It is the twilight of the 49th millennium, and the war has taken everything. The Imperium has been torn apart from within, consumed by the strife and zealotry that came with the destruction of the Golden Throne. Only a few bastions of mankind still stand, watched over by the Space Marines and the Inquisition, as unbending in their duty as they always have been.
On the eastern Fringe, the Tau Empire continues its hopeless fight against the encroaching Hive Mind, its scientists and technicians creating increasingly powerful weaponry with which to combat the Tyranids, as the Swarm continues to adapt and evolve in response. The fight is growing desperate, as world after world falls dark.
The Necrons, newly awoken from their slumber, still fight to reclaim their empire of old. Legion upon legion of ageless warriors marches forth from ancient Tomb worlds, with single-minded determination, and no Eldar to stop them. But even the Stormlord himself admits, if only in his darkest hours, that it is a blind, hopeless goal. The worlds they once held are lost, and the Silent King has not returned to lead his waiting soldiers. But, consumed by a need for purpose, he still crusades against the organic filth that has taken his birthright.
On the Craftworld of Ulthwé, as the Cadia gate failed, the Eldar made their stand. For fifty days and nights, the Eldar stood against the tide of Chaos that spilled from the Eye. The battle spanned the entire sector, every weapon the Eldar had used to stem the Tide. Ancient weapons, with the power to unmake reality itself, were taken from their prisons; Titans powered by the spirits of entire worlds were awoken to do battle once more .The Avatars were combined, and Khaine strode to War once again, his children by his side. But it was not enough. One by one, the Craftworlds fell silent, their light extinguished at last. But the Eldar knew their sacrifice was not in vain. As the God of War was cut down by the Blood God himself, he laughed in the face of his murderer. For in their blind hatred and hunger, the Dark Gods had created their own destruction. In the depths of the Webway, watched over by the Harlequins and Cegorach, a consciousness formed from the ashes of a once mighty race.
It remembered the death that made up every fibre of its being.
It remembered those who were lost.
It remembered the Fall.
It remembered Chaos.
With a heart of rage and a soul of vengeance, Ynnead gazed upon the Warp.
And it trembled before Him.
.