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Chapter 9: Guide to Chaos - For Dummies

Naggarond

"What do you bring to me on your return, Allisara?" Spoke the chill wind voice of Malekith.

His glowing eyes were set forth on the scene where strange equipment was laid out on a table by Allisara. Beside them were the standard crossbows of the Druchii. They were within one of the many ranges used for target practice. Only today did they have the entire area to themselves for Allisara's demonstration, including Morathi. Her eyes were set on the purple crystals sitting by the strange devices Allisara claimed to have built after some discoveries in the new world. Alongside them were constructs of white and blue that only had the barest hint of the rifle designs of the Empire and Dawi.

"The fruits of the new world, Father," Allisara introduced, picking up an Atlesian rifle. "The humans in this world they call Remnant are a much more advanced sort. Their arts in warfare in particular. Weapons such as these are a far greater league than even the crude muskets of the Dawi and Empire. The destructive capabilities show this as well. As we observe."

Allisara looked forward and shouldered the Atlesian rifle. Despite the strange mechanics that made up the weapon, there were still vague similarities in other ranged weaponry that allowed her to aim it like a crossbow. Perhaps these rifles were in the evolutionary stage after crossbows and muskets if her world were to continue in its technological advancement.

As she aimed down sights, she straightened the rifle so the scope lined up with the tip of the barrel. Far down the shooting range was her target for her demonstration. Instead of using practice dummies or archery rings, Allisara took the liberty of using slaves who were suspended by tight chains clamped on their limbs to spread them out. Usually, the slaves would be screaming for mercy, but for the sake of focus, Allisara sewed their mouths shut to be rid of their whining.

They should be glad they can die today and instead they were begging for their lives.

Once the Druchii was satisfied with her aim, Allisara pulled the trigger and three bullets were fired in a burst shot. They crossed the distance faster than a bolt in streaks of blue. The slave only had time to widen his eyes before chunks of his head were blasted off in a gory fashion, leaving only spilled brain matter and mangled bone behind. She switched targets and continued firing the weapon to perfectly showcase the deadliness of the rifle until the clip was spent. The entire time, Malekith and Morathi watched with analytical gazes. Their eyes used to the high-speed movement could pick out the bullets fired, allowing them to see the Dust crystal propellant and tips.

"As you can see, these weapons the monkeigh have are more advanced than most muskets made by the Empire and the Dawi," Allisara explained. "Where a musket needs every shot to be reloaded, the monkeigh in Remnant have developed a way to store ammunition into a chamber that would then feed into the rifle with every pull of the trigger. They can afford to miss with shots to spare."

"Hmm," Malekith mused in thought, remembering being peppered by those bullets by Allisara's birth mother. "Do any of our defensive means repel these missiles?"

"Surprisingly a few," Allisara answered. "On no doubt, these things will chew through standard armor and shieldings like our own bolts and lead balls. However, heavy armor such as steel plate will offer resistance whereas our own bolts could pierce through. It's curious."

"Elaborate," Malekith commanded.

"The way these weapons are made down to the bullet isn't meant for warfare so to speak," Allisara said. "I found that they work best against the hides of beasts, like scales and fur. My theory is that these beast imitations, these Grimm, have forced the monkeigh to develop weaponry to eliminate them. That has ironically made them less suited to use against raw metal. The heavier, the better. If you're asking for the best defense against them, I'd say enchanted armor. Nothing close to your own armor or my own, but a little touch of magic will make these deadly arms inert."

Allisara paused in her explanation and reached out to grab an item for attention. It was a crudely cut piece of crystal, not out of the ordinary if it did not glow to the power writhing within it. The gem was a vivid red, and in her hand, Allisara felt an almost searing warmth.

"From their arms to their utilities, everything of their society relies on this," Allisara pointed out. "They call it Dust, but we know it better as pure magic crystallized. Not too different from warpstone the rats covet, but without any of the... undesirable side effects. Perhaps the gods of their land are absent, therefore there is no mutation to occur in its presence. But I digress. It's this mineral they have used to advance so far, but it's also their greatest weakness. As it is magic itself, any spells or enchantments to dispel it will make their weaponry null."

"Fascinating," Morathi commented, her eyes gleaming with countless ideas to use this resource.

Giving her grandmother a smile, Allisara chucked the chunk to Morathi, who caught it in a field of telekinesis that led it to an open palm. Once her fingers latched onto the Dust, a wicked smile split her face, excited to see what secrets she can exploit from this solidified magic. Allisara then turned to her father, who stood stoic as ever and his mask never showed what expression was beneath if there was any.

"An adequate presentation," Malekith said. "But I trust you have more to show than this."

"Of course," Allisara curtsied. "Ultimately, their weapons are useless to us. Not only would it be a waste of time to steal enough to arm ourselves, but we also wouldn't know how to manufacture their ammunition. So I did the next best thing, took them apart, studied down to the last bolt, and reverse-engineered them for our use."

On another table, Allisara pulled away the tarp and revealed the new rifle that lay underneath. It was sleek and black in a typical Druchii design with inspiration from the Atlas rifle. The barrel was adorned with black iron spines like a drake and a curved bayonet was fixed at the muzzle. Down to the stock and behind the grip, the chamber was mostly hollowed out for a purple crystal held between two miniature spires in a horizontal position. It seemed an ordinary magic focus but if one looked closely one would see a ghostly face wailing out in agony on the surface.

That was a soul gem.

"Observe," Allisara said.

She took it up and aimed down sights. Her thumb flicked at a knob till the point was set at a certain calligraphy in Druchii. Allisara smiled when her target down sights squirmed in his trapped state. When she pulled the trigger, bolts of lightning sparked the soul gem, and purple light emitted up all the way to the muzzle. Once pulled all the way, the shot that was released wasn't a bang but a cacophony of agonized screams of the damned. Unleashed from the muzzle was a wide-spread wave of energy that almost looked like miasma if it weren't so fast. The unfortunate victim wasn't given the chance to widen his eyes before the blast overtook his body eviscerating flesh and muscle till all that was left were bloody bones. After a moment when the blast passed, even the bones crumbled apart to the floor like dusty pottery.

"I've modeled a line of weapons that use our own methods with added upgrades," Allisara explained. "The biggest change from the Monkeigh weaponry is replacing their ammunition of this Dust with the use of soul gems. One of these weapons can run on a soul gem for weeks on end instead of needing to load it up again like a crossbow or musket. I've added my own touches, such as changeable modes from the blast mode you have witnessed to an explosive and regular firing mode. As for utilizing the soul gems themselves, all that takes is using the same methods in Soul Braziers in tormenting those that are unfortunately trapped within."

"So you've weaponized agony into these new weapons," Morathi said in excitement, her smile turning into a twisted hunger.

Allisara preened. "You won't find any better ranged weaponry in all of the worlds."

Her eyes were locked on her father. Malekith did not meet the gaze with his eyes set on the snowy plains and the results of her target practice. A long moment of silence hung between them, making Allisara quite anxious. His hands went folded to his back before he answered.

"Well done," Malekith stated.

He only spoke two words, yet the joy Allisara felt from them was nearly euphoric. Did Malekith have no idea just how much his words of praise meant to Allisara? Or perhaps the Witch King did. There were ways to tighten the strings on one's subjects.

"I trust that you will share these designs with us," Malekith said, causing Allisara to straighten her back. "Weapons such as these will be a great boon for the wars to come."

"Of course, Father," Allisara obeyed. "I will have Seras gift you and Grandmother the plans. But a word of caution. Don't let the slaves try and build these. This is nothing like making a crossbow. It's like kicking them into the meat grinder instead. As such, I've made these plans so only sorcerers can understand and create them."

"Just make sure it's done," Malekith pressed. "For now, I would have you here. Consider it a break from your conquest if only for a little while."

"I sense there's something else to my supposed stay in Naggarond," Allisara said.

"Indeed," Malekith said, turning around to stare down at Allisara. "The winds carry a somber tone. War is coming and Chaos is writhing. We must prepare. For now, I will leave you under the care of Morathi. She will ready you when the time comes."

As Malekith walked off without a goodbye, Allisara stood there in confusion. It wasn't like Malekith to speak so vaguely. His words were usually more blunt than a war hammer. She didn't have much to ponder when pale, cold fingers latched onto her shoulder. Slowly, she followed up the limb from the blackened fingers to those dark violet eyes of Morathi. The smirk on her face was absolutely devilish.

"Don't worry, little one," Morathi cooed like a sweet poison. "I'll make sure we get to spend some quality time."

Allisara couldn't help but gulp. Suddenly, the thought of vacation was proving to be a lot less exciting.

(Malekith's Palace; Black Library)

"Why couldn't Grandmother torture me instead of this!?" Allisara seethed.

To the Hag with this shit. She'd rather be the subject of one of her grandmother's experiments than this utter boredom. That was all that raged within Allisara's head as she stared bored at the ancient papers of the open book. Instead of whatever wicked games she expected, Morathi had saddled Allisara with some selected reading within the palace library. Or perhaps this was one of her grandmother's sick games. It was not the fact Allisara hated reading, but she loathed being stuck in one spot for long periods of time. Allisara could already feel herself itching to kill something the longer she sat in that chair.

The Witch Princess groaned for what had to be the fiftieth time and slammed the book shut. She pushed it away from her person to the other side of the desk she sat in front of; a long table really made of ebony wood crafted to a fine smoothness to rival a mirror. This particular spot on the second floor was facing the railing of the balcony where Allisara had a view of the library hall below her. All around her and on the walls were shelves filled with a vast collection of historic and arcane knowledge gathered by the Druchii for thousands of years. It was not a farce to say the collection went into the tens of thousands, and Morathi herself held a greater, more forbidden wealth of knowledge in her home in the south.

The book joined the rest of the disorganized mess on the other side, but it was dwarfed by the stack of tomes to Allisara's right. Beside her was a lamp of purple flame to give her light in her readings. Allisara groaned and leaned back into the plush chair made of purple cushions and pale wood. She didn't want to do this, but the fact of the matter is she had no choice. While Morathi requested that she needed some literary study, those who knew the almighty sorceress that she never makes requests. Theoretically, Allisara can simply get up and leave, but there is the possible danger of whatever magical fuckery waited for her if she did.

She'd prefer not to face a horde of Slaneeshi daemons. Just the thought of a whole hall filled with those slUTS FILLS HER WITH SO MUCH RAGE HER BLOOD BOILS F̴͕̙͈̯̩̅͗͐̃̓̄̊̂͆͌͐̃̎Ú̴͖̝̲͍̣̦͇͍̳̲̜̩͆̒͊̈́͘͘͘Ĉ̷͉͙̺̬̭̯̙̮̻̳̺̖̳̩̉̈́͂͋̈̓̿͑̈͋ͅK̸̩͍͉͈͐̃͊̈́̉͗Į̴̛̜̙̞̬̼̞̫͕̖͙͍̙͓̆̉̉́̂̾̓̅N̸͙̝̙͓̲͔̳͙̯̱͉̈͛̈́̾͜͝G̶̟̦͈͇̺̺͎̞̖̙͌̄̂̏́ͅS̴̢̛̳̼̣̝͔͆̏͗̓L̷̛͎̼̪̲͉̺̱̙̞͇͉̘̹͈̿̂̋̈́̒͐̀̊̾͗͑͑͜A̶̛̠̹͖͌̏̊̿̐̀̐A̴̰̻͂̿̊͑̽̓̉̋̓͗͊͘̚͝͠Ṇ̴̡̧̜̩̣̟̤̬̩͓͖̓͋́̚E̸̡̨̞͉̹̥͓͇̬̩̻̗̫̠̋͋̆̋̓̄ͅS̵̤̳̘͋̄̆͗̃͛̈́̄̉͝͝H̷̛̛͍͚̞̗͍̜̻̠̼̒̇̉̀͘̕̚!

Allisara summoned her iron will to calm down the overflowing rage so she wouldn't literally boil her blood. Her hands clenched tight as her left palm reddened and grew claws. Her other hand reached up to her neck where the mark of Khorne burned into her flesh. As the seconds passed by, Allisara was able to calm herself down and the power of the Blood God receded away.

Thinking about anything noted to the Prince of Pleasure was a mistake. One could call an offset with all of the perks being marked by the Chaos God of War. She may have great strength and resilience few could ever attain, but with it came the unbridled rage of Khorne. Especially if it came to facing followers of Tzeentch, but even thinking about anything related to his hated rival Slaanesh threatened to turn Allisara into a rampaging monster. It was through her connection and devotion to Khain, Lord of Iron and Eldar God of War, can she gain clear clarity. But the need to kill would simply double.

Such is the way with a vessel made for war.

Deciding that maybe picking up a book was far better than swimming in her thoughts, Allisara summoned two from the stack with a snap of her fingers. They laid haphazardly in front of her, both of them old and thick with pages. She looked to the one on the left. Bound in average-grade leather, it was not particularly a book of great renown based on appearance. Magic within the library had kept the book in pristine condition, allowing anyone to view its contents without wear and tear. On the spine of the book, a title read to her in plain text:

Sigmar: A Man who Ascended to Godhood

A scowl crossed Allisara's face at the title and she pushed the book away. Morathi and Malekith have told her more than a few times about the mortal that rose to divinity. When humans in the Old World were still a bunch of barbaric tribes, a man known as Sigmar Heldenhammer was born. He along with the war hammer known as Ghal Maraz united those tribes into a powerful force that would one day become the Empire of Man.

What infuriated Allisara was why!? Why is it that a mere man managed to gain godhood through his own sheer will nonetheless!? Yes, this one man accomplished much with a legacy that lives to this day, but so has Aenarion and her own father. Why not them!?

And it wasn't like Sigmar left this world. No, that would be too convenient. His legend as a man and his ascension created the great cult of Sigmar that dominated the Empire, and Sigmar was a very active god to his people. His miracles performed by his followers were as real as the rituals for Khain. And by no means was he a weak god. In fact, throughout the entire realms of men, he was quite literally the biggest pain in the ass to the machinations of Chaos.

In her head, she could feel the seething rage of Khaine and Khorne. Her thoughts bled into the Immaterium to her patron gods and they knew her anger intimately well. It just...

IT WASN'T FUCKING FAIR!

Did Aenarion not bleed as much or even more than Sigmar did!? Where this man was fighting goblins and orks, Aenarion was fighting against the unquenched hordes of Chaos themselves thousands of years before Sigmar's own birth. And what did her grandfather get in return!? A dead wife, a cursed bloodline, and an empire that would betray his own son!

Her nails were starting to claw into the wood, ruining its perfect surface. When the sound reached her pointed ears, Allisara realized she had allowed her rage to take the better of her again. She snarled in frustration of herself and tried to reign her emotions back in. She was better than this. She was the Witch Princess; not some hormonal teenage slut!

Allisara turned her attention to the remaining book. This one was more articulate in designs mainly white with trimmings of gold and etchings of blue in ancient elvish. Even with the magic of the library keeping the knowledge it contained properly, there were still signs of wear and tear on the book. By the elaborate designs on it, this text originated from the land of Ulthuan, written by the hand of a high-ranked High Elf scholar. This had to have been in this library since the days of the separation of Druchii and Asur. There was no title or anything written on the cover or the spine. But what was strange about the tome was the taint that stuck to it, like whatever words written within these pages were cursed for whatever they spoke of.

Her curiosity peaked for once, Allisara opened the book to the first page. As soon as the weight of the cover was gone, a cloud of dust was released right as Allisara breathed through her nose. The result was the Witch Princess going into a coughing fit while using her left hand to blow away the dust from her breathing space. But once she breathed in the dust, there was something off about it. For those particles carried a certain taint.

When it was settled in her lungs was her mind coaxed by the feel of the Immaterium.

She heard the familiar snarl of Khorne.

She heard the boisterous laughter of Nurgle.

She heard the maddened cackle of Tzeentch.

And she heard the husky hiss of F̴̡̨̱̞̙̼̘͓̟̗̮̤̭̬̣̉͊̋̒̑̀̌Ủ̷̧̪͈̖̭̘̱̗̺̟̬̫̆̍͒̌̒Ḉ̴̛͚̫͕̻̮͐̓͠K̴͓̫̘̲͎̮͎͠͝͠O̵̗̙͙̯̭̻̬̮̮̙̯̞̗̫̊̀F̶͍̼͕̭̃̅̓̉̅͆̓̏̄͠͝F̵̨̹̝͚͙̩̟̯͍͓̩̼́̓̍̅̈̆͋̂Ş̵̨̺͚̤̠̼͑̓̅̑͗Ļ̸̮̪͖̹͍̼̪͉͖̃̿̌́̏͠Á̷̛̮̱̮̝̗̤̣̟̪̲̟̘̐̇̆̂̓͂͜͝A̶̢̰̼͔͍̔̇̈̒͐̆́͘N̴̨̤̙̭̜͉̳̜̠̮͆̌͛̔̃̑̈́̓́̓̚̕ͅE̸̙͎̰̳̦͕̜̯̭̩̅̓̍̏̇̌͗̇̀̈́͐S̷̡̹̖̯̮͓̹̞̲̺̣̪̍̾͗͗͗̓̕̚͜ͅH̴̨̠͓͚̩̠̫̃̽̎̊!

Allisara winced as this time she felt Khorne rage at the influence of his archnemesis trying to seduce her. She liked the pleasure of the flesh like any living being to just above average degree (in her opinion at least), but she was in full agreement with the blood god there was no way she would ever be subject to the depravity of Slaanesh's debauchery. Besides, half of her soul has been shackled to Khorne anyway.

Well, now she knew that this book was definitely cursed by Chaos, albeit in a very subtle way. It was not like the taint was intentional, but the very words written in this book made it so. She wondered how that would be until she found the author on the first page open to her.

Namys Choyer

Now that made sense; this was a Book of Choyer. Choyer was a very famed High Elf scholar for his adventure in writing down the history of the world, exploiting the secrets of unreality, and trying to solve the mystery of Chaos. All of Choyer's works were prized by historians and more to the point sorcerers for his works on the Immaterium where all magic comes from. However, the latter of his volumes sank deeper into forbidden knowledge and cursed writings trying to uncover the secrets of unreality. Those of Ulthuan have locked them tight in holdings far out of her people's reach. As for the author himself, his delvings into the machinations of the Chaos Gods cost him a fate far worse than death.

The book before Allisara was one such volume. It practically stank of Chaos. Under the author's name was a short text of warning from Choyer himself. It read:

Beware thee who dare to open this text of mine. Even as I write down these words, I can already feel my mind fracture under the accurseds' grip. My meditations into the Immaterium and the home of the Chaos Gods have cost me dearly. All I sought was to write down the knowledge of the unknown so that what I do will help my people in the wars to come. What words, the very letters, that lie within these pages I have gleaned from the machinations of Immaterium and I have paid the price. This is your last chance to turn back now, or else the eyes of Chaos will fall on you.

Allisara scoffed. "Too late for that."

She turned the page, giving her the introductory paragraph of the book. For a moment, the words on the page flashed in colors of pink, blue, green, and red till it settled back on faded black. A normal man would mistake it for a trick of the light, but Allisara knew it as the usual Chaos fuckery. She continued to read:

Passed the borders of Norsca, across the Sea of Chaos. Beyond the boundaries of sanity and the laws of nature stands the ruined gateway of the Old Ones. Oozing with darkness and spewing mutated energy - the raw stuff of Chaos. It is a bleeding wound, a tear in the fabric of reality. A gateway to another dimension. The shattered gate appears as a great ring circled by stone machineries, dwarfing the mountains around it. It is covered by runes of unimaginable potency that glow in the darkness, their dancing shapes altering reality. From the darkness pours out the Wind of Magic and mutated clouds of Warpstone dust.

The Realm of Chaos is home to many entities of great cosmic power. It is a hellish realm where daemons roam, serving entropy and the long night. These creatures consist of thought alone and those thoughts are truly terrible. Only fools claim to understand Chaos for Chaos is inhumane and incomprehensible. Wise sages and mystics who dare to tread this realm only go mad. Some have claimed that Chaos, in its eternal diversity, has spawned an infinite number of gods, each the collective mirror of one of the many survivalist emotions projected by intelligent beings in the mortal plane. Others say that the many apparent different gods are no more than aspects of one supreme being.

The Great Unnamable One.

The Abomination.

The Eternal Destroyer.

The Unmistakable Beast.

The Chaos Undivided.

'Ooh, shiver in my boots,' Allisara thought sarcastically.

But she couldn't deny how she felt her mind stir as she continued to read these words. There was a certain 'shake' in her soul when the words of Chaos Undivided met her eyes. So what she can get from this book was a very detailed explanation of the realm of the Chaos Gods, possibly even describing the gods themselves and their homes. Well, she knew which of the Chaos Gods she had any interest in knowing. Tzeentch? She already had magic power from Morathi's tutelage. Nurgle? The nasty walking cancer in unreality can keep his plagues. And, well...

TO OBLIVION WITH THAT SLUT GODDESS!

All that was left really was Khorne. The Blood God, the Lord of Brass, and the war god that she technically has to own half of her dedication to. Magic stirred from the book as it reacted to Allisara's thoughts, flipping through the pages till it came to the right chapter. The words that met her eyes blazed in crimson as if the ink itself was drenched in blood. As Allisara read the words, they echoed in her mind with a daemon's pious snarl.

The Lord of Rage. He whose hooves have scorched the earth and claimed it as its personal theatre of war. He awaits at the edges of the world upon a throne of skulls knowing that all blood must return to him. The mightiest of all chaos gods. Khorne.

A growl, born of steel and endless murder, hissed in the right corner of Allisara's mind. Apparently, Khaine had words to dispute such claims as the mightiest.

Khorne is one of the four dark entities that comprise the forces of Chaos. His dominion is violence wielded in all shapes and forms. Hence it is no surprise that in a world ravaged by war and slaughters he out of all four other chaos gods would be considered the most powerful as it is not necessary for any mortal to praise the Lord of Blood to grant him strength. Every act of violence from the most innocent to the most brutal from the most honorable to the most hateful all surges back to Khorne.

Before Allisara could continue reading, a disturbance in the real world took her attention away. Her pointed ears twitched at the very faint sound, something uncommon for the sharp senses of an elf. Allisara forced her movements to be still to not betray how her body became tense. Beneath her skin, blood flowed more smoothly and muscles flexed ready for danger.

Elven ears and eyes were sharp for any disturbance in her peripheral view. Yet no shape moved in the shadows nor any alien sound reached her ears. Perhaps the earlier abnormality Allisara sensed could be assumed to be a trick of her senses. Even ancient races like the Druchii can admit such things. But Allisara was not like the rest of her people. The Witch Princess knew better, far more than most did.

Her senses hardly play tricks on her. Besides, she had a little ace up her sleeve. Or rather on her neck. Where the brand of Khorne burned bright on her nape, telling her of danger. Not in just the sense that her life was in danger, but an entity was trying to off her through the coward's way.

Khorne may be the god of blood and war, but he was also the god of honor. Among the many things he hated, the chaos god hated tricksters and cowards. He hated those that would dare attack him from behind without provocation or open challenge. The best way to explain Khorne's quality was when he exiled his greatest Bloodthirster, the Greater Daemon Skarbrand. Ages ago, Skarbrand was the most favored of Khorne's generals, having won victories in his god's name time and time again. The most powerful Bloodthirster ever known, but at the height of his fame, it all went crashing down when the machinations of Tzeentch clouded Skarbrand's mind feeding the Greater Daemon of deadly aspirations that sit him in place of Khorne's throne. The result was the Bloodthirster of Khorne striking his own god with all of his might. It was a blow of absolute total devastation to crack the world in twain, yet all it did was chink Khorne's armor.

And Khorne was thrown into a hellish rage. His wrath did not stem from Skarbrand attacking him. In fact, the god of war would relish his own champions challenging him. No, what made so angry, so full of rage that had Khorne toss Skarbrand from his realm with such godly strength that the Greater Daemon had flown for eight days and nights, burning his wings and reducing the Bloodthirster's psyche into a rabid monster from the lauded general he once was. Such rage from the blood god was only born because Skarbrand struck him from the back like a coward.

The brand on Allisara's neck served as a blessing gifted to Allisara in her victories in battle. It was known as the Coward's Folly, and the mark would burn whenever a coward would try to strike her outside open combat. The brand continued to burn in intensity the closer the entity approached even though nothing reached her ears. She couldn't act in haste; only when the time was right. The closer it approached from behind, the fiercer the brand burned. Idly enough, the smell of burning flesh reached her nostrils and the skin around the mark was starting to blacken and blister. She bit down on her lip, refusing to let a whimper of pain so as to not give herself away to the enemy.

Allisara didn't act when the brand continued to burn. She didn't act when a crude blade of a wickedly green edge slid under her chin with a smooth motion that none would notice. She didn't act when a second and third blade softly pointed their tips at her back and neck respectively. The world seemed to sit still as if drawing in a breath before continuing the next moment.

And when the blood in her veins burned with fire and more importantly strength did Allisara finally act She flexed and a chill wind exploded off her body freezing the ground in ice tinged in purple. It was enough to stagger her unknown assailant as the blade underneath her chin came into view. Once she saw the blade in its crude make and its edge oozing with tainted power, Allisara widened her eyes knowing exactly who the assassin was.

She tried to turn around, but the assassin was far too agile to make out before it moved behind her over the table. Something wrapped at her heels and with surprising strength hauled her whole body till she was left dangling beyond the balcony and over the first floor. Her vision swam till it settled on an upside-down view of the world, but it was enough clarity for Allisara to see her assassin.

Dressed in black cloth and bits of metal here and there was a Skaven. A literal mutated sentient rodent for the only thing that made it look close to humanoid was the effect the Skaven stood on his hind legs. Beady red eyes stared at Allisara with cold hatred. Other than that, it looked no different than a regular rodent physically wise. Feet and hands contained digits of pink flesh ending with sharp nails. The Skaven's head jutted out lined with crooked teeth, two of which stuck out at the front that were wickedly sharp. From behind the Skaven was the pink length of its tail, which it was using to hold Allisara up.

Regular Skaven were not that dangerous, but the one before Allisara that managed to get close to her was no ordinary overgrown rat. By the blades he held and the black garments he wore, this was a Skaven assassin, one of the most dangerous living weapons in the world. Known as Esshin assassins, they are bred and trained from birth by Clan Esshin to be the finest deadly killing machines. That sort of renown was proven when these very assassins managed to kill high-end officials such as an emperor of mankind and infiltrate Ulthuan itself to kill a prince without anyone the wiser.

The only reason Allisara wasn't dead was because of Khorne's blessing to never be taken off guard by an assassination attempt. And by the black fur adorning the Skaven, the Esshin Assassin was a step above his own peers. Her eyes caught the swift movement of those green-tinged blades known as Weeping blades by their make using Warpstone making their way to slice her neck clean through. Allisara's arms moved just in time to intercept the blow with her right forearm taking the Weeping blade with the toll of clashing metal and the other grabbing the limb of the overgrown rodent. The Skaven may have been fast but she was stronger, and the unexpected defense put the Skaven off guard for the moment to backhand the rat across the face. The sudden blow made the Skaven stagger, thus loosening his hold on Allisara and allowing her to slip out of the assassin's tucked and rolled down on the first floor, crouched down on three of her limbs like a nimble cat.

The Esshin assassin jumped down as well, a snarling hiss escaping from the metal mask that covered most of his face. With the element of surprise lost, a standoff went on between them. As the two circled each other, the ratman used his tail to withdraw a third Weeping blade. This gave the Skaven the capability of using three weapons that cut through the metal like butter. When Allisara looked at her brace, she frowned seeing a deep chip in the dark iron that just missed her once in quite a while. This would not be able an easy fight. Yet even with the risk to her life, it didn't keep down a sharp smile on the Druchii's face.

Her blood boiled at the prospect of a worthy opponent. His skull will be a fine gift to Khorne.

"To have an Esshin assassin come after me," Allisara said. "My, my, I'm flattered."

"You-You die-die this day!" The Skaven spoke in its stuttering tone with much more baritone than its brethren.

Allisara flashed a deadly smile, but she was in a dangerous situation. She doesn't have any of her weapons on hand and most of her armor was gone. With the exception of her bracers and boots, only black silk remained between a Weeping blade and her skin. The advantage Allisara has is her magic and the wards of the library at her disposal to assist her.

This all suddenly stinks of her grandmother's machinations.

With an unspoken signal, the duel commenced. The Skaven was the first to move, leaping forth with expert acrobatics and fluidity that even elves would not match. In the millisecond between them, Allisara summoned a pair of swords made from Bladestorm to arm herself. As constructs of magic, they served as the perfect defense against the Weeping blades as they slid against the tainted steel. However, she was forced to dodge out of the way of the third wielded by the tail by bending back as far as she could. The sword only managed to get a few locks of her Skaven's momentum kept on going till the Weeping blades sank into the wall.

The assassin used the stuck blades as a vantage and perched on top of his own weapons. With his now free hands, he reached into his cloaks and threw out shurikens and throwing daggers at speeds to rival a freshly fired crossbow bolt with the speed of the wind. Allisara used the brace on her left arm as a makeshift shield to deflect the projectiles, but it gave the Skaven the time to renew his grip on his weapons and leap forward in the storm of his own thrown clicked her tongue, annoyed she had to resort to that. With a twitch of her finger, she reached out to the wards of the library. She willed it for the effects... and nothing happened.

The shock of the wards' lack of response left her open and she was forced to yet again block the Skaven like last time. Unfortunately, it left her open to the onslaught of projectiles and Allisara gasped at the stabbing pain of shurikens slicing through the flesh of her and kunai stabbing themselves into her back. She growled and winced at the same time, feeling pain shoot up every time the muscles flexed with steel stuck in them. One of her hands reached to her side to pull a shuriken that got stuck between her ribs just barely missing her lungs.

The sound of her own blood splattered down on the stone floor reached her ears. Allisara wanted to go into a blind rage, but the cold iron discipline brought chained it down. She recited the words of her father. Anger was only a weapon when it was controlled. So she controlled it, using it as shots of adrenaline every time pain shot up from her wounds. It allowed her to get gain the clarity she needed when facing the likes of an Esshin was also the added benefit of this 'Aura' healing her injuries. It served more as a healing factor rather than a shield fueled by her soul. Already, Allisara could feel wounds slowly sealing shut and whatever knives stuck in her flesh slowly being pushed out. In moments, Allisara's injuries would mend like they never existed, but the Esshin assassin was not a foe to let his victims recover.

His movements were a blur as he twisted in a dance of spinning death with a bladed tail and dual swords. Even Allisara's eyes struggled to clearly see the assassin's movements and she had to prioritize the Weeping blades that would mean her doom. She renewed her grip on her mystical blades and flowed more magical energy into the constructs to emit more intense Skaven opened with a swing of a Weeping blade held in a reverse grip. An attack that was feinted with the blade stabbing into the ground and then lifted upward, sending a cloud of dust to obscure Allisara's vision. A flash of green within the cloud was her only warning before the princess defended herself. The Weeping blade met the magical construct, sending magic flailing wildly through the air. In the same second, the other Weeping blade came in for a stab. Using the weapon in her left hand, Allisara switched to a reverse grip to block it and then forced the Weeping blade down till it stuck to the came the third, flashing towards her head like a scorpion's sting. She tilted her head to the side, but her eyes didn't lose track of the Skaven who was moving to use his fourth weapon: his front teeth.

Allisara knew she could not afford those teeth to rip out her throat, so she opted in counterattacking. With all of her might, Allisara struck with a knee kick landing straight into the ratman's stomach. There was so much strength that not only did it stop the assassin's attack entirely, but it lifted the Skaven off the ground. Allisara smiled wickedly when her ears picked up the sound of bone crunching. Whatever pain the Skaven was under, the Esshin fought through it just enough to spring back with the use of his tail. In two backflips, the ratman grew the distance between them where he paused due to his injuries.

The Skaven coughed out a mouthful of his own blood onto the floor and a hand trailed to his sternum where several ribs were piercing his lungs. With the Skaven distracted by his injuries, Allisara charged in finally able to press the attack the Skaven still had a few more tricks up his sleeve. With the same hand he used to caress his injury, he slipped inside his coat to retrieve a few small pellets. He roughly threw them down to the ground and they exploded to create a thick smoke that filled the entire chamber. She was only an arm's reach from the Skaven before her vision was obscured. Her blades arced over his position but only met empty air that was quickly filled with thick smoke.

Coward's Folly burned yet again on her neck, alerting her to attacks outside of her own attention. Its intensity allowed Allisara to keep track of the assassin within the cloud of smoke, but only when he attacked. Neither sight, hearing, nor smell aided her in finding the overgrown rodent. The mark's burn intensified, and Allisara turned around to meet the points of two Weeping Blades half an arm's length from herself. She leaned back on instinct to avoid the blow, but the last-minute dodge was not enough for the Witch Princess to go completely unscathed. The third Weeping blade lashed out and scored a slash across her right shoulder, burning pain raced through Allisara's whole being, enough for the Witch Princess to let off a scream.

Her weapons were forgotten in motes of light as the pain brought her down to her knees. Allisara looked to the source of a deep gouge in her shoulder cutting through muscle. Along with her blood also oozed the green taint of warpstone. A deadly toxin of a Weeping blade that was said that a nick was fatal. The pain was certainly a testament to the claim as her body spasmed in agony. Her grace was her Aura healing the damage, but it was a constant fight between the toxin eating at her body and her Aura repairing the damage as quickly.

The smoke clears and Allisara glanced behind her to see the Eshin assassin slowly accost her. There was no need for the ratman to be stealthy and lithe any longer. He was sure of his victory the moment the Weeping blade cut into her flesh. Now the Skaven showed his vile cruelty in the crooked smirk that stretched his maw. If there was some victory for Allisara, it was the fact the Skaven had to put a hand on his chest where it was aching with pain.

She would not give the Skaven the satisfaction of her pained expressions and forced herself to glare murderously at the rodent. In fact, Allisara was determined to wipe away his grasp at victory. Her options were unfortunately limited. She couldn't use her legs to give her a boost of speed. Just trying to flex her muscles caused a new wave of agony through her body, so she was forced to kneel on the ground. Magic was out of the question; she wasn't confident in bringing out a spell fast enough and more importantly silently so that the Skaven would not notice it.

That left one option. Her eyes trailed down to her brace, thicker than the usual armor she wore. Within was a prototype Allisara had yet to test. Originally, she had another in her right brace but the Weeping blade made quick work of that. All she needed really was a flex for it all to work. This can work with the biggest advantage being the Skaven was now in his most vulnerable state. With the prospect of victory so close, the overgrown rodent will let his guard down to feed his wicked nature in savoring the kill.

All Allisara needed was for the overgrown to get closer.

'C'mon, I'm right here,' Allisara said, the pain through her body making her sense of time distort. 'C'mon, come on, I'm right here.'

"Do it," Allisara urged, "DO IT! KILL ME! I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU PRIMITIVE RODENT! COME ON! DO IT!"

In the middle of her raving, Allisara could already feel the cracks in her psyche. The rage of Khorne threatened to break out and consume her body in a bloody frenzy. But the Witch Princess didn't want that kind of win. If she was going to kill, she wanted to be at least a little bit sane doing it.

By now, the Skaven was close enough that Allisara could smell his putrid breath. He was just out of the range Allisara was confident in. She stomached how the Skaven leered down at her with a sadistic grin. The Weeping blade was put under her throat just a centimeter away from slashing her jugular apart. Then, the Skaven leaned forward so he a close view of Allisara's eyes so he could see the life fade away.

But now he was close enough for the princess to strike.

The song of unsheathed steel rang through the halls and the Skaven quivered as he felt a blade go through his sternum. It was delivered with such speed and force that Allisara's fist dug into the flesh of the assassin and the blade went through the other side. Even still, the Skaven did not let go of his blade, even as his hand spasmed uncontrollably. The Eshin assassin looked down to find Allisara's left arm had made its way to his chest where the bracer was now protruding a blade that gleamed in silver.

That wasn't the end of it even when the blade began to hum with growing energy and glow a purple hew. A purple jew set near Allisara's elbow sparked with electricity, eliciting a shriek that could come from a man having his skin flayed while alive. It soon climaxed in a bang, not only sending the Skaven backward into the wall but leaving a giant hole in his chest cavity that only left a few strips of meat to hold his sides together.

The Eshin assassin was dead before he hit the ground, and Allisara can confidently say that her new weapon was a rousing success. Those thoughts were cut off by the sheer agony that came back with a vengeance. Around her body, her Aura flickered before finally shattering, leaving Allisara to the tender mercies of one the world's most deadly poisons. She was reduced to three of her limbs to keep her steady while Allisara used her remaining hand to clutch at her chest. Each breath was labor and each pump of her heart was another ache of pain.

'I refuse to give in,' Allisara thought, her fists tightening till her nails drew blood from her own palm.

Just as darkness was clouding the far edges of her vision, a pale hand landed on her wounded shoulder. There was a small second of sharp stinging pain then all of it vanished. It was as if some unseen force had taken hold of the poison in her veins and halted it in place. Finally taking in a breath that wasn't heavy with pain, Allisara looked up to meet the face of Morathi. Her expression was unusually neutral with her lips set in a thin line and the eyes did not betray whatever feelings Morathi had underneath.

Allisara did not meet Morathi with a look of gratitude. In fact, there was a slight snarl to match a certain Darkblade directed toward her grandmother. With her mind clear of pain and adrenaline, certain dots were connecting. From why she was put into the library to how on this day an Eshin assassin came after her at her lowest.

"You set me up," Allisara accused.

Morathi's lips twitched upwards. "You were overdue for a test."

The hag didn't even deny it. Why would she? Dangerous tests like these were not the first for Allisara, but this one was the most deadly. It first started in her youth being suddenly assaulted by slaves that went mad by the influence of the Prince of Pleasure. Some were the same, but none of the following were even easier than the last. They would progressively become more difficult with Allisara having to kill feral Cold Ones, a maddened hydra, and ambushed by daemons; all while bereft of her equipment.

Morathi may have been her grandmother, but no one was a stranger to her sadistic nature. She was a deadly viper to all, her own son included. After all, this was the sorceress that started the split within elven kind. She founded the Cult of Pleasure in the very heart of Ulthuan and employed the daemons of Slaanesh, the Chaos God that made its very existence to be the bane of all elves. If there were lines Morathi didn't cross, Allisara did not know of them and she suspected neither did Malekith. Khorne obviously hated Morathi for the stench of Slaanesh that clung to her.

"We will talk later once we deal with your latest injury," Morathi said. "A poison like this isn't easily purged. But those that own your soul will save you, with payment of course. So for now, let go."

Morathi tapped a clawed finger on Allisara's temple. Within her mind, she felt mental restraints snap and the flood of pure maddening rage and thirst for slaughter swept through every pore of her body. Her red eye blared with a renewed intensity, burning like hellfire and veins of her left side as her blood literally boiled to a crimson shimmer. On her right side, the need for slaughter had the whites of her eye turned pitch black and her brow was replaced by iron that seem to grow from her flesh. Her fingers transformed with the digits becoming brass and the nails turning into claws of iron. Her left arm bulged as flesh mutated to dark red scales glowing with tainted energies between them. Allisara gave hacking coughs but instead of blood she belched out molten slag of brass and iron.

"And the best payment is slaughter," Morathi cooed, and with a wave of her hand the doors of the library.

Out in the hall was an orgy of slaughter between Slaaneshi daemons and slaves. They were practically scores of them. The latter of which was being slaughtered as thorny tounges ripped their flesh apart and crab claws pinched their limbs apart. Those that were killed were the lucky ones as the Slaaneshi daemon took their time in taking as much pain from their victims or even trying to do other obscenities. For Allisara, the sight of daemonettes of Slaanesh put her over the edge. All coherent thought was drowned out by rage and slaughter.

She was soon upon them in a blur, the pain of the poison forgotten as she swam in an ever-growing carnage. Daemon and slave were reduced to bloody meat by her limbs and teeth ripping them all apart. All the while, Allisara bellowed only these lines of religious praise.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

The daemons of Slaanesh tried to mount an offense. One came in close, wanting to use its crab-like appendages to rip Allisara's arms off. In the blink of an eye, the crab arm was ripped off, which was then used to bash at whatever was alive around Allisara till the faces were turned into mush. The daemon with the missing arm was given the special treatment of Allisara shoving both of her arms into its chest cavity. It was lifted up above Allisara, where it shivered at the red-hot fury in the Druchii's right eye. It knew no more when Allisara tore the daemon in two, showering the girl in blood and gore.

"MURDER FOR THE MURDER GOD!"

Heads were wrenched from their necks. Slaves found their throats literally bitten off, and the walls were drenched in liquid life. A daemonette was used as a weapon till it was reduced to a lone leg. None were given mercy. All their lives were gifts to her hungry gods.

"SLAUGHTER FOR THE SLAUGHTER LORDS!"

None knew of the ultra-violent carnage that happened within these halls. Before the end of the hour, neither daemon nor slave would be alive in those halls near the library and Allisara freshly restored by the gods of war would be sleeping in the flood of blood and gore she caused. In the meantime, Morathi cackled madly at the beautiful slaughter before her eyes.

Wasn't her granddaughter just precious?

Extra Snippet

(Within the Realm of Tzeentch)

His - or could it be she? - was Kairos Fateweaver - or was it? - the most valued Greater Daemon to the God of Magic, Tickery, and Hope. Appearing as an avian humanoid with blue feathers, he differed from his brethren with the addition of two heads. Each head looked in different directions of time. One always looked to the past and the other scouring the possible futures. The cost of such an ability was that Kairos could never see the present.

Kairos' job for Tzeentch was fairly simple all things considered for the Great Plan. He, with his unique gift, was to record every possible future for this master's plans. Mastery of the arcane allowed the Greater Daemon to do his job as leagues of parchment twirled around him like a storm with legions of inked feathers scribing down the futures he saw. Sometimes, those futures featured things that were out of the ordinary. Sometimes they encroached on times not of this world. Futures that Kairos couldn't believe existed at all, such as Khorne himself walking onto the physical plane to fight himself.

Kairos was seeing such a future that was becoming more apparent by the day. Before his eyes, he was witnessing a clash between blood and darkness. Between reality and unreality.

A battle between gods.

He knew one of them of course. That form was different, but it was his master's rival all the same. Khorne himself, finally fighting himself for the first time armed with either hammer, sword, or axe. A detail of the future that was different with each second. His opponent, the one that made Khorne himself come out of his realm to fight himself was strange. Kairos expected it to be Khaine or even Sigmar, but this god was different. It was a god rooted in the physical plane of reality.

A god of the natural world, wreathed in darkness and crowned with a pair of curled horns. He stood before Khorne wielding a sword that ate at all it touched and armored in Names entered Kairos' mind, alien to their origin.

The Void Dragon.

The Antithesis to Creation.

Bringer of Destruction.

Creator of G̵͈̣̙̔́̈́̓̕ṙ̸̪̱͎̔͊̐ḯ̵̭͎͔͊m̸̛̯͉̂͜m̶̨͔̺̭̫͑͐̚͝.

God of Darkness.

...M̴͓̜̲̳͇̹͇̽͂͂́̓͒͐̒͜ą̶̛̜̩̲͕͎͈͈̞̏͛g̷̻̤͆̑̎̒͑́̀̂̈́͆̂̃̃̕͝'̴̨̼̣͉̲̘̠̯̮͉̰̆͗̇͜ļ̶̟̗̤͓͓̳͔̭̪̝̜̩͌a̶̧̢̨̳͖̼̱̘̪̤̔̈d̷̢̢͍̪͉̻̩̻̞͚̼̩̆̓͊͒͐̆̚̚͝͠r̵͉̯͈̼̓͊̈͌͠ơ̵̡̘̠͔̝̩̣̮̫͊̓̋̽̄̓̎̓̅͒̋̆͝͠t̵̨̰̞͕̘̞͕̰̜̳̭̮̮̺͇́̈́̌̈́͛́́͘͘̕͝ĥ̵̥͇̖͙̜̺̮͔̙̦̟͜

Growing evermore curious, Kairos continued to look at this future that was becoming more possible. He was then borne witness to an awe-inspiring clash of gods.

Khorne roared in excitement. "Finally, a worthy opponent. Our battle will be legendary!"

Sword - or was it axe - crashed against a sword of destruction. The reality itself was barely withstanding the exchange. The chaotic reality of the Warp whipped out only to be restrained by the darkness of reality. Hellfire eyes bore down at pits of unrelenting darkness.

"This is the god that killed off humanity because they hurt his feelings!?"

The god of reality dodged out of the way of a thrown sword, folding his wings to dive down onto the blood god. His heels met the armor of Khorne and they both fell through the rock of a broken moon.

"Stop holding back! Show me who you are! Show me the monster that you really are."

A hammer(?) struck the god of darkness across the face, sending him twirling in the air and crashing through a whole mountain range. He was stopped when Khorne stomped down on him, creating a crater that scarred the very Earth.

"But I am not some 'thing.'"

The god of darkness was held by his throat, his bone armor cracked and his sword lying beside him. Khorne fared no better with his armor once thought invincible showing visible stabs in it. Still, the deity stared defiantly at what was an abomination in his eyes. Khorne stared back with his weapon raised up in his free head. But it was what Khorne said next that pushed the god of darkness over the edge.

"And your little half-breed? We all have plans for her."

Something flashed in those dark eyes, and M̴͓̜̲̳͇̹͇̽͂͂́̓͒͐̒͜ą̶̛̜̩̲͕͎͈͈̞̏͛g̷̻̤͆̑̎̒͑́̀̂̈́͆̂̃̃̕͝'̴̨̼̣͉̲̘̠̯̮͉̰̆͗̇͜ļ̶̟̗̤͓͓̳͔̭̪̝̜̩͌a̶̧̢̨̳͖̼̱̘̪̤̔̈d̷̢̢͍̪͉̻̩̻̞͚̼̩̆̓͊͒͐̆̚̚͝͠r̵͉̯͈̼̓͊̈͌͠ơ̵̡̘̠͔̝̩̣̮̫͊̓̋̽̄̓̎̓̅͒̋̆͝͠t̵̨̰̞͕̘̞͕̰̜̳̭̮̮̺͇́̈́̌̈́͛́́͘͘̕͝ĥ̵̥͇̖͙̜̺̮͔̙̦̟͜ rammed his horns into Khorne's skull. Dazed by the blow, his grip slackened allowing the reality god to throw a haymaker with a mighty roar. A blow that thundered across the entire world and then some. It was felt through the Warp that was just only bleeding into the new world. The great helm of Khorne was reduced to brittle scrap and the god of darkness screamed. It was a blow fueled by a certain emotion, a protective instinct really. An instinct of a f̸̡̛̫̱à̸̮̫̹͕ț̸̰͈͈̃̉̏͌͠͝h̷̛͍̫̗̰͆́̆̚͘e̴̼̽̏̚͝ŗ̶͙̯͇̖̫́͊ͅ

Kairos' vision of that future was snapped away. Those events were quite heavy in however they would play if they were able to affect the Greater Daemon in such a way. Rarely has it happened with one of the only times when Sigmar became a god and a brief vision of the Endtimes. At all that had seen, Kairos did the only sensible thing.

He laughed.

It's been a year. It's to be expected since, well, this story isn't that much of a priority. As for what's next, well the world of Warhammer moves forward as a god cries in pain.

Up next is Chapter 10.

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