Big E's sitting in the sidelines for too long, time to change that!
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His presence in the Warp offends many, yet none were bold enough to challenge him as those in the mortal realm would.
He walked with purpose, strength doubling as the prayers from all corners of the Imperium increased tenfold with news of the Despoiler's arrival at the Cadian Gate. Yet these prayers have not gone unanswered. The Emperor had sent his faithful followers to battle the approaching darkness. Even now, the Black Fleet of Abaddon lies crushed under the heel of the mighty Imperial forces, morale and purpose lost with the death of their leader.
The Emperor of Mankind smiled, a mixture of sadness for all those innocents and mighty chosen lost, as well as gladness for the result of his son's work. The rift in the Warp that pulled Horus was not of his doing, but he remained confident in his son's safety. After all, his own blood flows through Horus' veins.
He did not appreciate, however, Celestine's willful disobedience to his command of how she would have recieved his son. Her decision to put her hatred for Horus' past sins over her duty would have jeopardized his plans for the Imperium's salvation as well as Horus' path to redemption. It worked out in the end, true enough, but the fact that even a Saint would disobey a direct order from the Emperor was a crime punishable by death!
Well, to be fair, that would have been the sentence had he been a thousand years younger. Time had broadened the Emperor's perspective, and he had seen many faults and flaws in his own character. Though he would never admit it to anyone but himself, the Emperor lamented over his mistakes and worked hard over the time he spent sitting on the Golden Throne to rectify all oversights.
Forgiving Horus and bringing him back was a start. Being the father he never was would be the ultimate challenge, but he was more than willing to try- for the sake of all that is good in mankind.
If he could forgive Horus, undoubtedly the worst of them, he could certainly forgive Celestine for her shortcomings.
As the Emperor walked the many paths of the Warp, he saw many great and horrifying secrets that only a god could comprehend. He had done this many times before, masking his psychic signature by willpower he had never dared utilize until now so that the denizens of the cursed place would not be alerted to his presence.
There were the realms in between the domain of the Four, inhabited by outcast traitor chapters and forsaken daemons. After observing the usual infighting, the Emperor moved on.
The Brass Kingdom lay beyond, and he stopped as soon as he stood on the fork leading to Khorne's domain. Soon, but not now. One day, he will stand with his sons on this very fork and battle the Blood God until he is vanquished forever. As it so happens, he will have to wait until Horus completes his tasks.
The Emperor closed his eyes, feeling the power of the Golden Throne waning as the ancient technologies breathed their last breaths. He knew it was only a matter of time before they fail completely, destroying his mortal body- the only anchor he had on reality- and throwing mankind back into the Dark Age. He needed an alternative solution, and he needed it very soon!
Just as he turned to leave the Warp to return to his decaying body, the Emperor heard something, carried about by the winds of the Empyrean. It was a piteous cry, a woman's lamentation that stabbed at his heart. The Emperor had to know who it was, and so he stayed a bit longer, drawing close to the origin of the sound.
The realms shift, as if splitting itself from the domain he stepped in. A stench unlike any other assaults the Emperor's nostrils, almost enough to banish this idea from his mind entirely! He flinches once, feet mired in the green muck, but continues onwards. Further into the swamps of Nurgle's Garden did the Emperor go, deeper into the murky depths of the filth-ridden domain.
The bloatflies and nurglings ignore the trespasser, busy enough frolicking in the dead reeds that lined the banks of the river flowing through the severed legs of great beasts that formed the trees of the undergrowth. Soon, after what felt like an eternity, the Emperor stood at the threshold of what passes for Nurgle's palace.
A mass of rotting, bloated flesh filled with all manner of pestilence stood hunched over a great cauldron that boiled with a diseased broth that changed from acrid yellow to rancid green as the God of Decay pours forth both bile and other matter from his many tubes and flasks.
The Dark god does not notice him as he scoops up a spoonful of the substance and drags his bulk across the cracked floor, covering in his wake a disgusting trail of ooze that spored thousands of maggots and nurgling imps! The Emperor of Mankind winced in absolute abhorrence, watching as Grandfather Nurgle draws closer to a cage sitting in a spacious dwelling close to his laboratory.
His bulk was so large that he covered the cage entirely, obscuring its prisoner from the Emperor's sight as the Dark god worked his foul magic. An agonized cry emanated from the cage, not unlike the one he heard from outside, the same voice that drew him here in the first place!
Nurgle clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, then slides away slowly, muttering to himself at what he did wrong with the broth. With his bulk out of sight, the Emperor beheld the Dark god's captive with great sadness.
It was a most pitiful sight. The prisoner's clothes were rent, revealing a body ridden with buboes, lesions and poxes. Remnants of Nurgle's vile potion dripped from the gashed lips, pooling onto the floor of the cage. But what astonished the Emperor the most was the cleansing aura the prisoner unleashed following the harrowing ordeal, revealing what lay beneath the diseased flesh.
Lesions scabbed and closed, poxes and buboes released their pus, health returns to the prisoner's body. Isha, Aeldari Goddess of Life, sank into the bars of her prison, exhaustion pouring sweat from her brow as she fought against Nurgle's poison and won.
The Emperor stood there motionless for hours, absolutely mesmerized by the goddess' beauty...
His eyes took in the locks of hair flowing down her shoulders, white as the snow that dotted the peaks of the Himalayan mountains. Her kind, gentle face, marked with suffering. Here stood the last manifestation of good and benevolence in the galaxy, imprisoned and forced to serve the dark will of Nurgle.
The Emperor's hands curled into fists. Even he, mightiest of mankind's gods, paled in comparison to Isha. The infinite compassion he reserved only for mankind found itself pouring forth for the goddess' plight. He drew closer to the cage, ever more cautious as he passed Nurgle's hunched form unnoticed, and spoke to Isha.
"Greetings, goddess of the Aeldari."
Isha's tired eyes lift to the sound of his voice. A millennia of hearing only the rough, mirthful voice of her captor had distorted her perception of any other, it came as a welcome surprise that someone else broke words with her this day.
"I am no one's goddess, stranger." Isha sighed, "I am but a shadow of that once was, a whisper forgotten. Soon, I shall fade from the Empyrean, abandoned in belief as the Ruinous Powers take their place as dominant gods of this era." Her eyes stare out, dispair breaking the last strands of hope holding her together. It was enough to send the Emperor in a cold rage.
An alien god she may be, but she did not deserve this fate. She did not deserve a sentence brought on her by the foolish actions of her followers!
"Why are you here, of all places, stranger?"
"I heard your cries, Isha." The Emperor knelt, eyes taking in the misty gaze of the entrapped goddess. "I heard them, and they have rended my heart."
"You've come...because you think there's a way to save me." Isha didn't even blink, "You're not the first, and certainly won't be the last. Yet I say unto you, as I have said unto those who have made the attempt and failed...waste not your efforts on me."
"I am not those who have failed." He replied, "I am the Emperor of Mankind! Soon, my sons shall return, and together we will defeat the Ruinous Powers and end their reign over the materium!"
"And why, pray tell, Emperor of Mankind, will you waste such power over a broken husk such as I?" Isha gazed sadly into the eyes of her visitor.
"Because..." The Emperor swallowed his pride before answering. "Because I will not allow what is good and just in this galaxy, be it alien or familiar, to die without cause! You and I may be born of different races, but that is no cause for me to simply do nothing."
Isha was silent for a moment, then she reaches out from behind the bars and touches the face of the God-Emperor. Beneath the rage was the face of a man, hellbent on righting all wrongs- be it by his hand or otherwise. His cause was just, intentions fair, which was more than she can say for all the gods in the Eldar pantheon. "Oh...I wish I could believe your promise of salvation...I really do. But hope is a dangerous thing, and I'm sure you know of what I speak of."
Her touch was warm, the very breath of life pulsating from her skin. It was a most pleasant experience.
The Emperor reached up and clasps his hand over hers, "I'll promise it anyway. Know this, Isha. I will save you from this fate!"
Nurgle approaches, flask ready with a more potent version of the one he had given to his companion earlier. The Emperor arose, ready to strike down the God of Decay. He knew he wasn't powerful enough to match the elder god, but he didn't care. His heart was heavy, for it had gone for the ill-fated goddess trapped in this realm.
Isha, still holding his hand in hers, called for the Emperor's attention and shook her head. "Leave, Emperor of Mankind. You cannot save me, not while your own empire needs saving."
The Emperor gives her a bewildered look and despairs, reluctantly drawing back to the exit as he watches Nurgle force down the concoction into Isha's mouth.
She gasps and sputters, fresh lesions forming at her lips and throat as the new disease takes hold of her.
Her screams of pain embed themselves into the Emperor's mind as he returns to the materium.
Once again, he finds himself sitting on the Golden Throne, forced to watch as his empire slowly crumbles around him. Even with the victory on Cadia, the many dangers encroaching from within and without the Imperium were very real- and not all could be addressed immediately.
In silence, he suffers, heartbroken at the image of Isha's fate burnt into his mind.
The Eye had shrunk, that much was obvious.
Eldrad Ulthran, wise Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe, had divined this in earlier visions. One of the many paths for such a feat involved the inevitable invasion of the Mon'Kei world of Cadia, which lay short of a thousand lightyears from one of the refuge worlds of the Eldar orbiting the treacherous swirling mass of the Eye of Terror. In order for the ensured security of his people to remain so, Eldrad decided to intervene as he had many times before, though this time for the benefit of the Imperium.
This decision led him to slip past the chaos of the orbital battles of man and into midst of one of the Despoiler's captured Blackstone Fortresses.
As he attempted to commune with the corrupted spirits aboard the vessel, something went horribly wrong. A massive psychic surge emanating from the Despoiler's flagship had erupted suddenly, tearing the psionic connection he formed with the Blackstone Fortress and dragging the Farseer and his entourage of Guardians and Exarchs with him!
To the Farseer's dismay, he found himself trapped within the bowels of the very Blackstone Fortress he wished to cleanse, a perilous place to be indeed! "Ancestors preserve us! Make haste, my friends, we must leave this cursed fortress!"
But as the steam wafting from the heated floor dissapated, Eldrad froze as his eyes beheld a most astonishing sight. For there, a few meters from where they stood, was the Primarch Horus Lupercal! He was not mistaken, Eldrad could feel the powerful psychic signature of the Emperor's son, it was truly him.
This did not come as good news, and Eldrad raised his spear alongside the shuriken weapons of his Guardian squads. They anticipated the Primarch's next move, expecting him to attack. For why shouldn't he? Here, in the heart of the battle for Cadia? What other reason would he have than hurl Chaos' foul cause further onwards?
Yet that did not seem to be the case, for some reason. Eldrad was confused. He regarded the wounded Primarch closely, yet with great caution, finding not a single bit of evidence that he was touched by Chaos. Instead, he reeked of the Mon'kei Emperor's power flowing through his veins.
Horus, weakened by the foul wound inflicted upon him by Abaddon's daemon sword, struggled with all his demigodlike might to surmount his horrid suffering. His hand clutched a shard of Soulrender, the mighty weapon shattered upon the Despoiler's demise, perhaps causing that sudden appearance of a warp rift that pulled him here. His dimming eyes turned to the eldar Farseer standing next to him, warlock spear's tip placed upon his neck. He recognized Eldrad of Craftworld Ulthwe from that one chance encounter so long ago, "Have you come to kill me?"
Eldrad's brow archs at this, "I find myself debating the issue, Horus Lupercal. Your appearance in this grand game of Fate is unprecedented, and frankly I feel as though I would be ridding the universe of one more danger to the weave of existence should I give in to my better judgement."
"Then what's stopping you?"
The Farseer's eyes turned to the swirling cauldron of purple lights dancing above the annex chamber. He could feel a dark presence within the Blackstone Fortress, and it was no mere daemon seizing control of the ancient construct. No, it felt familiar, and very much horrifying.
"Ah! Company!" It spoke, heralding the arrival of none other than Slaanesh herself! "I was getting bored with this endless prattle." She came in the form of a young, luscious nymph clothed in transparent purple silks. Eldrad's entourage remained frozen for a split second, then opened fire, while at the same time battling the Dark god's influence in the mental scale. In the end, they failed.
Slaanesh had only to bat her eyelashes, then the aeldari were reduced to ash. Eldrad staggered back, uncertainty paralyzing his decision on whether or not he should flee from this cursed place. Slaanesh did not give him the chance to act on it, however, and trapped him under a stasis field. "Tsk tsk tsk. Where are your manners? You are all guests here, act like it!"
Horus, finding strength as his wound began to heal, sat up and dared to gaze upon the face of the Prince of Excess. He had met with her before, he knew how to tread around Slaanesh better than anyone. Akin to a spoiled child, Slaanesh's will can be manipulated easily- if one was crafty enough to accomplish such a feat. "Of course, milady. Or is it milord? I forget which one you prefer over the other."
Slaanesh, in a humorous mood, entertains Horus' gesture and throws her head back. Her laughter was like a cascading waterfall, beautiful but quite deadly. "Either one is quite alright with me, as long as you do not forget your place!"
"If I may ask, what brings you here, oh Prince of Chaos?" Horus didn't mean any of the curtsies and pleasantries. For his own sake, buttering Slaanesh up was a necessary evil.
"Actually, I might ask the same of you. This fortress is a shrine dedicated to me. Am I to take your arrival as a sign of your dedication to me, Lupercal?"
"Unfortunately...no." Horus clutches the piece of Soulrender tightly. "A random circumstance brought me here. If you would be so kind as to show me the way out-
Slaanesh archs her brow, "Leaving so soon? Do you not find my presence alluring? You should feel honoured that I have graced you with my attention! Not many have been bestowed this gift, and you would dare refuse?!"
"Um...that was not what I meant to imply-
Slaanesh snaps her finger and reverted back to her original form, a terrifying daemonnete covered in charred onyx scales. The whole room pulsated with the Dark Prince's power, matter writhing with the winds of change at the behest of Slaanesh's will. "Enough! I'm bored now. Entertain your Prince, if you wish for any favors."
Eldrad and Horus soon found themselves in the middle of a large arena, replacing the Blackstone Fortress's annex chamber as Slaanesh drags them out of realspace and into her personal limbo.
Circumstances had forced the two to cross paths, landing them into this mess. Even Eldrad found himself having difficulty blaming the primarch for this unfortunate twist in Fate. He was not above cooperation, so he proposed what most would consider unthinkable. "A temporary alliance, Mon'Kei?"
"I suppose." Horus muttered, readying himself for what comes next.
Daemonettes leap into the arena, at the helm of a herd of stampeding Slaaneshi steeds, brandishing pristine onyx claws that promised a bloody end for the two contenders. Horus was left with his bare fists once more, only Eldrad remained armed with the Farseer's Spear. It suits him fine, the primarch felt absolutely eager to soil his hands in daemon blood.
Moving as though the wound in his side meant nothing, Horus dove forward and met the daemons head-on, pommeling fist after fist, crushing their delicate bodies in his superhuman grip.
Eldrad moved with a purpose in line, but completely opposite of the primarch's tactics. Whereas Horus met them with a direct approach, Eldrad applied grace and finesse to his battles, as befits a man of the aeldari people.
"We have to find a way to escape this place!" Eldrad cried, dodging a warp-bolt screaming overhead.
"Agreed, but at the moment this remains as the only solution!" Horus mused, "The Dark Prince is at a good mood, perhaps that stands in our favor?"
"Nothing of She Who Thirsts is in our favor, Lupercal! You would do well to remember that!"
"Of course." Horus answered.
The two battled alongside each other for what felt like days, barely able to rest in between bouts as Slaanesh threw everything but her own palace at the heroes for her seemingly insatiable appetite for games. Just when it seemed to have no end, Slaanesh declared an end to this madness.
Scores of daemon and gladiators lay in mountains around and beneath the two heroes. Horus' armour was battered to the point where the pauldrons came loose and fell away, exposing the muscular arms beneath. Eldrad's robes were reduced to tatters, rent and torn where Slaanesh's hounds bit and ripped.
"Bravo!" Slaanesh clapped, needs sated for the time being. "You have pleased your god! I'm feeling very generous today, ask what you will and I shall grant it. Hurry though, I've a realm to look after."Eldrad spoke for both of them, "Release us! Withdraw your presence in the Cadian System! That is what we want!"
Slaanesh swallows a whole bunch of grapes and archs her brow, "That's it? No request for power, secrets to eternal bliss? Very well. You mortals and your small minds, they never cease to baffle me."With a wave of the Dark Prince's hand, she returns the two back to where she got them- the Blackstone Fortress. With Slaanesh's presence withdrawn from the construct, the artificial intelligence within suddenly regained control of the starbase. With the intense ordeal behind them all of a sudden, the strength left the legs of both warriors, and they collapsed onto the floor.
Time had frozen still as the two were dragged into Limbo, as though not even a split second had passed since they left.
The battle for Cadia Prime still raged in earnest around them, with the Black Fleet's back broken after Abaddon's sudden death, the odds had shifted to the loyalists' favour.
Horus looked at Eldrad and offered his hand. Pride, as always, caused the Farseer to make an error in his decision, and he does not accept the friendly gesture.
Horus, however, does not take this personally, and he moves to make his own way off the Blackstone Fortress, leaving Eldrad alone to contemplate his next move. It was a calculated risk on Horus' part, leaving the alien to his own devices instead of killing him as duty requires. He knew Eldrad was altruistic in his own way, and that was cause enough for him to give him this one chance.
Horus paused in the middle of the spacious corridor he was walking on and held up the shard of Soulrender in his hand. He remembered his special bond with the Emperor, and it was here that he realized how foolish he was that he did not think of asking for his father's help. He was always a whisper away. "Father. If it is possible, would you kindly open a rift to take me off this cursed place?"
The answer came in the form of a whisper, barely tickling the back of the Primarch's mind. "I have already given you the means of such power. Your spear distorts realspace as it does with the immaterium, put it to good use."
"But it's broken! How can I even..." Horus glanced down at the shard.
"A shard is all you need, and the will to guide its purpose."
Horus nodded, understanding the Emperor's meaning. "Thank you, father." With all that said and done, he holds up the shard and wills it to open the rift. A bright light pierces the darkness of the corridor as reality parts before the Primarch, leading into the war-torn earth of Cadia Prime.
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