Eye of Oppression – Cyline Monia
Prologue – "Our Birth"
"We cannot fight each other. We are loved by one and all, but especially by our Emperor."
How long must the Prince suffer throughout this war? Why do they deny and escape their own true and darkest desires? Is it not what most people want, to experience ultimate pleasure? Then how is it that the universe cannot allow themselves to become one with Slaanesh?
As it watches the darkness of war through it's own vision, the Prince of Chaos looks grimmer as his legions find difficulty pushing their might and religion to those opposing it. It has the inability to understand why others would not submit their physical body to the pleasures brought on by the Warp. There has to be a change. There is no way Slaanesh can ignore a universe not only under its power, but not even progressing to change.
"Do not stop your progression! We will show our hated kinsmen how wrong and short-sighted they are!"
Within the Eye of Terror, an area ripped in physical space that is warped almost into pure energy, minions of the 4 Chaos Gods fight amongst themselves to grasp the raw energy that gives them power. Within the southern core of this plain lies a tainted world Prime Anguish, where such a struggle is currently mounted itself.
The diseased faction of Nurgle's Death Guard warriors assaults the wise, yet twisted minds of Tzeentch's Thousand Sons sorcerers. It was strange that the forces of Nurgle had moved swiftly towards the planet, as they usually find an advantage point to erode parts of the enemy, land or entities, in a slow and most painful plague.
How unfortunate that the Thousand Sons had not expected this fast attack, and had given the Death Guard the luxury of creating a forward base of equivalent power to their own. Now, even the crust they make their last stand on is purged with pestilence, spread by the bio-plants from Nurgle's side of the battlefield.
Yet they continue their toughest stride, slowly… casually walking towards the swarm of bullets that endanger their existence.
"How the hell do fight when we can't even stand?!" questions a servant of Tzeentch.
"Then it would be smart not to walk on the glowing green roots you stand on." The sorcerer, loosing his ability to control his squads, tried to establish his superiority. "We will continue, like the tortoise, to hold our strong defence and fight back at the tiring foe."
"We have lost our hangar! We cannot escape!"
"Therefore more reason to walk on solid ground, and press on! Do not question my wisdom! Do you not listen to the advise of our great Lord?"
It has become what most of sane people would fear the most. Outnumbered 3:2, surrounded with no retreat. All that awaits them is annihilation.
"Te-hah! Those foolish spawns of the deluded Librarian!" Preaching their glory to his followers, the Lord of Nurgle gloats as victory is at hand. "Today is the last day they call us retarded essence of filth! Now is the time for them to taste the disgust of defe-"
As he was finishing his speech, his neon glowing eyes look up in awe, as 7 Hell Talons (Chaos' infamous bombers) soar the air. But they were not of either side's allegiance. They had the Mark of Slaanesh!
They seemed to have flown straight over with no vile intentions and no bombs dropped. Suddenly, over ½ the battlefield belonging to the Death Guard was crushed by nothing but loud, high pitched sound waves. The bodies squelched and snapped, while giant craters bounded the land.
With their main servants of Chaos crushed, the hordes of Plaguebearer demons imploded into nothing, back into the energies of the Warp. Nurgle has lost 70 of its force in one ironically swift move, just like he himself intended.
As the Death Guard fail to keep moral, they fall back to their base to start their escape from Prime Anguish. In front appears sparks of light, blinding the retreating units. The next thing they know, they feel an agonizing rip into their stomach, by a chainfist. They have been victims of a Deep Strike by Slaanesh's Terminator squads, belonging to the Emperor's Children. There were minimal survivors after the assault, of which none will ever speak out loud of this massacre.
It was almost unthinkable. In the midst of defeat, the sorcerers of Tzeentch halted in confusion. Were they next? Why must 2 Chaos Gods desire to destroy them on this planet so much? What was here that they wanted to control?
Warriors of the Thousand Sons reloaded and readied themselves against the numerous tides of Terminators. They were reforming after their chase against the vanquished foe. But they weren't forming-up. In fact, they looked like they were on standby. One was even blasting another with countless frequencies of noise, of which he was foaming with fits of pleasure.
"What is this? Do they mock me by taking their time to assault? The insolence!"
Tzeentch; Chaos God of Magic; treacherous and deceiving; a being known as the most wise, yet untrustworthy. Every action, thought through to perfection to create an ever-changing universe with turmoil and confusion.
But even he was smitten by confusion when the Emperor's Children harmed not even one soldier. It intrigued him, yet contradictorily angered him. Who had the guts to impersonate, or even challenge his cunning with their own?
"The Prince is indeed worthy of my attention," he pondered, as he viewed the battlefield with a portal through the Warp. "But is it to aid or mock my blindness to this failure of a defence?"
"Why must you think I mock you?"
As he spoke, Slaanesh entered the same space as Tzeentch, also viewing the ruined landscape of Prime Anguish.
The Prince added, "I would never insult you in such a way. I vision you are the eldest and wisest of our kin. If it weren't for you, the Imperium would have taken advantage with their bookworms and Chief Librarians."
"Then I assume you show an act of aid. But what is at that stronghold that has you come to 'rescue' me?"
"You are more clouded than usual in these situations." The Prince floated along side the baffled tactician. "What I want is not of the physical plain. It has much more profitable promise than a mere planet."
Tzeentch gave Slaanesh a sharp stare, but not to warn. It was a stare that was defensive and amused, combining with a slight smirk on his face. He then asked, "More interesting than what I may have hidden? I knew my intelligence wouldn't leek so easily without my knowing. Then may I ask you to confirm you desire? What do you wish to bargain?"
"My bother, I ask you of your own personal service. A bit of your infinite time and knowledge to lend me."
"Oh? And what is so dramatically difficult for you that you need me to divert my attention for my own plans?"
"I apologize. I know you have more demanding things to take root, but this is big. Something that you may excel in, but obviously I do not. I need your magical touch for a little project. A project to reinforce my minions, as my most worthy warriors aren't progressing their fight against our enemies. Especially of Imperial ranking."
"And how might I assist? Even I cannot bring forth followers from the Warp. Demons must be summoned, and followers must worship us."
"True, and I wont ask of a simple, yet pointless plan. But I believe there is a place radiating opportunity to bring forth new, and totally loyal subjects."
The Lord of Magic was astounded of a new find. "Where?"
"I'll show you, but are you able to call forth armies from the dead, as long as there is evidence of their existence?"
What Slaanesh was speaking of was impossible in many circumstances. Even Chaos Space Marines of the most mutated and warped had to be breathing, or at least intact. To say "evidence of their existence" meant that they are not.
Then again, this is Tzeentch. In a deep past, there have been powers of darkness that had used Necromancy to revive the dead, even if their flesh wasn't there. But it was forgotten for millennia after millennia. Fortunately, Tzeentch keeps labyrinths on books on all subjects and spells, not only in the Warp, but in the physical world too. There must be something!
It only takes an instant to look through the many minds engulfed in the warp, as well as the eyes of his own troops. There was nothing solid, but there's always room to improvise.
With that at hand, he proclaims, "My fellow kin, I am always able to get with such abilities. Nothing of the unknown is hidden from me forever."
"Then I will show you the luxury I dug up from this buried chest."
With that, both made their way to a monumental area. A place, where the legendary Horus made the 1st ever acts of Chaos Space Marine treachery, known as the "Horus Heresy."
It was at Iistvaan III where billions of loyalists to the Emperor suffered immensely from Virus bombs launched into its atmosphere. Everything melted and crumbled so suddenly, their fumes burnt the crust itself. They collided with each other, causing a furnace caused by chain-reactions from these gases. That event shook and informed the Emperor of the birth of the Chaos Space Marines.
"This?! This is your plan? I am not a magician that plays tricks. I am a sorcerer that sews the energies of the Warp into magic." Tzeentch was fuming at his wasted efforts.
"Calm yourself." Slaanesh reinforced his trust with Tzeentch. "I have researched this thoroughly and I dared not disturb you until the time came of assistance.
There is evidence of existence on the crust. Although it is melted, the very basic ooze humanity can become has been partially absorbed by the planet's ashes. It has bonded with that ash and preserved itself.
If that isn't enough, the atmosphere itself has the molecules and atoms to create new life. Since atoms cannot simply vanish, could you not mould that to our whim?"
Tzeentch floated in thought. It was as farfetched as its extremes. It can only be true or not. This is the thing, the type of knowledge that can only be tested to disperse fact and fiction. In an urge to find out, Tzeentch tears away from his thoughts to confront Slaanesh again.
"Be as it is, I would love to see if your hypothesis works out. But if it doesn't, I demand to have those Terminators wear my armour and bow to my wisdom."
"But of course. It's a gamble I'd take with my own suicide, if such a thing exists."
"Loose too many troops, and you will surely find out…"
"I saw lights that could conjure horrors of the most damned, but also the beauty of its colours. Such beauty…"
(Reference for this story has be taken from Warhammer 40,000, a fictional theme for a game created by members of Games Workshop. Characters, Orphans of Oppression and storyline are fictional themes made by this fan fiction author, Chaz40K.)