# Bleak Eternity



## Myen'Tal

Hello, Heretics, so I came up with a cool idea that I think will be a good story to delve into. This is in the 40k setting, and some of you may recognize the characters in this beginning scene. This is a story mainly about: Daemons. Once again, not sure where this will go, but we'll see where this takes us .

EDIT: I realize that this beginning might confuse some people. I will begin a revision tomorrow to add more clarity to everything. As it stands now, this is mainly a follow up to The New Word.

Bleak Eternity​
A voice on the edge of Mirathir's mind whispered into her thoughts. _You wish to repent. It is not easy. _

The Forlorn City. Nothing more than a daydream of some deity's twisted vision of heaven made a reality. This was a plane of pleasant dreams and good intention exploited to meet the whim of voracious demonkind. A far-flung realm in the warp that was beneath the heel of no Dark God. Bliss and ignorance reigned supreme in this isolated kingdom. A Demoness once ruled over everything within this heavenly bastion. She spread her religion of enlightenment and eternal life across the stars. All in the effort to lure the souls of mortals into her realm. Souls that she branded and made her own, cursed and twisted into her minions. 

The angelic voice would not leave her consciousness. _This eternity you live is a lie. Do you not remember what you were? _

Mirathir was one of her chosen prophets, ancient and powerful too. 

The fallen eldar prophet's ire was rising._ Trade your leash to another master. It is not all bleak prophecy. You can be free. _

The religion of the New Word was lost with the demise of its creator. The tyrannical Demoness was cast in the abyss by one of her own. Her own hopes were dashed at the height of her ambitions. For she would have done what few entities of her power had ever dared beneath the eye of the Dark Gods. She had invaded real space and brought her word to the mortal plane. Now she would never return. It did not help matters when that traitor happened to be one of your few remaining friends throughout the millennia. 

Mirathir smiled._ I trade this leash to this entity in faith that she may rend these bonds placed between us. Be gone, spirit, I shall not suffer such an irritating wretch to challenge me. _

Dazzling sunlight drifted through glassless arches into the throne room. The floors were built of alabaster marble and furnished with fine sapphire rugs. Golden braziers hung from the cupped hands of angelic statues that held up the ribbed vault ceiling. The more Mirathir inspected them, the more alien and out of place they appeared in this hall of demons. The Raven Prophet wore an elegant white robe with a gold trim. The blasphemous markings singed onto her face made her embarrassed when she looked upon the beautiful faces of the mortals that tread the throne room reverently. Her long raven hair spilled across her shoulders and down the small of her back. 

A voice reminiscent of the sound of rushing waters spoke to her. The Raven Prophet looked up toward the throne that appeared to be built by stone that shined as if pieces of the moon. The Demoness that sat upon it was inhumanly slender, but robust with densely corded muscle. Her skin was the color of crystal green waters, her eyes dark as the abyss. Long columns of raven hair poured down her demon-forged armor and spilled across her four arms, which sat upon four arm rests. She lacked her former master's curved horns, but possessed a beatific face of a female humanoid creature. 

Nyst revealed beatific and sharpened teeth in a wolfish grin. “For millennia, I dreamt of the day that I would awake from my eternal slumber and rise again. On the damned planet the humans called Tarmathon IV, I was cast into limbo. My former master, Ba’zariah, had thrown the very essence of my mind into the raw storm of the warp. I asked myself, ‘Why would my most beloved master do such a thing’? I had already searched the past for an answer and found it a rather base irrationality of hers: primal fear. 

“For I, my dearest one, am no mere pawn of the Gods. I am not put into place lightly, pretending to be the most critical piece in the puzzle. I know that am only one thread in a myriad of others that the deities of the immaterium control. If eternity has taught me anything, it is that demonic kind of certain magnitudes should never be content with weaving threads for those above them. They should desire to weave just as many threads for themselves. 

“When I was eventually discovered by you in ruins you had no right sifting through, I finally foresaw my opportunity to tip the scales in my favor. I schemed for another millennia alongside you, guided you toward a more… enlightened damnation. One not wrought with so much pain, suffering, or madness. By your side, I regained my mind and my power, but it was never enough. It would never be enough until the Demoness of all our nightmares had perished by a clever ruse.” 

Mirathir listened, a knowing smile on her lips. “I never knew you detested our master so fiercely. I assume your silence was intended so as not to tempt fate too early?” 

Nyst inclined her head in agreement. “It was. Yet even so, Ba’zariah was too arrogant to ever suspect betrayal from another she had so thoroughly weakened. Vengeance was incredibly sweet in that moment. Not even a taste of bitterness on the tongue.” Her forked tongue slithered over her teeth. “I savored what little I could, but now she is gone forever. I would be remiss to say that I do not miss her. Even if only to rend her soul for all eternity.” 

Mirathir replied in her soothing tone. “Let us not look to the past. Our alliance with the Thousand Sons is broken. Our invasion of Tyrannus has been broken. We should look to the next threat of conflict.” 

“Simple.” Nyst grinned. “That would be here, in the Forlorn City. The minions of Khorne have come for our souls. Their legions are at our gates or so they say. I must turn them back.” 

“Those are demon wars, Nyst.” Mirathir shook her head. “These conflicts, do they not happen often? I mean in the mortal plane. The Imperium maybe on the brink of collapse, but it is regrouping.” 

Nyst groaned with impatience. “Imperials, Imperials, it is all you ever talk about as of late. It will take them centuries to rebuild what has been ruined. Do not concern your weary head with these cretins. If I must war in the mortal plane, I would choose a new foe to combat. After all, you forget that there are multiple threats that plague the Marathon Sector.” 

“Nyst.” Mirathir said. “We are attempting to win a war. Not wreak utter devastation because it is enjoyable.” 

Nyst answered with a smug grin. “The young Tau could defeat you if you ignore them long enough.” 

The Raven Prophet knew how displeased she must have looked. “More of your intuition or actual prophecy?” 

“That answer.” Nyst winked mischievously. “Is not for mortal ears, no matter how blessed by a fallen god. Be gone, Shape Shifter, and see for yourself. When you have seen the truth, gather an army from your liberated stronghold.” 

Mirathir arched a brow. “And what will you do?” 

Nyst boasted, confident. “Challenge the Blood God’s slaves. I’m afraid I can spare you no angels. I must call every demon to my host!”


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## Myen'Tal

UPDATE: Made some edits, it should be clearer now who Mirathir is and where she is. If it still confuses people, feel free to let me know :grin:.


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## Myen'Tal

Mirathir strode through the open doors of the throne room and down the one hundred stairs that led deeper into the Fortress of the Abyss. A sense of vertigo wrenched her stomach as she realized that she walked amongst the clouds. Brilliant shafts of sunlight twinkled against thin spires forged from solid bricks of gold and onyx. Every tower displayed their walkways, completely wall-less and revealed thousands of robed figures that scaled them like ants. 

Mirathir thought haughtily. Hmph. Same arrogant creature that I have always known. Ascending to the throne has not changed her. 

Beneath Mirathir was an endless metropolis that stretched out like the heavens. Rushing waterfalls and rivers ran through the polished streets in an intricate network. They formed a myriad of shapes in the grander scheme of the Forlorn City. In the skies above, winged Greater Demons possessed of angelic forms maintained order across this strange realm.

Mirathir both admired and hated this place, for it was a paradise and another vision of hell entwined together. While the sun shone above the tallest spires, there was an eeriness to its brilliance that she could not explain. Everything hear seemed perfect and yet, those who dwelled here seemed to scream silently for release. This immortal plane existed in a state of limbo that made her truly afraid if she delved into thought too much. 

The Raven Prophet cast her troubled thoughts from her mind. She descended the hundred stairs and onto the open spire that housed the Gateway Nexus. Portals that swirled with unstable energies lined the circular platform. One look into them and she could see what worlds awaited her on the other side. Each was linked to a world in the Marathon Sector, where the eternal war was being bitterly waged. 

A Greater Demon knelt in the center of the spire. She was unlike the centaur creatures that Mirathir had unleashed at the Ghost Crypts. This demonic entity took shape in a humanoid form, furled ebon wings cloaking it from shoulder to feet. The distinctive feature about her was that her pallid skin seemed nearly human or eldar in origin. Her facial features and flowing locks of auburn hair bore similar resemblances. A great double-bladed spear was gripped in one hand and she was clasped in elegant armor. 

The Greater Demon bowed her head. “Prophetess.”

“Aenaria.” Mirathir acknowledged. “How fare the mortal worlds?”

The angelic creature looked up and smiled. “Unending war as usual. Do you seek to travel to a destination?”

“Yes.” Mirathir replied. “I seek passage to my stronghold on Tarmathon IV. There are things that must be… foreseen.”

“Of course,” Aenaria pointed her silver-tipped spear toward a random portal. She glared into its writhing contents until the energies became a placid mirror. “You may proceed, prophetess.”

“You are Nyst’s favored champion.” Mirathir said. “Are you going to fight against the blood tide?”

Aenaria smiled. “Fear not for my soul, prophetess. I shall die a thousand deaths and never perish. Though yes, I shall fight against the minions of Khorne, should my queen demand it.”

Mirahir studied the demon for several moments. “Does she compel you by name?”

Aenaria boasted with cruel laughter. “That is how she compels every servant of hers to fight. If that were not the case, I am certain that our city would have perished in time immemorial. Even now, I doubt that we can best the Blood God’s minions. We have been invaded many times. Crushed many weaklings at our gates. Yet I fear that there is a darker scheme in all of this.”

Mirathir nodded, empathetic. “Fear not, Nyst did not usurp the throne of an entire realm because she could not foresee the future.”

“Of that,” Aenaria said, “I have no doubt.” 

At that, Mirathir donned her hood and proceeded toward the portal. “May the warp grant you strength, Aenaria. Do not be too reckless out there.”


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## Treesnifer

*Snif's View*

The second post hit a good stride, and I'm glad you went back to edit the first.

I haven't made it to your story, the New Word, yet. I'm only about a quarter of the way through Gods Hall. :blush: But if anything, it'd be perfect if you could broaden the descriptions of the first three paragraphs before delving into the conversation. Maybe arrange their order, starting from afar and then zooming in? Sort of like "Forlorn City..." to "The New Word..." and then your intro "Dazzling sunlight..."

Your conversations are very smooth. I like that. Nothing for me to pick at there. :good:

Nice start. I'm looking forward to reading The New Word!


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## Myen'Tal

Treesnifer said:


> The second post hit a good stride, and I'm glad you went back to edit the first.
> 
> I haven't made it to your story, the New Word, yet. I'm only about a quarter of the way through Gods Hall. :blush: But if anything, it'd be perfect if you could broaden the descriptions of the first three paragraphs before delving into the conversation. Maybe arrange their order, starting from afar and then zooming in? Sort of like "Forlorn City..." to "The New Word..." and then your intro "Dazzling sunlight..."
> 
> Your conversations are very smooth. I like that. Nothing for me to pick at there. :good:
> 
> Nice start. I'm looking forward to reading The New Word!


Hey, Treesnifer, thanks for the comment! I'll definitely rearrange the paragraphs and work on fleshing out those descriptions when I get the chance. 

Glad you're enjoying the other stuff in the meantime!

EDIT: Made the changes!


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## Myen'Tal

_The world was nothing but inky darkness, broken by flickering vermillion lights hidden behind twisting corridors. When Mirathir finally fluttered her eyes open, she realized that her world was wrong. Why could she see the floors of the Halls of Aurellan as if they were the ceiling? And… she was suspended in air as if frozen in time. The ventilation within the ship made her breath frosty and her hairs stand on the nape of her neck. In the timed flashes of light, she picked out sprays of blood amidst floating debris. 

“Warning… breaches reported on deck level 87-A, 87-B, 87-C....” Nareen, Aurellan’s artificial intelligence droned on. “Quarantine in progress. Sealing of affected decks in progress,...”

“Mother?” Mirathir heard her voice echo through the corridors. “Is anyone out there?”

The young eldar adolescent sighed in pain as she forced herself into movement. Her fingers traced the cuts that ached on her body, but none of them were a cause for fear. The holes in her suit had been patched. Mirathir discovered only the fallen within the civilian quarters she and her mother had inhabited. Kin she had once known floated amongst the debris, their environmental suits breached and the air sucked from their lungs. Others had been more fortunate, they had been atomized by the direct hit the deck had taken from the Dark Kin’s devastating dark energy cannons. 

“Escape pods,” Mirathir whispered, “I have to find an escape route.”

Mirathir weaved through the floating chunks of wraithbone and remnants of flesh into the corridors of the Aurellan. Distinct popping sounds greeted her pointed ears as she half-crawled, half-glided across the ship’s floor. A more familiar noise answered the use of Dark Kin weapons, Shuriken Catapults. Vicious battle cries shattered the absolute quiet, interrupted by the occasional shrill scream., 

A voice whispered from the ether. “This way.”

Mirathir whirled around, frightened that she had been discovered by the Dark Kin. Yet no matter how keen her eyes, she could not pick out any shapes in the darkness. She was alone. 

The voice crawled into her head, firmly, but with gentle tendrils. “Do not be afraid. This way will you lead to her.”

Mirathir could not explain her instinctive behavior in that moment, but within her heart of hearts, she believed this voice her only friend. She uttered under her breath. “Guide me to my kindred, ancestor.”

Mirathir spun around and continued down the path that led away from the sounds of fighting. In truth, she never remembered where the escape pods were kept on the civilian deck. Yet she knew that this strange voice knew and would guide her to safety. She quickly slipped from corridor to corridor, through open doors that she sealed behind her for the last time. No one would follow her or discover her trail. 

The voice continued to guide her with its lilting beauty. “Salvation is not so far…”

Mirathir slammed her fist into the control panel of a large slide door and as the door closed, a sense of vertigo wrenched her stomach as gravity stabilized. She fell with a loud thump onto the wraithbone floor, painted by the orange glow of lights shining from the ceiling. The ventilation here was flowing and warm. As Mirathir picked herself off the floor, she unsealed her helmet and inhaled a great gulp of air. 

Mirathir arched a brow. Her eyes flicked over a painted message inscribed along the wall. “Proceed through here in case of emergency. Follow the markers to escape pods.” She threw her helmet aside and began to run. 

“Almost there…” Mirathir uttered to herself. “Almost there-”

Mirathir skidded to a halt the moment she rounded a corner into another hall. A tall and black figure stood at the opposite end. Judging by his physique, he was an eldar in origin. One look at his heavy segmented armor, painted in sharp green accents and the great klaive that he wielded in both hands, he was Dark Kin. As the figure slowly turned on his heel, Mirathir gazed into baleful red eyes that peered from a horned and skull-like helmet. 

The Incubi did not gesture for reinforcements or spare a single word for her. He was alone. Mirathir retraced her steps, her breathing turned to short gasps as the Incubi planted one firm foot after the other in her direction. She broke into a sudden run back the way she came. The Incubi’s heavy footfalls resounded through the silent halls as he gave chase. 

Mirathir cried out, slammed her hands against the first door she had sealed in her own haste. She cast thoughts of reopening the passage aside as a shadow twisted around the corridor she had been mere moments before. The pursuit became a twisted puzzle of sorts. Mirathir ducked through random passages and through rooms filled with slaughtered eldar. Even at his highest stride, the Incubi was cumbersome compared to her. Yet that gave her only scant seconds to live as she snagged objects in her haste and stumbled over twisted forms. 

The eldar girl cried out as she tripped over a discarded shuriken catapult and skidded several feet across the floor of a laboratory. The searing heat of an energy field passed over her body by mere centimeters. She rolled aside on instinct to dodge the next cleaving blow. Sparks flew from where the Klaive smashed through the wriathbone. Mirathir snatched the shuriken catapult in the same movement and unleashed what remained of the magazine. 

The Incubi let loose a cruel, boastful laugh as the laser traces embedded themselves into his klaive and sporadically into his armor. Despite the force of the attack, the Dark Kin managed to step forward again and again, even as Mirathir continued to scramble backwards until she was pressed against a wall. The Archon’s elite pressed a firm foot against her chest, a gesture that felt as if a hunk of debris fell on top of her. 

The magazine clicked empty. 

With a mighty display of strength, the Incubi whirled his klaive over his head for the final blow. Mirathir chose not to close her eyes. In that moment, one of the locked doors clacked open and slid aside. The Incubi twisted around in time to see a machine forged from wraithbone march into the laboratory. The Wraithguard held a scattershield in one hand and a great, crackling power axe in the other. The lighting was too dim for Mirathir to make out the colors that it wore. 

The Wraithguard commanded Mirathir telepathically. “Close your eyes!” Before Mirathir could blink, the Wraithguard threw the axe in its grip with a precision beyond mortal limits. The Incubi brought his klaive down to protect his chest, but the blade was angled in such a way that the ghost axe deflected upward and cleaved the Incubi’s helmet in two. The body clattered to the ground. 

Mirathir could not repress herself from screaming as fresh blood splashed over her. The ghost axe embedded itself into the wall mere inches above her. 

The Wraithguard held no soothing words. “More are coming! Find your way to the escape pods! Hurry, child!”

Mirathir regained her composure as she stood. “Where are all the others?”

The Wraithguard shook its head. “You are the only survivor I have found. Soon to be dead, if you do escape! The pods are nearby. I shall buy you time with what little life remains in these artificial bones of mine.”

Mirathir nodded. “Whoever you are, I owe you my life. Thank you.” She raced through the open door that the Wraithguard had emerged through. 

Mirathir discovered the escape pods further down the corridor from the laboratory. When she reached a large view of the galaxy beyond her ship, she froze in horror. She realized that the Wraithguard had spoken more truthfully than she realized. For none of the escape pods had shown signs of use or ejection. At least upon this deck, she would be the only survivor. As she looked out upon the greater space beyond, her gaze was fixed upon the world that awaited her below,

Rumors had it that Tarmathon IV was an empty world, once settled by the Imperium of Man. It’s population had vanished centuries ago. If there was any truth to that, Mirathir would soon discover for herself. 
_


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## Myen'Tal

Mirathir opened her eyes. The last vestiges of the immaterium evaporated on the hot winds of the world that she now stood upon. Light from the relentless desert sun fell upon her face, but by now she was used to its harsh glare. Around her, an arid wasteland rose up in a upheaved, uneven series of canyons and plateaus that stretched across the flanks of barren hills. It was once a lush grassland, the Aeretica Wastes. Now all that remained were the ghosts from wars past, fateful battles that had shaped Mirathir’s view of what the galaxy truly was. 

No soul would ever die on this soil again. Mirathir looked into the future and realized that such a thing could be true. It had been proven fact for over sometime now. 

The Raven Prophet removed her hood and looked toward the opening in the canyon wall. Once upon a time, a great colony from the Tau Empire used to shimmer through that gaping hole in the canyon. The relentless advance of the Imperial Guard had seen it razed it to the ground after much bitter and remorseless fighting, She smirked as her gaze now fell upon a great fortress of ceramite and ferrocrete rise from the remnants of the colony. 

The Fortress of Aurellan hid behind no mighty battlements nor turrets. In reality, it was an ugly parody of the collected spires in the Forlorn City. A burgeoning city spread from the highest towers into the wasteland, encompassed by the same sinister sky that haunted the paradise within the warp. It was only one of many settlements Mirathir had begun after the war for Tarmathon IV had ended. Despite her setbacks on Tyrannus, if the war against the Imperium continued as it had in recent years, Tarmathon IV would evolve from a mere stronghold into a thriving planet. 

Mirathir concentrated and thought of Aenaria. Without effort, pain, or embarrassment, the Raven Prophet’s features began to morph into a similar shape of the image she held in her mind. The only pain was that of ebon wings sprouting from her back in a burst of blood. She blinked the stars from her eyes and realized that the transformation was done. She was a guardian of the Forlorn City in all but name. 

With a mournful laugh, Mirathir beat her wings and launched herself into the skies.


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## Myen'Tal

Aenaria observed the Raven Prophet as she vanished through the portal gateway. The Greater Demon rose to her feet and with a beat of her mighty wings, ascended into the skies. The Forlorn City stretched across the horizon as a sprawling, unending labyrinth. She knew of its limits, however. At the Gates of Sorrow, the Blood God would hurl his legions against the realm’s defense in a hurricane of blood. Despite her human origins, Aenaria was gladdened that she could no longer feel fear. 

Aenaria weaved through the Fortress of the Abyss’ ebon-gold spires. Throngs of angelic creatures darted through the skies, she nose-dived and whirled between them. As the Fortress of the Abyss became nothing more than a distant mountain in the clouds, Aenaria descended into the midst of the Forlorn City. The sweeping tiers that formed the glorious realm glistened with solid gold and alabaster, condensed into mind-altering mazes that would keep the mortals reclusive and puzzled. 

The angelic demon descended toward her destination: a half-sunken tower that sprang from a writhing lake. The structure was decorated with many white arches on multiple levels, encased completely in polished limestone. The tower was composed of several floors, each slightly smaller than the last. Locked away in the heart of the fourth floor was a great clock that ticked only whilst crimson flames danced upon the tower’s eyrie. The flames would change color every hour, Aenaria knew, and represented something more than the passing of time. 

“Aenaria.” Nessana, another angelic demon of coal-black skin and pulsating crimson runes descended from the toppled pillar that she stood vigil from. She revealed sharpened teeth in a lopsided grin. “You are not called. What is it you seek?”


“Nessana.” Aenaria acknowledged with an imperceptible nod. “I have come to gutter the flames of the Soulless Tower.”

Nessana’s smile twitched. “I am not the champion of the Demoness. I am not of rank to halt you.” She glared daggers at Aenaria. “You know the chosen are not ready.”

“They must be, Nessana.” Aenaria leaned on her great spear. “Come, join me. What stage have they reached?” She glided around Nessana and toward the gates of the tower. 


“No longer mortal by any means.” Nessana replied. “Give them more time, Aenaria. A few hundred more of our kin could turn the tide against whatever mongrels are barking at our gates! Dark Gods… Pah! They will fall to divine wrath as they have always done.”


Aenaria halted and turned to Nessana. Her expression was bleak. “There is no time. They must be ready for combat as they are.” The silver gates to the tower bellowed open. A shrieking wind rushed from the opening. “As you said, they are no longer mortal. Demonic blood runs through their veins. Their names are written in our annals. Their strength shall be beyond a dozen blood crazed minions. The only thing they lack now are their wings and, of course, their immortality.”


The brilliant light of the Forlorn City faded into shadow, lit only by the flickering presence of dancing sapphire flames upon a thousand braziers. A spherical space distanced Aenaria from the chosen, marked by hundreds of infernal runes that pulsed violet. The Tower of the Soulless was a vast chamber, pulpits carved into nearly every crevice of the limestone walls for tiers beyond counting. 


Beside the unnatural flames of the braziers, inside the pulpits, were the chosen of the Demoness. The souls of humanoid beings that had made a pact to embrace the light of the New Word. Aenaria gazed upward and counted thousands in the blink of an eye. Human no longer, she thought. The flames of the tower changed the very essence of their souls. Diabolic magic polluted their blood and mutated their cells into evolving into another form that was beyond the trivialities of life and death. Many amongst them appeared reborn as mortal gods, but marred with the features of the demonic. 

Aenaria sniffed. She took in the scent of silent suffering and nodded, pleased. “They are ready to fight.” She turned to Nessana. “Gather our kin and prepare these chosen for battle. I shall see the Flame of the Soulless guttered.”

Nessana gave Aenaria a dark stare. “I hope you know what you are doing. Without the next generation of chosen, this realm could fall into anarchy.”

“Are you scared?” Aenaria teased. “The mortals will never be united enough to threaten us. How ridiculous, an angel worried about an apocalypse.” She chuckled with cruel laughter.


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## Myen'Tal

NOTE: I have added another part to the first chapter, just before Aenaria's point of view. I don't know if anyone else agrees, but I think I have been jumping around too quickly to other POVs in this story. So what I am going to do is go back and work on Mirathir's POV for a greater part of the first chapter. Then I'll work on Aenaria's and so on. 

Thank you guys, for your patience:wink:.


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## Myen'Tal

A small part has been added after Mirathir's flashback .

The Gates of Sorrow​
_On the Fringes of the heavenly realms, the Gates of Sorrow ascended from the remains of a devastated world. Legend foretold by the most ancient Demons that the Forlorn Bastion was founded upon a paradise conquered after several eternities of war. The realm's predecessors were of mortal blood and the Demoness responsible for their subjugation lusted not for their souls, but their beauty. Time immemorial ago, the Demoness mixed the blood of her kin into the mortal lineage to breed a new form of demon. And so the angelic guardians were born.

One hundred thousand voices lent themselves to the choir of battle cries that echoed across the Gates of Sorrow. The angelic Host was gathered across five hundred battlements, clasped in elegant demon forged armor. Across the scarred and blackened earth beyond the realm's walls, a great legion of mortals and Chosen were arrayed in battle formation. The mortals were nothing, robe-chafe meant to keep the Blood God's legions pinned in place while the elite performed their killing. 

The Chosen were something between mortal and demon. They were given possessed armor, things that lived and writhed with thoughts of their own. They lacked the unparalleled beauty of the guardians, but each held the strength and inner will of ten lesser souls. They would fight on as long as sunlight twinkled on the horizon and the angels called from on high.

The angelic guardians created a rolling thunder from the clash of their weapons against glistening shields. Nyst reveled in the clamor as she emerged from the Forlorn City. She knew how divine she must have appeared to their naive eyes. The Demoness towered several heads over the tallest guardian without effort. Her armor was painstakingly shaped into the image of writhing serpents on her shoulders and a howling beast yawning on her midriff. The reforged relic blades were gripped in her four sets of fingers. The Sword that Claimed Souls, the Sword of Flames, and the Sword of Decimation. The last among her blades was a personal favorite: the Sword of Bleak Eternity. 

The Gates of Sorrow were too high for Nyst to see anything but a sea of lesser souls. She could not admire their pristine ranks or their glorious standards. Soon it would not matter. The true battle would be in the skies and upon the battlements. 

An earth shattering, infernal laugh shattered the tranquility of the realm. Nyst silently observed the skies around the gates transform into a flux of bruised colors. Thunder bellowed and violet lightning streaked down onto the blasted earth. Chitterling voices echoed through the ether, drowned beneath the calls of countless war horns. Rain began to fall, Nyst was unsurprised that her fingers came away from her face streaked in blood. Khorne''s countless hordes arrived through the blood rain. The Gates of Sorrow quaked beneath the march of countless red-skinned horrors.

At last, Nyst thought, something interesting._


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## Myen'Tal

I apologize for being so late with this. I've been busy with college and being in a writing rut lately, so I haven't been in the mood to write anything but homework . Anyways, I'm a bit rusty, so I guess I have to start working some of that off. This update is a start .

Chapter Two​
Aenaria soared above the Gates of Sorrow on ebon wings, an angelic witness to the endless carnage that the Blood God had brought before the Forlorn City. She elegantly weaved through the embattled masses that fought for the realm above the chaos. Massive beasts created from blood, brass, and honor hurtled themselves through the skies and onto the battlements. Their massive demon forged axes split fragile angelic kin in twain or crushed them into paste beneath their hooves. Around them, a horde of lesser furies swarmed the Guardian Host and tore into them with tooth and claw. 

Aenaria hefted her hoplon shield and smashed another winged creature from her path. The enchanted, double-edged spear in her grip flashed from her person and struck through several of the furies’ bones as it fell. Blood sprayed from the wound as she tore her spear free in time to twirl around a Bloodthirster’s hacking blow as it swept down upon her. She could not avoid the Greater Demon’s bulk, however, and felt the thing’s iron plated knee sink into her chest as it made to crush her into the Gates of Sorrow. 

A combination of raven hair and snow-white wings suddenly assaulted the Greater Demon during its descent. The beast’s twin axes whirled around its sinewy wings and bright arcs of blood fell across the blood mist in the air. Aenaria could only glimpse slivers of quicksilver shining in her eyes and the screams of the ferocious creature attempting to slay her. One moment, she was flung toward the earth as if a meteor. In the next, pieces of red-skinned gore rained down upon her and splattered her with black blood. 

A momentous force slammed into Aenaria’s left flank and pulled her back into the skies. Nessana held her in one arm, the other holding a great infernal blade that pulsed with emerald light. The dark-skinned angel smiled down upon Aenaria before she released her hold and sliced through a throng of furies on route to intercept her. Determined to follow, Aenaria beat her wings furiously and entered back into the fray. 

Nessana thundered from scant feet above her. “Our forces are doing well! Khorne’s talons cannot find purchase on the battlements!”

“Our fortunes are good in the air, at least.” Aenaria retorted. “I dare not look upon the battle on the ground. I pray that I sound less cowardly when I slay another of Khorne’s champions!”

“A mortal interest!” Nessana laughed. Her sword beheaded two furies in one sweep. “For you, at least. Your last attempt did not seem so successful!”

Despite herself, Aenaria snorted with brazen laughter as she threw her demonic spear through the skies. The double bladed weapon plunged through the back of another Bloodthirster that wore no armor. With a simple pull of her mind, the weapon unhinged itself from Khornate flesh and flew back into the hand of its owner. She twirled in the same moment and slammed her shield into the teeth of another frenzied winged creature. 

Her laughter went silent as a shrill, keening wail echoed across the entirety of the battlefield. 

A gathering of a hundred angels began to swarm beneath the pair of Guardians. Nessana descended through the battle to join them. “The Horn of the Demoness. She calls for reinforcements on the ground.”

Aenaria nose-dived into the circling formation of Guardians, formed in an impenetrable wall of shields and swords that battered away all the manifestations of malice that attempted to break it apart. Others valiantly risked one of their endless lives to ensure that no Bloodthirster could break through the aerial Cantabrian circle. The Demoness’ Horn sounded another time and the impregnable mass of immortal flesh moved toward its source. 

The ground battle was worse than even Aenaria had anticipated. On the flanks, the mortal ranks of the Forlorn City managed a decent fight against minions of Khorne. Their numbers were many and their valiance was unquestionable, but it was in the center of the battle that their courage counted for nothing. Amidst countless dead, her Demoness fought alone against the relentless tides of Khorne. The enemy had deployed a great number of their champions, war beasts, and shock cavalry in order to break through the center ranks of the Forlorn City. They had been so successful that Nyst’s legions had been overwhelmed and routed prematurely in mass. 

Nyst required her Guardians to shore up the breach in her lines while her rank-and-file reorganized. 

The Guardians descended upon the battlefield in practiced discipline and great numbers. In perfect ranks, they locked shields over mounds of their own dead and advanced their phalanx into the teeth of the enemy. Others simply descended atop their foes and cleaved a bloody path through the throngs of Khornate Heralds and Chariots. Aenaria caught a quick glimpse of Nessana landing behind the enemy lines before she landed at the fore of the Guardian phalanx. 

The Chosen of the Demoness’ shield came up in sync with a hundred others to blunt a collision charge of Bloodletters mounted atop iron-and-brass clad steeds. A hundred spears thrust forward in the blink of an eye. Khornate riders became speared and thrown from their mounts with precise strikes. A dozen of the brass beasts fell beneath the thrust of a dozen spears for each. Others crashed through the phalanx, crumpled shields, armor, and flesh beneath their hooves as they gored others and wreaked havoc. 

One courageous Herald of Khorne leapt from his Juggernaut and landed with his full weight upon Aenaria’s shield. Upon seeing their commander’s fearless act of bloodlust, Bloodletters on foot sounded their war horns and crashed into the ranks of the angelic Guardians.


----------



## Myen'Tal

Aenaria thundered a defiant cry as the Herald of Khorne crashed against her shield with it’s all of its weight. Despite her human strength, her muscles waned and she fell to her knees. The Hoplon shield in her grip became pinned to the blood-slathered earth and she desperately hunkered beneath it’s weight to avoid the pressing mass of a thousand seething blades cutting at the phalanx. She hefted her spear into an overhead grip, shattered through the Herald of Khorne’s spine with a single lance through the small of the foe’s spinal chord. 

As the Demoness’ Chosen made to remove her weapon, several Bloodletters charged into her kneeling form. Their gazes locked eye-level with the standing chosen, their hooves scrabbled over Aenaria’s shield as it she raised it over her body. The Daemons leapt from the hoplon shield and onto the waiting spears from her comrades that caught them in mid-jump. Blood rained upon her shield from the speared corpses from where they dangled mere feet above her. 

Aenaria’s sisters waited until she rolled onto her feet before they discarded the bodies. Other Chosen had swarmed around her in order to protect the weakened gap in the phalanx. Even now, they fought ferociously on the frontlines, traded ten blows for every one that a minion of Khorne could manage to land. 

“Sisters and brothers!” Aenaria bellowed over the cacophony of battle. She shouldered her way into the front ranks. “Wipe this filth from our realm! To your master!”

All Aenaria could see were the quick-silver flash of spear shafts and great swords in the malestrom she had entered. In her grip, the double bladed spear tore through guts and rent through armor with every thrust. It ripped away the innards of demonic fiends with every reversed arc. Her inhuman strength allowed her to wield the great spear as if she used two hands. The weapon spun and parried and whirled around her back to cleave away an unsuspecting foe’s head. 

Hours passed, but they felt like fleeting minutes to Aenaria. Despite herself, after she killed her twentieth Bloodletter, she realized that her arms ached sorely from overuse. Yet the effort had not been in vain. The phalanx proved implacable in its advance, in spite of the number of chosen fated to die in the struggle. Kindred spirits that Aenaria had known for decades, she had seen split open and crushed to pulp beneath the Khornate meatgrinder. 

_We will arise again, one day… and celebrate our eternal victory over this nemesis!_

By the time Aenaria and the first ranks of the Chosen had reached the Demoness, their master had already cleared a great path through the hordes of the Blood God. Aenaria marvelled at the sight of Nyst. Her alien form glistened with sweat, her veins thick and oily on her skin, her armor dented and rent in a hundred places, decorated with the viscera of her enemies. 

Nyst smiled without looking. Two of her relic blades flashed from her person and cleaved through a Skull Cannon. “Ah, my Chosen. My heart was filled with woe that you may have fallen before your time. I still have need of you, you know?”

Aenaria slammed her fist against her chest plate. Dozens of Chosen shouted their war cries as they advanced past her. “I am here ever to serve by your side, mistress.”

Nyst quirked a grim smirk. “I have a quest for you, my chosen. I have looked into the skeins of the future. I desire you to return to the forlorn city and prepare a second warhost. You will not be coming to reinforce the Gates of Sorrow, but instead I order you to help the Prophet Mirathir.”

“Mistress?” Aenaria would have bawked, if she were not in the moment of spearing another Bloodletter through the eye. “What about the battle?”

Nyst spared her a fleeting glance and winked mischievously. “I shall take control of this chaos. Do as I bid, immediately.”

Aenaria rested her spear on her shoulder and bowed her head reverently. “Your bidding, eternal, mistress. I shall do as you command.”

Nyst replied. “I also have one more request before you take flight. A special… ambassador of another realm desires my ear for a time. Please, indulge him before you go. You may find him in the Chamber of the Infinite within my palace.”

“Of course,” Aenaria said. “At once, your grace.”

Aenaria unfurled her ebon wings and beat them furiously until she soared into the crimson skies once again. The aerial battle above the Gates of Sorrow was still frantic and relentless, but it was no longer her concern. She weaved elegantly through the fighting, toward the endless labyrinth of the Forlorn City in the distance.


----------



## Myen'Tal

The gateway into the Chamber of the Infinite was thrown backward with a resounding peal of thunder. Silence pervaded these hallow corridors like it were the stuff of the void itself. Robed mortals dressed in ebony robes blended into the shadows, barely visible as they flitted forward to receive Aenaria’s weapon and shield. It required several of them to hold each, but to their credit, they managed their task. The Angelic Guardian strode through inky darkness beyond the gateway into the chamber proper. 

The chamber was encompassed in all-consuming shadow, broken only by runes that pulsed into light around her feet. They forged a broken trail through the darkness until she reached the first of the braziers. Aenaria snapped her fingers and purplish-crimson light blossomed from crevices carved into the emerald walls. Their presence was enough only to light the area surrounding her and nothing beyond. 

An ominous voice echoed from beyond the veil of darkness. It dripped with revulsion and… unnatural properties. “Ah, the ambassador of the Forlorn City, sent on errand by the Matriach herself… Come closer, creature.”

Aenaria strode forward without fear. She knew how fearsome an opponent she must have looked. Her armor was slashed open and dented in a hundred places and she was covered from head to toe in viscera. 

Larger runes lit up beneath her metallic boots as she neared the center of the chamber. The infernal characters pulsated with a thrilling power that Aenaria found intoxicating. Her emotions were second to the whims of her master, however, and she reigned them in deep within herself. Suddenly, more braziers blazed into light around the broad chamber until it bathed in the dark energies of the immaterium. 

The Chamber of the Infinite was Raven Prophet Mirathir’s favorite scrying chamber, Aenaria knew. The eldar kept abreast of all events that spanned the Marathan Sector from this quaint little room. The chamber was a massive dome that blotted out every glimpse of sunlight. The light from the braziers reflected off the crystal ceiling with a brilliant light that made even her sigh in awe. The room was empty, save for a dozen massive thrones that flanked a raised dais meant for the Prophet’s scrying attempts. 

Upon one of those thrones was a Greater Demon of Tzeentch, marked for its avian features, multicolored feathers, and white robe. In one hand it held a staff that tapped impatiently against the chamber floor and in the other was a great crystal ball that swirled with condensed energies. The servant of Tzeentch observed Aenaria with a disturbing disquiet, almost as if looking upon a mere rodent of interest. 

The Greater Demon chortled. “So this is what your Mistress passes as a Greater Servant? Somewhat smaller than I suspected. In my experience, the smaller the creature, the more irritating the bite.”

Aenaria laughed at the Demon’s jest. She said as she approached. “Wise words. That is a lesson that minions of Khorne are still learning. Much to their frustration.”

“Tazaryn.” The Greater Demon replied. “You may know me be such a name. Come, let us discuss the future. Take a seat.”

Aenaria flew onto a throne and perched herself upon it. The Guardian extended her hand in an indication that Tazaryn explain himself. “Tazaryn. You desired audience with my mistress? Has your God sent you?”

Tazaryn flexed his mighty wings. He rasped. “I arrived at your realm of my own accord. Though at the behest of another and to represent the interest of my patron. I have an offer for your mistress, brave Aenaria.”

Aenaria smirked. “I admire your politeness, dear Tazaryn, but I must ask that you come to your point quickly. The Forlorn City is in the midst of a war.”

“Allow me to regale you with a little prophecy.” Tazaryn held his crystal ball toward Aenaria. The demon quirked its avian-like head to one side in askance. Aenaria reluctantly nodded her consent. “Good, good… The Blood-Tide howls like a gale – an all-consuming hurricane that shall annihilate the immortal host gathered against it. The golden spires of the Abyssal Palace shall be torn asunder and the Forlorn City shall be sacked. One endless night of bloody and endless macabre torture shall the denizens of this realm know.”

“Sacked?” Aenaria rose from her seat, her veins thick on her skin from seething anger. “To be sacked is to be conquered for a day! It is unacceptable! You dare bring this news? You must have brought some twisted scheme with you to stop it?”

Tazaryn droned. “The Forlorn City shall be sacked – not conquered. One endless night of bloody and endless macabre torture shall the denizens of this realm know. Countless souls lost to the thirst of the Blood God.”

Aenaria gritted her teeth. “What can be done?”

Tazaryn put away his crystal ball as he replied, “An alliance must be spun between the legions of the Changer and that of the Forlorn City. Fear not, Aenaria, for your master does have an unlikely ally hiding in the shadows. One that seeks to come to her aid from the abyss.”

“Let me guess.” Aenaria said. “Such an ally would be you? Do not make me laugh.”

A hint of knowledge glinted in the Greater Demon’s eye. Tazaryn cackled maniacally. “A great Demoness of a once proud kingdom. One who your mistress believes is long gone from the immaterium. Hidden away in the Crystal Labyrinth, she possesses legions at her back, waiting to be unleashed.”

Aenaria gasped. Realization quickly dawned on her. “That is… impossible.”

The immaterium began to shift and transform around the chamber as Tazaryn meant to vanish from the Forlorn City. Aenaria cloaked herself with her ebon wings from the ethereal energies of the Crystal Labyrinth. As his body became ethereal, he screamed over the howling winds of the warp as they began to take him. 

Tazaryn said. “Tell your mistress, that power can either be shared in the coming alliance or Bazariah will take back what is hers!”


----------



## Myen'Tal

The courtyards of the Abyssal Fortress brimmed with a second army of immortals. Aenaria overlooked the assembly from the hundred stair that zig-zagged from the inner sanctums of the palace and into the skies. The chamber of the infinite and her master’s throne vault loomed over her as if the shadow of an incomprehensibly large mountain. The golden spires transformed into limestone peaks that glittered in the sun. That jutted from the throne chamber as if the points of a magnificent crown. 

Hundreds of Guardians arrayed themselves in formation beside their mortal worshippers. Together, they proved a glorious spectacle in all of their furled wings, infernal armor, and lavish robes. The angelic host presented golden shields, interlocked into an impregnable wall while their demonic weapons rested upon their shoulders. The mortals could only bear one weapon, such was befitting of their status. None would ever hold the sacred shield unless proven in battle, endurance, and faith. 

An ancient pride burst in Aenaria’s heart at the sight of her kin rallied and ready for war. For one fleeting moment, she had almost forgotten about Tazaryn and his dire prophecy. Strange enough, her thoughts became more concerned with the Raven Prophet’s plight with every passing hour. What task had Nyst bestowed upon Mirathir? What mission could be so important as to warrant an invasion into the mortal plane? 

Despite her centuries of wisdom and experience on grim battlefields, Aenaria had only seen the Forlorn City embark upon one venture into the mortal world. Unfortunately, she had not been there to witness Bazariah’s fall. Aenaria had heard the stories, however, and knew the fighting had been gruesome and chaotic. 

The Greater Demons beneath Bazariah’s heel were a different breed altogether from the angelic guardians. Nothing less than cunning beasts. Whatever vision of hell they were spawned from, Aenaria knew not. Bazariah was always known as a secretive creationist and breeder. 

Aenaria hawked and spat. “Good riddance.” She could only hope that Nyst would discover some treacherous flaw in Tazaryn’s prophecy. If that proved to be the case, Aenaria would be the one to plant her spear through his all-seeing-eye. 

A great clamor arose from beyond the fortress walls. Aenaria snapped herself from her reverie and looked to the heavenly palace gates as they were thrown open. The Demoness emerged from a crowd of vaunted voices and weapons being clashed on shields. In spite of the hero’s welcome, Nyst looked far from pleased, and stormed across the courtyard toward the hundred stair. Nyst’s pristine armor was marred completely with the blood and viscera of her foes. Even so, joy resounded in Aenaria’s heart to discover that the four demon-relic swords remained whole and intact. 

_Even a Demoness could perish by those swords._ Aenaria thought._ Such weapons were forged for true Gods, not the puppets that rule in their stead. _

“Greetings, master.” Aenaria banished the thought as Nyst began her climb up the hundred stair. “I have conversed with our mysterious ambassador as you requested.”

“Not here.” Nyst shook her head. The uncountable fangs in her maw were bared in a vicious snarl. “Walk with me back into the chamber of the infinite.”

Nyst replied once they reached the throne vault. Her voice became caustic poison upon Aenaria’s ears. “How is she alive?”

Aenaria shrugged. “Tazaryn mentioned that Bazariah resides somewhere in the Crystal Labyrinth. She regains her strength and an army at her back whilst we spend our own fighting off a petty invasion.”

“Interesting.” Nyst muttered as the throne doors closed shut behind them. “The Crystalline Labyrinth? I have served the Great Changer, many centuries ago, before I realized that creating your own destiny is so much more fun than having someone else doing it for you. I witnessed her premature fall into ruin, myself. She was always masterful in her use of sorcery, she used her spells to utterly decimate any that stood before her. Can you believe what felled her in the end? A simple overcharge of the immaterium. When she channeled her last spell – crack! Her body was immolated in a blinding flash, but she was too tough. Not even that had ended her reign. In the end, I was forced to eliminate her escape route. I rescued Mirathir from the claws of death and ended an entire invasion by myself.”

Aenaria could not conceal the shame written on her face. “Very heroic, your majesty.”

Nyst clucked her tongue empathetically. She gave Aenaria a sideward gaze that hinted of slyness. “Still reprimanding yourself because you were not there? My loyal little angel, you can never be everywhere at once.” She sighed irritably. “What is the matter now?”

“Demoness,” Aenaria fell onto one knee, a fist clashed against her blood-caked breastplate. “I beg you, should you desire to fight Bazariah, I would be by your side. Do not send me away on the eve of the most pivotal battle in our realm’s history.”

Nyst approached her throne and perched herself upon it. The four relic swords were thrust into their scabbards carved into the arm rests. The Demoness planted one hand firmly on her knee and the other three on the hilts of her blades. “You and Mirathir are of one mind in your stubbornness. Once your mind focuses one aspect of something you deem important, you grow this peculiar and humorous obsession. Even in my infinite wisdom, I can only reveal the other paths that you cannot discover.” Nyst’s lips curved into a genuine, pleased smile. “I admire your obsession, it shall not only serve my ambitions, but fuel your own.”

Nyst continued. “Bazariah will not become intimidated by an army of Guardians. She understands how you will fight and more importantly, your weaknesses. Mirathir could use your talents to a greater effect. Have you ever raided in the mortal plane?”

“No.” Aenaria said.

“Hah!” Nyst barked. “What mortal world is safe from our reach? Can you name a Greater Demon that has never spilled the blood of the alien? Leave my sight, Aenaria, and do not return until you bring news of victory. Do not concern yourself too much with my wellbeing, I have no intention of fighting Bazariah.”


----------



## Treesnifer

Nice update. :good:


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## Myen'Tal

Treesnifer said:


> Nice update. :good:


Thanks, Treesnifer :grin:!


----------



## Myen'Tal

The command center was a claustrophobic cell with an appearance of a prison warden’s staging area rather than a planetary head quarters. Mirathir tread gingerly over a metallic floor covered in dense wiring that writhed its way into every crevice. The hologram projector in the center of the small chamber hummed as it revealed the planet Tarmathon IV. A dozen different emblems and markers pulsed across her surface. The floating, transparent globe was surrounded on all sides by servitor-manned cognitor stations. None of them paid Mirathir or her entourage of Sorcerers any heed as they crowded themselves around the projector. 

“I have gleamed the future.” Aitan, a dark-skinned apprentice of some repute, gestured toward a crimson marker that pulsed on Tarmathon’s ancient and ruined capital. “I am aware that our mistress has witnessed the portents as well? The Tau Empire are mere days away from invading our plantary stronghold. The old Imperial capital should be considered as one of their potential deployment zones.”

Mirathir smirked. “True enough, Aitan. None of our strongholds are within reach of the old capital. The Tau Empire could deploy their forces without fear of much reproach. Unless, of course, we mobilized an army with the task of contesting Shailon in mind.”

“Too much risk.” Illyia replied. The young sorceress crossed her arms beneath her chest. Her full lips were creased in a frown. “Maintaining sufficient supply routes could prove bothersome, if what I’ve heard about the Tau Empire is true. That does not even address the issue of potential loss, should that display of raw force be met with overwhelming firepower and destroyed.”

“What do you suggest then, Illyia?” Mirathir touched upon the hologram and the entire planet transformed into the ruined capital of Shailon. 

“Raven Prophet,” Illyia intoned. “Allow the Tau their deployment and let them attempt to claim our fortresses. Our forces shall certainly outnumber their own by a vast margin. Once the aliens commit themselves to three or four sieges, we can then mobilize from our hidden strongholds and take the enemy by surprise.”

Aelius the elder dismissed Illyia with a wave. “Fooling the Tau into thinking that we are weakened will require much sacrifice. Defeating them through your strategy could well mean losing those fortresses entirely.” Aelius shifted his gaze to Mirathir. “You must not underestimate your opponent, Mirathir, the Tau Empire have won victories against more unfavorable odds.”

Decimus added. “Whose to say that the xenos won’t deploy anywhere else? Or will not assault our strongholds directly from orbit?”

“Foolish question.” Mirathir scoffed. “Our orbital batteries will give them enough problems, let alone them attempting to fall right on our heads. And our numbers? We would massacre them piecemeal.”

Decimus added more scoldingly. “Then that leaves only one question unanswered: how do you intend to match the Tau Empire’s firepower? You cannot hope to triumph because of numbers alone. I despise having to play Devil’s Advocate for every strategic plan-“

Mirathir’s eyes turned to slits. “Then do not. You are trying my patience.”

“But we could use stalwart allies.” Decimus continued. “A pity that the siege of Tyrannus has undone so many years of diplomacy. As the ancients used to say, when the war is over, make alliances.”

Aelius inclined his head agreement. “Decimus speaks the truth, my lady.” 

Illyia placed a hand over her heart as she said, “I have confidence that you can win this war, Raven Prophet. I only doubt that you will be victorious in the way that you intend to. There are still lingering strands on the skein that can be tied to our own.”

Aitan said. “Shall I commune with the warp?”

“Unnecessary,” Mirathir replied. “I shall appeal to our Demoness for aid and to those whom I desire be forgotten from your minds. I sincerely doubt that Captain Tyrioc would arrive to our rescue after his humiliation. He suffered much at the hands of Tyrannus’ Imperial forces after Nyst took her premature leave of the battle.”

An elegant, ethereal voice originated from behind Mirathir, by the entrance into the command center. _“Perhaps this Captain will listen to the whispers of his patron?”_

Mirathir recognized such a voice immediately and spared a long glance over her shoulder. “Aenaria?” She said more casually then she would have liked. “What dire news has brought you here?”

“So,” Aenaria furled her ebon wings around herself to avoid catching them on stray wires. She approached the hologram map and gazed into the image for long moments, tantalized. “A mortal world?” She answered Mirathir without looking at her. “Important matters bring me to Tarmathon IV, Raven Prophet, but for your ears alone.”

“Come,” Mirathir smiled warmly. “I would gladly show you Tarmathon IV then spend another moment in this pit. Everyone else, get out of my sight!”


----------



## Myen'Tal

Enter the Tau!:grin:
Chapter Three​

The cabin room 36-01 was one of the higher quality infantry quarters provided by the Kor. The barracks had been designed with the air caste crew in mind. One could tell by the lavish furnishings that decorated the sleek white metallic sheen that dominated the room. Two suits of Fire Warrior armor were locked into their hover-stands beside bunk beds. Dataslates and monitors cluttered a long desk pinned against the far wall. 

Shas’la T’au M’yen Mal’caor watched the empty world beyond the viewport. Legends spread amongst the Fire Caste about the great battle that happened on Aloh Fio, the ‘Earth of Cold Winds’. The Gue’la of the Imperium knew the planet as Tarmathon IV and had abandoned it long ago as a cursed world. An icy smile crossed M’yen’s pallid cobalt skin at the thought. As he continued to polish his pulse blaster from his bunk bed, he imagined what the surface of the planet was like those ten years ago. 

_An empty city, void of everything except blasted ferrocrete and the lifeblood of shas and gue’la alike. The perfect ground to draw an enemy into the waiting ambush of the Kauyon or slay them outright with the mont’ka. Much of the fighting would take place at close quarters, building by building. 
_
What was he doing? These visions of war and hunger for honor and glory were childish notions. They had no place in a shas’la’s thoughts. There was only the Tau’va. Only the Greater Good. 

“Beautiful world, M’yen?” Something malicious was hidden behind Shas’la Or’es’ voice as he made to sit down at the desk. “The graves of countless thousands are buried somewhere down there. The remnants of the last Tau Expedition are scattered across all of that green earth. To think that we could be next… excited yet?”

M’yen laughed. “Ever pessimistic, Or’es. Whatever calamity has transpired on Aloh Fio, it appears that the worst has passed. There’s only gue’la left for us to kill now. I am thankful that is all we will have to face.”

Or’es swept aside digital text upon the hologram monitor. “You won’t be so enthusiastic when you hear about this! Shas’ui Re’Shi has just messaged us. Breacher Team Shadow Hunter is being deployed in the first wave.”

“Ethereal’s blood.” M’yen felt a slight tremor in his heart. “The first wave?”

Or’es continued. “That is not all. Shadow Hunter is deploying with three other Breacher Teams alongside an Infiltration Cadre on a special assignment. It seems that we will be deployed behind enemy lines… the target is a concealed gue’la outpost. The operation will be part of a larger offensive, but the details will be discussed next briefing.”

M’yen shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot tell if this is supposed to be good news or ill. On one hand, we are taken off the frontlines.”

Or’es finished. “And on the other we’re being asked to infiltrate enemy lines.”

M’yen glanced at the armor beside his bed and took in the sight of its onyx complexion. The only hint of color that betrayed it’s presence whilst in shadows was the soft glow of the Breacher helmet lenses and the white shoulder pad emblazoned with the Tau Empire’s icon. That sturdy piece of equipment had seen him through many gruesome combats. 

He wondered how long it would be before it was finally broken open. 
~***~

Two Days Later​
“Greetings, M’yen.” Shas’ui J’karra said as four Earth Caste Members worked diligently to seal her into her bulky XV25 Stealth Battlesuit. The wane crimson light from the hangar bay’s ceiling made her lock of fiery red hair burn ever brighter. She was young, around M’yen’s age and beautiful, in spite of a pair of nasty scars that criss-crossed along her face. “I heard your team will be operating with my own. Are you ready for deployment?”

“Greetings, shas’ui.” M’yen stepped to attention, his armor making his footfalls resound across the Orca’s hangar bay. His helmet cradled in his arm, his gaze picked up subtle readings from J’karra’s intentful stare. She was interested in him. “I am ready to get on the ground and do what I was trained to do.”

“Good.” J’karra picked herself up from her kneeling position. The stealth suit gave her an appearance of a mobile tank. She tested the weight of her fusion blaster in her grip and smiled at the Earth Caste technicians. They quickly moved on to the next shas’la. “I cannot vouch for what will happen on the ground. Despite the confidence of our commanders, our intelligence knows so little about our enemy on Aloh Fio. 

“One would think that the victors of a four-way war would require more analysis rather than overestimation. But our leadership will hear none of that discussion. They believe the Tau Empire is destined to take Aloh Fio without much of a fight. Once we deploy behind enemy lines, we must protect one another as if we were all bonded by the Talissera.”

Shas’ui Re’shi quipped from behind M’yen. “Occupying my shas’la with more of your doubts, Shas’ui J’karra?” The aged veteran had a suspicious and unwelcoming look on his face. 

J’karra glared at Re’shi. “I simply advise caution and a supportive attitude. Though I understand why you Breacher Teams may frown on the idea. Each of you are too hot blooded for your own good. M’yen seems the wisest of your group, so perhaps he will listen and save some lives? But I digress, I will not degrade myself to petty argument. I wish you luck, Shas’ui.” At that, J’karra turned and vanished deeper into the Orca transport. 

Re’shi shifted his gaze to Myen. He chastised, “Do not listen to J’karra and her cautious tactics, Myen. We are Breachers, the first in the fight and the first to die. There can be no room for hesitation on the battlefield if you truly value your life. Follow my orders and you will be fine.”

M’yen nodded. “Of course, Re’shi.”

The Shas’ui smiled. “Join your team, shas’la.”

Another Shas’ui organized the Breacher Teams further within the dropship. “Everyone, take your seats! Place your weapons into their lockers and strap yourselves in. Trust me, you do not want to be unsecured when we enter atmosphere. Breacher Team Shadow Hunter on the far left! Breacher Team Untamed Hunter in the center! Breacher Team Patient Hunter in the far right!”

Ro’va called out. “Look who the ethereals decreed join us. Greetings, M’yen.”

“Good morning, M’yen.” Tel’kyse said enthusiastically. She was already secured in her harness and polished a pulse pistol. “You’re late. You aren’t sick with nerves are you?”

“Are you talking about M’yen?” Or’es arched a brow. “Veteran of half a dozen battles?”

Tel’kyse shrugged. “Sometimes our fears can catch up with us. I did not mean any disrespect.”

M’yen sat himself down between Tel’kyse and Ro’va. He pulled down his safety harness. “I’m fine. Our enemies will not be after the Rotaa, however.”

Eldi slammed on his helmet. “There is no need for nerves. Command does not expect we’ll face much trouble. Just another trial by fire in my eyes. Another test.”

Re’shi joined Breacher Team Shadow Hunter. “We shall soon uncover the truth of that, Eldi. But it is bad habit to be so overconfident. Treat this mission as you would any other. This operation is part of the first phase of our invasion. If it were not important, then we would not be asked to accomplish it. Understood, shas’la?”

The Fire Warriors intoned as one. “Understood, Shas’ui.”

Re’shi nodded, satisfied. “Then prepare yourselves accordingly.”

`***`


----------



## Treesnifer

The Tau. This was an army I've seriously considered picking up when Anfo was getting into 40k and we were playing Dawn of War. Only, in DoW, I couldn't get out of my deployment zone... :blush:

Very cool. I haven't seen any other Tau activity, so this is a nice change of pace and I most certainly like this introduction!


----------



## Myen'Tal

“Helmets on!” Re’shi thundered over the roar of the Orca transport’s engines. The shas’ui of Shadow Hunter locked his helm lenses onto the holographic image provided by a nearby data drone. “Be advised, shas’la, one Rai’kor until atmosphere entry. Brace yourselves, the journey to our deployment zone could get rough.”

The fire warriors strapped into their seats reached for their helms latched onto their weapon lockers. M’yen slammed on his ebony helm in the same moment a wave of turbulence slammed into the Orca. The world vanished beneath a dark filter that lingered for long moments. Crimson data soon streamed upward onto his screen as the lenses in his helmet powered on and provided real-time information on his surroundings. The rest of team Shadow Hunter and the interior of the Orca hangar bay flashed into brilliant life. M’yen assessed the vital life signs and thermal readings that his comrades possessed – and he knew they were also reading his own. 

“Re’shi.” Tel’kyse spoke into Shadow Hunter’s personal communication link channel rather than shout over the roaring flames of an atmosphere being breached. “How many Orcas are being deployed on our mission?”

“Tel’kyse!” The Shas’ui scolded sharply. “How many times do I have to tell you? Remember your briefings! It could mean the difference between life or death.”

“Forgive me, shas’ui.” Tel’kyse muttered and M’yen was certain that beneath her helmet was a flustered expression. “But how many?”

“Two, precisely.” The shas’ui stated. “Ours and another carrying pathfinder and strike teams.”

“Ethereal’s blood,” Or’es moaned over the channel. “I am going to be sick! Can’t this pilot enter atmosphere any faster?” 

Tel’kyse stretched out her open hand in offer. “Take my hand, Or’es. We’ll make it.” 

Or’es nodded weakly, his trembling hand taking Tel’kyse’s own. “This will end soon… This will end soon…”

An explosion rocked the Orca transport so abruptly that M’yen scarcely had time to blink before swathes of the metallic interior imploded inwards. Shrapnel scythed through the chamber amidst a secondary explosion of rubble, acrid smoke, and blue gore. When the hangar bay halted its violent trembling and his vision clarified, it was only then that he saw that an inferno had broken loose. A gaping wound in the Orca gunship existed where several members of squad Patient Hunter had been seated. Survivors that had not been shredded screamed in agony as they were consumed by the licking flames. 

One of the Shas’ui thundered over the chaos at a shas’la attempting to detach his harness. “Ye’Kais, stay in your harness! The Drones will put the fire out!”

If the Fire Warrior had heard the plea of his superior, then he did not deign to show it. Amidst the white-hot flames, Ye’Kais bellowed in agony as they charred his armor. With a solid click and whir of machinery, the safety harness came off of the shas’la. M’yen looked away before Ye’Kais was lifted into the air with such force that he became crushed into the ceiling. Maintenance Drones whirred by moments later and began to douse the flames with flames retardant chemicals. 

The violent pressure of the atmosphere suddenly fell away from the Orca ship as it broke into the skies in a free fall. A sense of vertigo slammed M’yen squarely in the gut as thrusters blazed into life and slowed the descent. M’yen gazed into the crystal blue sky beyond the massive breach in the Orca’s flank, where a handful of Patient Hunter had once been. The remaining survivors of that squad remained in their harnasses, beside the pulverized corpses of their comrades. 

“Out of my way!” J’karra’s voice echoed over the hissing of dying flames. A squadron of maintenance drones cleared from her battlesuit’s path. “My team, prepare for deployment.” 

Several hatches in the Orca’s hangar bay detached their locking mechanisms and buckled open to allow a gust of whipping wind into the gunship. M’yen could scarcely see any of J’karra’s stealth team – their stealth camoflauge fields no doubt activated. One moment, there was only a glimmer of light against a transparent hexagonal field and in the next, the contained flames of jet packs blazed into life. Then almost as quickly as they had come, J’karra’s team had vanished onto the surface of Aloh Fio. 


~***~​


----------



## Treesnifer

Very cool! A fun entry into atmo. :good:

I don't have any constructive feedback, other than I really like your dialog construction. 

After reading a couple times, I wanted something solid to give you. I've said it before - I think you're dialog is a strength of yours. I know you're stretched for time, but here's a blog I follow, it's a gaming/writing blog (a wee left of my political view, but they have good, good stuff) and I am always looking for more foundation instruction. Perhaps you are too. This piece of yours today made me think of this article on dialog, and how well you follow good dialog rules.

This link goes to a three part article on aspects of dialog. The second helped me the most.


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## Myen'Tal

Thank you for the input, Treesnifer, I already gave one of the articles a read. Useful information to know for the future , it'll probably take some practice to actually follow up on some of that stuff properly though. Still, it's good to know :grin:.


----------



## Myen'Tal

J’karra descended through the skies in the midst of a rainstorm, eagerly hurtled toward the verdant earth that rushed to meet her. As she fell through crystalline skies, through harmless rain clouds, the breathe was stolen from her lungs. A great canopy of a temperate forest stretched across the horizon for miles on end, heaved upwards in some places by great mountains and rolling hills. The tongues of vast rivers snaked through the mystic wilderness, reflecting the rays of the midday sun off of their placid waters. The sight was such a striking contrast to the arid plains that she had known all of her life on the Sept World of Tau. 

Aloh Fio was truly a great beauty to behold. 

“Right… Time to execute.” J’karra muttered. Despite the protective enclosure that her battlesuit provided, she could hear the wind howl all around her. She felt the untamed gust weather against her nano-crystalline hide. “All squad members, initiate thruster sequence! We do not want to be in free fall when we break through the forest canopy.”

Ve’sa confirmed. “Copy, J’karra.”

Doran said. “Affirmative, shas’ui.”

Elan replied. “Understood, shas’ui.”

The jump pack integrated into J’karra’s XV25 Stealth Suit blazed into life, sapphire flames roared from her back and brought her to a jarring slowdown in her descent. Data rapidly scrolled across her visor as her battle suit’s internal systems adjusted its calculations for the safest landing. She curled the battle suit’s arms around her faceplate as she hammered legs first into the thick forest canopy. Such was her momentum that thick branches shattered like so many flimsy twigs, each with enough force to hit J’karra with a dizzying impact. She shut her eyes against the rough landing but for a moment and when she snapped them open again, her hooves lightly touched upon Aloh Fio’s rain-soaked ground. 

J’karra spared herself a moment to take in her surroundings as the flames of her jet pack fizzled into nothing. The local forest that she had landed in had taken on a sinister and primeval appearance throughout its centuries of growth. Lush grass that gazed her waist sprang up from every crevice beneath twisted trees, dominated here and there by groves of wild flowers and patches of moss. In the blink of an eye, she counted half a dozen birds whisking themselves through the canopy. Further into the depths of this alien world, strange beasts roared and growled. 

J’karra whispered into her channel. “Stealth Team Cold Inception, report.”

Doran’s voice was the first to reappear over the comms. “Shas’ui? I have landed with Elan some Tor’lek from your position. The stealth drone is with us. We’ll follow your signal and come to you.”

“Shas’ui, I’m here.” A female’s voice broke the tranquil silence mere feet away. Another crimson and ebony stealth suit stomped through the brush into the clearing to join J’karra. “Ve’sa, reporting.”

“Very good,” J’karra managed to sound impressed. “Everyone has made the jump—“ 

The shas’ui was interrupted by a loud thundering sound that made the earth quake beneath her feet. A flock of birds scattered to the winds. J’karra looked up into the endless rain and through the canopy. The Orca gunship Team Cold Inception had deployed from was a small dot in the sky, but one rapidly growing as it neared the landing zone. Then, in a brilliant flash, she noticed what had caused the earlier explosion that had rocked the gunship and nearly killed everyone inside. Several fiery-golden lances of atomizing energy rent through the skies in an attempt to track the gunship. 

J’karra said. Beneath her faceplate, she snarled at the energy lances that seared the sky. “Orbital cannon, they must have detected our presence when we were entering atmosphere. We were fortunate the gue’la only managed to graze us. Wherever that defensive emplacement is located should be our first objective.”

Ve’sa shrugged her stealth suit’s pauldrons. “And here I thought we would be hunting for the gue’la base for hours, at least.”

J’karra waved her hand in the direction of Elan and Doran as they rushed into the clearing. “The gue’la know little about tactics that require concealment. I knew it would not be long before we had our target.” She turned to the hovering hexagonal field that could only be seen due to her suit’s internal monitoring systems. “Drone, resume stealth field. Cold Inception, we have a perimeter to secure and a base to locate. I want to be the first stealth team on the objective. Let’s move out!”

The rain intensified as Cold Inception followed the resounding trail of the Orbital Cannon. Verdant grasses wilted as the land turned into fields of murk, festered with dense groves of flowers and cropping of great and ancient trees. J’karra found that she did not mind the muddy paths through the woodlands. In fact, she was mesmerized by her alien environment. She figured that she may as well enjoy the sights before any combats broke out and the inevitable bloodshed began to flow. 

That train of thought did not last. 

Elan suddenly fell on one knee at the head of the stealth team and raised a fist into the air. He said in a whisper thin voice. “J’karra, I have spotted movement. Forty Tor’leks to the left, in the clearing.”

J’karra wheeled around the other members of her team and knelt beside Elan. Her gaze followed the coordinates, forty Tor’leks to the left into a large clearing that at seemed odds in such a sprawling forest as this one. The resounding discharge of the orbital cannon shook the earth once again and this time J’karra could feel it rattle her teeth. It was then that she noticed a shadow flicker through the underbrush with reckless disregard. A gue’la male dressed in combat fatigues was on patrol by himself, marked from knuckles to shoulders in strange tattoos that made her eyes ache. Cradled in his grip was a standard las-gun and his face was hidden beneath a rebreather helmet. His flakk armor was too pristine, it had not been scarred or dirtied by combat. 

“Hmph.” J’karra huffed. “Ve’sa, wheel around on the contact’s left flank. Doran, take the right. Do not engage. I want to know if he is alone.”

Ve’sa shifted her gaze to her superior. “And if he is not, shas’ui?”

J’karra said. “Wait for my order. I have seen this type of gue’la before. Their military invest heavily warp science. I know what they can do firsthand. We should approach with caution.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

J’karra continued to watch the lone gue’la wonder aimlessly through the forest as Ve’sa and Doran vanished on her flanks. Through the thick foliage, the human was the only presence that J’karra could detect herself. Yet the Shas’ui could not help but feel that there was something off-putting by the isolated warrior. She continued to observe with keen eyes through the her helm lenses as feedback came back from her other shas’la. 

Ve’sa relayed through the comms. “I detect three other targets, shas’ui.”

Doran added. “Other targets confirmed, J’karra.”

J’karra grunted in satisfaction. “Any nearby structures that you can locate? We must be closing in on the facilities housing the orbital cannon.”

Ve’sa answered. “Affirmative. There is a minor bunker complex located a few dozen tor’lek’s from our position. It appears to have undergone concealment measures.”

Elan sighed. “A small outpost, then. Nothing of consequence.”

“I am not so certain.” J’karra replied. “These factors could indicate a subterranean facility. This could be what we are searching for. Even if the orbital cannon is not located near this particular bunker, they could still be connected in some way.”

Elan snickered over the comm. link. “Interesting theory. Only one way to find out, shas’ui.”

J’karra replied with another affirming grunt. “Ve’sa, Doran, proceed to engage located targets.”

Ve’sa and Doran intoned in unison. “Order confirmed, shas’ui. Engaging.”

Through the continuous patter of rainfall, abrupt staccato burst from invisible burst cannons stitched a path through the forest. The only remains of the cyan discharges were the tell-tale signs of hissing rain where water had touched super-heated energy and evaporated. _Click-click-click. Click-click-click_. The gue’la that J’karra had observed had no time to scream before he was shredded by the double-tap of Ve’sa’s weapon. The energy rounds tore through his fatigues like so much wet parchment. They exited through the other side of his body in burst of crimson mist. J’karra listened intently as she watched the carcass vanish into nearby shrubs. _Click-click-click. Click-click-click. _

Ve’sa was first to confirm her report. “All targets eliminated, Shas’ui.”

“Excellent work.” J’karra emerged into the clearing, Elan followed close behind her. 

Ve’sa and Doran had spoken truthfully about the bunker complex. It was a small structure, no larger than one story and no wider than several dozen tor’leks. It had been created with the crude material the gue’la called ferrocrete and had undergone haphazard concealment modifications. The gue’la of Aloh Fio must have been primarily concerned with concealing the bunker from a distance and no closer. Her gaze assessed the strong metallic slab doors that barred them entry, however, and she contemplated on how best to remove it. 

“Shas’la,” J’karra made her way toward the gate of the bunker. “Fall back into cover and assume combat positions.”

“J’karra,” Elan said. There was a note of concern in his voice. “Perhaps it is best to wait until the rest of the infiltration cadre and the Breacher Teams are on the ground?”

“Good point,” J’karra acknowledged. She halted just before the bunker complex and tapped her foot with impatience. “Do you see any points of observation on this structure? Strange, I do not have the nagging feeling that I am being watched.”

Ve’sa began to stomp off around the corner of the complex. “I’ll take a look around.” 

The fire warrior had taken three steps forward before an ominous red light blinked into being atop of the bunker. J’karra only had time enough to blink and register the automated turret’s existence before the weapon spooled into life and unloaded a dozen shell casings in the blink of an eye. A frantic scream tore from Ve’sa’s throat for one fleeting millisecond before her body became a pincushion for a crude gue’la heavy stubber. Her stealth field evaporated in a wave of frazzled electricity and revealed her shattered battle suit, covered in blue gore and lying still upon the earth where it had strayed too close to the bunker. 

“Back, Cold Inception! Back!” J’karra bellowed into the channel as the turret swiveled round to calculate her coordinates. She activated her jet pack, kicked the thruster in reverse, and glided backwards across the clearing back into the tree line. The fusion blaster in her hand kicked heavily, discharged a solid lance of sapphire toward the turret. She cursed herself as the blast narrowly missed its mark. 

Elan and Dorn similarly utilized their jet packs and soared across the skies on trails of comet-fire. 

“Damn, Ve’sa walked right into its sensors.” J’karra skidded back into dense foliage as her feet once again touched the rain-soaked earth. She deactivated her jump pack before she slammed back-first into a primeval tree. 

Doran thundered. “Shas’ui, on your left flank! Another turret! Hidden in the underbrush!”

J’karra wheeled around to her right and squeezed the trigger of her fusion blaster on reflex. The area of dense shrubs that Doran had located detonated with a deafening crack and fiery explosion. The rain intensified and choked the flames. She heard similar explosions rock the earth around her, certainly Elan’s and Doran’s handy work as they eliminated targets before they could fire. Then suddenly another earth rattling boom shook the shas’ui to her very core. Another emerald lance of volatile energies shot upwards toward the sky. 

“Don’t look now,” Elan quipped. “I think their bunker is opening!” 

Siren wails mingled with the sound of tortured metal as the slab doors slid open. Beyond the gate, J’karra felt her pulse spike at the crude, alien obscenities being hurled into the air by at least two dozen soldiers. As the doors finally parted enough, more tattooed and ritually scarred gue’la poured from the crevice and into the clearing. Some protected themselves with the familiar flak armor that the Imperial Guard issued to its regiments. Others wore stranger, sleeker armor or charged out with nothing but their barrel chests to protect them against the xenos threat. J’karra’s calculating stare swept through them with one glance and counted several weapons of note: autocannons, stubbers, las-guns, and even hell-guns as the motley crew charged out with an air of caution. 

Doran laughed. “I do not think they can see us. What are your orders, shas’ui?”

J’karra planted one foot firmly ahead of her body and unleashed another round of fusion blaster. Human heads craned in the direction of the noise and the brilliant flash of light. They promptly scattered the moment the first amongst them had his upper body obliterated by the blast. The second and third victims that remained behind him had half of their torso atomized and arm destroyed respectively. 

J’karra gritted her teeth. “Engage.”

_“Cold Inception to Unseen Moon, we are engaged by hostile forces. My drone is uploading our coordinates. Please, provide reinforcements. Up-linking predicted route to objective. Over.” _


----------



## Treesnifer

So far so good! I'm looking forward to the confrontation with Mirathir, and if she'll take the Tau too lightly.


----------



## Myen'Tal

Chapter Four​
Lord Tyrioc of the Thousand Sons flickered unstably, his holographic reflection depicting him somewhere far away from his display. He was silent for long moments, bent at the knees before an altar of the Great Changer. There was without a doubt, that when he did speak, the quiver in his voice was from silent rage.

Tyrioc’s voice echoed as a soft peal of thunder through his hallow chamber. “Of all the planes of existence that you have travelled, the dream-like worlds that you have seen, you dare unveil your alien nature in my presence? The gall of the eldar must truly know no bounds if you appear before me, unbroken and unbent, with your arms cast wide open in greeting and face smiling with welcome. You should be dead, Mirathir, which would be a small mercy if you had the bravery to visit me personally.”

“Lord Tyrioc.” Mirathir feigned a courteous smile in spite of the open threat. She bowed merely to appease the Thousand Son’s bruised ego. She felt no fear at his cutting words. “It is so good to finally know that you are in good health.”

“Hah!” A sound of quaking vibration emitted from the hologram as Tyrioc found his feet. The Adeptus Astartes was garbed in his sacrificial robes of luminous white, sapphire, and golden bands that decorated his sleeves and leggings and turned a solid almost limestone white at the midriff. He turned on his heel, revealing large eyes the color of the ocean through a mess of short, cascading blonde hair. A genuine smirk played on the edge of his lips. “Your catastrophic defeat has done little to lessen that sharp sense of humor of yours, Mirathir. I had always liked that about you.”

Mirathir quirked a brow, but her expression remained stoic. “Are you not in good health, my lord?”

“This physical vessel is whole,” Tyrioc glided over to a pristine opal table with a gilded trim. He picked up a glass of wine that frothed with a misty chill. “Yet my soul is ravished by the thought of revenge – upon you and the imperials of the world of Tyrannus. Vengeance that I have been wrongly denied. You promised the Thousand Sons a victory to last an eternity, Mirathir! What became of it? Instead, we found humiliation from a renewed, desperate foe and imminent defeat.”

“Apologies, my lord,” Mirathir replied slowly. Her ire was rising. “For saying what must be said. Yet you among all people should have known the risk of your strategy. You blatantly ignored the chance of failure that damned our war effort from the very beginning. And the Thousand Sons were not the only ones to suffer from humiliation and defeat. An alliance is an existence of two factions working in cooperation with one another. Ours failed. Both the Forlorn’s Beginning and your own Astartes share the blame, casualties, and dishonor. Is that not enough for you to call a truce and hear my words?”

The glass in Tyrioc’s fist turned into shards with a simple contraction of the fingers. “You desire to renew your war upon Tyrannus? I shall spare you some paltry advice: your eternal mission has failed Mirathir. In time, the Imperials shall scourge you and your precious little religion as they have with everything that has threatened them before… with the flames of purity and retribution.”

Mirathir’s smirk was an icy glare. “Should that come to pass, then inevitably they shall burn you too. The invasion of Tyrannus is more famed for the Thousand Sons’ part than any lowly cult.”

Tyrioc waved a hand dismissively. “How does your little oath go again, Raven Prophet? 

“I am power.

“With your power, I am your servant.

“I am ethereal.

“With your blessings, I am no longer mortal.

“I am favored.

With your attention, I shall bring thy armies forth.

“I am blessed by the Gods.

“With your endless sacrifice, we pay tribute.

“I am immortal.

“With your benevolent wisdom, we make our endless war.

“I am demonic.

“With your words, we honor the Gods.

“Through your Gods, does the galaxy burn.”

Mirathir blinked, surprised. “I did not think Astartes would lower themselves to learning simple cult prayers, but I am pleased that you remember.”

“The meaning behind that is,” Tyrioc said darkly. “That whatever is spewed forth from the Eye of Terror can never truly die. For all of your prayers, Raven Prophet, you have never set foot there. And as such, I cannot name you amongst Those-Who-Walk-Eternity. Perhaps, you should begin concerning yourself about your own wellbeing. Because I believe, that you are not as immortal as you think you are.”

Mirathir became outraged. But only a venomous whisper emitted from her throat. “So you shall not come to my aid, after all.” 

“No.” Tyrioc shrugged his mighty shoulders. “Go ahead, explain your predicament. I will consult the Changer of Ways and should you have a merit of worth in his eternal scheme, only then will I come to your aid.”

An invisible snake coiled around Mirathir’s heart and finally relaxed its grip. Mentally, the Raven Prophet was smiling. She had the Thousand Son where she desired him.


----------



## Myen'Tal

Just wanted to comment again to thank you, Treesnifer, for your continued support . And also thanks to those that are still reading.

Also, I decided to begin reading Bleak Eternity from beginning to current place in search of any glaring mistakes. And of course, I come across one of Mirathir's dialogue lines. "We must go to war. Assemble my army. We depart for Teyl-Jhen." 

... When did I decide that was happening? 

Sent from my Nexus 6 using Tapatalk


----------



## Myen'Tal

“Is it done?” Aenaria leaned against a broad bulkhead, her raven wings pinned against her blood-slathered plate. “Have you summoned your ally?”


 “All things are revealed in time.” Mirathir stepped down from the raised dais as the holographic projection shuddered into dormancy. “Should Nyst play her cards correctly, I believe we should here from our Thousand Son very soon.”


 “Thousandth Son.” Aenaria rolled the words on her tongue. “Choose your enemies and friends wisely, Raven Prophet. This Tyrioc looks imposing and well-versed in the art of war. Are you certain that you can trust him?”


 “I trusted him once.” Mirathir gestured with a sweep of her arms across the vast chamber of wires and cogitators. “And a world trembled and burned before our combined minds. But you are correct, Tyrioc can only be trusted to a certain degree. Our struggle no longer involves the fate of the Imperium, but our very strongholds. He may very well decide to take everything for himself, should greed and madness push him toward the precipice.”


 Mirathir indicated that they begin walking toward the chamber exit. “If such an imposing figure did choose to make himself my foe, would you remain loyal? Or would you serve whoever was stronger?”


 Idle thrall-servitors powered into life at their approach. They were horrid creations of the Dark Mechanicum, machines of pallid flesh and machine-infused sinew. Yet in spite of the intricate labyrinth of cabling that bulged from beneath their burgundy robes, there was a haunting majesty about the half-human machines. The dark prayers they whispered into the ether as they pushed back the murals that led into the wilderness beyond was something Mirathir had found strangely comforting. 


 “Eternal Abyss!” Aenaria exclaimed. The blinding rays of the desert sun penetrated deep into the chamber the moment the mural-doors could even be creaked open. The Guardian recoiled from the brilliant radiance, but the thralls did not stop until the gateway had been completely thrown back. 


 Mirathir could only smile as she heard the angel gasp in wonderment. 


 The Aeretica Wastes glittered on the horizon, expanding across the east and west. A labyrinth of canyons and plateaus arose from the dunes to surround the Fortress of Aurellan’s flanks. Stretched out beneath them was a writhing sea of urban sprawl, bristling with fortifications, and bustling crowds. Mirathir gazed out beyond the fortress’ high walls and into the open desert that engulfed everything beyond the canyons. 


 Countless thousands had been vanquished in those sands. And yet not a shred of evidence of their passing remained. Nothing but the lingering futility of the lesser races. 


 “Welcome to Tarmathon IV, Aenaria.” 


 Aenaria beat her wings constantly, creating a breeze that cooled them both. “I must confess, to my shame. This is the first time I have set foot upon a mortal world. Can’t say I understand what all of the fuss is about.”


 “You will learn, soon.” Mirathir crooned. “Your forces. How many have you arrived with?”


 “Several thousand.” Aenaria pondered the question. “Enough to aid you in whatever task.”


 Mirathir nodded. “You only just arrived. How long until your troops are ready to fight?”


 Aenaria blinked, she obviously did not understand the question. “Give the order, Raven Prophet, and my host will be ready to conquer the Crystal Labyrinth if need be.”


 “I will not reveal my hand just yet.” Mirathir said. “Though I do not like the idea of you and your horde remaining idle in my fortress either. Keep them under control. I shall have an opportunity to use your talents soon.”


 Aenaria slammed a fist against her chest. “Your bidding, eternal.”


 Mirathir sighed. “Please, Aenaria, I am not your master. Raven Prophet shall be appropriate between us.”


 A distorted, mechanical voice thundered from behind them. “Mistress Mirathir?” Mirathir and Aenaria turned to reveal a Tech-Priest of the Dark Mechanicum looming over them. The creature was mostly machine, snaking forward on metallic tendrils and pointing at her with a bony finger. “Please excuse my interruption, but there are matters that require you attention. Immediately.”


 Mirathir arched a brow. “What has happened, Dominus Tachyon?”


 The Tech-Priest’s inner-workings rumbled. “An improbable event. One of our mechanicum outposts have relayed reports of an attack on their facilities. They also report heavy casualties.”


 Mirathir sneered. “The Tau Empire?”


 Tachyon inclined his head. “This unit has not been able to confirm such findings. Yet all evidence would suggest that such an outcome is likely. With your permission, this unit would begin the process of dispatching reinforcements to the designated location.”


 Mirathir nodded. “Of course, Tachyon. Do what you must to eliminate the threat. Any clue as to what they might be after?”


 “The facility in question happens to also be housing one of the planet’s precious orbital cannons.”


 Mirathir paled. “Send the remaining facilities on alert status. Dispatch reinforcements to every cannon, I do not want a single one falling into the hands of the enemy!”


 Aenaria unfurled her wings in anticipation. “Perhaps I could be of service, Raven Prophet?”


 “Perhaps,” Mirathir said. “Tachyon, summon my Sorcerers. It appears the Tau have come early.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

The doors that led into the Halls of the Unknown buckled backward with a peel of thunder. A dozen scrawny and pathetic looking thralls scurried into the room, bowed and apologized hysterically before the former ruler of the Forlorn City. Bazariah observed them in silence, watched them moved with all the elegance of a nurgling as their forms constantly shifted and writhed beneath their robes. 

 One of the braver thralls dared approach her throne. Bazariah could not see much of him, except the horns that curved out from under his hood, much like her own. She decided that she favored this specimen over the others. 

 Bazariah intoned in her choir-of-many-voices. “You may speak.”

 The Thrall collapsed onto his hands and knees at the mere sound of her voice, but did not grovel. He whispered. “The Demoness and her envoy from the Forlorn City have arrived. They await an audience, your imminence.”

 “Please,” Bazariah favored him with a smirk. “Have them brought before me. It would not do to have our guests begging for meagre scraps as if they were slaves.”

 The Thrall picked himself up and obeyed. “Your bidding, eternal.” 

 The Thrall wisely vanished from sight and moments later, a once familiar sight greeted Bazariah at the doors of her chamber. 

 “Ah, there is my little traitoress.” Bazariah clucked her tongue. “Arrived to finish what you started, Nyst?”

Bazariah reclined further into her throne carved from the bleached bones of a mammoth creature. She perched herself upon the waxed lilac tongue that rolled over a set of heavily filed teeth and spilled messily over the smooth onyx floors. She was dressed in a simple Colchis that barely covered her knees and left one of her breasts neatly exposed, but hidden behind a column of raven hair. 

The previous Demoness whipped her silken hair off her shoulders and made her bangs fly from the curved horns that jutted from her forehead. She flashed her perfect pearl fangs at Nyst in a mischievous grin. Her ebon eyes glared daggers, but Nyst detected a subtle curiosity in those eyes… and something akin to welcome relief. Bazariah casually removed a fragile hand from one of the throne’s tusks and gestured with her bony fingers that Nyst seat herself. 

 Bazariah watched Nyst study her surroundings with the intensity of a true Lord of Change. She cast her pupil-less eyes across the smooth onyx floors and furniture forged from solid crystal. Braziers hung in the recesses of great bulkheads blazed with a dozen fires, each a different hue than the first. The iconography of Tzeentch was emblazoned proudly from every facet. There were no dark rituals that would permanently scar the mind. No dark sacrifices that would bring the attention of the Changer of Ways. There was only the chamber and a magnificent view of the Crystal Labyrinth beyond her glassine windowpane. 

 “You invited me, Bazariah.” Nyst replied skeptically. “It would be rude to embarrass you in the realm of your guest.”

 “You are being rude even as we speak.” Bazariah knitted her eyebrow in quiet frustration. “You are still standing.”

 “Forgive my manners.” Nyst’s cheeks flushed, but that was not enough to stop her from kicking one of the chairs before she sat down. “I never visited the Crystal Labyrinth before. I would rather not be seated on a shapeshifting monstrosity, but if you must have everyone seated.”

 “Please,” Bazariah purred. “Don’t be ridiculous. I often wondered after your swift betrayal, were you always so paranoid? I once thought the fool they called Nyst a single-minded creature, hell-bent on manipulation and games well beneath her. I understand now that I only saw the creature that you wanted me to see. And look what anarchy you have wrought, my dear traitoress.

 “Our Realm is under invasion by the relentless Blood Tide. And without aid from those beyond your power, who are in position to aid you, you are defenseless against their onslaught.”

 Nyst could not conceal her erratic giggle. “Now who is being dramatic, Bazariah? You of all daemons should know what I possess at my disposal. For every mortal felled at the Gates of Sorrow, for every angel shattered from the skies of heaven, countless red-skinned horrors soak the battlefield with their own blood.”

 “Is that enough?” Bazariah shrugged. “You underestimate the power of the Dark Gods. Even I would have… quivered slightly if I were in your shoes.”

 Now it was Nyst’s turn to shrug. “But you would have no aid from Tzeentch in the matter, considering that you cannot be in two places at once. So your position would be far… bleaker.”

 Bazariah made a devilish grin. “So you have considered my pact. You have betrayed my confidence and my trust, and in normal circumstances, I would be inclined to steal your soul and rend it for an eternity or two until we were even.”

 Nyst leaned forward in her chair. “But you desire to rule without risking everything? In the event that you withheld reinforcements from the Forlorn City and allowed it to fall into Khorne’s hands, you know there may be nothing left to salvage. Bazariah, Bazariah, ever do you wound me. No soul was permanently harmed by my little insurrection, you know that all too well.”

 Bazariah grimaced. “I understand all too well what you meant to achieve, Nyst. Against my better judgement, I have offered an alliance in hopes that ruler-ship can be shared. Because two minds are almost always better than one. Do not give me a reason to doubt you, ever again.”

 “Or?” Nyst said coyly. 

 “The Changer of Ways is impressed with my ruler-ship and my religion, a religion that you squandered and allowed to wither into the ether. Tazaryn and I have discussed many strategies that could restore my rule… many strategies that do not involve you. Remember the game you are playing, traitoress, and that those who fumble often only play it once.”


 “So is this how you intend to challenge me?” Nyst replied. “Becoming the Changer’s whore? You disappoint me, Bazariah.”

 Bazariah flashed her perfect fangs in a smug grin. “You have brought my four swords along with you. It is good to see them again and in capable hands. Though I will expect at least half of them back if we are to come to an agreement. And what of my prophets? To what aims have you been using them? And where is my tome of spells?”

 Nyst yawned. “You should ask Mirathir. The menial tasks of religion are her responsibility.”

 “Mirathir?” Bazariah arched a brow. “She resides in the Forlorn City? I owe her a debt of gratitude. Perhaps, if you find our prophets useless—“

 “Absolutely not!” Nyst scoffed. “Mirathir remains by my side, no matter our dealings.”

 “Aw,” Bazariah clucked her tongue. “Still infatuated with her? You cannot cling to her forever. Something is bound to happen to your favorite puppet, Nyst. It is the way of daemons. Why, while we sit here and talk her very soul could be locked away in some dark artifact for all eternity.”

 “You were always one to worry about what could happen.” Nyst made a gruesome smile. “And that makes me wonder: perhaps you’re too paranoid for your own good? All of those centuries spent sending me into the mortal plane proved to be for nothing. After all, I felled you in the end.”

 “Enough catching up, and more action.” Bazariah said. “Is there business to conduct between us?”

 “Discuss your strategy and we shall see.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

NOTE: I changed the previous scene, I didn't think it was that good so I replaced it:victory:. So instead of Nyst landing in the Crystal Labyrinth and starting a fight, instead we have a polite conversation between Bazariah, the former Demoness of the Forlorn City and Nyst.


----------



## Myen'Tal

The Altars of Solitude. The chamber of sacred communion of Tyrioc’s Inner Circle. Here, monuments of heroes long vanquished contemplated in their eternal silence. Four great daises dominated the edges of the spherical chamber, each built beneath the shadow of a fallen hero of the Thousand Sons. Onyx silhouettes slithered across blood encrusted ceramite and dark iron floors festooned with a macabre plethora of chained sacrifices. A chorus of a hundred consumed souls moaned in faint agony, their source a nexus of tainted energy pulsating from the heart of the chamber.

 Tyrioc’s voice drowned out the dead as if a waterfall thundering over the rustling of leaves. 

 “What glory could there possibly be on those millennia-old battlefields?” He said. “If the Thousand Sons spilt the blood of the alien on Tarmathon IV, what would the Sons of Magnus stand to gain?”

Cloaked in the darkness on the far side of the Altars of Solitude, Celeres the First Paladin inclined his head in caution. The humanoid, one-eyed serpent known as Magnus gazed down on him with proud eyes of stone. The First Paladin’s armor was polished cobalt, once golden trim replaced by an overgrowth of bone. Where most sorcerers maintained a simple tabard of cloth or scribbled parchment, one of pure emerald Fire-Drake scales hung proudly from his waist. His heavy helm possessed no signs of corruption, but a lone, crimson plume of hair and a single slot visor that lent him an appearance of a cyclops. 

Celeres’ voice was whisper-thin and razor-sharp. Tyrioc despised the way it wormed into his skull. 

“The dusty bones of a forgotten civilization? The maggot-infested ruins of Nurgle? Neither of these benefit the Thousand Sons in the slightest.”

 “Do not cast your die with such certainty, noble lords.” Acrisius of the Sundered Key dismissed them with a wave of his great staff. Of all the inner circle, Acrisius’ attire was most befitting of a Thousand Sons Sorcerer. But his armor was a striking jade accent, visor-slits a burning gold, and a shattered key was emblazoned on both of his pauldrons. “The Changer of Ways decides our fates and what wars we are destined to fight. As well as their purpose. Not either of you.”

 “Long have I valued your council, Acrisius.” Tyrioc uttered. “You have proven yourself ever the philosopher, strategist, and tactician. And yet your loyalty to our patron has diminished your judgement in recent conflicts! Where was our magnificent Changer of Ways when Tyrannus burned no longer and the Thousand Sons perished by the thousands? Where was our Infinite Schemer when Mirathir escaped our retribution and left us to bare our humiliation alone? I warn you now, Acrisius, because you are wise enough to see reason. Ours is a fickle master… and cares for little more than his own glorification. The Thousand Sons must see to their own if they are to survive.” 

 Acrisius rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “What glory can there possibly for pawns in the eternal scheme that cannot acknowledge their own worth in that master plan?”
 
“Acrisius is right in that regard.” Atlas of the Flame’s Ascendant replied. The Son of Magnus was something akin to the imperial chaplains that guided and administered to those who desired knowledge of the faith. His armor was the resplendent sapphire of his legion, but his robes were bright and fiery. “The sins of the primarch have aligned that path in the stars for us untold millennia ago. Believe what you will, Brother Tyrioc, but we are nothing more than chess pieces being moved into place by demonic overlords. The sooner that the… dissidents within our ranks come to terms with this, the quicker our plans can come to fruition and our ascendancy into daemon-hood made closer to reality. 

“Frankly, you should not encourage these miscreants as is your wont! Every demagogue sprouting lies about the Changer of Ways brings us further away from our primogenitor.”

Celeres shook his plumed helm. “You place too much stock in our demonic allies, enthralled-priests. It is only because of the Rubric that we are not utterly destroyed by them already!”

“Enough!” Tyrioc bristled. “Descended from Prospero are us all. Brothers, let our minds not drift from the task at hand! The Thousand Sons are being called upon to honor an alliance. Shall we answer?” 

“Aye!” Acrisius cried. 

“Aye!” Atlas seconded. 

“No.” Celeres answered. 

“Brothers,” Tyrioc planted a firm foot forward onto his dais and raised a naked fist into the air. “We cannot afford to remain divided. Defeat has already cost us too much, if we cannot unite than soon the damages done will be beyond reprieve.”

Atlas cleared his throat. “You have not cast your vote, my lord.”

Tyrioc shrugged. “I believe every soul here knows what I am in favor of.”

Acrisicius appealed. “You say that no glory is to be had on Tarmathon IV, but I disagree! Where you see nothing of worth, I see a fortress world, already arisen from the ashes like a phoenix. Against the odds, it has stood the test of time against the Imperium of Mankind and weathered vicious wars. If you, Tyrioc, son of Magnus, cannot see the worth in such a strategic asset in your conquest of the Marathon Sector. If you believe the cost of obtaining it is too great, then perhaps you overestimate the power of your supposed ally and your enemies.”

“Or perhaps I am not a reckless fool.” Tyrioc retorted. “Mirathir has allies with power beyond your imagining. And before you dare say that the Chaos Gods shall intervene, a much wiser man would be more cautious.”

“Then you intend to do what?” Atlas interrogated. “Conquer the Marathon Sector without any daemonic allies? You should go to Tarmathon – go to Tarmathon, either aid Mirathir or slay her, whichever path earns us favor with the Changer again.”

_Yes, therein lies the way. Yet one path would hold salvation and the other could destroy my entire Grand Company. Wherein lies the way?_


----------



## Myen'Tal

Finally, some more action, which I think you guys were waiting fork:!​

Chapter Five​
 “Placing charges!” Tel’kyse advanced through the claustrophobic corridor of scorched and molten steel. Staccato burst of las-fire erupted from hidden doors concealed in the shadows. They tried to take to her down, but her pulse blaster unleashed a coiled whine of unsuppressed energy that dispersed into a scathing blast. A gue’la naked from the waist up, his chest carved with ritualistic tattoos hurtled backward onto the floor. His stomach had been reduced to a smoldering mess. “Keep covering me, M’yen!”

 M’yen’s reflexes took control of his mind long before his instincts had any say. The pistol in his hand bucked violently as he pulled the trigger three times. He was rewarded with a scream of pain from another human that had dropped his weapon in his haste to tend to the wound on his arm. He shifted his aim on a split-second’s notice as his original target seeped back through doorway he was covering and unleashed a salvo on another unsuspecting gue’la. 

 “Eldi!” M’yen shouted over the cacophony and chaos. He never took his eyes off of Tel’kyse, who still advanced on the large metallic slab that barred the Tau Forces further entry into the bunker complex. “How is the other hall looking?”
 

 He spared a glance over his shoulder in time to see Or’es sent into a half-spin by a grazing las-round. Or’es fell to his knees, exposed in the middle of the four-way intersection that Squad Shadow Hunter was fighting for. Eldi was there moments later and pulled him back to his feet. 
 

 Or’es waved Eldi off. “I’m alright. My armor took the brunt of it.”
 

 Eldi wheeled around on Or’es. “Do not concern yourself with us, M’yen! Cover Tel’kyse!”
 

 “Heavy weapon emplacement!” Ro’va called from further south. “Heavy bolter! Take cover!”
 

 The recycled air was filled with the death rattle of a primitive machine gun. Squad Shadow Hunter threw themselves onto the floor as mass reactive shells flew overhead and detonated along the walls of the bunker. The only thought that ran through M’yen’s mind was Tel’kyse. It was his task to cover her. It was his mission to see her through. 
 

 Re’shi bellowed over the noise of detonating fragmentation shells. “Suppressing fire! I want that fortification destroyed!”
 

 “Shas’ui!” M’yen shook the debris particles out of his helm lenses. “I’m going to support Tel’kyse!”
 

 M’yen waited for the brief pause in the heavy bolter’s endless rain of death and picked himself up. He ran down the west hall and over the broken bodies left by him and Tel’kyse mere moments before. The metallic door was still in place and showed no signs of being breached. Worse, Tel’kyse was nowhere to be seen. 
 

 “For the new dawn!” The gue’la that M’yen had wounded minutes ago rounded through the nearest door on his left flank. 


Perhaps if M’yen had not wounded him in his arm, the primitive blaster in the gue’la’s arms would have taken his head clean off on the first shot. But as fate decreed, the shot went wide, and merely jerked M’yen’s head into an awkward angle. M’yen scrambled backward, even as his assailant pressed his advantage and cracked the butt of his blaster against his helm. 


The gue’la pumped the weapon for another shot as M’yen reeled. 


Once more, training took over instincts. M’yen moved with the momentum of the blow. One hand brought his pulse pistol to bear while the other moved to the bonding knife on his back. The pistol whined and fired a wild salvo that kept the gue’la flat-footed and off-balance. One shot managed to find purchase in the human’s shoulder blade. 


The primitive blaster fired again, but this time by accident or desperation. M’yen whirled around the blast just as it erupted from the barrel. The bonding knife slid free from its sheathe and he plunged it into the gue’la’s chest, right where its heart should be. Crimson blood sputtered from the gue’la’s lips as he moaned in agony and sagged onto his knees. M’yen kicked him onto the floor and sheathed his knife. 

M’yen swept into the room that the gue’la had been hiding in.

The pulse pistol in his grip fired in split-second intervals. Each radiant emerald blast punctured the chest of a wounded gue’la lying in ambush amongst their own barracks. The room looked as if a storm had hit it just moments before. Weapons and ammunition crates lay scattered about sheets, blankets, and all matter of articles of clothing. The furniture had been upturned to make fortifications. A futile strategy in hindsight. 


M’yen stood amongst the debris for a moment longer when he heard something stir on the far side of the room. He quickly raised his pulse pistol and fell into cover behind an upturned bunk bed. A subtle noise disturbed the quiet. An almost inaudible _click. _M’yen sprinted hard toward the cover of the swaying door as the fragmentation grenade bounced into the cover he had been moments before. 


The detonation was powerful enough that the doorway slammed into M’yen with crushing force, but his armor absorbed much of the impact. He unconsciously shut his eyes against the storm of shrapnel that lashed against the door. As soon as the blast lulled, however, he pushed the obstacle aside and was back on his feet. 


Rapid traces of yellowish las-fire rippled through the barracks toward him. M’yen skidded under the first bolts and squeezed off several rounds at the heavily armored gue’la that darted out of cover. It was not a heavily modified cyborg or super warrior, this gue’la’s face was hidden behind a visor that greeted M’yen with a cold, lifeless stare. 


M’yen slid behind another bunkbed and holstered his pistol. He drew his pulse blaster and fired a blind round at the blur of movement that edged ever closer to him. The shot connected. There was a grunt. A soft sigh of the faintest registered pain. Then the bunkbed that M’yen hid behind toppled over him. 


The weight of the bed was crushing, pinned him to the ground. But somehow, M’yen managed to shrug it off of his shoulders. He felt several las-rounds pierce through his armor, one lanced through his right arm and another two into his legs. M’yen whirled around, realized that he was on the floor, but fired his blaster anyway. The spread discharge of the blaster took the gue’la squarely in the gut and rent a gaping wound in his stomach. 


That was it. M’yen had him. 


Or so he thought. The armored gue’la dropped his weapon and flung his arms out toward M’yen. M’yen grappled with him for long moments, but with the wound in his arm, he was at a disadvantage against… whatever this thing was. The gue’la kneed M’yen savagely in the throat, took his helm in one hand and slammed the back of his head onto the floor. The world began to blur into shadowy tendrils, but M’yen fought to clear them. 


M’yen grabbed the gue’la by his offending arm and twisted it until it snapped, but even that could not break the creature’s vice grip. 


“M’yen, duck!”


M’yen suddenly collapsed onto the ground, just as a spread trail of superheated energy disintegrated the armored gue’la’s head. And with it, all former function. 


“M’yen!” Tel’kyse rushed through the door, covered in red blood and gore, and slid down to M’yen’s side. “Hold still. I’ll call for a medic.”


M’yen stifled a groan. “Tel’kyse. I’m fine. I’m just a little banged up. Did you set the charges?”


Tel’kyse nodded. “They are about to detonate any minute now. Where were you?”


M’yen gasped an exasperated laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.”


Tel’kyse chuckled. “You should have a medical drone look you over, at least. Re’shi’s calling for reinforcements before we head any deeper into the bunker anyway. It’ll be on the way.”


“Fine.” M’yen relented. “Is the intersection secure?”
 

 “The gue’la turned tail and fled after we destroyed their heavy weapon emplacement. Come on, let’s get you back to the others.”


----------



## Dark Apostle Marduk

Awesome story, mate! 

I really had to go back quite a few pages to catch up! It was totally worth it!

Keep up the good work!


----------



## Myen'Tal

Thanks, Marduk, it's always encouraging to hear such feedback . Glad you're enjoying it so far. I'll try to have more up soon.

Sent from my Nexus 6 using Tapatalk


----------



## Dark Apostle Marduk

Too be honest, I was attempting to look for something within the story to give feedback on, however there are very little things that I can find, most of which have already been addressed!


----------



## Myen'Tal

J’karra sprinted as quickly as her heavy armor would allow, through corridors of scorched metal and bullet-ridden carcasses. On her flanks, Elan and Doran advanced into the teeth of the enemy. The staccato burst of their cannons answered any muddled threat that rounded the corners to assault them. Anything that they could not handle, J’karra obliterated with a single salvo of her fusion blaster. 
 

 How many enemies they slew did not seem to matter to her foes, however. They seemed almost infinite in this underground complex. 
 

 A flurry of las-rounds slammed through J’karra’s stealth field and fizzled into nothing against her armor. She swept her fusion blaster out in front of her and dispatched another gue’la before he could slink back into cover. 


J’karra huffed. “How far is Patient Hunter lagging behind?” 


Doran wheeled around and ran backwards for several moments. “Several dozen paces behind, but that is expected, Shas’ui. They don’t have jetpacks.”


Elan activated his jetpack and soared a dozen feet across the corridor. He crashed through a barricade of sandbags and into the small clutch of gue’la beyond it. _Click-click-click. Click-click-click. _


“Something is not right about this.” J’karra activated her own thrusters and juked away from the rattling payload of a heavy bolter. She reappeared moments later as the weapon tapered off. The fortification vanished in a white-hot explosion of flames and acrid smoke. “This is almost too easy.”


Doran said. “We caught them with their guard down. They cannot organize so long as we continue pouring pulse fire down their throats.”


“Shas’ui,” Elan pointed further ahead and rejoined the squad. “The corridor is ending ahead. It could be a trap.”


J’karra grunted in confirmation. “Cold Inception, halt! We wait for Patient Hunter before advancing any further. Secure these doors. I don’t want any more surprises.”


The distant sound of brief struggles cut through the lull in battle. Elan and Doran divided each side of the hall and ended every sporadic combat they came across with their lightning reflexes. Soon a tense silence descended, disturbed only by the sluggish footfalls of Patient Hunter’s approach. J’karra wheeled around on Shas’ui V’dras and gave a begrudging nod of respect. 


“V’dras.” J’karra rolled the name off her tongue. She ignored the Shas’ui’s curt salute and pointed a stern finger toward her chest. “If Patient Hunter cannot keep up, then call for evac. It remains a mystery why High Command would select you and your squad for such a vital mission when you are obviously unsuited for the trial ahead.”


V’dras puffed out her chest, indignant. “My shas’la are fighting as hard as yours, J’karra-“


“Like Mont’au they are!” J’karra thundered, her fusion blaster arm animated purposefully to make V’dras uncomfortable. “Cold Inception just cleared this entire corridor alone! Cold Inception breached the entrance into this bunker – discovered this bunker, alone! I have already lost one squad mate, while Patient Hunter drags their feet behind us! Ethereal’s blood, we’re supposed to be your support, not the other way around!” 


J’karra physically felt a sting of guilt. The members of Patient Hunter were covered in soot and gore. Some of them favored bullet wounds in their limbs, audibly panted beneath their helmets. Yet they had the humility to look ashamed and dejected. 


V’dras planted one foot closer to J’karra so that she could look the Shas’ui of Cold Inception directly in the eye.


V’dras muttered. “Patient Hunter will take point.”


J’karra nodded. She moved aside so that Patient Hunter could file past her hulking suit. “Please, do.”


“Shas’ui.” Elan and Doran reappeared some minutes later and stared at the shrinking backs of Patient Hunter. “Area secured.”


“I heard what you said to them.” Doran quipped. “You should not punish them so harshly. They are not equipped to keep up with our equipment without mechanized support. They are doing their best.”


“Their best leaves much to be desired and could get us all killed.” J’karra made a mental note not to gnash her teeth, even though Doran would not see it. “You were shas’la once, weren’t you, Doran? You should understand the sacrifices that must be made in the name of the Greater Good.”


“Come on.” Elan indicated that they keep moving. “Patient Hunter should not be fighting alone. It would be unbecoming to talk of duty and neglect our own in the process.”


“Agreed.” J’karra activated her thrusters and advanced to the end of the corridor in a blur of speed. 


The room beyond the corridor was a vast multi-leveled chamber of three floors. J’karra entered from the west-wing on the second level, into a spacious walled walkway that ringed the chamber’s walls. She immediately noticed the dozens of ceramite columns that sprouted from the first floor and connected all three levels together. Only the lowest level possessed a floor, one crafted from dirty dark iron and ceramite. 


Squad Patient Hunter was spread thin across the walled walkway and exchanged fire with a handful of gue’la squads entrenched on the lowest floor. The Tau held the high ground and rained death on their opponents. Pulse pistols punctured through helmets and chest plates as cover mattered little from such an advantageous angle. Pulse blasters swept across the gue’la entrenchments and littered them with shredded carcasses. 


“That’s it!” V’dras shouted over the cacophony of death. “Give them nothing but death!”


J’karra craned her head toward a doorway on the opposite side of the walkway that the Tau forces occupied. She shouted a warning just as the door was kicked aside and more gue’la streamed through. 


“Contacts!” J’karra signaled for Cold Inception to fall into cover. The fusion blaster in her grip turned hot with another discharge. Gue’la screamed, pinned inside the doorway, and vaporized in a brilliant flash of light. 


And more streamed out over the smoldering remains.


Elan double-tapped his burst cannon. “More gue’la on the level above us!”


Las-fire rippled from almost every direction, nearly every angle and threatened to overwhelm them. J’karra watched a member of Patient Hunter take a las-round through the helm lense, slump over the walkway wall, and plummet to a second death. A heavy bolter opened fire and stitched a trail of mass reactive shells across the torso of another Fire Warrior, detonating him into a bloody mess. 


“Elan, Doran!” J’karra sprinted for the edge of the walkway. “Seize the high ground!”


J’karra planted one foot firmly on the low wall of the walkway and threw herself over into long drop towards the marble floor. She activated her jetpack and her thrusters kicked in, made her soar through the storm of fire. Her first kill was a gue’la that did not see her landing trajectory. His bones audibly crunched beneath the feet of her hulking suit as she crashed into him. 


Burst cannon fire stitched death into the ranks of the gue’la. Several of the humans died before they realized that they had been attacked. But J’karra knew that her team had passed way beyond the optimal range of engagement and that the stealth fields would be fully visible eventually. As soon as the thought occurred to her, las-fire was unleashed in a withering hail in her direction. 


With the walkway being so narrow, she had limited options to avoid their fire. She activated her jetpack and soared into the air once again. Her fusion blaster rent a great hole in the walkway were a clutch of gue’la had stood moments before. As she landed, she saw something streak out across the air and strike Doran in mid jump. The explosion scythed through the inner-workings of his jetpack. J’karra blinked and he vanished in a storm of debris and gore. 


J’karra followed the smoky trail on the air toward its source and mobilized to engage it.


----------



## Myen'Tal

The Ath’lakar River coursed through the primeval forest like a massive, coiled serpent made of crystal jade waters. The rushing, unstable river had crushed through mountains that had risen to block her path and chiseled caverns into deep into the depths of the underworld. The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man looked through the minuscule firing slit of the chimera and beyond the Bridge of the Sixth Behemoth into the churning waters. 


The great feat of architecture had been built centuries ago, and once belonged to the accursed eldar when they still purged this planet of his kind. The violet wraithbone arose from the green waters, crafted to resemble the heads of six writhing serpents cutting across the river. Corruption from the immaterium had given them subtle changes. Dark admantanium scales grew from the ancient wraithbone, bleeding strange crimson liquid, and the support beams of the bridge had become slightly writhing tongues. 


The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man was onboard a convoy headed into the abyssal bleakness of the Lost Woods. With a seventh sense beyond any mortal’s comprehension, he reached out beyond the inner limits of his mind and scanned his surroundings. A daemon could tell how large a convoy was not through the eyes of a physical vessel, but by the silence of the seventh sense. Daemonic entities were talkative beings and constantly chittered into the ether. And this ferocious bombardment of chitterling noise was maddening… and somehow intoxicating. 


Wherever the voices were present, bloodshed was soon promised. 


The Bridge of the Sixth Behemoth began to shrink into the horizon and the nearby cropping of twisted Black-Bark Birches sprung up on the other side of the Ath’lakar like an impassable labyrinth. Yet the convoy of armored vehicles pressed forward onto the overgrown and muddy trail that snaked further into the shade. A light rain pattered down, made a soothing noise through the foliage and against the hull. 
 

 Several uneventful minutes passed before the convoy came to a screeching halt. The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man heard the drivers press their feet against gas-pedal repeatedly, futilely goading their mechanical beast onward. The _voice-that-commands_ whispered something that echoed across the immaterium, but clearly resonated with the mortals as well. In moments, ramparts from the chimera transports collapsed across the convoy into the muddy earth. 

 The voice-that-commands uttered with absolute authority. _“All platoons, we continue to move on foot.”_
_ 
_
The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man knew the drill or so the mortals called it. He had been fighting in the trenches of mortal worlds for decades, without a name, enslaved in another’s body. He was more soldier than daemon now, at least in this sad existence of a life. But even in this existence, the hierarchy still existed. The endless cycle of gaining power through the culling and elimination of your enemies and gaining glory. Even if it were all in the name of another master. 
 

 The others began to unbuckle harnesses that kept them strapped into their seats. He followed suit, snatched his Hell-gun and ammunition from the weapons locker. They marched down the rampart in single file, into a sea of verdant grass that came up to the waist. The light shower turned into a deluge. Thick droplets burst against his carapace armor in rapid succession, but he did not mind. It took his mind off of the voices. 
 

 The voice-that-commands began to give orders. _“Platoons, fan out into a thin line. Proceed with caution. Be wary of ambushes, we do not know what is beyond this point. Move three clicks further northeast.”_
_ 
_
There was no confirmation. Only the sound of boots slogging through mud and foliage to comply with the command. 

 The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man slinked into a small grove of teal Ferns that sat at the base of several trees. The others were spread thin across the wilderness, their footfalls and barely registered movements silent beneath the roaring of the rainstorm. Some scouted ahead from high hills, hidden beneath the giant, arched roots of massive Birches. Others were hidden in the nooks and crags of the forest. 
 

 The first shot echoed across the Lost Woods as if the wailing of a damned soul. The discharged round was a heavy, single shot that audibly singed the air that it lanced through. There was no despairing cry, but merely the sound of crashing armor and a lifeless corpse. 
 

 He sprinted forward in a half-crouch as several more sniper rounds were fired around him. One of the others slid down the high hill he occupied moments before, the remains of his skull smeared across the hillside. He fell into cover behind a twisted Birch, where one of the others lay slumped against the trunk. 
 

 The remaining others unleashed a torrent of hell-fire into the increasing fog. Nearby foliage was reduced to nothing more than smoldering ruin under the volume of fire. Deep in the fog, the creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man noticed disc-shaped objects hovering in the canopy, long armaments attached beneath their plating. They fired only on occasion, but when they did, one of the others fell in battle. 

 He fired a withering hail of hell-fire into the nearest drone and made it blossom in a fiery explosion. A bullet of white-hot, sapphire energy whizzed past his head and embedded itself through the chest of one of the others climbing through the Fern grove. The other climbed back to his feet, in spite of the gaping hole in his chest and fell into cover beside the creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man. 

 Suddenly, the Lost Woods came alive with Pulse and Hell-fire. The creature-that-peered-through-eyes-of-man and the other beside him combined rapid burst of their hell-guns into a nearby thicket. The small clutch of alien scouts that had hidden there became saturated with hell-fire until they perished. 


Four more groups of scouts concealed amongst the underbrush broke cover after that slaughter. They masterfully weaved through the storm of fire that the Forlorn’s Beginning unleashed. Ochre armored figures revealed themselves from high ground positions and unleashed death from afar. 


A pulse round slammed into his shoulder guard. He winced, barely able to register the pain of his flesh being burned inside out. He swept his Hell-gun out in front of him and fired a quick burst into a Fire Warrior lining another shot on him from a long ridge. The alien tumbled backward, bleeding from several wounds, and vanished into the thicket. 


The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man slogged through the muddy grass, under an endless hail of pulse fire, and into the open. Traces of sapphire energy burned against his carapace armor, but he paid no heed to the danger of imminent death. Pulse fire shifted from across the Lost Woods onto him, but a resurgence in the ranks of the possessed forced the fusillade to lose focus again. 


The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man climbed a muddy hillside and juked into a large grove of thorny brambles. A Fire Warrior no more than several meters away, buried in the branches of a high Redwood bared down on him with unerring fire. He crashed through the brambles without effort, his thumb on the pin of a grenade that flew loose toward a clutch of scouts occupied with fighting on the other side of the grove. 


The detonation took them completely by surprise. No survivors remained. 


An accurate shot from some kilometers behind him pierced through the forest canopy and found purchase in the Fire Warrior attempting to snipe him from afar. The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-man spared a glance over his shoulder. The remaining soldiers of his platoon sallied out from their cover to join him. 


Covered in thorns, the creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-man erupted from the brambles amongst his hidden foe in a whirlwind of death. The Hell-gun in his arms rattled, kicked furiously as it cut down four Fire Warriors who turned to destroy him on the ridge. Rapid pulse fire embedded itself through his carapace armor in a dozen places, but he could not find it in himself to care. He dropped his ranged weapon and drew a long, wicked dagger and charged into the teeth of the enemy.


His seventh sense counted seven remaining enemies. 

 A blast of forked lightning arced through the Lost Woods and scoured the area of remaining enemies. He barely had time to sink his dagger through the spinal cord of a foe that ducked beneath his coup-de-grace. He looked up from his kill as it was blasted into ashes. 


The voice-that-commands echoed from the shadows. _“What is your name?”_


The creature-that-peered-through-the-eyes-of-man shrugged. “I am no one, my lord.”
_
_
_“Now that will simply not do. You showed great valor today, it would be discouraging to the others to allow such… exemplary behavior to go unrewarded. From this day forward, your name shall be known as Ne’gath. You would do well to remember it.”_

Beneath his helm, Ne’gath smirked. It was a shallow name, lacking the familiarity of the daemonic tongue, but it would do for now. “Your bidding, eternal.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

Tel’kyse’s voice relayed through comm. link. “Charges detonated!”


There was a deafening roar of thunder from further down the corridor. M’yen slumped against a broad ceramite bulkhead and braced himself against the roiling tide of smoke and debris that surged to meet him. The defiled earth beneath his feet quaked in protest, so fierce that M’yen thought a chasm would yawn open and swallow him whole. The four-way intersection that squad Shadow Hunter had fought and bled for grew eerily silent during the fallout. His helm lenses traced and analyzed the myriad of scars etched along the corridors, assessed the threat of a hundred scattered corpses that littered the nooks and crevices of the bunker complex. 


M’yen had lost count of how many he had killed. A dozen at least. And Shadow Hunter had bloodied themselves. They were steeped up to their legs in the gore of their foes, but none had fallen. No matter how crafty the enemy proved themselves to be. For a moment, a fierce stab of pride blotted out the throbbing pain of his wounds.


Re’shi’s shrouded outline advanced into the darkness a small distance and issued orders without saying them. His fingers shot away from his chest in precise movements. Tel’kyse and Eldi emerged into the debris-screen moments later, followed by Ro’va and Or’es. 
_
_
_Tel’kyse and Ro’va, take point. Eldi, take the rear! Or’es, can you aid M’yen?_


“Wounds still sore?” Or’es said as he took M’yen’s arm and wrapped it around the back of his neck. “Or just weary from blood loss?”


“Both?” M’yen smirked beneath his helm. He stared into the dreary blackness beyond the gaping hole Tel’kyse’s charges had made in the slab door. “Come on, let’s find out what the gue’la are hiding down there.”


M’yen and Or’es followed Ro’va and Tel’kyse’s advancing backs as they swept through a corridor filled with dead. A quick exchange of pulse blaster and las-fire was traded across the blasted slab door and was over before M’yen so much as blinked. 


Ro’va declared through the comm. channel. “Hostiles terminated.” 


Re’shi’s voice cycled through the comm. channel. “Confirmed. Proceed with caution, Shas’la. This place reeks of human dregs.”


M’yen ignored the uncontrolled hacking of gue’la exposed to the dust and debris of the blast. _Thump-thump-thump. _The sound of corpses crashing to the ground was uncomfortably loud, so thick was the tension among the silence. He holstered his pulse blaster and drew the pistol hanging from his back as Shadow Hunter approached the blasted slab door. The thickened layers of reinforced ceramite had been peeled away as if so much cindered parchment, until a gaping hole large enough for one Shas’la to fit through remained. 

 M’yen shook his head. “The hole in the door is too small. It’s perfect ground for another ambush.”

 “M’yen is correct.” Eldi surmised. “We’d be forced to funnel through the door one by one, making us prime targets.”

 Re’shi sighed. “Astute observations, both of you, but the remaining charges must be preserved. So we make do with the resources at our disposal. Eldi, I want a plasma grenade through that door. Tel’kyse take point and advance. Ro’va, cover her. M’yen and Or’es, you’re in reserves until I say otherwise. The reserves do not directly engage the enemy unless they absolutely must, understand?”

 “Understood, Shas’ui.” Or’es and M’yen affirmed in unison. 

 “Good.” Re’shi nodded. “Shadow Hunter, execute!” 


 Eldi rushed the door. His pulse blaster fired off rapid discharges through the breach until his back slammed against the intact portion of the door. He holstered his weapon, unpinned a plasma grenade, and tossed it into the hole in the wall just as Tel’kyse began her advance. A brilliant flash of white flames and a backwash of searing heat was rewarded with several feeble and protracted screams. 


Tel’kyse charged through the breach. “Cover my right flank, Ro’va, I’m moving in!”


“Understood.” Ro’va followed in her footsteps and disappeared beyond the breach. 
 

 The cacophony of battle grew more intense as Eldi slipped through the breached slab door and onto the other side. Frenzied battle cries were roared from the dark abyss, but were just as quickly silenced by the familiar discharge of a pulse blaster. Or’es and M’yen waited with baited breath and looked to Re’shi for the order to be sent in. But the Shas’ui simply held a hand up to halt them, content to listen to the battle’s progress. 
 

 The echoes of conflict gradually faded into exasperated panting and pathetically brief struggles. 


“Area secure, Shas’ui.” Eldi’s voice emitted moments later. 


“Good work.” Re’shi grunted with approval, finally lowered his hand, and gave the all-clear for the reserves to proceed. “Well executed, Shadow Hunter. Lack of training and coordination has dulled the fighting spirit of these gue’la. It is almost a saddening sight. But only a fool would think that such an advantage can be held forever. Be aware that there are always foes stronger than you on the battlefield and that they are searching for us. With the bonds you share with each other and the technology of the Empire, you should have the tools to overcome them.”


Or’es aided M’yen through the blast door after Re’shi. The claustrophobic interiors of the previous corridors immediately evaporated as he half-stumbled onto a raised walkway of sleek obsidian. The pathway was large enough to hold the entirety of Shadow Hunter walking shoulder-to-shoulder. A massive wall of brushed aluminum and silver hemmed in the walkway on the left side. The strange pattern was broken only by several heavy slab doors and gothic symbols etched onto the surface. On the right, unadorned steel spread from beneath the walkway into another, lower level. A host of cogitator monitors and command stations were built across its surface as if a semi-sprawling maze. An intricate network of cabling ran from each station to the heart of the command center, a massive monitor occupied with dozens of images of Tarmathon IV’s territorial space. 


“Shas’ui,” Eldi said. “I believe we have reached the objective. These are certainly the controls for the Orbital Cannon.”


Ro’va gave a sharp whistle. “Looks more like a command center.”


“Either way,” Tel’kyse chuckled, her tone gleeful. “We’re blowing it pieces!” 


“An understatement, Tel’kyse.” Re’shi quipped. “Today, we avenge those who fell in honorable combat. When these charges detonate, this entire bunker will vanish –“ Re’shi snapped his fingers. “In a rise of smoke. Everyone, plant the remaining charges. Or’es relay our location and mission status to High Command. Eldi, hand your charges to someone else, you’re with me on guard duty.”


Eldi nodded. “I’m with you, Shas’ui.”


M’yen shook his head slowly as Or’es sat him down. 


M’yen switched off the squad channel and whispered so that only Or’es could hear him. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”


“You have a bad feeling about everything.” Or’es snickered, then became serious. “But I guess you were right this time. You were almost killed today.”


M’yen shrugged. “I feel like the gue’la are letting us have this room.”


Or’es paused in whatever he was doing. He gazed directly into M’yen’s helm lenses. “You do realize that we killed over a hundred gue’la to get in here, right?”


“Bah,” M’yen dismissed his own worries with a wave. “Maybe I’m just being superstitious. Go ahead and relay our status to High Command. They’ll want to know we reached the objective.”

 _“Shadow Hunter to Unseen Moon, objective has been reached. Securing the area and prepping the objective for decommission. Over.”_
 _
“Unseen Moon to Shadow Hunter, objective secured confirmed. Be advised, hostile reinforcements are on route to battle zone. Estimated time of arrival is thirty rai’kor. Decommission objective and evacuate toward landing zone immediately. The cadre fights as one.”_


----------



## Myen'Tal

Massive update:good:!_


Who is he?_
_ One who is named. _

_ He is called Ne’gath._

_ Huh. He is no one._

_ He is bound by mortal flesh, diluted and weakened of soul like us all. _

The chitterling voices seeped through the sighing of the forest and cut themselves into Ne’gath’s every thought. He felt the stares of the others bore into him from every direction, hidden amongst the towering Redwoods and Birches. The murky, cloudy emerald waters of the endless bog seeped into his boots and lapped against his fatigues, but he did not mind. The concept of disease was something completely foreign and alien to him. Though he knew it existed and would eventually blight his flesh if he did not tend to it. 
 

 The others were scattered about the bog in thin lines. They advanced forward as if an implacable wall of living dead, their blurred outlines merging in and out of the thickened fog. The mud sucked them in deeper like quicksand, but the unnatural strength of the others simply made wading through the bog a chore more than anything. 
 

 The voice-that-commands had them on this off-beaten path, claiming that a surprise attack would be needed to defeat the strange aliens that had come to Tarmathon IV. He had given Ne’gath his own platoon of able-bodied soldiers to flank around the orbital cannon and cut off the aliens escape route. 


 If one listened the moaning of the wind, the faint sound of engines whirring could be heard not too far in the east. If one searched several clicks to the east, the traces of sapphire light in the air were unmistakable. It was a hostile landing zone. 
 

 _One who is named. _

Ne’gath slowly turned to face the other that approached him through the fog. The figure was wiry and slim, even though burdened with all of her armor. Ne’gath noticed at once the odd rectangular stripes of cobalt and lavender that made an intricate pattern on the other’s armor. The rebreather helm seated firmly on her head had been cracked open by a pulse round to the jawline, but the other did not seem to notice the damage. 


The other repeated himself. “_One who is named.”_


Ne’gath offered her the deadened glare of his visor. “Fall back into formation. Or do not. I am beyond caring, one-that-is-not-named.”


“Should this one-that-is-not-named fear a voice?” The creature shrugged. “It is simply one amongst numberless others. What is that to one who cannot feel pain?”


“Or one who can barely think.” Ne’gath’s laugh was a razor-thin whisper. 


“Oh, but this one can think, Ne’gath.” The creature rested her hell-gun upon his shoulder and wagged a bloody stump of a finger at him. “And you would do well to heed my advice. I am ancient as you are strong, and soon my pact shall be finished. Soon I shall a name much grander than your own.”


“Such is a gift that comes to all in time.” Ne’gath sighed darkly. “What could I possibly gain from your freedom?”


“Now who is the one incapable of thought?” The creature shook his head. “Centuries pass. Time may mean nothing for our free kin, but perhaps it is more precious to us? How much longer can you live in that empty shell you call a vessel?”


“Can you bend unassailable time to your will?” Ne’gath fought the instinct to whirl around on the much thinner vessel beside him. Who was this foolish thing to come before him, crooning of promises? “Can you break us free of our curse?”


The creature cackled maniacally and shrugged again. “In a sense, yes, if you would but listen. When you are interested in absolution, on the day that you would rather shepherd the blind, then churn your soul in the eternal game, perhaps you should come to me and discuss your plight?”


Ne’gath turned on his heel to stare the other through the blackened glare of his visor. “You speak in cryptic riddles, and I am one of little patience. You must first survive before you are in any position to offer me any such pact.”


“And that day is soon coming.” The creature said. “You may call me Valyena. That is my name. And before you make your decision so hurriedly, Ne’gath, you should be aware that there are many such as you who know it.”


The voice-that-commands whispered on the edge of Ne’gath’s thoughts. _“Ne’gath, we have an issue. Xenos forces have succeeded in compromising the Orbital Cannon. We are engaged, but they are making a fighting retreat further east, directly for your position. Prepare for company.”_


Ne’gath glanced into Valyena’s visor before he replied. “Orders understood, preparing to execute.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

J’karra activated her jetpack and thrusted to the left to narrowly dodge a withering hail of hell-gun fire. The targeting array built into her XV25 Stealth Suit tracked back and forth across her display, but eventually flickered into red crosshairs on three blurred outlines hiding amongst the forest foliage. She gritted her teeth and snapped off three shots of her fusion blaster in their direction. Despite the aid of artificial intelligence and targeting matrixes integrated into her suit’s neuro-system , she knew there was nothing more thrilling or gratifying than an unaided kill. The fusion blaster erupted three times and neutralized two hostiles scrambling for cover amongst the twisted Birch trees. The third shot impacted a tree and missed its mark, blasted the trunk of the folded Birch into cinders. 
 

 “Shas’ui, on your left flank!” Elan darted out of the shadows, hidden in a grove of wilting, violet flowers, and dispatched another of the gue’la elite with an unerring headshot. 

 A hell-gun round pierced her stealth field. J’karra loosed a cry of agony as her nano-crystalline hide was cracked open by the lucky shot. She mobilized her thrusters and began to glide toward a nearby cropping of trees. 
 

 “Damn, but these gue’la are determined!” J’karra shouted fiercely. “Elan, have you noticed? It’s almost as if these gue’la can see our stealth fields…”
 

 “Look at their masks,” Elan said. “They are definitely a breed above what we faced before. We should tread with caution.”


 J’karra grimaced. She gazed through her visor display and noted the dozens of targets spread across her peripheral vision. “There is no time for caution. Our enemy has us surrounded and our escape route cut off. We must press through them!”
 

 “Calm yourself, J’karra.” Re’shi’s voice cut into the static of her comm. channel. “The Tau Empire will never claim Aloh Fio through such desperation.”
 

 “Ha!” J’karra shrugged her mighty pauldrons. The crosshairs on her display flashed crimson. She squeezed the trigger of her weapon and turned another gue’la to cinders. “The honorable Re’shi, preaching caution? A full moon ago, I would have thought you would offer the same strategy.”
 

 Re’shi chuckled despite himself. “And I could not agree with your analysis more. But there is a fine line between suicide and completing an operation against pressing odds. We must complete the mission, I agree, but lives must also be preserved where possible.”

 V’dras added her opinion as well. “Re’shi is correct. With Shadow Hunter being the exception, all of us have already loss more than what is reasonable. There’s no chance we can successfully evacuate to the landing zone, not in this condition.”
 

 J’karra scowled at her display. “High Command needs to lighten the enemy’s strength in the area. V’dras, can you relay our status to them?”
 

 V’dras confirmed. “Consider it done, Shas’ui.”
 

 Godrays pierced the cloudy veil in the sky, a sign that the rainstorm had finally broken itself against Aloh Fio’s enduring landscape. J’karra activated her jetpack and soared across the primeval wood. Three dozen Fire Warriors dispersed into a thin line beneath her, and emerged from nature’s veil to engage the enemy. Too few of the targets appearing on her display had been eliminated and they began their implacable advance upon the Tau Empire, in an effort to surround them. 
 
J’karra grinned devilishly beneath her helm. “Ethereals be with us.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

M’yen unleashed another devastating barrage of his pulse blaster from where he laid on the hill just beyond the thorn bushes. The shot scythed through the gue’la’s torso in several places, each punctured wound bleeding profusely. His victim skidded onto his knees, his charge halted by the force, and collapsed onto his back. He shifted his aim onto another gue’la sniping at them from behind a nest of arched roots. He squeezed the trigger. The blast went wide and dissipated harmlessly against the bark. He dropped the pulse blaster on the ground, drew his pistol, and lined up another shot. A slew of hell-gun fire slithered up the hill towards him, but Or’es and Ro’va beside him combined their fire on the source until it halted. 
 

 _Relax. Take a deep breath, exhale, and then…_
_ 
_
“Tau’va!!!” M’yen pulled the trigger. He watched his victim’s head fly backwards in a spray of gore. 
 

 Tel’kyse shouted in the same moment a searing ball of golden energy darted over their heads. “Plasma gun, in the gorge, on the edge of the swamp!”
 

 Ro’va pointed toward the field that M’yen was covering. “M’yen, is that your kill over there? Lying on his back in the swamp?”
 

 “Yeah!” M’yen fired another discharge of his pulse pistol toward the gorge. The Plasma Gunner retreated after a bolt neatly slammed into the tree trunk beside his head. “What about it?”
 

 “Ethereal’s blood, he’s getting back up again!” Ro’va took aim with his blaster and fired another round. The blast removed the left arm of the gue’la as he made to stand, but somehow, he found his feet none-the-less. The dismembered figure dropped his hellgun into the murky water, drew his pistol, and snapped off several shots as he charged. 
 

 “Gah!”A bolt connected with Or’es’ armor and drew fresh cyan-colored blood from his ribcage. He collapsed backwards onto the hill. “I’m hit!”
 

 “Kill it!” Ro’va shouted. He fired several rounds into the charging gue’la. “Before it closes the distance!”
 

 M’yen sucked in a breath in disbelief. He was uncertain as to whether the corpse he killed was anything near reality, as it became flayed and maimed from Ro’va’s unrelenting fire. By the time it reached the base of the hill, the gue’la appeared entirely unhindered by the weakness of the flesh and armor shorn from its bones. Then without a moment’s notice, he leveled his pulse pistol at the undead creature’s head and vaporized it with one round. The corpse clattered into the grassy hillside, lifeless. 
 

 Re’shi chuckled at their exasperated gasps of surprise. “What is the matter, Shas’la? Are you perturbed at the death of several stubborn gue’la?”
 

 Or’es favored his ribcage. “Did you see that, Re’shi? That gue’la took over a dozen blaster rounds to take down! I could see his bones from where the muscle peeled away, and the bastard was still charging.”
 

 Eldi called over the comms. “Hostile reinforcements, closing in! Looks like they are about to initiate a charge, Shas’ui!”
 

 “However surprising, Or’es,” Re’shi chuckled. “I suggest you come to terms and redouble your efforts. Here come a hundred more of the same gue’la.”
 

 The gue’la emerged from the surrounding swamp without a single cry and charged forward toward the Tau Empire’s lines with a speed that belied their bulk. M’yen’s gaze swept across the lowlands below and picked out hundreds of blurred outlines making progress through the un-crossable bog. What manner of creatures were these, that could defy nature so? A fusillade of hell-gun fire crisscrossed across the darkened skies, exchanged with the coiled whine of pulse fire across the entire frontline. Over the entire scene, he caught a glimpse of hexagonal fields soaring over the battlefield. 
 

 M’yen inhaled, exhaled, and began to snap off multiple shots into the midst of the twisted gue’la. One shot caught a walking corpse in the bicep and must have gnawed through a bone, since the hell-gun in his arms went limp. A second attempt blasted away the boot of another one, but it continued to drag itself toward the Tau Empire’s lines. M’yen ended his misery with an unerring headshot. Ro’va, Or’es, Tel’kyse, and Eldi swept an entire wave of gue’la off of their feet with a blinding, relentless fusillade. The remainder of Patient Hunter joined their fire with Shadow Hunter, and created a withering kill zone that melted enemies away by the score. And yet the horde came onward, dropped their ranged weapons in favor of roaring chainswords as they began to close the gap with their enemy. 
 

 M’yen quickly holstered his pistol and picked up the pulse blaster. In the same moment, a bullet-ridden corpse climbed the hillside and took a vicious swing at Ro’va. Ore’es obliterated him with a point-blank shot, but several more climbed over the lip of the hill and took his place. M’yen rolled aside to avoid becoming crushed beneath their boots. One of the gue’la noticed him, and broke away from the pack to leap on top of him. The combat knife in the gue’la’s grip flashed forward, but M’yen’s blaster dismembered his legs in one sweep. The gue’la toppled on top of him and drove his blade downward none-the-less, and made a deep incision through his armor around his waist.


 M’yen ushered a shout that would terrify any living creature. With brutal force, he cracked the butt of his blaster into the gue’la’s chin with enough force to splinter bone. Blood seeped through his opponent’s mask, but otherwise he appeared unharmed by the pain. The gue’la re-seized the knife and made to disembowel him with a flick of his wrist. 
 

 One moment, the gue’la was poised to take M’yen’s life. A brutal uppercut of Re’shi’s knee into the corpse’s jaw sent him flying upwards the next. M’yen cried out in fresh agony as the combat knife slipped free of the wound. Re’shi leveled his pulse blaster toward the gue’la as it clattered onto the hillside and smeared its brain matter across the lush grass with a pull of the trigger. 
 

 Tel’kyse ducked beneath a whirring chainsword as she juked to the right. The bonding knife in her right hand impacted against a gue’la’s helmeted cranium, repeatedly, until the skull partially caved in from the force. The pulse pistol in her left hand made simultaneous reports, blasted a pair of armored figures off of Eldi, who shredded the weapon arm of a gue’la who had nearly ran him through. She leapt backward on a moment’s notice, allowing a chainsword to etch sparks out of her armor. She lashed out with a heavy kick and splintered another corpse’s leg into pieces. 
 

 Ro’va scrambled away from his attacker, and made the fatal mistake of attempting to parry a chainsword. The monomolecular teeth of the blade chewed through his bonding knife without effort and shredded his helm and the flesh beneath into gory shreds. M’yen watched the corpse drop with a shred of remorse and dispatched Ro’va’s murderer with a point-blank blaster round to the skull. 



 A dozen more gue’la this time climbed the hillside and joined the desperate fight. Was there even a point to killing them if there were so many? Suddenly, his thoughts only became filled with bringing as much of the foe down with him as possible. He held his finger down on the trigger and did not stop, even as the hill became nothing more than a gore soaked mess. 
 

 _Click-Click-Click. _

_ Whoooosh. _

The earth quaked beneath him in protest of something incomprehensibly large landing upon it. M’yen gazed up through the endless haze of death to see towering machines of nano-crystalline armor descend from the breaking light of the sun. Their bright ochre and matte black armor was incredibly bulky, but their design lent them an air of grace and elegance that only an Ethereal could hope to match. Great jetpacks stemmed their rapid descent from atmosphere, and great weapons three-fold the size of an ordinary Tau unleashed their salvos and dispensed their charge cells. The XV8 Crisis Battlesuit squadrons looked upon the battlefield with squared helm-lenses, and crushed dozens of gue’la underfoot where they chose to land amongst them. The backwash of flames spread across the swamp like a roiling tide, consuming anything not armored in nano-crystal to the charred bone. Heavy plasma rifles burned through the cover of Birches and foliage without effort, incinerating anyone foolish enough to hide from the vigilant gaze of the XV8 teams. 
 

 M’yen could only gaze on, dumbfounded, as dozens of the Crisis Suits joined the fight against the gue’la advance. The instincts of the remaining gue’la on the hilltop told them to seek refuge. The beleaguered forces of the Tau Empire sent up a vaunted cheer as the humans broke and fled all at once, suddenly driven by a need of self-preservation. 


 _“Unseen Moon to Patient Hunter, Shadow Hunter, and Cold Inception. Reinforcements have arrived. The way is clear to proceed with evacuation.”_


----------



## Myen'Tal

What was this feeling nagging in the back of Ne’gath’s skull? Something that was far away from the dismaying cries of shame. Shame was a mortal burden. The daemonic did whatever possible to climb the hierarchy, to play the eternal game. There was no room for lamentation, for regret. Only for vengeance, and the repaying of debts owed. 

 Shame was a mortal burden. And that was something that the voice-that-commands knew all too well. 
 

 The voice-that-commands said from the shadows. _“Failure? In all things, we have failed. Ne’gath, you disappoint me. You do not fight as if I had given you purpose! I bestowed upon you a name, O you who have remained nameless for centuries. Whose to take the blame for such catastrophies?”_
 

 Ne’gath sighed. This was already becoming tiresome. “I am, my lord.”


 _“Of course.”_ The voice-that-commands slinked out of the shadows, revealing his bright limestone robe that glimmered in the god rays. His face was hidden beneath a drawn hood and a wicked staff was gripped in his hand like a walking cane. “_Someone must always pay the eternal price for failure. But I am curious, before I rob you of your name and take your soul… why did you remain here instead of fighting with your comrades?”_


 Ne’gath shrugged. “She said she could help.”


 “Who?” The voice-that-commands asked, no doubt with an eyebrow arched. 
 

 “I am Valyena, daughter of the Daemoness.” Now it was Valyena’s turn to emerge out of the shadows. The voice-that-commands whirled around, the fluttering of his hood revealing surprise of the deepest kind. 
 

 Valyena pressed the barrel of her las-pistol to the voice-that-commands’ forehead and ejected his brains into the murky emerald waters. 


 “You see, one-who-is-named?” Valyena chuckled as the corpse vanished beneath the dirty tide. “I helped you.” She lifted her hands toward the sky and gestured around her. “Now you are free. We are all free.”

 “Ne’gath is my name.” Ne’gath said. “You said that there were many that knew your name?”
 

 “Mhm-hmm.” Valyena said. “You see, I promised them something very special in return for their loyalty and my timely delivery to my Daemoness. I am prepared to make you the same offer.”


 “Then speak...” Ne’gath sighed. “Tell me of your pact.”


----------



## Myen'Tal

Chapter Six


​ Aenaria soared over the earth, born aloft on raven wings that shimmered in the midday sun. This strange world… Tarmathon, Mirathir had called it, stretched out beneath her as if an endless, frozen sea. The dunes of the Aeretica Wastes long left behind, she flew over churning rivers and verdant, windswept valleys. It was a marvel that denied her entire logic. It was a breath of ingenuity that should never have come to pass. The immaterium that she had known all of her life was a roiling beast and this… this was almost as mind-bending to her as any other realm within the warp. 
 

 Aenaria glanced over her shoulder, into the heart of the Guardian host that ascended into the skies around her. A hundred angels beat their wings furiously, armored in daemonic plate that writhed with yawning jaws and wagging tongues. Each face was a rare beauty, some of them marred slightly by their daemonic features. She could not help but smile at the childlike wonderment in their gazes. It was strange to think that so many of her kind had never visited the mortal worlds. They were just as surprised as she was at the sight. 
 

 Several thousand boots churned across the valley beneath her and ran across the land like a blanket of shadow. They were joined by columns of mechanical creatures, things from small, bipedal creations to their towering Knight brethren. After witnessing the carnage at the Gates of Sorrow, Aenaria was anything but impressed. Yet such a miniscule display of power was Mirathir’s mere flexing of the fingers in another world. If the Raven Prophet so desired, she could summon an army beyond this world’s imagining and drown it in ceaseless bloodshed. 
 

 This army was only a fraction of the Raven Prophet’s power, but that was precisely what concerned Aenaria. What despairing vision had Mirathir seen that would still her ever-growing ambition? Did she desire nothing more than being a Prophet to the ascendant Demoness? Aenaria was created with the sole purpose to serve, a puppet whose mind was foreign to the concepts of ruling and unimaginable power. But even she could not fully rob herself of the thirst to ascend beyond her calling. 
 

 Yet against her greater judgement, Aenaria realized that there were few she trusted above the Raven Prophet. She had always carried herself as a loyal sort and followed Nyst around like a love-struck soul. 
 

 A clarion battle cry shook Aenaria from her brooding thoughts. She looked down upon the valley, but saw nothing more than the mortals marching over the swaying flowers below. 
 

 There was a sound akin to the washing flames of burning pitch and an unmistakable whine of something… mechanical. Aenaria glanced upward into the skies and noticed something approaching at an unbelievable speed. The object possessed a sleek, bright ochre metallic hide and was crafted into the shape of a broad fish. As it descended from the clouds overhead, the hidden weapons built into the machine’s hide stitched the air with traces of sapphire light. 
 

 “Disperse!” Aenaria bellowed. “Battle formation!” 
 

 Aenaria blinked and suddenly a dozen more of the flying machines blitzed through the skies amongst the Guardians. She beat her wings furiously and glided under one of them as it barrel-rolled between a pair of Guardians. The discharges of its ranged weaponry punctured through armor and flesh as if it were nothing. A handful of Guardians cried out in defiance as their wings and bodies were riddled with energy bolts and plummeted toward the valley below. 
 

 “They’re too quick!” One of the Guardians, Belisandra, cried out before she was smashed into a fine, gory paste along the wing of a flying fish. 
 

 Aenaria hurled her double-sided spear, then cursed as she missed her mark. She beckoned the weapon back toward her fingers. “Descend! Descend! Into the valley!”
 

 The angelic host descended through the skies, toward the valley like a falling cloud. The strange alien crafts darted through the skies at breakneck speeds and barreled through the air for another pass. Aenaria ignored them, her unfurled wings slowed her rapid descent. It was only then that she realized that a battle was in the process of erupting across the land she so desperately sought haven in. 
 

 A wicked smile flashed on her lips as she commanded her angelic kin to attack.


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## Myen'Tal

The battle for the Gates of Sorrow had devolved from a pitched battle into a desperate fight for survival. Nessana raised her blade and parried an overhead strike of a Bloodletter that swooped down upon the back of a Fury. Even as sparks leapt from the clashing blades, she whirled around and swept her claymore in a low arc. The movement tore through daemonic flesh without effort and disemboweled another minion of Khorne focused on other prey. She sensed another foe in her blind spot, charging directly for her, and leaned away from his unwieldy thrust. Nessana looped an arm around the upstart’s biceps and with all of her unnatural strength, hurled him over the one thousand foot drop awaiting beyond the Gates of Sorrow. 



Across the myriad of battlements, battle was joined by hundreds of Guardians and the minions of Khorne. Nessana glanced up into the crimson skies, even as the blood rain continued to fall and saw her kin struggling to hold their ground in the aerial battle. Each Guardian had slain over a hundred immortal thralls of the Blood God by now, but Khorne’s legion were beyond number. For every several dozen Furies torn apart by anointed swords, seven angels were defiled and murdered by brutal Bloodthirsters. 


An endless rain of corpses descended from the skies, falling into the maelstrom that was the thick of the ground battle. Inspired by their angelic overlords, the mortals had rallied against the Blood Tide and redoubled their efforts. Nessana watched the seething sea of living bodies and corpses on the ground below, noticed how the crimson tide was violently pushing everything not so obscenely colored back toward the gate. 


“Bloodthirster!” Erien shouted over the cacophony of battle. 


Nessana looked up as a long shadow eclipsed her and into the bestial gaze of the foe bearing down upon her. 


Nessana beat her wings once. She flew around the crimson bulk of a mighty Bloodthirster, just as it crashed into the onyx-gold buttresses and battlements filled with a dozen angelic Guardians. The buttresses crumbled beneath the weight of the Greater servant of Khorne. Loose pieces were flung every-which way amongst the fifty-foot battlements with a violent swing of its battle axe.


Arianna ducked beneath the creature’s broad swing and through its hunched legs. She flicked her wrist and slashed the Bloodthirster’s nether-region and earned a frantic shriek of agony. Dibella glided through the blood rain after her, but maneuvered above her opponent and planted her blade directly into the daemon’s skull. The beast crashed backward amongst the tattered ruins of onyx-gold and blood-slathered corpses. 


Dibella stood triumphant upon the beast’s bronze chest plate. She ripped her blade free and climbed down. “How much longer can we hold against this madness?”


Arianna shrugged. “It shan’t be long until the Daemoness withdraws us into the city proper. There’s no way our forces can continue to hold the gate in such a compromised position.”


Nessana swiped fresh blood from her eyes. “Damnable rain… Destiny has decreed we make it this far, sisters. That alone gives me confidence. The Daemoness believes that she can alleviate this plague from our beautiful city… let us pray that her wisdom will preserve us. Keep fighting!”


The baleful skies above bristled with the booming laughter of a malignant god, as it had been since the battle’s beginning. And yet as the words left Nessana’s mouth, something struck fear in that disembodied voice. Quaking laughter turned to battle cries of unfettered fury. The Blood God’s servants appeared to convulse from the thunderous pouring of outrage, possessed by a mixture of self-preservation and berserk violence. She sensed another presence on the air, for the atmosphere was thick with sorcerous power. 


The blood rain had ceased. 


Dibella drew in a sharp gasp. Her gaze was pointed toward the battle happening beyond the Gates of Sorrow. “What in all of Forlorn is that?” 


Nessana shifted her gaze over the wall, toward the nexus of sapphire thunderhead clouds that swirled over the midst of the ground battle. Something changed in the atmosphere then. The crimson shade in the skies contorted and transformed into a drab mystical blue. It was almost as if the starless night had come for the first time to the Forlorn City. The impending darkness was broken only by erratic flashes of twisted lightning.


Arianna jabbed her blade at the traces of ether that wafted gently down from the skies. The ether enwrapped itself around the blade and coiled around her hand, harmless to the touch. “What new wickedness has sprung into our realm now?”


A great bolt of forked lightning descended from the nexus until it exploded amongst the Blood God’s legions. The fallout of the blast left an electrical storm that scoured away all life that it touched. There was another blinding flash of light and where once there were nothing but dead minions of Khorne, there were malformed horrors pouring from the storm. They fell upon the startled legions of Khorne with warp flame and talon, but did not attack the mortals of the Forlorn City. Nessana immediately recognized the way that their flesh writhed, shifted, and transformed. 


Nessana said. “The servants of Tzeentch. What in all of the realms are they doing here? And it appears that they are on our side, for once.” 


“Look!” Dibella pointed toward the center of the nexus. “Our Daemoness!”


Nessana did a quick double-take and certainly enough, a four-armed Daemon both beautiful and diabolical strode into the open. Nyst. Nessana unleashed a triumphant cry, suddenly piecing the mystery together. That cry became lodged in her throat at the emergence of what appeared to be Nyst’s twin. She appeared almost identical, but instead of bearing armor, she wore a simple white Colchis that exposed her left breast. A column of raven hair hid said breast and spilled onto the arms that wielded what appeared to be two of the Daemoness’ swords. 


Arianna’s mouth went taut. “Tell me that what I gaze upon is only a mirage.”


“It is no mirage.” Nessana scowled. “The tyrant has returned.”


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## Myen'Tal

Just wanted to update this thread on what's going on, as I haven't done so in a while. I apologize for my lack of updates recently, these are the final weeks of my last college semester before I graduate, so things have been a little hectic here. 

Bleak Eternity is not dead!!! ^__^ I'm not sure when the next post will be up, but it is in the works as we speak. It won't be too much longer, god-emperor willing. 

Be faithful, be vigilant, be strong:wink2:.


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## Myen'Tal

The demonic energies of two warring gods eclipsed the Forlorn City’s eternal sun. Bazariah emerged from the searing rays of magical light, her mighty hooves crushing corpses scattered beyond the Gates of Sorrow. She sniffed the bloody mist that hung in the air as if a manifested plague and glanced skyward into the thick of the aerial combat. The onyx and gold spires of the Gates of Sorrow were awash in fresh blood, circled by vicious flocks of furies and bloodthirsters. 


All around her, malformed horrors arrived through the warp gate in countless thousands. Bazariah noticed skins of pinkish and cobalt hues, feathers that when unfurled held rainbows on the wings of their masters. They fell upon the Blood God’s forces, which were already exasperated from intense conflict, and obliterated those too weak to withstand the onslaught. 


Bazariah clucked her tongue and sighed irritably. “You have undergone some construction, Nyst. I do not remember these gates ever being here during my reign. You could have built them much closer to the actual city, it would do the citizens some good to see bloodshed once in a millennium.”


Nyst spared a moment to shrug before she waded into battle with half of her demonic swords. The Sword of Flames screamed and left an arc of fire wherever it cleaved through the air. Bloodletter’s caught in the blade’s trajectory screeched as they were reduced to ashes on the bloody wind. The Sword that claimed Souls echoed with mournful laughter as the obsidian blade found crimson flesh, imbuing itself with stolen life energies. 


Bazariah observed Nyst shear through the crimson masses with faint interest. The way Nyst flexed her muscles and danced around a hundred blades. How she claimed the lives of the weak with gleeful reveling. In the end, she was not unlike Bazariah and could have been considered a twin, if Nyst possessed any refinement in her whatsoever. There could be no doubt, a clash between two such titans would have catastrophic effects for the Forlorn City. 


_Nyst truly believes that she rules here in my stead. She mistakes her reckless and limited wisdom for an iron fist. Be warned, my traitoress, for Tzeentch is not my only ally in this game._
_ 
_
“You believe your power impressive?” Bazariah planted one foot forward, crushing a towering shape-shifting creature halfway beneath her hoof. Her twin upper arms extended toward the heavens and her lower ones gripped each other by the wrists. The bruised energies of the warp seeped into her offered palms and channeled into her core. She yawned her fanged maw open to immense proportions and vomited a great fork of lightning. 


Nyst glanced up from her fresh kill, each of her blades embedded in the defiled remains of her foes. The forked trail of lightning left a jagged trail where it flashed through the air. A fraction of the aerial battle blossomed into a blinding solar flare, followed by the remains of angelic guardians and furies falling from the skies. 


Nyst clucked her tongue, unimpressed. “I would appreciate your efforts to stop killing my servants, Bazariah. If you pester them long enough, some of them may press me about destroying you.”


Bazariah charged into the thick of battle. The Sword of Bleak Eternity and Sword of Decimation wielded her grip with dizzying speed. She leapt into the midst of several juggernauts, her demonic strength easily buckling the iron hide beneath her hooves. The Sword of Bleak Eternity struck her foes with a thunderclap, their souls banished into this strange realm forever. “Remember that half of them are mine now, Nyst, as is half of this realm. And I could do with my subjects whatever I desire.” 


“That kind of thinking is why you were banished.” Nyst chortled. She twisted beneath a Bloodthirster’s arced swing. Sparks leapt from the axe head as it skimmed either of the daemoness’ blades. Her free upper arms gripped the bullish creature by the horns sprouting from its head as it pushed past her. The head snapped back with a savage pull and came away with one quick swing. With a triumphant roar, she cast the head into the seething daemonic mass. “I advise that you reconsider your desires for the near future.” 


Bazariah scoured the battlefield of minions from either faction with her lightning breath. She paused for a brief moment. “Perhaps when I am no longer a ruler of this realm, I may follow your advice!” 


An unearthly battle cry shook the earth beneath Bazariah’s hooves, echoed by half-a-dozen bloodthirsters that landed in a circle around her and Nyst. Bazariah sized each of them in turn, taking in their brass-plated armor and heraldry of the Blood God. One of them managed to catch her eye, however. This one was naked from the waist up, his gnarled and heavily scarred cerise skin marked with tattoos of the blackest ink. On his hip hung a mighty belt of solid and bloody iron, and dangled with a hundred trophies of foes that must have been as fierce as himself. The greave on his left leg writhed with a daemonic face fixated in pure rage and agony. The greater servant’s mouth was a yawning crevice of vicious fangs and twin forked tongues, as unsettling as his large golden eyes and bull’s horns. 


The nameless Bloodthirster hefted a massive executioner’s blade over his back and rested the hilt on his right shoulder. He gazed rather brazenly into Bazariah’s ebon eyes and spoke of a challenge without uttering a word. 


Bazariah jerked forward and vomited another burst of lightning that crunched into the Bloodthirster’s breastplate. She did not wait to look upon her hand’s work, the massive crater created in the heart of the armor, but instead darted forward with blinding speed. Her opponent let loose a mighty wheeze and sagged onto a knee. Yet as Bazariah closed the distance between them, the battle axe in his hand sung a singing cry as it rent reality in twain. 


Bazariah rebounded on her left foot and skittered out of reach of the writhing mass of tentacles that poured through the wound-between-worlds. The creature beyond the portal lashed against anything that moved, crushing mortals and demonic minions that were too dull-witted to flee into a bloody pulp. Bazariah gracefully used her lower arms to catapult her over a squirming fusion of chiton and flesh, and barked another burst of lightning into the creature’s yawning chasm-of-a-maw. 


The champion of Khorne’s host entered the fray again and charged forward on ebon wings through the seething tentacles. Bazariah broke into a charge, then skidded across the ground under the Bloodthirster’s bulk before it could charge her down. Their blades clashed once as Khorne’s champion flew overhead, and then again as it twisted in mid-air and made to land. 


Bazariah pulled her blades into an ‘x’ across the Bloodthirster’s midriff, but found her blades deflected as her foe flew backward and a made a clean parry. She continued her fluid movement and half-somersaulted to close the gap between them. Her blades flashed out in a downward arc, but Khorne’s champion lowered her his head, caught the swords on his bull’s horns, and shouldered her into the ground. Cloven hooves stamped down in an attempt to crush their prey, but Bazarih caught one hoof in mid-flight with her free arms and twisted violently until the bone beneath the muscle cracked. 


Khorne’s champion howled in agony, but still managed to kick Bazariah away with his broken leg. He sent Bazariah tumbling amidst the corpses of the battlefield and hefted his axe into the air. 


The Bloodthirster shouted over the clamor of conflict. “Let this bloody battleground be the sheathe of my axe! Wrapped in the warm embrace of shattered flesh and leaking organs. I shall never sheathe my weapon before a battle is finished!” 


The minions of Khorne bellowed their approval and rejoined the battle with renewed vigor.


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## Myen'Tal

A wounded cultist of the Forlorn’s Beginning crawled his way through the thick underbrush of the Lost Woods. Ne’gath casually looked up from his fresh kill—a young woman that left several marks in his armor—and found the coward fleeing as he surveyed the battlefield. An entire battalion of the Forlorn’s Beginning had entered the battlefield, fresh on the heels of the Tau Empire even as the aliens entirely withdrew from the region. Valyena’s ambush was a subtle strategy; small distractions from several directions that drew the cultists further into the swamps.


Having thought that beleaguered Tau forces were somewhere nearby, the Forlorn’s Beginning blundered straight into the sights of Ne’gath’s regrouped forces. Hell-gun fire had rained from every direction, and the fanatical kin waded into battle with their chainswords roaring the pitiful screams of their enemies. 


Ne’gath stood from his kneeling position and tramped through the murky waters toward the fleeing cultist. As he did so, he passed by the tattered remains of fallen possessed soldiers, crushed beneath the armored legs of sentinels or half-obliterated by an armored tank’s cannon. The skirmish with the Tau Empire had sent Ne’gath’s kin reeling, but the fight against the Forlorn’s Beginning was simply a drain on numbers. The survivors of those-who-were-named numbered in the hundreds, when they had been over a thousand several hours ago. 
_
_
_They would destroy us! _Valyena had proclaimed._ Those who would shackle your immortal souls with iron and whip! Those who would be our prey, have struck us for the last time. Destroy them, and earn your names once again. _


It was necessary, Ne’gath thought as he trampled over the coward’s back, making him sink halfway beneath the swampy waters. The mortal screamed a cry of despair, his hands quivered too much for the las-pistol in his grip to be of use. He shot with it anyway, the thunder-clap rang out into the discomforting silence. Ne’gath observed the shot go wide and whizz into a nearby tree some feet from his head. The daemon stepped off of the sinking body and knelt beside his prey. 


He unsheathed his knife and planted the blade through the mortal’s spinal chord where it met the neck. The slain cultist joined the remains of the destroyed battalion littered throughout the swamp. The smell of freshly splintered wood intermingled with burning oil and licking flames hung over the field of death. 


“Our numbers dwindle…” Ne’gath muttered on the gentle breeze. “Fresh sorcerers are required for replenishment.” 


“An astute observation.” Valyena’s voice bubbled up from somewhere in the shadows. “It is nothing that cannot be taken care of. Gather the forces for another assault. We shall report back to our masters for the last time.” 


Ne’gath snarled beneath his helmet, skeptical. “Do you mean to destroy these heavy chains or link them tighter around our heels?”


Valyena emerged from the shadows before the broken corpse half-sunken in the water. Her helmet was cradled in her hand, dim daylight shone on the pallid and veiny skin of her face. Her hair was unkempt, but bore some semblance to a straightened stream of raven hair. 


“Forgiveness is something that does not exist for us.” She said. “One-who-is-named, why should you turn a blind eye to the transgressions of the past? Why spare your enslavers, when it is they who should be shackled beneath you?”


“Sorcerers possess raw power.” Ne’gath concluded. “And they have legions at their command. What remains of us shall turn into ashes on the smoke.”


“Sorcerers also possess vulnerabilities.” Valyena countered. “Weaknesses such as arrogance and avarice, blinded by the safety that their miniscule power has afforded them. Our victims will not be prepared for our assault, I assure you.”


Ne’gath shrugged. “What makes you think they are not already aware of us?”


“Oh, they are…” Valyena chuckled once. “But that matters not to me and should not to you either. These humans believe that they have seen the hells that our realms have to offer. I shall show them but a taste of our power, and not one of them shall praise us afterward.


“The mortals possess an ancient arcane relic that they use to enslave us to their will. The relic follows in our footsteps, replacing our numbers should they ever dwindle. You desire to be free, one-who-is-named? Then the relic must be destroyed.” 


Ne’gath nodded to himself. “If that is the gods’ wish… everything has progressed too far to turn back now. I shall assemble our brethren, but know that my eyes are upon you.”


“I freed you, Ne’gath.” Valyena smiled. “You can place your trust on an ally seeking the same ends.”


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## Myen'Tal

Chapter Seven:

_The cold light of the void bears no warmth for this wayward son
Whose flesh is re-forged in the celestial flames of an eternal hell
Cleansed in the kindling of false truths and the bleak reality that besets all of mankind
Forever shall I dwell where only darkness and damnation linger
O Cruel Gods
Sunder this prison that binds my soul
And I shall ride the storm like lightning
From these pried open gates on the edge of time
And forever shall I bear the crown of true heroes
Who will sing my name and wreath me in glory
O You who walk among eternity
Where our names shall perish from history forevermore
For truly, is all lost?
Is everything… dust?
If so, then I shall welcome the great inferno with open arms
And die a mere mortal once again, for the final time_​ 
Exalted Sorcerer Tyrioc found himself once again before the statue of Magnus the Red, sword sheathed into the alabaster marble floor and his knee bent before the shrine. A chill wind blew through the narrow and maze-like corridors of the Silver Tower. Where it came from, Tyrioc could name a thousand culprits, for the Oracle of Destiny was as much an organic, sentient creature as much as it was a ship. Another gust of wintry air made his white robes flutter and turned his breath into a fine mist. 

The bridge of the Oracle of Destiny was incredibly silent in this moment. Scattered around the shadowy spheres that made the headquarters were the silent, vigilant shapes of Rubric Marines. Mortal crewmates and their servitor companions slaved away on a hundred cogitators and monitors beneath the ever-watching Sons of Magnus. 

Tyrioc observed them even with his eyes concentrated on the void beyond the glassine panels of the bridge. Through his mind’s eye, he absorbed his surroundings, noting the limestone that encircled the admiral’s chair and dark iron grating that ran beneath everything else. He listened to the ancient banners of Prospero billow in an artificial breeze so cold, Tyrioc shuddered deep within himself. 

He also noticed the entrance into the bridge slide open to allow a group of hulking terminators access. And these Thousand Sons elite were no average killing machines. Each was clad in daemonically corrupted and ancient Tartaros Pattern Dreadnought armor once common during the great crusade, Their legs seemed unusually long and their chest plates bulged around the torso, creating a shape reminiscent of a circular disc. Half of their helms were buried in studded gorgets and sunk deep into the armor. 

Warriors of the Scarab Occult. Who once numbered among the greatest psychic warriors. Now they were reduced to dust-filled automatons. 

“Exalted Sorcerer…” One of the Scarab Occult rumbled with a heavily distorted voice. An Aspiring Sorcerer then, Tyrioc knew from the snowy white robes that fell from his shoulders and the great staff in his hand. “Have you need of the Scarab Occult?”

“Quenthu,” Tyrioc sighed and finally stood. “You honor your primogenitor and me with your presence. And I see you come before me for knowledge. Should I ask you a question in turn?”

“Should you think it wise…” Quenthu paused, his muscles visibly freezing for a brief moment before he rapped his great staff along the floor. “Exalted Lord.” 

“Answer me this one question, Quenthu.” Tyrioc’s sword arm hovered around the sword sheathed into the floor of the bridge. “Do you think me a mortal? Am I not… human? I have lived through much, and have endured the burden of many mistakes. Brothers have been lost needlessly. The Changer no longer favors my ambition, my legacy, my power. What other Lord of the Silver Towers could ever claim something such as this?”

Quenthu hesitated for a moment, realizing that much of the bridge was focused on them. “Does this concern the council of Sorcerers and their advice, lord?” 

“Does that matter?” Tyrioc shrugged. “And if I said yes? Would you remain by your master’s side? Or would you challenge me for more power? To exploit yet another weakness in a champion of chaos. Honestly, sometimes I believe in that ridiculous Imperial Primer. That our kind are simply doomed to fail. You are my most trusted, Quenthu. So what say you?”

“Destroy them.” Quenthu nodded. “Murder those who have instilled this doubt in you, Anointed of Magnus. Listen not to their cowering. If I may speak honestly, I think you relied on your allies for too long. You have led us into battle and have brought us so close to absolute victory… if only you would reach out and seize it for once. I remember the Tyrioc who led us on Prospero, who would never bend until the bitter end. 

“Damn the Dark Gods, this is a fight to regain our honor. A struggle for survival. Would you return to our Primarch in shame?”

“No, I would not. So you have spoken.” Tyrioc nodded, his expression bleak. “And it pleases me greatly that you would remain by my side.” Tyrioc gestured for Quenthu to join him by the bridge window. “I have a mission for you and the Scarab Occult.”

Quenthu slammed the bottom of his staff along the iron grating. “Speak and hear your wish fulfilled.”

Tyrioc indicated the planet rotating in the bottom corner of the viewport. “A message must be sent to the denizens of this barren back-water. And the intent and purpose must be clear. Tarmathon IV shall burn between my fingers. You remember Mirathir, yes?”

Even through his V.O.X., Quenthu’s voice soured. “A xeno, yes? Should she be exterminated?”

“Exterminated?” Tyrioc rolled the question off of his tongue. “No. But decimating her forces should be a promising start. I want her taken, secured, and brought onboard the Oracle of Destiny. Kill any of her daemonic pets, and wreak havoc on your way down.”

The Scarab Occult Sorcerer asked. “How heavily guarded is the objective?”

Tyrioc snapped his fingers and a hologram of a more detailed Tarmathon IV materialized in front of him. “One city in the middle of the Areteca Wastes. It pales in comparison to the Hive Cities of Tyrannus, but it is large enough to warrant a large taskforce. Mirathir no doubt dwells on the highest towers and palaces. Acquire what resources you require, but fall short of success and know you’ll have my eternal wrath.”

“And the other sorcerers?” Quenthu inquired.

“The Coven is ready for battle.” Tyrioc brushed aside the hologram and chuckled. “You need not know what I intend to do with them. Focus on bringing Mirathir to me in one piece.”

Quenthu nodded. “And so it shall be war.” 

Tyrioc nodded and felt some measure of his old strength return. “And so it shall be war. This pathetic cult shall soon learn that all is dust…” He sucked in a long breath. “Slaves! Give me every image of Tarmathon IV available! And prepare for descent and orbital bombardment…”

~***~​_The Oracle of Destiny loomed above Tarmathon IV like a lost moon pulled into the gravity well. Tyrioc was certain that Mirathir was playing the patient game, uncertain as to whether the Thousand Sons were friend or foe. Soon, the planetary defenses would open fire, if he waited overlong, and the Silver Tower would become nothing more than glorified wreckage of an age long deceased. 

And so the Thousand Sons would take the initiative, and announce their true allegiance to themselves. As Tyrioc handed down the order for the orbital bombardment to commence, hundreds of Rubric Marines and Tzaangor cultists were readying themselves for teleportation onto the surface. 

Tyrioc remained in his admiral’s chair as the first scourge of life was fueled in the heart of the Oracle of Destiny. The vessel trembled and quaked as if it were going to annihilate itself rather than give in to Tyrioc’s demands. And then in an amazing brilliance, the orbital beam plummeted toward Tarmathon IV. The very clouds in the atmosphere parted and swirled around the outskirts of the incomprehensibly large discharge of atomizing energy. 

When the orbital bombardment had descended onto the Onyx Redoubt, Tyrioc could only find a mushroom cloud of ashes and flames that spread across the surface like a virulent disease. 

Six hundred thousand souls, lost in one fleeting moment. Now was the time to strike, and eliminate Mirathir’s misguided cult once and for all. The Thousand Sons were no one but the Great Changer’s pawns, and that was all they were to someone like Mirathir. A tool to be discarded. At long last, Tyrioc found some measure of retribution that he desired, but it would not be enough until Tarmathon IV was his and his enemies were put to the sword. 
_


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