quenched. A wordless rumble of anger emanated from their very body, the symbols of Khaine writhing like molten glass thrown to the wind. Ankh'Harkil spoke with absolute anger. "I will grind your bones into the burning winds of the Brass Citadel, your skull smashed to dust before the great throne, your soul chained to a grindstone which shall eternally spin against the edges of infinite armouries. Thus shall be your fate, laughing worm, for this grave insult. For making me miss the greatest of all wars? Oh, I shall invent entirely new torments."

The lengthy rant, fuelled by pure anger cold as a lifeless galaxy at the end of time and as hot as stars screaming their very nature out into the void, would have continued had Vekhan the Honest not decided that the best way to win this strange and pointless contest while also seeming to be the most attentive servant would be to send a sound of a scream, a frustrated noise of jagged knives being ground against the blade-throat of the screech owls that haunted nightmare realms, and was the closest thing to a genuine sigh that the pure essence a being of Chaos could transmit to another.

"You're going to have us do something awful, are you not?" It was framed as a question, and a very bitter accusation, yet it was simply a statement of truth. As what all Lords of Change would say.

You all turn to the Brighella that went against the script, including Vekhan as they were ready to see how the skein of fate would transpire from here, and a wave of frustration intermingles with the weight of dread and curiosity. This was something new, beyond even just another recruitment act.

Zannis momentarily paused. Every monologue of blistering hate, and sudden question, had taken place in less than a second. They were annoying adept at ignoring all of you if you tried to scream against the Spectre of Ruin too often, or tried to distract the infernal Harlequin at a critical moment. Mental attacks, memetic limbs trying to corrupt their soul, even direct spells and curses woven through this bond seemed to fade away before they even began. The bindings that the Laughing God had forged were great indeed, yet in this moment they appeared to wane.

Appeared, that was the word. You all knew the tricks of your master by now, and knew mortals in general to taste their feelings and discern the quality and purpose of each emotion. They were merely hesitating in what to say. The answer was so important they they needed to think before they spoke, which was a rare thing indeed to a Harlequin of such standing.

"Well… a new act has been decided." The ephemeral explained, the term so loaded with double meanings that it was impossible to dismiss. The weight of the Black Library seemed to begin to close around you. As imprisoned spirits, you could sense the very flow of the destiny. It didn't seme good.

"Where are we performing?" Gulalug asked before any else of your number could. Interested at finally being given a chance to act, having done almost nothing since they were captured and become part of your group.

"Who will perform?" Vekhan the Honest inquired, both curious and also gleeful to undercut the young Nurglite before them. It was a simple, easy and all too mundane jab. It was nevertheless so joyful to do.

"We are performing here." Zannis patiently explained, waiting a few moments to let that sink in as they turned to the Lord of Change. You all felt frustration at this waste of linear time, the dull and emptiness of having nothing done for no reason. New words tried and failed to gain purchase over the Aeldari's mind. Complaints were shredded into dust. "And four of you will go, one for each god."

You all stiffen at this, knowing the power that was going to be called and the implications of requiring that. Dyrrasil and Zruvan-Akoman turn to each other and, in the masked glares the two automaton bodies, a thousand vicious arguments go between them. Deciding which of you would stand for Slaanesh, the one who hated the Dark Prince and turned from their grace or the one who looked up to the Prince of Pleasure and would always serve delightfully. Both of you had reasons to indulge in this, both of you also had just cause to stay behind and force their rival to undergo this madness.

You act as the Lord of Change who has their infinite mind whirl with possibilities. You wonder as the Great Unclean One about how best you could play your role as Grandfather Nurgle. You think as the Bloodthirster, as bottomless fury cools in the face of dread, as you ask the question that not even one from the Court of Change would dare ask, yet would happily have asked by another in their stead, for the answer could sap the will of even a god if they knew they were facing the shadow of death. Not banishment, not brief dissolution, but oblivion down to the deepest levels.

"Who are we performing for?"

Once more there is silence. For a brief moment, with something akin to hushed breaths, you all feel no hatred or frustration as the smile on Zannis's mask seems to grow deeper. Laughter echoing.

"The Wielder of Pure Oblivion."

The answer strikes you like an executioner's axe. The title was foreign, invented just for the purpose of inciting terror, and the act succeeds. You know who it is, who you would face. There is a burst of forceful silence that shackles your voices before you could exclaim anything in the face of-

"The Bearer of Fallen Names. The Storm Ruler. The Warpwalker."

The epithets spill over like steps leading towards the edge of a cliff, the penultimate tolls of doom before the prisoners chained together were cast to the swilling vortex. You recognised them more and more, from the translations of the Harlequins to private audiences to the mantles that the Immaterium itself recognised as truth just as it knew that fire burned and water drowned and a sword wielded by a glimmering warrior of enough strength could cut even the deepest shadows.

"The Daemonsbane. The Anathema."

You, the Brighella, the prisoners, the daemons, act according to instinct that defined the very nature of your collective instinct. Trickery, wrath, decay and obsession falter in the face of the collective will that guides you. Destruction, madness, primal feelings taken to somewhere beyond any limitation. You are ready to run into dimensions outside this one, scream with fear, claw out the head of the speaker who dares continue. Yet you cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot even try to silence the sounds that come.

"Kesar Dorlin."

The name that could not be spoken was said. The words that no daemon would dare utter lest it bring about their doom, to summon the very wrath of one who brought death to the deathless, for to be a daemon was to be superstition personified and knew that it was real power as much as a fish knew of swimming, a tree of sunlight, a mortal of the end that would one day come and claim their soul. Seconds pass as the locked up your bodies, the chains that violently kept your essence loosens.

Vekhan the Honest is the first of you to act, able to think quickly as lightning which was sluggish compared to how they were usually able to manifest impossible thoughts but this level of fear was dire indeed, and they had tried to prepare since the possibility of meeting humanity's Second Anathema had arisen.

"Oh, mighty and wise lord of the Brighella." The words come out sweetly and yet they shake with a nervousness that seemed so foreign, so wrong, so absurd for a daemon to speak to a mortal whom was no chosen of the Old Four or Daemonsbane or Anathema. Yet the face of Kesar Dorlin, their shadow, loomed and it was all you could see. "Please, see reason. We are grand, yes, but what could we offer to such a warrior? Do not doom us so hastily, we have so much to offer you. Please."

The begging was a disgusting act that few daemons would ever be reduced to in the face of a mortal. Yet you, all of you, had found that while you could not run, but kneeling was possible. Following the lead of the Tzeentchian element, you all try to do the only course of action to cling to life.

Zannis waited for a few, agonisingly long and silent moments before they began to laugh. Waving you off as they awfully cackled, the cruel and mocking tones so similar to what you would sound like to your victims. Not that any of you saw that or cared about the similarity, cruelty was universal and expected.

"Grant us a little credit," the Harlequin began. "You think we'd waste you all like that, so soon? You all think us fools, and I can't imagine why. No, you won't die. Probably. It'll likely be agonising."

The height of fear, to face total destruction at the hands of Anathema, had slowly been pushed back down from all your roiling cores. Your babbling terror, your promises and pleading, all the words that you spoke because nothing could contain such feelings had abated slightly. Yet the terrible joy of the Spectre of Ruin was still there, still growing even now, and there was no reason that would be good for a daemon of Chaos as to why.

"Tell us plainly!" Ankh'Harkil roared out. "Enough of your accursed humour, what is your intent?!"

Waving everyone into silence once more, an exaggerated sigh of disappointment flowing out, the masked smile of the Eldar soon grew deeper than ever.

"Kesar Dorlin," all of you flinching at the name plainly spoken. "Has asked for a deeper understanding of Chaos. One beyond what is written in book, scroll, tablet, monument and memory shard. Of all that exists within the Black Library, rejoice that only you can fulfill this particular request."

Your collective ego, arrogance and endless pride as beings beyond the loathsome limits of the Material realm told you that there were countless reasons why one should go to listen to your sweet lies and maddening truths. There were very few ways that this could be done that would grant such amusement at your expense, particularly to an individual like the archenemy you feared.

"The manner of this illumination?" Vekhan questioned, already dreading the answer. The other daemons that made your order began to face annoyance again at how the Lord of Change tried to steer the conversation, acting as the leader of the Brighella.

The answer is as simple as can be. One word whispered out like a curse. It strikes as an assassin.

"Possession."

The implications take you a moment, an infinitely long passing between 'now' and 'then', for your timeless awareness to digest. There is only a blissful interlude of confusion before the horror dawns. Your bodies and voices are already locked away before another word could be spoken.

It seemed that there were fates worse than true death that the Harlequins had at their disposal after all, along with the Anathema that they were dealing with. Laughter erupts softly, tinged with disbelief, such a light sound to herald your doom.

-----

There is an idea that could arise from those who faced the monsters of Chaos.

It's not particularly a special or innovative strategy, even back when the act was first considered and then actually succeeded. The Immaterium, to those who understood it as more than just a hellish dream world, was a realm of mirrors. Reflection was its nature, the power of shadows from burning ideas and collective motifs, and belief was its sustenance.

Fight fire with fire. The monster's weakness being its own nature. To use something against itself, whether it was a weapon, a tool, a way to fight, a thought or more esoteric existence. These ideas were resonating strongly within the Sea of Souls since before mankind even came into being, before the War in Heaven had shattered everything, being there soon after the first lifeforms were able to truly think and feel and understand the weight of stories.

How would one use Chaos against itself? The Eightfold Path had entire portions of itself dedicated to that very concept. It was hate and destruction, and it would hate itself and destroy itself as part of the vast ouroboros it represented. The greatest weapon, the greater killer, had no better target than itself, in addition to everything else. To channel that was simple.

Yet to use Chaos and remain distinct from it at the same time, to hold onto purity as one touched the depths of corruption, was a harder question to answer. Over the countless years and countless mortals, answers had indeed arisen. Sometimes whispered by the very daemons they fought against.

One could grab the sword of a daemon and use its sharpened edge to resonate a form of might that could be used to slay other spawn of the Ruinous Powers, especially if one had to already slay such a monster to receive such a trophy. Crystalise the essence into bullets and fire them out of a gun. To use the corrupted artefacts, bound daemon weapons, the spiked talons off a ripped off hand.

All such things were obvious roads to damnation. Items irradiated with putrid energy. Merely being near one would taint the soul. Wielding such things would let one fall down an abyss until they began to use such weapons on the innocent, praising the monsters that had devoured them from the inside out, more tricks to play in the overarching expanse of the Great Game. It was a classic trick.

The best way to safely attempt such things was to fix the weakness, to focus on the foundation for containing and understand before using and thoughts of such matters. In other words, to focus on the self. The mortal's will tested firmly before they would walk the path of damnation.

There were many ways to do such things. Knowing Chaos enough to not be fooled by their schemes, without knowing too much about their forbidden nature or the truths that could split open gaping wounds between realms. Fighting against them and obtaining victory. To channel other parts of the Warp and mastering its power, to stem the tide of the apocalypse with a basal source.

There was a technique that could immediately bring power to fight against the forces of ruin, if it was successful. It went by many names, and could often be done by accident more than by any direct intention, and that was to face possession from an entity of the Warp and, by will alone, either simply survive as one resisted its manipulation of body and mind or even banish it by one's own power.

It would be like tempering a soul like little else could. Beyond any scars that might linger, and if then properly guided on other means to face and resist daemons in other ways, a powerful warrior would emerge. One that while not immune, would be far more resistant and strong against the forces of Chaos than they ordinarily would be. For a psyker, they could wield and channel so much more from the Immaterium without risk. For an ordinary person, they would rise up as a champion against darkness and in extremely rare cases could possibly awaken the ability to channel the Warp.

For an Anathema, one who had risen to the point where they could challenge the Eightfold Path itself and bring low its great armies and champions and narratives, it wasn't needed. It would perhaps not even grant more than a mote of strength to their already hardened soul, like putting a plate of iron before an unbreakable mountain. The experience would only grant knowledge of what another might suffer in their stead, perhaps something to help better understand the feeling of being so close to Chaos. As close to corruption as such a being could experience while being pure.

It was also not unheard of for an Anathema to delve deeply into the power of Chaos. The First Anathema of Mankind had consorted with the Dark Gods on Molech to obtain the power he needed to crown himself as the Emperor. The fact that one of his sons was willing to reach into the depths too, in his own way, was not unexpected. He recognised the futility of undergoing possession to try helping his quest against the daemons he lived to end.

Unless such an individual had decided to go a step further with this concept. To something that was unprecedented. To invite Chaos to the doors of a near impenetrable mental fortress and then open the doors to face it directly.

A battle of wills, a war between thoughts, to not test a soul by casting out the enemy but by defeating it at its own battleground and turning the tide of what should be possible. To disassemble the mind of the invader and witness it at its purest, unfiltered state. To see through the veil of deceit and trickery, the flow of memories from a timeless being, the perception of something that saw reality itself through a lens that no material being could fully understand.

The results of this would not by fully known. Would any mind, even an Anathema, be fully immune to the side effects that could manifest? Could any mortal or half-mortal be able to witness the higher and hidden dimensions across reality and unreality, the angles across space and time and the inner and outer elements that were indescribable? To stomach the emotions, the pride, the rage, the hate, the hunger, the desire, the nature of destruction and poison and torment and nightmares?

To know Chaos as a daemon knows it, to know the Warp and the spells that could be woven by its essence, to touch the power that only fragments of the Dark Gods would ever truly be aware of. Books written by the perspective of daemons already existed, by those possessed by them or merged with them or fouler things that were performed across the scope of eternity by servants of beings that always wished to have another worse thing done to something else. There were so many terrible deeds, forbidden knowledge, secrets written down that were unable to be written again.

Yet even the Black Library did not contain the exact knowledge that could arise from this.

A Greater Daemon from each of the Old Four within an Anathema. Bound to a body and mind that was as against them as four flames cast into the depths of a frozen ocean, as enlightenment was grasped from the very cores of their being.

Perhaps they would suffer death, dissolving against such power. Perhaps they would bear scars that would not heal, forever marked by this act. Perhaps they would be changed in an unseen way, as if corruption had afflicted them as they would do against their victims.

Whatever the case, whatever power and knowledge and other effects might afflict the champion of purity, there was one thing the Master of the Black Library knew and was the only thing that truly mattered.

It would be really funny.

 

[Daemon Hunter]

Spoiler: Winning Vote

[X] Plan: How, How Far, How After?
-[X] How do you plan to overthrow the Emperor?
-[X] How far can the Emperor go before you remake your plan or act early?
-[X] What is your plan for the aftermath of victory?
-[X] Hand him the Emperor's notes too.

"I hear you're seceding," Omegon calmly stated from his seat across from Kesar. "It's a good move these days, provided your economy has some redundancy."

"I've spent years organizing supply routes in what remains of the Maelstrom," Kesar replied with a smile as he poured hot cocoa for the two of them. "Rebuilding the supply lines outside the Maelstrom was only slightly harder."

"Good," Omegon said, relaxing slightly now that some of his worries had been dealt with. "The last thing I wanted was to see the Emperor economically pressure you to the point where you're forced to side with him." Omegon paused, almost grimacing at his next words. "Even if Guilliman would be willing to deal with those sanctions."

"That must have been difficult for you to say," Kesar teased. "Although I doubt I'd have needed his help. Svarga is well built and ready for most eventualities." He instinctively avoided the use of 'all', mainly due to some of the contingencies Oriacarius had shown him. "It would be better if I controlled the Administratum of course, but I suspect every Primarch thinks that."

"Fulgrim, Khan, Leman, and Corvus don't," Omegon clarified, a twinkle in his eye at having managed to attain that information. "It's a shame really, Fulgrim would be the best Administratum head possible."

"Really?"

"He's a competent administrator," the Hydra explained with a shrug. "And more importantly, he's charming and can get people to compromise."

Kesar frowned, an idea fermenting in his mind. "Could we place him in that role?" Omegon looked at him with an odd expression. "Fulgrim doesn't have an ideological reason to side with the Emperor. And if he saw what the Imperium was truly like, he may be convinced to remain neutral."

The Head of the Hydra slowly nodded, the idea moving from Kesar's mind into his. "I lose little by trying," the Hydra mused. "And I could convince Malcador that it's a method to curtail Guilliman's influence over the Administratum."

"Is Malcador worried about Guilliman?" Kesar asked, concerned at the thought.

"Extremely," Omegon said seriously. "He openly collaborated with the Eldar and warp-entities. It's a minor miracle Malcador hasn't sent an assassin."

"...When you put it like that, it's no surprise he would want to curb Guilliman's influence."

"Make sure that you're cautious as well," the Hydra warned. "Erevan has been poking around for information on you."

"Not the Sigillite?" Kesar asked, to which Omegon shook his head. That was odd and could imply several things. "Oriacarius has already tightened security, but I'll warn him specifically about the assassins."

"Good, no matter what, you must remain alive and well." The Hydra declared seriously. "The fate of humanity depends on it."

"A rather dramatic declaration," Kesar replied, trying to relieve the tension with a hint of humor. "But it seems I play a role in your plans to remove the Emperor?"

"My letter said as much." Omegon began counting on his fingers. "Guilliman, Sangiunius, Magnus, Kesar, the four of you are keystones to my plan to remove the Emperor."

"Could you explain?" Kesar asked, both wishing to help Omegon improve his plan and due to his curiosity.

"The Emperor is a single point of failure for the Imperium that he envisions," Omegon began to explain. "If he's killed immediately, then we win the civil war with ease. But we need contingencies, so it's not enough to assume we win. Should the initial assassination fail, we need a place to use as a central core which Ultramar provides. We would need a charismatic figure and excellent commander to rally around which Sanguinius provides, although Horus could do if needed. We need someone capable of operating the Astronomicon which Magnus provides, unless …" Omegon glanced at Kesar, an unasked question hanging in the air.

The Second Anathema frowned, his mind calculating the possibilities of if he himself could run the Astronomicon. "As I am now, I don't believe I could operate it." Kesar eventually said, correctly surmising that his psychic powers weren't strong enough to run the galactic lighthouse.

"I thought as much," Omegon said with a sigh. "But you are needed to act as an anti-chaos force. While the Archdaemons are quiet for the moment, they won't be forever."

"I am taking their holiest of worlds," Kesar said with a smirk.

Omegon chuckled briefly. "And I love you for it."

Kesar smiled widely, before returning to the main topic at hand. "So your plan is effectively a coup, with a military build-up alongside it should the initial dagger fail."

"For the most part, there'll be several shaping operations beforehand, some of which I've already started," Omegon said, his expression turning far more guarded during the latter half of his statement.

"I understand why it would take a while," Kesar commented. "But is there a line when you'll be forced to act early? Or even remake the plan entirely?"

"If the Emperor attacks another Primarch besides Mortarion, Vulkan, or Konrad, then I'll have to act. And things get far more complicated." Omegon said with a grimace.

"Did he not attack Corvus?"

"From now on," Omegon replied, his grimace deepening. "Alpharius … had words with him over it." The unsaid, 'I didn't' spoke volumes about how much Omegon thought would change with his input. "If the Emperor does go after another Primarch, he knows to expect no assistance from the Alpha Legion."

"Wouldn't that allow him to conduct an effective alpha strike?" Kesar asked, leaning forward in his seat. "He knows how you'd react, so he would make that initial blow as damaging as possible. And if he slew two Primarchs in the opening phases, how would you respond?"

"That's why I said, things get far more complicated." Omegon sighed, rubbing his temple as he spoke. "I hope that I'd be able to discern if the Emperor intends to slay a Primarch before he puts a plan to do so in motion. But I'm not naive enough to assume I will manage it. If he successfully kills two of our brothers in an opening strike, I have three options. None of which I like or am willing to share."

"You may have a fourth," Kesar mused, attempting to add his ideas to the mix. "I assume you've heard of my battle with that artificial intelligence?" He felt himself grimace as he spoke. His thoughts on Epsilon were … complicated. But he couldn't deny that the AI would be useful as an ally.

Omegon forced himself to consider the idea, weighing the benefits and severe drawbacks trying to ally with abominable intelligence would bring. "If Kelbor-Hal sides with the Emperor for political reasons, then maybe." He eventually said. "The assistance of the Mechanicum is more valuable than every abominable intelligence out there, but if it's already lost to me then the soulless constructs could be useful. Perturabo is arriving in the Maelstrom soon, right?"

"He is," Kesar said with a nod. "He'll arrive within a month."

"I'll have to pick his brain on the topic then."

"I know he'll enjoy it," Kesar said, a soft smile forming on his face. "There's one more question I have for you brother."

"Ask away."

"What happens after you win?" Kesar asked, his face filled with cautious curiosity. "When the Emperor is either dead or imprisoned and the loyalists have surrendered, what happens next?"

"Significant reforms at all levels," Omegon replied. "While Guilliman would be the better option to spearhead it, Fulgrim could work as well. With Perturabo my third option if needed. The government would be entirely altered based on circumstances and who was in our winning coalition, but every Primarch will have to accept that they will not get everything they want."

"If you don't tell them in advance, they'll be rather unhappy," Kesar correctly pointed out. "And if you do, it'll be harder to sway them to your side."

"Unfortunately, it's what I'll have to do," the Hydra stated unhappily. "I'm not willing to risk a chain of civil wars where the rebel group continues to splinter again and again."

"I don't know if your plan will succeed, or if it will be possible due to an earlier civil war," Kesar stated simply, extending a hand across the table to pat Omegon's arm. "But know this brother. Regardless of the outcome, there's no one I'd trust more to make these decisions and plans."

"Not even Alpharius?" Omegon asked, a distinct mixture of pride, curiosity, and slight envy visible in his expression.

"His specialty lies elsewhere, and in that realm, there's no one I'd trust more."

As the conversation wound down and moved to less stressful topics, Kesar had a decision to make.

[] Share the Emperor's Notes
[] Do Not

With that done, Kesar looked over the Legion's deployment plans. Perturabo had arrived with 25 thousand of his sons to assist with the taking of Epsilon's world. However, scouts had confirmed that the AI had abandoned the planet along with the majority of its infrastructure. However, the facilities left behind to keep the Imperial human and Astartes POWs alive would be very useful for jumpstarting a colony. Still, it wasn't fun for Kesar to leave an enemy alive.

Heroes: Kesar, Perturabo, Oriacarius, Maticus, Doom Slayer, Auro, Durante, Baldur
Astartes: 100 thousand Wardens, 25 thousand Iron warriors
Titans/Knights: Knight House, Titan Legion with an Imperator Titan
Proto Heroes: See informational, the Khalsa, the Triquetra
Mortal Units: Night Watch, Men of Clay
Other: Vigilance, Cherished Son

Warden Worlds Slated for Compliance

[] Hell Forge Nous 03-10-01 - A Tzeentchian world that was originally created by a Mechanicum expedition, orbital readings have indicated a vast computational array. Additional hazards present are significant amounts of high-end technology and notable infrastructure feeding what are suspected to be research labs. Threat Level: Maxima Extremis.
[] Gelidanima 03-03-04 - A world of necromancers, or more accurately biomancy specialists capable of animating corpses. Gelidanima has an extensive array of threats from the countless number of undead corpses, the unnatural cold, an undead monster supposedly on par with the greatest of heroes, and intelligent individuals. The only helpful note is the presence of a minor ally in a small kingdom called the Undying Empire. Threat Level: Maxima Extremis.
[] World of Tormented Martyrs 03-02-15 - A Slaaneshi daemonworld populated by arachnid Xenos, a warp storm that remains around their world thanks to the large number of temples present. These have proven problematic for Imperial Army operations in the area, with reports indicating constant telepathic assaults originating from this daemonworld. With advanced technology and expertise in Chaotic architecture, they are rather well-prepared for an invasion. Threat Level: Maxima Extremis.
[] Skeleton Makers 03-07-13 - Claiming to be an ancient military unit descended from Dark Age mercenaries, they claim an emergency warp jump stranded their ancestors within the Maelstrom. While initially friendly, talks soured abruptly with the mercenaries claiming it was due to the Imperium's policy on abominable intelligence with them citing reasons why it was foolish. Perturabo however has taken a look at the notes and claims that everything they said is either a lie or a gross exaggeration. Something else appears to be driving their reason for cutting contact. Threat Level: Maxima Extremis.

Warden Hotspots Slated for Compliance

[] House Siea 03-01-0F - A partial daemonworld with a small human population, this world has a small Knight House kept active by human sacrifice. Supernaturally skilled and powerful the Imperial Army has preemptively requested support due to the danger posed. Thankfully this world isn't in line with any of the proposed supply lines. Threat Level: Medium
[] [REDACTED] 03-07-05 - A world that seemed entirely normal at first, further scans have indicated a populace infected with unnatural madness. Humans present switch between emotions, memories, and histories constantly. A group has been identified that appears to be immune to this, but the Imperial Army claims they have all attempted to kill guardsmen on sight. Currently, this madness appears to be spreading to guardsmen in the FOB but has not spread beyond the system. Threat Level: Medium
[] CNS Alara 03-10-06 - An old Dark Age explorer crewed by the earliest android models, the entire expedition went insane due to exposure to the warp. The command structure has been replaced with different cults to various Chaos Gods which has caused some tension due to the Khornate section trying to assist with the Blood and Thunder War. Threat Level: Medium.
[] Luskal Bashnom 03-05-06 - A Squat world known for violating contracts and looting other Squat worlds, invasions by human, abhuman, and xenos forces have destroyed the primary and secondary defenses. Chaotic cults have popped up across its surface, but the Imperial Army has managed to adequately suppress them. However, retrieving the artifacts is beyond them and they currently plan on employing large amounts of explosives to destroy the remaining bastions rather than try to take them and the contents within. Threat Level: Easy to Hard.
[] Xiuhpilli 03-05-23 - A set of psykers leading a small human colony that appears to be worshipping a god based on ancient Terran culture. The worship has involved significant amounts of blood rituals and human sacrifice which has led to it being declared a priority to exterminate. Imperial Army forces are en route at this time. Threat Level: Medium.
[] Stracatar 03-02-07 - A strange Tzeentchian forge world whose organization is objectively poorly done that nonetheless outproduces similar forge worlds. This world is controlled by a digital abominable intelligence whose behavior defies basic logic yet somehow still manages to succeed in its enigmatic goals. Surprisingly the Imperial Army managed to destroy the orbital defenses through a few skillful maneuvers. Threat Level: Medium.

Gamma Factions

[] The Ravagers - Emboldenned by a surge in recruitment, this Gamma Camp has been raiding loyal Imperial worlds and looting them to the ground. Known for their brutality, they're most famous for the Rape of Chuerata where an estimated 2 billion civilians perished with another 200 million taken captive. Hated by regiments with a shred of honor, the Black Brigades deployed to quell the violence on Chuerata were disturbed at the carnage left behind. The Imperial Army is mobilizing, but traitors within have repeatedly leaked information and have allowed the Ravagers to escape time and time again. Astartes are urgently needed. Threat Level: Hard.
[] Weeping Sorrow - An ironic name for the members within who are known mainly for their greed. Most believe their name was chosen as an intentional snub, for many members of this Gamma Camp joined due to protections the Imperium placed on disadvantaged parties. As a result, the Weeping Sorrow wasn't allowed to continue raiding from their weaker neighbors which they did not like. Now choosing to take up the "noble" cause of attacking loyal Imperial planets, they are agitating for returning to their raiding ways. Threat Level: Medium.
[] The Lost Boys - Formed from guard regiments that had been created using conscripts below the age of 14, these regiments had proven to be more effective than normal. Mainly due to the ease at which they could be pressured into high-risk tasks. However, as the regiments aged, their usefulness tended to diminish as they began to develop and mature. Unfortunately for Svarga, a number of these regiments had banded together and seized control of a key logistical node. Numbering at 10 billion with a notable civilian presence, the Imperial Army has requested Astartes assistance for removing them. Threat Level: Medium.

Eldar Favor

[] Port Kelthaunesh - An Eldar megastructure that is about to be invaded by a joint force of Dark Eldar, Eldar, Raven Guard, and human auxiliaries the Eldar have called in a favor from the Wardens to supply a hero to either this world or to assist in an expedition to the Eye of Terror. Current threats are expected to be a large number of Chaos Eldar, also referred to as Ulwarth by the Eldar.
[] The Eye of Terror - The Eldar are about to launch an expedition to a Crone World in the Eye of Terror. They would appreciate assistance from the Eternal Wardens in this matter. Unfortunately, the four Eldar scout team has not reported back so the team will be going in blind beyond what divinations have indicated. The expedition will have to account for temporal anomalies, Greater Daemons, Daemon Princes, and three unknown threat vectors.

Identified Daemons of Note

[] Corporal William Carr - An extremely dangerous Honored Daemon Prince of Slaanesh, Corporal Carr is a man obsessed with war. An enhanced human utilized in Dark Age classified operations, he has spent eons participating in conflicts with daemons. The rare occasions he deployed against non-chaotic forces have been devastating. The Eldar have forwarded his expected location in the warp to Kesar in case he wishes to try and end the daemon prince.
[] The Tin Man - An ancient Xenos fused into a Knight Titan, this Honored Daemon Prince of Nurgle is estimated to be 300 millennia old. Disturbingly agile, the Tin Man has been working with the Forge of Souls to upgrade their frame which will take a few thousand years but will elevate their threat level massively once completed. The Eldar have forwarded their expected location to Kesar in accordance to their past deal.

Other Primarchs/Legions

[] Legio Deicidium - A Titan Legion of ancient god machines that has claimed to have slain gods. The princeps of this Legion has declared himself to be one of the Omnissiah's Angels and has turned the world into a cult dedicated to themselves. The War Hounds previously feared they wouldn't be able to conquer it, but support from the Thousand Sons has allowed them to concentrate all forces to take it. However, even with that success is likely but not certain. Threat Level: Maxima Extremis

 

[TinyGladiator]

Like we did with Epsilon-354 last time, can we ask for any Eldar assistance with any of these? Beyond the Crone World and Pre-Fall Eldar Port, I mean.

 

[Daemon Hunter]

Like we did with Epsilon-354 last time, can we ask for any Eldar assistance with any of these? Beyond the Crone World and Pre-Fall Eldar Port, I mean.

Click to shrink...

You can yes, it'd cost a favor for assistance per place you use it.

 

[TinyGladiator]

You can yes, it'd cost a favor for assistance per place you use it.

Click to shrink...

Interesting. What about with Eldar heroes? Do they cost the same as before? Like Eldrad costing 4 favours, for example?

 

[Daemon Hunter]

Interesting. What about with Eldar heroes? Do they cost the same as before? Like Eldrad costing 4 favours, for example?

Click to shrink...

Yep, it costs the same as before for Eldar heroes.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Yep, it costs the same as before for Eldar heroes.

Click to shrink...

I see. Well, just to ensure future planning purposes are more easily made, what does it cost for Fuegan and Jain Zar each? As iirc, those aren't known.

 

[Daemon Hunter]

I see. Well, just to ensure future planning purposes are more easily made, what does it cost for Fuegan and Jain Zar each? As iirc, those aren't known.

Click to shrink...

3 and 5 favors respectively.

 

[Silvis]

So besides the favors. Are we actually required to invade worlds that aren't in the Maelstrom?

 

[bigking321]

His thoughts on Epsilon were … complicated. But he couldn't deny that the AI would be useful as an ally.

Click to shrink...

Yes! That would be fantastic.

 

[Daemon Hunter]

So besides the favors. Are we actually required to invade worlds that aren't in the Maelstrom?

Click to shrink...

You're not required to. But the IA would be annoyed if you didn't help them with the Gamma Canps. That being said it's not technically your responsibility.

 

[Nicholas Brooks]

Yes! That would be fantastic.

Click to shrink...

If we are at the point of Epsilon being an option then shit's gone very wrong. Take heed of the context.

"I hope that I'd be able to discern if the Emperor intends to slay a Primarch before he puts a plan to do so in motion. But I'm not naive enough to assume I will manage it. If he successfully kills two of our brothers in an opening strike, I have three options. None of which I like or am willing to share."

"You may have a fourth," Kesar mused, attempting to add his ideas to the mix. "I assume you've heard of my battle with that artificial intelligence?" He felt himself grimace as he spoke. His thoughts on Epsilon were … complicated. But he couldn't deny that the AI would be useful as an ally.

Omegon forced himself to consider the idea, weighing the benefits and severe drawbacks trying to ally with abominable intelligence would bring. "If Kelbor-Hal sides with the Emperor for political reasons, then maybe." He eventually said. "The assistance of the Mechanicum is more valuable than every abominable intelligence out there, but if it's already lost to me then the soulless constructs could be useful.

Click to shrink...

It's an option for if, somehow, we lose the support of the Mechanicum, which would be damn near a deathblow to us.

 

[bigking321]

I'm just happy he reached the point of even considering Epsilon a potential ally at all.

I think the whole civil war thing is a inevitable disaster. I'll take my bright spots where I can find them.

 

[Silvis]

[] The Eye of Terror - The Eldar are about to launch an expedition to a Crone World in the Eye of Terror. They would appreciate assistance from the Eternal Wardens in this matter. Unfortunately, the four Eldar scout team has not reported back so the team will be going in blind beyond what divinations have indicated. The expedition will have to account for temporal anomalies, Greater Daemons, Daemon Princes, and three unknown threat vectors.

Click to shrink...

So is there a chance of permanent killing a bunch of Greater Daemons and Daemon princes by taking this?

 

[Daemon Hunter]

So is there a chance of permanent killing a bunch of Greater Daemons and Daemon princes by taking this?

Click to shrink...

That it is, same with the Identified Daemons of Note section. Sending heroes to any of these has a chance of true killing various daemons.

 

[Silvis]

You know it's actually really tempting to just invade The Eye of Terror with Kesar and most of our heroes.

It would certainly get a reaction from Slannesh.