The ground shook with tremendous force as the dragon charged forward. Under the impact of its clawed feet, the rock itself shattered. The talons dug into the ground as if it was made of butter, leaving behind deep gouge marks in the rock. Each stride rang out like a thunderclap in the small chamber. Muscles bulged under heavy scales as they propelled the dragon and it's exodite rider towards their target at terrible speed.
The dragon seethed with primordial anger and bloodlust. It didn't just want to taste blood, it needed to taste blood. On its back, linked to the dragon through a physic bond stronger than iron, the exodite chieftain snarled as his vision turned red. His tongue traced the contours of his canines, slicing a wound into the flesh and letting the taste of iron fill his mouth. These were not the blunted and dull teeth of his craftworld kin, they were a hunter's weapon, made for ripping apart flesh. He licked his lips and let the blood spill forth from his mouth. Beneath him, his soulmate tasted the very same same blood in his reptile jaws and fell into a fevered frenzy.
This was the hunt. The kill. This was what they lived for. These lands were their hunting grounds. At their back lay their female. Claimed and taken, belly already swelling with cubs. This interloper would regret the day it strayed into their territory. How dare it threaten their flock? Anger pulsed through beast and Eldar alike, in an endless loop between their hearts, growing ever stronger until it was all they could feel.
Just before the impact the dragon turned its head on its side and opened its jaws wide, revealing rows upon rows of gleaming razor-sharp teeth. White protective lids closed over the hungry eyes just before the attack. The rider unwittingly mimicked the motion and closed his eyes as he lowered his lance, explosive point squarely fixed on the daemon's heart.
It was at that point, with a devious smile, their opponent made its move. The daemon had observed the dragon's charge with an amused visage, not moving a muscle. But just before the clash it leapt, turning around in the air in an elegant half pirouette, positioning itself above the dragon and it's Eldar rider. Lazily it opened its claws. This was too easy. These two idiots had obviously never fought a daemon before. Their minds were like an open book to the devourer and its kin. It could feel the raw emotions rising from dragon and rider alike. The sea of passion was like music to the daemon, sweet music. However, no matter how sweet their feelings tasted, blind bloodlust had no place in real combat. Loss of control meant death. These barbarians would learn that the hard way.
As it passed over the dragon, ready to descend and impale it with all four arms, the daemon met the gaze of the exodite chieftain, looking straight up. A chill ran along its bovine spine as it realized those eyes no longer held bloodlust. They were now just cold and hard. At the corner of its eyes, the daemon caught a glimpse of the dragon's yellow eyes. They were full of contempt and calm satisfaction. The dragons massive jaws were half closed now, in what almost looked like a sneer.
It was as if the beast was telling the daemon: That. Was a beginner's mistake.
It was at that moment the daemon realized the charge had been nothing but a decoy. A whooshing sound from behind revealed the true threat. Too late the daemon turned around to witness the dragon's massive tail rushing towards it like the string of a scorpion. Desperately it twisted its body to avoid getting impaled on the bony spikes protruding from the tip. It had severely underestimated its opponents. With the smallest of margins, the massive spikes missed the daemons torso, instead raking deep gashes along its sides.
But even if the spikes missed there was no avoiding the impact. The bulk of the dragon's tail smashed into the daemon like a flail of horn and scale. Bones cracked and flesh tore inside the daemon as a result of the crushing blow. The daemonic aura anchoring it to the material realm shimmered angrily and all but shattered as it struggled to repair the damage inflicted. Another blow like that and the aura would crack like an eggshell, banishing the daemon back to the warp. But even the daemonic aura could not stop the sheer momentum of the blow. Like a stone flung from a sling, the fiend was sent crashing into the wall of the chamber that Ynnead had carved out around the webway gate.
When it struck the wall a feeling worse than pain seeped into its mind. For the misty power of the death goddess still lingered within the rock, subtly nipping at the edges of the daemon. Calling for it. Whispering things that it could not stand to hear. Like a child touching a flame, the Keeper of Secrets recoiled, falling without grace to the floor. There it desperately staggered away from the rock, as if afraid the walls would close around it and pull it in. For the first time, it dawned on the abomination that it might meet its end among these ruins. With great pain, it rose up again, raising its many claws in challenge. But unwittingly it could not help but glance in the direction of the exit.
Eyes flashing, the dragon quickly withdrew its long lashing tail and circled the daemon, placing itself between its prey and the tunnel exit. It moved like a cat cornering a mouse, blocking off any escape. Each step was taken with careful precision, body lithe and deadly liked a coiled spring, ready to lunge. Lazily, the dragon tapped it's swordlike talons against the stone below as it crept ever closer to its opponent. The eerie sound echoed in the chamber and down the exit tunnel.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
And then finally the dragon scraped its barbed tail against the walls in a protruded horrible sound. All the while not taking its big yellow eyes off the daemon. The dragon's giant maw opened and closed rhythmically, as if already chewing on the flesh of its kill.
The message was clear: I am the hunter. You, you are the prey.
These two had fought and killed daemons before, the Keeper of Secrets was sure of it. They had used the daemons ability to read their emotions against it, blinding it with rage as intense as the sun, all the while masking their true intentions. Now their minds were like the sea after a storm. Calm, blank. Unreadable. Frustration filled the daemon as the dragon slowly, with unnerving familiarity boxing it in, maneuvering it into a corner. It needed time. It needed to stall.
"Impressive, most imp-"
But the exodite chieftain perched on top of the dragon simply shook his head and responded in a deep booming voice, while at the same time lowering his lance yet again.
"We have no use for your words, betrayer. Only your blood."
Before he had even finished his sentence the dragon lunged, claws flashing up at the daemon. The bullhorn daemon blocked the attack with its lower pair of claws, a shockwave from the impact sending shivers up its massive arms. But before it could strike back the reptile had already bounded back again. The next strike came from above, then from the side again, the dragon darting in from every possible angle to slash, bite and kick. After every strike the it retreated immediately, using its superior speed to rob the daemon of any chance to retaliate. The dragon didn't even try to score any decisive hits. All it did was nip and scratch, dodge and feint, whipping up dirt and dust with the tail, all to keep the daemon occupied. And it soon became clear why.
For with every attack, its Eldar rider rained down a flurry of quick jabs with his lance, probing the daemon's protective aura for weaknesses. The otherworldly forcefield hissed with each strike, sending sparks flying around them. Soon it was just barely holding together. In the corner of its big black eyes, the daemon could see the charged tip of the lance, glowing with a hungry fire that longed to get out. If just one strike punched through the aura and struck true, the fight would be over. Angrily, the daemon swiped a giant claw at the exodite, trying to knock him out of the saddle. The dragon reacted instantly, leaping back, eyes flaring, hissing in anger, its feelings suddenly not so controlled.
So. That was it. That was their weakness.
As if realizing the daemon had figured out their strategy, the dragon escalated the attacks to new heights. Its glittering scales became a blur as it pressed the advantage and started to drive the daemon up against the wall with a series of furious strikes. With each attack the daemon retreated, the dragons swipes missing by mere inches. Under normal circumstances, it might have been more of an even fight but in its current state, wounded and exhausted, with its grip on the material dimension quickly weakening the daemon was forced to give ground. Finally, the daemon felt stone at its back, realizing there was nowhere left to retreat. The ghostly touch of the death goddess started to creep back through from the walls, sapping strength and speed. The daemon snorted and shook its head, desperately trying to shake the drowsy feeling. From somewhere very far away a longing voice was calling for it. A voice not heard in ten thousand years. Calling the daemon by a lost name no one knew.
Sensing weakness, the dragon opened its massive jaws wide, flashing a vicious victory smile. It crouched like a hunting cat, raising the spines on its back and narrowing its eyes in anticipation of the kill. For a split second, time stood still. Then with an explosion of movement, the dragon leapt forward.
This time, rather than trying to dodge and parry, the daemon took the dragon's attack head-on. The dragon's talon were allowed to plunge deep into the daemon's fleshy side, its massive jaws allowed to close around one of the daemon's four arms. The bones within the arm snapped like a twig, pink blood cascading in great streams forth between the dragon's teeth. On top of the dragon the exodite chieftain leaned forward, prepared to finish the fight.
Too late did the two realize they had fallen for their own trick. For while the dragon had inflicted severe damage, it had scored no killing blow. And with the dragon fully committed to its attack, the daemon stretched one free arm onto the dragon's back, towards the unprotected rider, now all of a sudden within range. Sweet fear filled the air as the exodite tried to retreat. But his body weight had already shifted forward, the lance weighing him down. Unwilling to drop his weapon, he fell right into the daemon's grasp.
Turning the lance blow aside and following the weapon along its length towards its wielder, the daemon closed a giant claw around the forearm of the exodite and then squeezed with all its might. The arm was snipped clean of, falling to the ground, nerveless fingers still grasping the deadly lance. A torrent of bright red blood exploded from the gaping wound.
The dragon whined and scrambled back in utter panic, caring nothing for its own safety. While pink bubbling blood was pouring from its side and the arm the dragon had bitten was all but useless the daemon was still standing. So when the dragon fled the Keeper of Secrets managed to plunge a claw deep into the its scaled rear thigh.
The message was clear: Eye for an eye. Tooth of a tooth.
Bruised and limping, the dragon backed into the other corner of the room and carefully let its rider dismount. The exodite chieftain was still conscious, but fading fast. With a face whiter than snow, his shaking hands quickly wrapped a leather strap around the stump of his arm to stop the blood and seared the wound shut using some tool before collapsing on the ground. The dragon stood guard over his unmoving body, scaly shackles raised, never taking its eyes off the daemon.
This would have been the perfect time to strike, had the daemon not already spent the last its reserves in the latest attack. The daemonic aura holding its form together was all but gone and its physical body was broken almost to the point beyond repair. So instead of attacking, with a heavy breath, the daemon picked up the exodite's severed arm and gulped it down whole. The life consumed was not much but it proved enough to seal the gaping wound at its side shut. The arm was beyond repair.
Finally, the daemon picked up the slender yet deadly wraithbone lance and raised it over its head. With a roar the daemon brought the weapon down to its knee with a crack. The lance shattered into two pieces, sending splinters flying all over the chamber. Smiling, the daemon cast the broken pieces aside. From across the room, the dragon hissed and whined, its distress clear as day as its master faded from consciousness. Riderless and leaderless, the odds were now even between the two behemoths.
Tooth and nail, scale and claw, horn and tail they fought. Gone was any sense of finesse and strategy. Both monsters fought for their life, biting back the pain from their ever-increasing number of wounds. Black dragon and pink daemon blood soon mixed on the floor, turning the dirt into mud. The dragon was faster and stronger but had to protect its master at the same time as it tried to fight off its adversary. The daemon quickly learned that the beast would gladly take a hit on its own body rather than allow it within striking distance of the exodite chieftain. And so the battle turned ever so slowly. Despite its superior form, the dragon was losing ground. Outsmarted at every turn, it could soon do nothing but to defend against the advancing nightmare that was the doom of his master's kin. The beast's despair, the knowledge that it was doomed, fed the daemon, fueling it with hunger and bloodlust. Finally, with crippled legs buckling under its massive bulk the dragon positioned itself in front of its fallen master, ready for the last stand. It turned its head one last time towards its beloved master and nudged his limp body gently. Then it prepared to sell its life dearly.
But before the doom arrived the exodite chieftain stirred and raised his remaining cold white hand and placed it on the dragons massive paw, gently caressing it.
"Milliona" he whispered from the floor. The giant dragon all but jumped in joy like a kitten at this sign of life from its master.
"Listen to me. We must do it. Like we trained."
The dragon snarled and roared at the exodite, violently refusing whatever request he had made.
"No, you listen to me, you stubborn lizard! We must. We're the last line of defence. We can't afford to lose this day." The exodite extended a trembling finger towards the webway gate where his pregnant paramour laid collapsed on the floor.
"Imisha. Imisha must live. My children must live. If I am to go to my ancestors, let me go with my head held up high, knowing that my kin is safe. The pack must survive. You know this. There is no other choice."
The dragon lowered its head and closed its eyes. On the other side of the room, the daemon could feel the reptile's heart break. The misery was like an orgasm to it. It laughed and rolled its head in pleasure, saliva flooding from its jaws, big black eyes bulging with glee.
"You're beaten, beast. There was never any 'hope'. Let me tell you a secret: There is no such thing."
"I will now feed upon the souls of your master and his bride. And their children." The dragon stood perfectly still, eyes still closed, head still lowered.
"Would you like to watch?" the daemon sneered, letting the despair take it to climax. After the pleasure had peaked it took a hoofed step forward, raising its claws, ready for the next course. But as soon as it moved the dragon's head snapped upwards again, big yellow eyes meeting the daemon head on. On the ground next to the dragon, the exodite convulsed in violent spasms. The daemon could sense some...thing...pass from the Eldar into the dragon. The dragon's big yellow eyes suddenly turned a fiery orange. The despair in them was instantly replaced with fiery fury. And with a lust for vengeance so strong it ignited the very air itself.
The dragon opened its jaws and breathed fire.
An inferno of incandescent flame and smoke rolled over the daemon, searing the skin from its flesh. In an instant, the daemon was back in the dressing room of the orcish porn theatre, the memory of the Eldar farseer melting the flesh off its bones catapulted back into the front of its mind. It wailed as the fire took root in its flesh, running wildly to escape the blazing onslaught. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere safe from the conflagration flowing from the dragon's jaws. Desperately the daemon raised its claws in front of its face to try to shield itself. But it was all in vain. The flames pushed passed what was left of its protective aura, setting the daemon's very core on fire. And as the daemon burned the warp sank into its soul like a hook, pulling it home, away from the material realm.
But just as all seemed lost, the firestorm paused. Charred and weak, the daemon sank to its knees. On the other side of the room, the dragon heaved, exhausted. The big reptile eyes were somewhat dimmed but soon flared orange yet again. Yet beside the dragon, the exodite chieftain's body now laid perfectly still. The dragon was breathing heavier and heavier, glaring straight at the daemon, its glare sizzling with rage.
The daemon had but one chance. And it took it. Staggering, feet and legs nothing but burned ruins it started to move. Not closer to the dragon, who while incapacitated could easily kill it with a swipe of its great talons. Instead, the daemon started to crawl closer to the webway gate. Towards Imisha. Before the dragon could send another bout of flame its way the monster had positioned itself between the gate and the dragon. Any flames shot at it now would burn the unconscious farseer alongside the daemon.
The fire in the dragon's eyes died as it realized what was happening. It seemed to shrink, sagging down onto the ground, the fiery wroth leaving it. In final gesture of goodbye the dragon nudged its broken master with a bruised muzzle. With a violent shake, the exodite chieftain gasped for air as whatever had passed from him to the dragon returned. Then, on broken legs, the dragon started to crawl towards the daemon, bones cracking as the massive weight shifted forwards.
The two broken monsters raced towards the gate where Imisha lay sprawled on the stairs leading into the portal. The Keeper of Secrets was already at the bottom of stairs, but it immolated legs were now nothing but a useless ruin. Pulling its massive bulk forward using only the clawed arms it moved much slower than then dragon pursuing it. But a servant of the great prince of chaos does not need to reach the body of a living creature to feed. Especially an Eldar. Be close enough and if your target cannot defend itself there was always another way. The daemon closed it's massive eyes and reached for Imisha's soul.
There in the gloom of the warp, decked out on a table shone the sparkling star that was her life, ready to be consumed. Licking its lips, the daemon reached out and opened its jaws wide. This pathetic life would give it the strength it needed to finish the fight. Slowly, the light started to drain from Imisha into the horror that was feeding upon her, bleeding her dry. The daemon could feel its strength returning, wounds closing, feeling slowly returning to its ruined legs. Soon everything loving and beautiful in Imisha would be sucked from her, turned into something ugly and horrible in the daemon's stomach. It was utter bliss. For once you have tasted the life from another living being, all other food and drink turns to ash in your mouth.
Suddenly the leeching stream of life was cut short. A multilayered shield was forming around the farseer's soul, protecting her from the daemon's draining touch. Three shimmering golden layers defiantly held their ground before the daemon, staring it down in defiance. Yet they were weak, unformed, without strength and shape. They would be easy prey, a snack before the main course. The daemon opened it's jaws even wider, ready to swallow them all.
The shields around Imisha didn't retract as the daemon race closer, holding firm, despite the immense difference in power. Most times standing up the darkness is folly, only delaying the inevitable. That is why so many turn tail or cower in fear instead. But sometimes, some rare times, standing brave as the jaws of doom race towards your you, buys you just the time you need.
A sharp pang of pain catapulted the daemons mind was back to reality, just before it could devour Imisha and her children. The thrice damned dragon had caught up again, leaving a trail of black blood behind from its mangled limbs. Now it had closed its jaws around the daemon's leg, pulling it away from Imisha. With renewed strength, the two monsters threw themselves at each other, knowing that only one of them would live through this final fight.
Mummy.
Forced back to consciousness, forced back into the light and the pain, Imisha tried to open her eyes. One was swollen shut and the other showed only a blurred mess of colours. Before her the daemon and the dragon were rolling around on the floor, biting, kicking and goring each other with everything they had. It was like a fever dream.
Mummy, you have to get up.
Her vision stabilized slightly and the room came into view once again. She was so tired she wanted to throw up. Weakly she tried to move her fingers but only managed a pathetic shiver. So tired, she was so tired. She had nothing left to give. Darkness called to her, soft and warm, where no pain could touch her.
Please mummy. We need you.
Trembling Imisha reached out her mauled hand. Her fingers seemed like lead. Ever so slowly she grasped the edge of the step she was lying on and pulled. Her muscles screamed in protest yet with great effort, her battered body started to move.
That's it, mummy. You can do it.
The daemon had finally thrown its adversary to the ground, pinning it fast. Two of its clawed hands were pushing the dragon's front legs onto the floor. Straddling the beast, the daemon's remaining arm was stabbing and punching into the soft underbelly, scoring hit after hit. The dragon was desperately defending itself using tail and jaws, but neither could score a hit on its tormentor. The fight was almost over. Gleefully the daemon bent down and rammed its horns into the dragon's chest. The great reptile screeched in agony as the horn twisted around in its insides.
"You don't deserve a quick death, beast!" The daemon howled. "I am going to kill you slowly. And I will drag your soul back to my mistress to suffer in eternity. We will corrupt you. Destroy you. Turn you against your own."
The daemon pushed its jaws into the dragon's underside and tore away a great piece of scale. With a great gulp, it swallowed the piece whole. Strength surged through it once again.
"I know you can hear me." The daemon shrieked, tearing another piece from the dragon. "I will consume you, body and soul. You will rue the day you crossed the great prince of chaos." Mouth full of dragon flesh, the great bull's head shot up towards the ceiling, tearing a gaping wound as the horns tore free from the dragon. The face and horns were slick with black dragon blood. The slaughter was egging it on, the blood and death surging through its vein. Baying madly it prepared to gorge itself again. But before it could do so the dragon's tail came up from behind, wrapping itself around the daemon's neck, pulling its body backwards.
So this is what being a mother is like, Imisha thought to herself once she finally had reached the bottom of the stairs. When all your energy is spent, when you are drained dry, there is still something left when the lives of your children are at stake. She smiled to herself. If it is this much work while they are still inside, Isha help her when they come out. Because she somehow doubted her own god would be of any real use. In the corner of the room, she could see the love of her life lying in on his side. Her heart soared when she saw his chest rising and falling. Inside her, though scared and shaken, the sparks of her unborn children were cheering her on. She was not alone.
With that thought, she stretched out with all her strength and reached for the object she had been so desperate to reach. Just beside the stairs leading to the webway portal lay the top part of her lover's broken lance. As the daemon tore at the dragon's tail, pulling itself free Imisha's outstretched hand closed around the smooth bone-white shaft. Then with one final burst of energy she slammed the broken weapon straight into the daemon's exposed back. At first, the renewed protective daemonic aura resisted the weapon's deadly point. Imisha roared and pushed with all her might, and finally the aura shattering like glass. The lance plunged deep inside the daemon's flesh. With a hum the weapon ignited, sending one final deadly charge of energy into the inner organs of the Keeper of Secrets, lighting it up from the inside like an unholy lamp. Searing daemon blood sprayed like a fountain from the wound. The massive clawed hands twitched and convulsed as the daemon fell off the dragon, lance still stuck in its back. Scrambling onto its side the great reptile embraced the daemon with both of its front claws and held fast, while establishing a firm grip on the daemon's neck with its tail. Finally, with a final sickening crack, the tail twisted the daemons head backwards. The nerveless bovine body collapsed on the floor, head hanging limply to the side. The big black eyes met Imisha's.
"This...this is not...over. You and all your kin are still doomed. My..."
Imisha laughed a dry laugh that caught in her throat and sent her into a fit of coughs. The dragon limped over to her on broken legs. It nudged her affectionately. She smiled and patted its side gently.
"You must be the master of empty threats. It is over, accept it. Die in peace, daemon."
"Peace? You naive worthless little imbecile. You think you've won? You're nothing but a little shitstain in this revolting latrine that you call life. You think there is any peace left? There is only war, pain and suffering. You will die screaming, you will all die screaming!" The daemon's voice died off in a wet gurgle as blood started to drain into its lungs.
The dragon growled and opened its jaws, dragging itself closer in for the kill. Imisha stopped it with a delicate touch. The big yellow eyes swung around, looking at her in amazement.
"Tend to the man we both love. Leave this one to me."
The dragon panted hard, black blood dripping from its many wounds, staring her straight in the eyes.
"Please." Imisha bowed her head. Finally, the dragon started to shuffle away, glowering at the broken body of the daemon.
Imisha didn't know why she did it. Had she not learned her lesson last time, when she had lost her legs? This was a daemon, the bane of all her kin. One that would, if it had any power left, kill her in the blink of an eye. She sighed. There was no choice. Apparently, she was completely incapable of learning. With great pain, she started to crawl closer to the daemon.
"What are you doing?" The daemon demanded, its charred head starting to disintegrate as the warp called it home. Blood was pouring from the great black eyes.
"What I should have done last time we met. What I came here to do." Imisha dragged herself forwards using only her hands. Her forearms were covered in lesions and her fingernails were a broken mess. Still, inch by inch, she kept going.
"Yes! Come closer! Come closer, little Eldar!" The daemon mocked with hunger in its voice. The big bovine eyes rolled around in madness as the final death throes were kicking in. Imisha kept crawling closer.
"For once, can't you just be quiet?" Imisha felt so calm. How could she be so calm? How did she know just what to do? Yet it felt so natural, like breathing. Like it was something she had always known.
Taking a deep breath Imisha placed her naked hand on the daemon's outstretched claw. Inside the rolling dark eyes, she could see the daemon willing it's arm to move. To snap at her. To cut her in half. But the dragon had broken its spine and all power it had once had was long gone. The abomination growled in frustration, blind hatred radiating from it like heat.
Yet at the seer's touch, those same eyes widened and the fires of blind hatred within them were doused as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water inside its pitiful remains of the daemon's body started to shiver. From its charred lips came a yelp like that of a beaten dog. It was such a small pitiful sound that Imisha could not help but feel some sympathy for the horror before her. And from that sympathy, a warmth filled her. A knowing that what she did was right. The golden thread of fate smiled down at her as she carefully stroked the smashed daemon's flesh.
"No! Noooooo! What are you doing? Stop! Stooop!"
Closing her eyes, Imisha reached out. Just like the daemon had, not long ago, she approached the sickly light in the warp that was it's very essence. But Imisha didn't come to feed, to hurt, to kill. Such things do not scare a daemon, even on its deathbed. For the daemon, her purpose was something much more terrible. Just like its body crumbled in the material world, in the warp, the daemons very soul started to come undone. Layer by layer, it peeled back before the seer as she advanced. The walls around the daemon's mind, build over thousands of year, came crashing to the ground, revealing the raw and sickly being beneath.
Imisha could feel the hurt inside the daemon, she could feel the hate, the degradation. Like a raging storm it enclosed the daemon's core, swarming it from all sides, drowning it in an endless ocean of misery. Somewhere deep down there, locked behind a door without key, terrified beyond belief and screaming in endless agony, was a person. With another deep breath Imisha waded forward into the tempest of pain and horror. It lunged at her, eager to consume her, to suck her down. And had this been life it would have succeeded.
But this was not life. The veil of death was falling like fresh snow all around Imisha. And so the corruption was forced to part like a sea before her as she strode fearlessly deeper into the daemon's soul.
The tiniest wisp of smoke was rising from the broken claw underneath her hand. The daemon's head thrashed violently as the flesh melted from its bones. She Imisha held firm. The broken body flailed from side to side, it's big eyes staring at Imisha in horror.
No. Not it. She.
The daemon was a woman. Had once been a woman. Imisha felt it in her bones. Gently she set her hand to the door without lock inside the daemon's heart. An ethereal mist rushed through her from the beyond, wrapping itself around the frame. Ever so slowly, the door, made out of daemon's shame and regrets, started to crumble.
A scene shimmered before her eyes. A young Eldar girl with flowing black hair, standing on the roof of a red building. It was in the middle of the night. The girl was looking into a telescope, shining with excitement. Next to the girl stood a tall and thin woman, a shawl drawn close around her, shivering with the cold. But her eyes were brimming with pride as she looked at the delighted girl. The resemblance was so striking there was no question of their relation. The mother had big brown eyes, just like the daemon.
"I can see you. Finally, I can see you," Imisha whispered. More smoke was rising from the broken claw, wrapping itself around Imisha's hand.
"Is that your daughter? She's beautiful." Imisha smiled, eyes still closed, wondering what her own children would look like. Would they have her eyes, his hair? Her mouth? His nose? Oh please don't give them his nose.
"My girl...my little girl," the daemon yammered, staring into nothingness.
The scene faded. Now the mother was walking back and forth in a hallway, her face lined with worry, shadows under her eyes. The same daughter, now a couple of years older, entered the door. She was wearing next to nothing, eyes wide with intoxication. Tattooed on her forehead was the mark of Slaanesh. Almost immediately the two exploded into an savage argument.
"She's gone. My little girl. They took her. Twisted her. Destroyed her."
Imisha's eyes opened again, meeting the daemon's gaze in the material world.
"Be at peace. Your daughter is resting."
"There is no peace. No rest. Even if you kill me my mistress will be waiting for me. The torment will never end. It is the price I must pay for failing my daughter. Knowing she suffers the same fate."
Imisha smiled, leaned down and kissed the broken claw. The smoke parted before her, letting her lips pass. At her touch of her lips, the daemon shivered yet again.
"Your mistress isn't the only one waiting beyond the veil."
The big black eyes widened. Around them the flesh had disintegrated, leaving them staring out of the bony sockets.
"My...my little girl?"
Imisha nodded.
"You're lying! You lying little Eldar whore." But the daemon's shaking voice betrayed it, the longing was so intense that Imisha could almost touch it. It was as if she didn't dare to hope the seer was actually speaking the truth.
"I can feel her. She liked the stars." Imisha smiled again, eyes closing yet again. "And she liked to take baths." At those words, something warm flowed through her from beyond the stars. For the briefest of moments, a child that wasn't her own took shelter within her. Then the smoke that had gathered around her hand peeled back and snaked towards the daemon. Gently it sank down into the broken husk in front of her like morning fog. Imisha retreated from the daemon's soul. Her job was done. She was only to open the door.
"It's not possible..." Then the daemon drew a sharp breath. The eyes finally melted away from the sockets.
"Why are you doing this? I don't deserve this. I deserve to suffer. I failed you." Tears of blood and ooze was falling from the empty eye sockets.
Imisha lay down next to the daemon, resting her head on the daemon's claw, staring into the crumbling skull.
"You have suffered enough. In death, all is forgiven."
"You have no idea what I've done."
"It doesn't matter."
"The innocents I have murdered. The lives I have fed upon. The hopes I have stolen. The dreams I have betrayed."
"No one is without sin." Imisha smiled warmly. "We all carry our burdens. Until the time comes to lay them to rest."
The daemon shook all over, limbs and bones falling apart in front of Imisha's eyes.
"Go with your daughter. She came for you. She needs you. We both know you will never leave her now."
Slowly the smoke retracted from the corpse in the form of a long snaking funnel of mist. Imisha could make out two separate colours in the swirling shapes. One bright, quicker current and a deeper, darker, more hesitant flow. Imisha held out her hand to welcome them both. The lighter one quickly wrapped itself around her, never letting go of the darker shade. At last, they both started to sink into her skin. There was rushing feeling of immense relief and then they were gone.
Before her, the oozing daemon corpse finally lay still.
Davar opened his eyes. His head was lying on something soft. And warm. A scaled tail was supporting his severed stump, holding it high. Next to him his dragon slept deeply, almost in hibernation. Two pale grey eyes were looking down at him, full of worry and wonder.
"You came for me" Imisha stammered, slightly embarrassed.
Davar shrugged, trying not to wince from the pain. "You called."
Imisha swallowed. Last time they had met, she had all but killed him. Yet he had come for her, he had almost died for her. Now she sat there in the rubble, looking into the eyes of her beloved. They both opened their mouths at the same time.
"I-"
"I-"
Imisha looked away, blushing. Somehow it seemed easier to talk to the wall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"There is no excuse for what I did. No words can ever make it right again."
They sat in silence. Imisha didn't dare to lower her gaze, not knowing what would meet her.
"If that is how you feel, that only leaves us with one option," Davar said up at her seriously.
"What?" Imisha breathed, fearing the worst. Davar gently moved her chin with he remaining hand, meeting her frightened eyes head-on.
"Don't use words."
He rose slightly of the ground and kissed her. With just as much fire as he had that first time, so long ago. When he had been an arrogant exodite chieftain and she had been an even more arrogant farseer. Imisha remembered the mission so well. She had barged in barking orders left and right, caring nothing for which toes she had to trample on to get the job done. Her lover, in turn, had not been able to handle the fact that some lofty craftworld foreigner, and a female nonetheless, dared to order him and his tribe around. They had spent their first meeting in a perpetual cultural collision until the tension between them had snapped like a taut wire. And they had ended up in bed together. Or more accurately, on the floor. The next day they both pretended it had never happened. Yet next visit it happened again. And again. And again. They never stopped pretending, telling themselves their cultures were too far apart for them to ever be together.
But that was long ago. As he pulled her close Imisha realized that none of those things mattered anymore. He was here with her. Here and now. He had not abandoned her, despite everything. This was the man she had chosen, the man that had chosen her. The love of her life. The father of her children. It was time to stop pretending and act like a grown woman. If the world was about to end she wanted to face it hand in hand with him. Inside her, Imisha could feel the bright sparks of her children bubbling with joy at having their father close once again.
Imisha was all but breathless when their lips finally parted. The words streamed out of her nonetheless.
"I missed you so much. I'm sorry I left you. I swear I will never leave you again," she looked him straight in the eyes, making sure her words carried the meaning she intended. Then hugged him tightly, actively considering the option to never let go again.
Davar stayed silent but from his welcoming body language, Imisha could feel that her apology had been accepted. But with her entire race at stake, would she be able to be true to her word? Had she promised too much? For now, she pushed such thoughts aside.
"Did you find what you were looking for? Did you find my niece?"
"No, I didn't." Imisha said, shaking her head. "But in a way, I think I found what I was looking for." Quickly she glanced back towards at the oozing daemon corpse. Her eyes were fixed on its melting features. It was only a husk now. The core was gone. Safe. At peace.
"She's not your niece." Imisha mouthed, as much to herself as to Davar.
"Of course she is! She..."
Imisha thought back to the old ork janitor. He would never have accepted that the mousy little goddess was not his daughter. No matter what else she was.
"You are right, she is. But she is also so much more. She's a god."
Davar frowned at her.
Sensing his scepticism, Imisha pushed on. "Tell me this. What is her name?"
Davar drew a breath and opened his mouth. But it was left hanging. His eyes widened.
"Strange, no? That you would not know the name of your own niece? She isn't what she appears."
"Our gods are dead," Davar responded by instinct. A common saying among the Eldar.
"This one isn't. I'm not sure she's strictly alive, but she's not dead either."
"Are you saying she survived the fall? Where has she been all these years?"
"From what I have learned it seems she stirred just recently. Not long ago at all. I think she is just starting to awaken, trying to find a form. That is why she is so many things to so many people." Imisha paused.
"Now I think...I think she is trying to be our last hope. This temple. This was her resting place."
Davar looked straightforward and his gaze drifted out of focus.
"So you were right all along." By the way he looked at her Imisha could tell he had not believed her back then. That he had thought she was crazy. Now shame ate at him from the inside like a hungry acid. She lifted her hand to his cheek.
"Haven't you figured it out by now?" Imisha tried to put on a straight face but failed. "I am always right honey."
Beside them, the dragon snorted loudly. Imisha made a haughty mocking face at it as it opened one yellow eye at them lazily. Suddenly losing her composure, Imisha laughed a clear ringing laugh until it hurt too much to continue. Then she settled down with her head in Davar's lap, mirroring the position he had woken up in. Exhaustion claimed them both for a time. Beside them the dragon snored in great long breaths.
"Can I ask something?" Davar asked at last.
"Shoot."
"Milliona says you stopped him from killing the daemon."
"The dragon talks to you?" Imisha blurted out in astonishment.
"Talk is not the right word. I can understand that he was denied his kill and is confused about what happened after that. Pieced together the rest."
Imisha swallowed. "I helped it pass on," she said at last. She tried to think back to how it had felt when the daemon had passed.
"What?"
"This place is strong with the presence of my master. And I have some...connection to her." She gestured gently over to the decaying corpse of the Keeper of Secrets. "She was once a mother. Before the fall. A mother who lost her only daughter to the pleasure cults of old. For ten thousand years have they suffered, mother and daughter alike. My master wanted to bring them together again. To rest. In peace."
"Your master?"
Imisha raised a single eyebrow. "Told you she wasn't just your niece."
Davar frowned, trying to wrap his head around it all.
"But that thing was a daemon! Surely it deserved no mercy!"
Imisha shook her head. "There is no such thing as someone who doesn't deserve mercy. No sin so great that it can't be forgiven in death. We killed her, so it was our responsibility to guide her on the next step of her journey. She deserved that. Everybody deserves that."
"Even the followers of She Who Thirsts?"
Imisha shrugged her shoulders. "All life is sacred." As if that explained everything. "The more you come to deal with death the more you realize that."
Davar stared down at her. He studied his lover to be with great intent.
"You've changed. You're not the same as when you left."
"Guess I'm not."
"I like it."
"I'm glad."
She leaned up to kiss him again but winced as her wounds pulled tight. Losing balance she almost fell over. But in the last second Davar caught her and pulled close again, looking very worried. He looked down at her motionless legs.
"What happened?"
"I got stabbed. The blade hit my spine. Legs have been somewhat uncooperative ever since." Yet as she spoke, her toes tingled strangely.
"What? How did it happen?"
"The usual" Imisha smiled weakly, suddenly reminded of her own failures. She rolled up her tattered robe to show the nasty scar where the jagged knife had gone in. Davar went pale at the sight. "Guess I have never been the careful kind."
"Are you...I mean...are they..."
"The children are fine." Imisha smiled again, cuddling up closer and patting her stomach. "Tough as nails, little buggers." As if inspired by her words, all three children started kicking at the same time. Imisha winced and rubbed her stomach in large soothing circles.
"Yes thank you very much, little ones, no need to prove my point." She moved her lover's remaining hand to her stomach. His eyes widened as he could feel the life stirring beneath the skin.
"You are amazing. How did you survive this? All alone?" the exodite chieftain blurted out, astonished.
"I wasn't alone. I had help."
"From your...master?"
"No, that spoiled little brat hasn't lifted so much as a finger," Imisha snorted. Then she remembered the image of a broken little girl, lying in a pool of blood and filth. Her first vision. Suddenly she felt ashamed, reminded of how far she still had to go.
"Then who helped you?"
"Friends." Imisha glanced over at the pool of green blood under the rubble. Thought about who had brought her here. And remembered the image of a man hanging high up in a dark chamber, screaming in pain as hooks tore deep into his flesh. The price for getting her this far had been high.
"Friends?"
"Yes. Friends." And with that, she said no more. This time her partner knew better than to press her. Instead, he just held her close. The massive dragon painfully shuffled a step closer and rested it's scaled head next to the couple. At that moment the gate exploded with light again, filling the chamber with an iridescent glow. Imisha jumped, for a second fearing the worst. Then she saw a familiar night sky on the other side, filled with a pale blue gas giant. An elongated scaled snout, full of teeth, protruded from the opening, sniffing the air nervously. Beside them, the dragon grunted gently. The snout trumpeted in response and another huge full armoured dragon burst forth into the chamber. Soon the chamber was bustling with exodite warriors.
Finally, after so much time Imisha felt she could at last let go. A dam burst within her and the tears finally flowed freely. But despite all the loss, all the hurt and horror, all the death, some of the tears falling were tears of joy. Tears of relief.
For on that night, if only for one night, though bloody and beaten and literally missing both arms and legs, the light once again stood victorious. Flickering, gasping for air, all alone in the dark, the flame of hope was nonetheless still there.
Burning bright in the night.
Author's note: Started out with two goals: Write an action scene and improve my words per hour. At more than 8k words I atleast succeeded in one aspect. Might have ended up as a case of quantity over quality though. I'm pretty sure that less would have been more, especially in the first half. On top of that: Yes I know, exodite dragons can't breathe fire. Yet another grievous lore violation that will certainly secure me a spot in the lower circles of hell. But it felt like such a cool scene I couldn't resist bending the rules just a teensy weensy bit (more).