Manric watched the summoning with fascination.
The ritual was led by Yvraine, in all her finery. Manric had never really spoken to the leader of the Ynnari… it just hadn't come up… but she was very beautiful, although he found her costume quite strange. Was that headpiece remotely practical? Or did it actually serve a purpose, a defensive field perhaps?
Any thoughts of such foolishness fled as the ritual began in earnest. Seven of the Ynnari held the swords as Yvraine conducted the ritual. Symbols of each of the Craftworlds were in place and each vanished in turn, the souls they had gathered given to Ynnead. And in the middle of the Cauldron, a great light stirred. To Manric's awe, the endless storm stilled and the clouds churned, parting in places and allowing unusual direct light and the sight of stars. As a tidally locked world, Yggdrasil did not have a normal day/night cycle and the sight of the sky was extremely peculiar.
Manric would remember what happened next to his dying day. It was not a warp rift, as such, but a swelling of endless light. Within that light, the lissome figure of a god appeared. Not entirely female or male, it was beautiful beyond words. Skin of pale blue, or perhaps pale violet, and when the eyes opened they were an endless dark blue, deeper than the ocean. In those depths, Manric detected the glimmer of fire that he identified as souls. Armor glittered and the angel of death's mouth opened, revealing fangs before it cried out.
There was no sound, not that could be heard by the ears. But Manric felt the pull in his soul, a call to battle that worked on a more fundamental level than a battle horn. Everyone felt it, from the Sisters of Battle to the Drukhari, and they all responded. There was a great shout in response before the angel vanished into the Immaterium, to go do battle on their behalf.
And as the angel did battle on their behalf, they would do battle for the angel. Demons began to spill into reality and for the second time, Manric faced the daemons of Slaanesh. Inspiration rushed through him and when a Keeper of Secrets appeared, Manric blazed towards it on wings of fire, slashing it apart. Yet he was not in a mindless frenzy, none of them were… they were only filled with passion for the battle.
Things quickly degenerated as Manric had foreseen. This was exactly the kind of battle the Guard would have been terrible in, but the Astartes excelled at… the demons quickly became very mixed with the defending forces and without advanced targeting abilities, friendly fire would have been incredibly concerning. Manric held back, employing the Scryer's Gaze to find and isolate Demon Princes. Then he quietly passed along their position to the Deathmarks. Manric watched as the Deathmarks targeted one of them and despite the advantage of surprise and their powerful weapons, it was not enough… Demon Princes were an asset on par with Titans, in some ways. So Manric tore a hole in reality and while the Demon Prince was distracted with the Deathmarks, slipped through and took his head. The Spear of Ancients glowed with intense light as it cut through the Prince with breathtaking ease.
There were more of them though, many more. Manric evaluated the battlefield and saw several of them well in hand… a group of drukhari, augmented by the creations of the Haemunculi, were taking on a Demon Prince and Keeper of Secrets. They did not need help yet but Manric marked them in his mind. Over there, a Demon Prince obliterated a Wraithlord but two more converged on him, supported by Warlocks. They also did not need his help.
The Astartes needed his help. A beautiful woman, incomparably lovely and strangely human, was walking towards their line. She radiated a form of dark charisma that was beyond anything Manric had encountered before. Almost similar to his empathy, it silently urged them to kneel, to abase themselves, acknowledge her as their queen. They were struggling even to fire on her and Manric sensed the only reason they were not succumbing was the echoes of Ynnead's cry. It still strengthened them but it was fading quickly under the influence of sheer willfulness.
Sheer willfulness. Solipsism taken to the point of madness. We are not you. We will never be you. Never to obey you, never to dance to your tune, no matter how long you shall try. Manric raised a hand to his head, the wings of Sanguinius manifesting behind him. The charisma of a Primarch countered her and the Astartes raised a great shout as the 'woman' suddenly become a monster. Still beautiful, so very beautiful, but not remotely human and they were able to face her. Her rage stabbed at Manric's mind but he just stared at her, countering her will with his own.
As Manric supported the land battles, Fulgrim and Guilliman were focused on the sea. That was where they were sure the Demon Prince Fulgrim would come from, and he did not disappoint.
The Cauldron was churning madly. The storm had gone wildly out of control, magnified beyond all reason by the forces that were being unleashed. The laughter of the Space Wolves and a few communications from them indicated that they saw the fangs of Fenris, now. The Demon Princes were avoiding the Cauldron, as they valued their own lives quite highly, but the chaos spawns, the daemonettes and the Keepers of Secrets had other ideas. The sea battle was absolutely riotous, as forces slid between the air and the water, avoiding water spouts and sometimes diving into them. At least one daring fool of a necron employed the water spout as a weapon, sacrificing his own life but also completely obliterating a Keeper of Secrets, as he managed to aim his exit and hit his target at roughly three hundred miles an hour.
Into this chaos, Fulgrim spawned, and he loved every moment of it. The Demon Prince was grinning widely as he met his 'brothers' in that churning morass.
"Ah, Guilliman, it has been so long! You're looking surprisingly well, given how we parted. And who is this?" The Demon Prince regarded his clone with a gaze that was fascinated and also covetous. If seeing his uncorrupted self bothered him at all, there was no sign of it.
"I am a perfect clone of you, monster, and I will redeem my name," Fulgrim said and Guilliman frowned, hard, as he saw the Demon Prince's grin. He knew what was coming next if he let it happen.
"Spare us your depravities," Guilliman snapped before igniting the Sword of the Emperor. "Defend yourself!" There was absolutely no point in talking to it.
The battle took place deep in the water. Fortunately, they had both fought in water many times and were quite adroit with it. Unfortunately, as Manric had foreseen, Fulgrim's serpentine body was also excellent in the water and he was graceful beyond words, his many arms countering and attacking with frightening ease. Fulgrim and Guilliman were not outright overmatched, but it was a very hard battle, raging back and forth. The Demon Prince loved every moment of it.
Then a third combatant joined the battle. It had taken a while, because the Cryptek in charge of it had wanted to be absolutely firm with his control and had tested it a bit on the upper battlefield before dispatching his minion into the water. Demon Prince Fulgrim's eyes widened for a moment before he turned in an ineffably graceful movement, stopping the scythe that would have bisected his head. The shard of the Nightbringer felt cold, even deep within the burning water. When Guilliman and Fulgrim looked on it, they both felt a chill in their souls, a twinge of the mortality that even Primarch's bore. It was a deep and instinctive reaction, as they looked upon Death, the creature that had inspired a similar myth in every sentient species to exist… the legend of the Grim Reaper.
(the Ordo Xenos had noted that myth seemed to be universal but assumed it was just because death was universal and bones were a sensible motif. The scythe being universal was a bit more puzzling)
Demon Prince Fulgrim felt none of that, since he had transcended death and was also in an exalted state, a constant high given to him by Slaanesh. For him the Nighbringer was just another opponent and a rather boring one, despite his great power. He showed it in his disdainful sneer, countering the scythe over and over with contemptuous ease. That angered the shard and despite the fact that it virulently hated the necrons, for a moment it hated Fulgrim even more. The three of them worked together, attempting to bring the Demon Prince down. And the water churned even harder as a battle of gods took place beneath the surface.
Elsewhere, in Valhalla, the battle was also raging and we will go there for a time.
Raphael of the Emperor's Children was an old and canny Chaos Space Marine.
So when the battle for Valhalla started, he hung back and observed. The obvious place to attack from was the 'ramp' the humans had constructed. It had actually begun as the end of the valley, but badly broken and nearly impassable as the valley officially came to an end, leading into the northern part of the planet, where the band of habitable land was broken before resuming on the other side. The inhabitants of Valhalla had cleared out that broken land and made it into a beautiful ramp, smooth and clear but also scored with deep lines to make it easier to navigate. That was so they could reach into the upper reaches… it was cold, to be sure, but it was also ice with water beneath and very fine fishing could be conducted there, feeding the population. Valhalla had already developed a great reputation for the quality of its fish and chips.
Raphael didn't know any of that, of course, although he could have gone for some fish and chips. As it was, he looked dubiously at the ramp as the daemonettes dashed down and the bulkier Keepers of Secrets lumbered after. At the end of the ramp, before it split into two separate paths, was a great cliff. A natural formation but in front of it was the immense statue of a necron. Something about that statue put Raphael on guard. After a brief moment of thought, he figured it out… it seemed too crude. He'd dealt with necrons before, they were arrogant as wasps, a poor likeness of a great leader would be an insult to them. And this statue was definitely poor. So why would they tolerate it?
When Raphael saw pieces start to fall off the statue, he immediately ducked out of sight. The statue slowly cracked and flaked, bits and pieces tumbling as the thing inside began to move. Raphael swallowed as he saw the Titan emerge from its hiding place of stone, and aim up the ramp. Then it fired.
Raphael cursed as he saw the crackling energy of necron technology. It has the weapons of a Monolith. Probably in conjunction with the armaments of a traditional Titan, not to mention the void shields… this was some kind of unholy combination of technologies. Then it got even worse as the Titan moved with a surprising grace and speed, crushing dozens of daemonettes with quick, almost dance like steps. That's necron anti-grav tech! He wanted to be absolutely nowhere near this monster.
It was pointless anyway, a single Chaos Marine was not going to do a damned thing to a Titan. So Raphael stayed hidden and watched as the daemonettes tried their hardest to take the thing down. The Titan was being joined by necrons and Knight Armors, tiny compared to the incredible bulk. The necrons were up in the cliffs, mostly, firing emplacements into the Slaaneshi demons. The demons were winkling them out and killing them, but taking heavy casualties for each defense they claimed. Particularly when the Titan and Knight Armors were there to destroy them.
The daemonettes came close, though. They scaled the great cliffs and with incredible grace, leapt onto the shoulders of the Titan. Perhaps they might have overwhelmed it with sheer numbers, but then fire blazed across the Titan, turning the daemons to ash and heating the surface of the Titan until it gleamed. Vaguely, Raphael wondered. Could that kill the crew?
(the crew were pwi-necrons so the answer was a hard no)
(the rising heat inside was not even uncomfortable)
The source of the fire was a malignant creature like nothing Raphael had seen before. The shape of a man, it seemed to be composed of nothing but fire and even from his position he could see glowing green eyes. It radiated pure malice and seemed to take particular delight in causing horrifying burns, but leaving the victim just alive enough to scream in pain. Quite an achievement, really, when dealing with daemons who could normally appreciate any sensation. Yet something about these fires, they did not like.
(the aura of the Burning One was very different from the Nightbringer. The Nighbringer radiated cold death, but with the sense that he would kill you extremely quickly as he annihilated the population of your entire planet. The Burning One gave the impression that he would enjoy roasting you slowly, savoring a more personal death)
The fire swept away anything threatening the Titan, letting it unleash itself again and again. Raphael shook his head before quietly slipping away. They could still win, but the hordes of Slaanesh would just have to overwhelm the Titan and monster, perhaps bring in an entire group of Demon Princes to take down the Titan's void shields and whatever unholy necron tech was protecting it. There was nothing he could do here, so he would see what was happening elsewhere on the battlefield.
Raphael wasn't the only one to think that going down the ramp was a poor idea, so he got to see his battle brothers using another group of daemonettes as bait. The Seekers of Slaanesh were riding gracefully through the snow, looking to enter Valhalla via the great valley walls instead. Of course, the necrons and humans would surely be prepared for that so the Emperor's Children hung back, letting the daemons take point and hopefully reveal the nature of the defenses.
It worked exactly as they planned, although the defenses in question turned out to be quite fearsome. Raphael spotted it before it happened… the surface leading towards the valley looked like snow, if you weren't eagle eyed, but it definitely was not. The Seekers of Slaanesh found that out the hard way, running right into the immense glue traps ringing the edges of the valley. As they were caught, necrons and humans rose out of hiding and began firing on them, obliterating the trapped units. Raphael swore quietly to himself as his battle brothers tried to figure out how to get past the glue without getting caught in it. This place was a nightmare!
Although he thought this place likely had the best chance of success, Raphael wasn't quite done. He didn't go to see it himself, but he networked through another battle brother and caught a glimpse of the other end of the valley. Not to his surprise, guarding that great entrance to the more verdant parts of the valley was another Titan. This one was actually larger than the one on the ramp and even nastier, launching great torrents of missiles to rip apart the incoming armies. A strange entity was in play here as well, although it was a very different one… it looked like a withered old man and instead of burning up the daemonettes, it caused them to wither and rot. The malignancy Raphael sensed from it made him feel cold. What were these awful things?
Putting all that side, Raphael reached out to a friend who had gone to join the other battle, the one at the Cauldron.
"Khorous, things are not going well up here. How is it going on your end?" He asked, hoping at least one part of this was not an absolute shitshow.
It's an absolute shitshow! Well… damn it. I have no idea who is winning except the waterspouts! Water… spouts…? They have killed two of us so far! And I have no idea how many daemonettes and enemies they've taken!
"Are you saying the worst enemy is the weather?" Raphael said, feeling a strange, lunatic hilarity at the insanity of it all. Was this actually happening? It almost reminded him of the Siege of Terra, in terms of sheer chaos.
Maybe? Certainly the most unpredictable, all the energies being unleashed is making it go insane, they're spawning randomly and getting harder to avoid. The damned drukhari might be worse though, they seem to have brought everyone from Commorragh. Damn, that was bad. The Craftworlders and Exodites were fierce, but their numbers were limited compared to the drukhari. The Grey Knights are here too. This is a giant wad of shit! What's happening where you are?
"Well, we have two Titans, a legion of Knight Armor, some bizarre things and glue traps." Who had come up with this idea anyway? It seemed like the kind of thing the drukhari would do. "I think our best bet is to try and clear out these traps, but it's hard when you're being constantly fired on." Still, it was better than the Titans. "Fire might be the best bet, to denature the proteins in the glue." That would work, he was sure of it and he'd already signalled to summon some Seekers with mounts that could breathe fire and also Chaos Sorcerers and Demon Princes. "Once we can get into the valley…" They could cause more chaos there and hopefully attack the Titans from two sides. They needed to overwhelm them. The Slaaneshi demons could in fact threaten a Titan, but they needed to be able to reach it and start tearing it apart. That was damned difficult, but the hordes of Slaanesh were in fact almost endless.
Well, good luck. We're just trying not to die. Always a good plan. Raphael broke the connection and waited patiently for the fire units to arrive.
He was confident he knew how to get past this trap and that would be his part in this, helping bring the forces of Slaanesh into the valley below. Would it let them overcome the Titans? He didn't know, but he knew it was the best step and he was loyal to his patron… for now at least.
If Slaanesh happened to fall, it wasn't the end of the world for him. Raphael would move on to something else.
Hanna was fighting for her life, in the hell that was the Cauldron.
Not many chaos spawns and daemonettes got past the eldar and Astartes, to reach her position at the fortifications. But because of the madness, some did and they were kept very busy shooting them. That was critically important, while a single chaos spawn reaching the beach would not matter too much, every one added weight to Slaanesh's attempt to claim the spiritual point of Yggdrasil. Too much, and the scales would tip in her favor.
As they defended the beach, they prayed to the Emperor, finding strength in their faith. It armored them against the blandishments of the Slaaneshi demons, every bit as effectively as blackstone. And as the battle continued, a strange feeling began to rise. Strange but beautiful, Hanna recognized it and she was not the only one of the Sisters to feel it.
"Pray Sisters! Pray to the Emperor, to help him reach into this world to give us aide!" Hanna felt it coming up inside her and prayed, even as she fired, joining the praises of the Emperor. She knew nothing of how it truly worked, only that they could, with their faith, bring the Emperor into this world.
(all the aeldari and Manric could have told them that with the walls of reality as tenuous as they were right now, it was actually an optimal time for that)
Above them a cloud of light churned. Actually a small Warp rift, but tightly controlled to not truly open, all that came through was a voice. It resonated over the entire battlefield and everyone, from the drukhari to the Grey Knights, heard its message.
Sing, child of Man. Sing to the temper of the ultimate temptation, the thing only mortals can know. Sing to her of the call of the Void. The call of the void? Hanna frowned to herself, still firing her weapons. That phrase… had she heard that somewhere before?
For a time, the battle continued but then, even as the chaos continued, the song began. Hanna was in awe of it because it wasn't a song you heard with your ears… it was a vast, incredibly powerful psychic projection. Half emotion, half words, it sang into all of their minds with an urge that was powerful and seductive.
/Don't you want to know what it's like?/
/Don't you want to know how it feels?/
/The one sensation you don't know/
/The one thing you can never know/
/Unless you do it now/
/Don't you want to know what it's like/
/To die?/
Hanna remembered now… the call of the void was the name given to that strange urge towards self-destruction. That tiny little voice in the back of your mind, when you were standing on the precipice, that urged you to jump. She felt the temptation of the song even in the middle of battle, but Hanna was mortal and shook it aside. She knew in her bones, what it was to die. She did not intend to do that today.
But the song was not meant for her, or any mortal. The daemons of Slaanesh went wild, as the tempter was indeed tempted. They attacked in a mad frenzy, throwing themselves on the weapons of their enemies and laughing as they died. The Demon Princes tried to stop the madness – they knew mortality quite well and they had fought hard to avoid it – but they were not enough. Chaos Marines began quietly vanishing, abandoning the battlefield as they sensed the turning of the tide, the beginning of the end.
If the Demon Prince Fulgrim had maintained his mind, that might have been enough to pull Slaanesh herself back from the brink. However, he did not. In his wild debauchery, his endless sybaritic pleasures, he embraced the call of the Void and laughed madly as he gave up all defense, attacking his enemies with abandon. And in doing so, he made a fatal mistake because he hit the Clone's shield with three swords, simultaneously. A mistake he should not have made… Fulgrim had figured out the shield almost instantly. But the call of the Void had seduced him into embracing self-destruction.
The reflected power impacted the Demon Prince so hard, it nearly beheaded him. Then the Nightbringer finished that, his scythe tearing through the already badly weakened neck and removing Fulgrim's head from his body. And despite having no lungs, he laughed.
"It doesn't really matter. Chaos will not give me up so easily… see you in a thousand years, brothers!" He said before he vanished, banished back to the Immaterium. And he was correct… the death of his patron meant little, Chaos Undivided would not allow a Demon Primarch to simply fade away. No, the remaining three Chaos gods would contribute to his power and continue the gift of bliss that Slaanesh had given him. Nothing at all would really change.
The other Demon Princes were not so lucky and they began vanishing as well. With failure on the horizon, they needed to conserve the remaining shreds of their power and quickly try to find a new patron. Most would go to Tzeentch, because he could at least understand and allow their debauchery. Some would go to Khorne, the ones who took great pleasure in bloodshed. Some would be forced into the service of Nurgle, captured as their powers began to fade and given the choice of service or death. By and large, very few of the Demon Princes would actually vanish entirely. They were precious resources and the other three Chaos Powers would move to secure them, as they filled the vacuum left behind.
The loss of the Chaos Marines and Demon Princes signified the end of the true battle, as the outcome was now decided. It was still vicious, as they needed to kill most of the Slaaneshi demons and chaos spawns, but the weather in the Cauldron calmed to something approaching normal. And as Ynnead truly became ascendant, in the Immaterium, the daemons began to weaken and vanish. Their energies claimed by the victor.
As things calmed and the last of the enemies were dispatched, the clouds above the Cauldron parted again in a brief moment of peace. They were all able to catch their breath and evaluate the casualties, which were many. Even the necrons had suffered… the powers of the Warp, combined with the water spouts, had caused many recall failures. But ultimately, it was done.
A blow had been struck against Chaos and for the first time in a very long time, the eldar were truly free.