A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
1 Fate/Zero OST "Point Zero"
2 Dawn of War II - For The Craftworld (HD)
3 Dawn of War II - Khaine's Wrath (HD)
4 Anima Ataraxia - Extended - Fate/Extra CCC OST
1
I could only watch in horror as the Soul Engines disappeared under the roiling crust of the planet. All the dark geometrically shaped laboratories and black arched breeding facilities splintered and cracked, as if they were made from overdried clay instead of the unknowable alloys that resisted both the strongest bolts of psychic lightning any of us could muster and the heaviest projectiles we could throw physically or telekinetically.
Despite being high above all this, looking down from the viewing port of a voidcraft in orbit with all my brothers and sisters who had been selected for our ability to survive the last tests of the Old Ones, I could hear the roar of churning earth and howling scream of insane winds.
Radioactive aurorae covered the skies in yellow, green, and red lights as the dead core of our homeworld was jolted back to life. The reborn magnetosphere was pulling the solar particles we had all been exposed to on our homeworld back up beyond the atmosphere.
I turned back to the goddess that my mother had been used to make. I could still see hints of her in the goddess's hair and the shape of her eyes. However, I truly regretted that one action soon after.
The emotionless face that we had all taken turns to bow down before and pray moments ago was smiling. A small sad loving smile was directed at myself and the planet below us.
At that moment, the tectonic plates split open, forming jagged mouths to swallow everything that was upon them. Tendrils of molten rock rose out from inside and outside these gaping maws, like the hungry roots of a newly awakened seed.
Despite the vacuum between the voidcraft and the planet, I could hear it scream. The birth cry of a new legend was wracking the very fabric of reality.
My mother's mouth continued to smile at me, but her eyes told a different story. In them, I saw what she really felt.
Hate. Fear. Despair. Anger. Shame. Guilt. And only after she had swallowed all of what she had experienced as well as the emotions of all those who had failed the selection process would the final output of the emotional equation engraved in her core be released.
That result would be love, but that love crossed the entire spectrum from the mad grip of a mourning mother unable to let go of her child's corpse, to the gentle touch of a distant but Caring parent.
I swallowed as the silver eyes of the goddess reflected me and only me amongst all my species; a single face turned towards her as the rest were stuck to the view ports, backs turned in her direction.
Nobody could know of this. To understand what she was would to invert what she was supposed to do. We, her children, were meant to die so she could function. But, if her legend ever spoke of this at such an early stage, she would function so we would die.
I had thought the Old Ones alien before, but I had underestimated just how little I shared with them emotionally or ideologically.
No wonder they abandoned the Necrontyr to their species wide cancer.
Their method of decision making was not something that could be understood.
I looked up at the goddess that was my mother and watched the last remaining trails of the burgundy ichor that flowed from her eyes disappear into her skin like water on desert sands.
With a single tear shed for my sake, brought up from the depth of her heart by my despair when I saw our dead world, she had destroyed everything we had sought to be free from.
But she was not done. She would never be done. This single planet was not enough to relieve her heart of its sorrow. That was not the way the Old Ones had engineered her.
Feminine voices began to tickle my ear. I could hear the gentle voice of the woman who allowed me to suckle at her breast, and the voices of hundreds of others whispering to me as I stared at her.
Eldanesh... Eldanesh... they cooed my name over and over.
She wanted to be free, and she was asking me to help her.
The restraining wards crackled, and the reinforced glass of the containment tube around my mother cracked. Melded seams of metal tore open. Steam whistled out of burst pipes as several coolant systems exploded. All this happened even as my mother remained motionless.
The materials that made this ship came from the planet below, so they too were beginning to resonate with my mother's will.
I pushed the button left behind by one of the Old Ones' mortal servitors, and the gate within the containment tube opened, throwing my mother into the roiling seas of the immaterium.
Cold sweat drenched me, even as the portal safely closed, and I just stood there gasping for breath.
My dream had come true. Our homeworld would sustain life once more. That hell below me was the miracle I had prayed for.
Every creature that had been consumed in order to create us, every feature of the planet that had been destroyed to create the testing ground to harden us, all of it would be restored.
That was the end, and the new beginning. It was the miracle of life made manifest, but granted in the only way reality could rationalize it.
I took in one final long breath, and calmed myself. There was no turning back, no return to naive childish ignorance, no erasing the knowledge from my brain and soul. My wish for a new world had been granted. Now, it was my turn to uphold my part of the bargain.
"This is the miracle of the Goddess of Life." I spoke as my body turned back to the rest of my brothers and sisters while my face borrowed Cegorach's mask to form the expressions necessary for the moment. "From this, endless joy will be born. The world will be filled with wondrous things once more, and we will be there to enjoy it. Let us give thanks for her love."
The others looked between the monster in the void outside the viewports and myself. Then, one by one, they turned away from what they saw and knelt before me.
It was for my sorrow that my mother shed a tear, and as the first one to be chosen by her, I would be the one to represent our mother and speak of her Truth.
I called this miracle an act of love, and it was love, despite the thick red and sticky black colors it was tainted by.
I spoke the truth when I said that endless joy would come from the curses of the 3 billion women and the uncountable others who were deemed insufficient and unworthy by the Old Ones; the curses that were now tearing the planet apart with its own burning blood.
This was how all life began; from the boiling seas, torn skies, and roiling mud.
It would only be a matter of time before the first amino acids would form in alkaline pools that would dry under the unfiltered sunlight filled with ultraviolet rays.
This was the miracle of the Goddess of Life.
This was the gift of my mother's love given with a tear made of nothing but sorrow.
This was the secret that now filled my heart, and shoved away any emptiness I felt with the pure horror of knowing what had happened to the woman with golden hair who gave birth to me.
- Black Library Archive: Personal record of Eldanesh on the birth of Isha's first legend
2
On a barren world utterly killed by the Necron, a battle raged between the dead and the living.
No natural features remained, and even the atmosphere was slowly being blown away by solar winds, for the planet's molten and solid cores were stopped by stasis fields in order to lock every landmass exactly where it was. Nothing remained on the surface. Oceans had been drained away under the crust to reveal resource deposits hidden by the water, and all nascent flora and fauna had been murdered long ago by the mechanical tendrils of the Abattoir and Canoptek scarab swarms when the slaves of the Yngir first took control of this entire solar system.
With no cover from plants or buildings, both Old One and Yngir armies fought with ancient tactics in open war and their conscripts clashed over the dry brown desert sands interrupted only by the black obelisks of the Necrons.
Lines of Aeldari warriors with Wraithbone shields in the shapes of Roman scutums and Fusion Pistols stood in front of a second line of infantrymen armed with Prism Rifles. The first line of warriors used what little they could of their psychic gifts to kick up the dry brown sands at their feet, forming an additional layer of protection between them and the green lightning of the Gauss Flayers fired by the endless ranks of Necron warriors; sand grains absorbing the molecule stripping energies that flensed whatever they touched layer by layer. Their voices rang out, singing the bonesongs that would repair their Wraithbone shields as the top most layers were stripped off. They held back the Necron as the second line fired over their shoulders or between their shields with Prism Rifles that emitted concentrated light that could either form a piercing beam or conical blast at the shooter's will.
Dark swarms of scarabs approached like locust swarms from above and the front, and it was only then that the first line of soldiers would fire their short ranged melta weapons, sending multiple penetrating cones of pure thermal radiation into the scarabs that charged directly at them as the second line turned their Prism Rifles skyward and held back those that tried to come at them from above with the widest setting their weapons could fire with.
After several minutes of firing, the swarm abated leaving only pools of denatured necrodermis, heated to such an extent it had degraded back into the more mundane alloys it had been composed from.
However, the Aeldari did not rejoice, for while the scarab swarms had obscured everything, the Necron warriors had advanced another few meters, and were now forcing them back with the sheer volume of Gauss fire their mass produced bodies and weapons released.
This was the situation along almost every front line between the Aeldari and the Necron.
No matter how many the Aeldari slew, the necrodermis bodies of their foes would either reanimate themselves, or be teleported back to the underground forges in a flash of light only to be replaced by several more freshly produced warriors.
Further back, deep behind allied lines, the War Council of the Aeldari was convened under the safety of the void shields and protected by the grav-tanks they had in reserve as well as the covering fire of planetside anti-orbital Pulsars. Several Psychomatons stood at the outer edge of the void shields, and would occasionally throw a psychically guided Wraithbone javelin through the crescent shaped Scythe or shroud aircraft that darted around, probing their defenses.
"Autarch…" One of the Aeldari addressed the most senior member at the council. "The 3rd and 4th planets of this system have fallen. The resonance of the pylons has begun to activate the Dolmen gate, and it obscures the Webway even further. We have lost the path back to our ships and siblings in the Webway."
There were 3 other Aeldari, and a 12m giant all clad in Wraithbone armor of various colors surrounding a floating silver oval that generated a holographic map of the battlefield. Only a giant tarp was placed overhead to hide them from any prying eyes from the sky. Several other tarps were placed as decoys around them at random intervals to reduce the risk of being instantly targeted should a stray attack craft or void ship manage to penetrate the covering fire and shields above them.
"Then our reinforcements will be limited to what we can physically throw down from the skies until we take down their pylons" Autarch Alarathis sighed, then turned to the 12m giant. "Drogmar, have you any word from your ships?"
The giant alien, a Krork, grunted before flicking the holographic map with a finger to switch the field of view to the battle taking place in space.
"My boys can push through their cruiser lines." His voice was a deep baritone, but the pronunciation was articulated and cadence calm. "There won't be much left, but I should have enough pods to take out these pylons. However, these Æonic Orbs will wipe out whatever my ships drop during transit." The holographic map switched between orbit and ground as it reacted to the psychic commands of the Krork, highlighting the weapons in question that prevented his troops from dropping in from orbit.
The Æonic Orb. They were one of the Titan-class weapons the Necron employed as mobile anti-orbital artillery. Inside a containment field of liquified necrodermis, held in place by temporal fields, quantum shielding, and stasis generators on a massive floating ovoid dais made of obsidian alloys and necrodermis, was a stellar fragment from a star devoured by the Star Gods. When it fired, the containment field was merely opened to let the raw radiation and unbearable heat trapped inside scorch whatever happened to be in its path. The only reason it wasn't employed as a ship-board weapon was because a critical failure meant the full wrath of a dying star would be unleashed in an explosion no nuclear bomb could ever match.
As such, although they were often used as anti-Titan weapons by the Necron, they were forced to place them a safe-distance away from everything that was even marginally important. Still, the Æonic Orb's extreme range and sheer power meant that it would decimate almost all the Krork drop pods before they could reach the ground.
"Our void ships struggle to hold the skies over us clear." One of the Aeldari replied, returning the map back to orbit, showing void ships from 3 separate alien races. Necron cruisers remained in orbit high above their positions, while Aeldari and Krork vessels hung slightly behind their own armies. Each group of ships were blocked from direct line of sight thanks to the curvature of the planet, but it was obvious from the number of blips on the holomap that the Necrons outnumbered both Old One races by at least three to one. Only a constant stream of Star-Cannon artillery from the Aeldari ships forced the Necron ships to remain in place as their Gauss lightning arrays and particle whips were the only weapons that could vaporize the psychically guided bolts of plasma that threatened to bombard the Necron positions below. "We cannot target the Æonic Orbs from orbit, nor engage their cruisers to allow more of the Krork ships to reach the drop points."
"Then we have no choice but to engage the Æonic Orbs on the ground." Alarathis muttered, reverting the map back to the planet itself.
"We will need to deploy all our reserves, Autarch." The other Aeldari spoke warily. "That will leave our central camps and anti-orbital Pulsar defenses dangerously reduced."
The Autarch let out a short laugh before switching the map to display the entire solar system. Every other planet besides one was noted as being under total Necron control.
"Our forces retreat, slowly but surely, on every front. The sheer number of their warriors grind us down like waves eating away at the bottom of a cliff. With the fall of the other planets, it will only be a matter of time before their ships and troops teleport here and overwhelm us. Our only chance to keep this system and another portion of the Webway out of the hands of Yngir is to reopen a way for our siblings to join us upon this planet, or summon one of our gods. The Talismans of Vaul still hold back the Yngir themselves from this system. As long as our voice can still reach our mother, we must fight with Khaine's song in our throats."
"Victory at any cost." The other two Aeldari replied ritualistically as the Krork sighed and rolled his shoulders.
"If you're all done with your poetry, I'll be returning to my boys. They'll be getting bored at taking potshots at those Necron flyers, and I need to remind them of why we're here."
Alarathis nodded, permitting the Krork to leave.
"Go then Drogmar. I will send word when we are ready. May your gods watch over you."
The Krork snorted as he turned away. "My gods are always with me. They don't hide in the immaterium."
The Autarch and his two assistants watched as the giant marched back to where the rest of the Krork were, taking turns to operate the anti-air and anti-orbital weapons keeping enemy fliers and escort class vessels from attempting an ill-fated bombing or bombardment run.
"Drogmar is becoming increasingly unstable." One of Alarathis's assistants muttered irritably.
The Autarch shrugged in response. "That's why he was sent on this doomed campaign with us. We are all weapons reaching our expiration date, even though the fruit is ripest just before it rots."
"Is he aware of that?" His other assistant questioned, and the Alarathis shrugged again.
"The more important question is, 'Would he care?'." He said sarcastically. "Regardless, fate holds our hand in this dance. Even if all we do fails, the daughter of Morai-Heg will ensure our sacrifices are not in vain."
Switching off the holographic map, Alarathis activated a handheld holoprojector that sent false images of himself and his two attendants as well as the silver map projector running to the several decoy tarps around them before turning and jogging away from the tarp using the exact same speed and form as the holographic projections. Moments later, the remains of a Scythe attack craft crashed into the tarp they had just been using in a ball of baleful green flames and eldritch sparks.
"Deploy our reserves." Alarathis spoke casually as he reactivated the map projector. "Speed will be necessary. Our forces will not last long once they penetrate the Necron lines."
"They will be surrounded on all sides, and the Necron still have their anti-armor weapons in reserve. Are you sure of this, Autarch?" His assistant asked again.
Even with the Psychomatons and grav-tanks positioned around the main camp, held in reserve so they could react to any faltering of the front lines, attack craft occasionally managed to penetrate their defenses. For the moment, the best they could do was attempt a suicide attack against them. However, if the reserves were sent out into a battle guaranteed to extract a heavy toll, this command post and the anti-orbital Pulsars could fall to a concentrated force of enemy attack craft. If those fell, their armies would be rendered leaderless and the Necron cruisers could advance forwards unhindered by fire from the anti-orbital Pulsars. Then, it would only be a matter of time before they chased off the Aeldari and Krork void ships and began raining orbital bombardments upon their ground forces.
"With the pylons active, our psychic abilities are limited, and the Dolmen gate blocks us from the Webway." Alarathis replied tiredly. "If we can destroy this grouping of pylons, even if our siblings cannot reopen the Webway, we can still attempt to summon Khaine. He will ensure the remaining pylons fall, and the dark resonance will be broken. Even if denying them this one planet is all we can manage, it is worth preventing another section of the Webway falling to the Yngir."
Swiping a hand across the map, Alarathis highlighted several sections along the front lines.
"Open the lines at these locations. Our grav-tanks will punch through and move to threaten their Lords and command barges, drawing out their reserve forces to counter-attack." Several arrows symbolizing both the Aeldari's mechanized push and the Necron's response appeared. "We should be able to draw out their arks, barges, and anti-armor Immortals with this."
"What of the Destroyer cults?" One of Alarathis's assistants asked, and several Necron fused at the waist to a fast moving mobility platform appeared on the map. "They are faster than our grav-tanks, and may outflank our vehicles to hit them with their anti-armor weapons at the rear. They may even attempt to outmaneuver them entirely and slip past our void shields, allowing them to attack our anti-orbital Pulsars directly."
"Equip our jetbikes with laser lances." Alarathis replied calmly. "They will counter any destroyer cults attempting to outmaneuver our grav-tanks and push past into our back lines." He waved his hand over the map, switching back to the highlighted Æonic Orbs Drogmar had pointed out. "Once their heavy weapons are forced to engage ours, the Psychomatons can move to take out the Æonic Orbs."
"Our ancestors will not be returning from their mission, Autarch." Alarathis's attendant stated sadly.
Destruction of the Æonic Orbs meant the stellar fragment would be released, and its weapon ensured it was protected from any ranged attack whether it was made of light or matter.
Nothing could overwhelm the raw fury of a star.
If only the Necron pylons did not stifle their connection to the immaterium.
If only they still had access to their super-heavy tanks; their Cobras, Scorpions, or even Lynxes that had been lost clearing the landing point for the initial insertion and during the destruction of the Abattoir.
If only a hundred other things had gone different, there may have been another way. But, that was not the case. The Psychomatons would have to close to melee range with the Æonic Orbs, and would be consumed by their destruction.
"I know." Alarathis replied in a tired tone. "But, whatever the outcome, so long as the Talismans of Vaul hold back the Yngir victory is assured. Eldanesh will see to that."
Alarathis's plan progressed smoothly.
Night Spinners began the assault by firing monofilament artillery in high arcs over the Aeldari infantry lines, slicing apart large swathes of Necron Warriors to prevent them from exploiting any breach in the line.
Then, the Aeldari infantry lines parted, and the first wave of vehicles composed of the Falcon-chassis based Fire Prisms charged forwards over the mats of monofilament interspersed with sparking bits and pieces of the skeletal slaves of the C'tan. Prism cannons fired conical blasts of laser lights, freezing multiple Necron Warriors as their joints melted from the heat, freezing them in place until the bladelike front of the Falcon chassis each Fire Prism was made from mowed them down like overgrown grass.
Then the Immortals and Doomsday Arks responded.
Gauss blasters and Doomsday Cannons cut through the Aeldari grav-tanks one by one as they emerged from behind the lines of Necron Warriors while the Aeldari infantry line moved forwards to support their grav-tanks with Prism Rifles and Fusion Pistols returning fire, tearing Immortal heads from necks, and poking holes in the Doomsday Arks until they exploded or disintegrated due to their own powersource going haywire.
At the same time, Destroyer cultists on high-mobility platforms with Gauss Destructors rushed past the momentary openings left behind by the destroyed Aeldari grav-tanks. They jinked and swerved irregularly avoiding the majority of the Prism fire with the high pitched humming of the mobility platforms' levitation fields and the crackle of their Gauss weapons being the only sounds they made.
Some fired wildly into the Aeldari infantry shield walls, before running into them directly like an out of control automobile in order to cause as much mayhem as they possibly could for they were uncontrollable cultists slaved to death and destruction; hated by even their own undead brethren.
The Destroyer cultists who had lost their sanity were eventually melted into slag by Fusion Pistols and Prism Rifles, doing only superficial damage to the Aeldari army. However, the other Destroyers with a greater portion of their sanity remaining slipped through the opening in the Aeldari formations for they knew they could do far more damage from behind enemy lines.
But, instead of the unguarded commanders, unprotected ammo silos, or triage stations filled with helpless wounded they had wanted to wreck and burn, they found Jetbike riders counter-charging them head on.
These faster vehicles and their prescient riders swerved and swayed, avoiding Gauss blasts with their foresight before opening holes in the skeletal torsos or mobility platforms of the Destroyers with their armor piercing laser lances as they passed.
The deadly exchange between the two sides continued as the counter-push of the Aeldari slowly penetrated the Necron lines at several points, closing in on the Command Barges and Necron Lords that provided the commands for the other Yngir slaves to function.
However, overhead, greater and greater numbers of Necron flyers began to gather. Aeldari Firestorm anti-air grav-tanks took several of them down with their scatter lasers, but were soon forced to turn their weapons towards several scarab swarms that threatened to smother the Aeldari army.
Suddenly, a series of bone-white bladed disks cut through several of the Necron Scythe attack craft as the Pschomatons charged out from inside the camp.
This was their last parting gift to their younger siblings, a final salvo of anti-air fire to delay the coming counter-push of the Necron which would swallow them all.
Already, the destroyed Necron were teleported back from the front lines. New Warriors, Destroyers, Immortals and Doomsday Arks were slowly replacing those that had been destroyed.
This brief moment, where the Aeldari forces had temporarily depleted the Necrons' numbers, was the only moment the Psychomatons could afford to leave their post.
As they ran, paths obstructed by only simple Warriors for the more devastating weapons were distracted defending the Necron Lords and Command Barges, they ducked and dodged as they crossed the line where the curvature of the plane no longer protected them from the direct line of fire from the Æonic Orbs.
The beams from the Stellar Fragments traveled at the speed of light, but the Psychomatons were the oldest and most experienced of the Aeldari in the matter of war. Their foresight allowed them to predict where the Æonic Orbs would fire even before the Necrons operating it had even decided to send the command.
Wraithbone spears and javelins formed in their six hands, and they threw them at their targets as they ran, forcing the Æonic Orbs to divide their attention between several targets, slowing their rate of fire.
Particle whips and Gauss lightning arrays fired down upon them from the Necron cruisers orbiting overhead. But, the Psychomatons continued on with a different song, growing and regrowing sacrificial Wraithbone shields in the left and right hands of their uppermost pair of arms which took the brunt of the green lightning that rained down upon them from the heavens.
Finally, every Psychomaton reached the Æonic Orb they had been assigned, and even as Necron weapons released their shielding to deliver omnidirectional blasts of every imaginable electromagnetic radiation, they grabbed hold of the quantumly shielded necrodermis with melting hands and fingers, and tore into them with whatever weapon they could summon.
Back at the main Aeldari camp, Alarathis watched several dozen flashes of light erupt in the distance followed by massive mushroom clouds.
"Drogmar, send in your ships." The Autarch said before whistling a simple Wraithbone spike into existence which he jabbed into the ground before kneeling on one knee. The other two Aeldari followed suit, and the Krork snorted before crouching down to brace himself on all fours.
The earthquake hit them moments later. The ground undulated like the surface of a waterbed that had been jumped on, rippling with the seismic waves generated by the explosion. But, even as he held onto the Wraithbone spike he used to keep his balance, Alarathis saw explosions in the sky as Krork troop carriers charged out into the Necron cruiser's line of fire.
Most of the explosions were red and black, but the occasional eldritch green nova showed that the Krork ships still scored the occasional kill.
"My boys have begun dropping to the pylons." Drogmar grunted as the earthquake subsided. "I can't hear what they're thinking anymore, so they must have entered the pylon fields."
"Shall we pull our forces back, Autarch?" One of Alarathis's assistants asked, for there was no more need to spill Aeldari blood with the Krork assault underway.
"No." Alarathis shook his head. "The more pressure we apply to the Necron, the less attention and armaments they can direct to the Krork. Continue the assault. Buy them more time."
Painfully long minutes passed as the distant sounds of explosions and constant crackling of Gauss fire filled the background silence as the four of them watched the distant black obelisks.
Finally, one of the obelisks shook, then fell like a massive tree cutdown with an ax. Several others soon followed, and Alarathis breathed out a sigh of relief before turning back to the holographic map behind them.
"Have we regained access to the Webway?" He asked one of his assistants, but a shake of the head was his only answer. "Then we begin the ritual to summon Khaine. I will lead the Warsong to bri-"
The Autarch was interrupted by a sudden silent scream. Phantom voices filled all of their ears and forced their hands to their heads. After several seconds of being forced to acclimatize to the horrid sound, the four psychic aliens rose to their feet panting.
"Sepulchres." Alarathis hissed as he turned to glare up at the sky where the screaming continued to echo from.
"Cairn-class Tomb ships." One of his assistants replied, opening partial slits on the side of her helmet to allow the blood that dripped from her ears to run out. "They must have arrived from the other planets."
Cair-class Tomb ships. The largest 'standard' warship of the Necron fleet. Only these massive crescent moon shaped ships with Pyramid bridges in between the two blade like halves carried the weapon known as the Sepulchre. Several dozen of these ships had arrived using their inertialess drives to conduct short range teleports in order to reach this planet as quickly as possible, and all of them were now saturating the atmosphere of this planet with their Sepulchres. It was the one psychic weapon they had created and its only purpose was to suppress the psychic gifts of others.
How could the soulless Necron, slaves to the Yngir who were only masters of reality, create a psychic weapon?
Simple. By using the races that had psychic abilities to make them.
Inside each Cairn-class Tomb ship was a lobotomization chamber that carried the brains of hundreds, if not thousands of psychic life forms.
This was the fate in store for all prisoners of war that weren't fed to the Yngir, and also the fate of all those consumed by the tentacled Abattoirs that were released upon every world the Necron invaded.
Each unfortunate victim was subjected to constant simulated pain while being deprived of all other sensory input. Then, their brains were enclosed in a blackstone box with nutrient fluids so the psychic emanations of suffering could be concentrated safely until the Necron felt like they needed to use them.
The endless agony each brain felt was released via the remains of the psychic gifts of the race that the brain belonged to. A wave of forced empathy spread pain, terror, and despair as whatever soul was left in the mass of adipose and neural tissue cried out for help.
This almost overwhelming sense of negative emotions acted as a sort of jamming signal, interfering with the concentration and emotional control necessary to use psychic abilities, which included the summoning of most of the Aeldari's deities.
This was how the Sepulchre was created, how it functioned, and why it was made.
"Pull back all our forces." Alarathis said quietly. "Gather all the survivors and wounded near the anti-orbital Pulsars. I will begin my speech once everyone is gathered."
His two assistants nodded, and quickly ran off to spread his orders. Psychic communications were also affected by the Sepulchre, so physical communications would be required to contact those furthest away from the camp.
Alarathis watched as flares and holographic projections ordering the Aeldari armies to fallback rose into the skies. At the same time, streams of green lightning descended down towards the places the Necron pylons once stood, orbitally bombarding any of the Krork survivors who had dropped down from the skies. Once the Necron army could proceed forwards without fear of the Krork flanking them from behind, they would begin to encircle the last remaining survivors on the ground.
Capture meant interrogation which would lead to only two options; to be eaten by the Yngir, or to be reduced to just a brain and interred into another Sepulchre weapon aboard a Cairn-class Tombship.
Alarathis turned back to the 12m Krork. Behind the giant, several thousand similarly sized Krorks were gathering with their smaller Krotling and Kretchin servants.
"Now, I am the one who gives the orders." Drogmar chuckled throatily. "The Sepulchres hurt you Aeldari more than us." His eyes seemed to blaze behind his helm, even as the agonized screams of thousands upon thousands of tortured souls continued to ring in his ears. "Your gods won't answer your call, but mine will."
Alarathis looked up at the Krork. There was no sadness or pain in the giant alien's eyes. With every second spent in the Sepulchres' fields, his bloodlust only grew and grew.
This was why the Krorks had been created. Their brute strength reduced their reliance on their psychic gifts, and their even more brutal culture left no room for misery or sorrow.
They only had one goal, and that was to fight. They didn't care what other aliens thought or felt, so their capacity for empathy was virtually non-existent. That made them almost immune to the Sepulchres of the Necron.
Finally, the Aeldari Autarch touched two fingers to his forehead, and his brow creased in concentration as he transmitted everything he knew of the current battlefield to the Krork Warlord while fighting through the Sepulchres' screams.
"These are the last known locations of their Command Barges and Lords." Alarathis said quietly as he finished the transmission of information. "Merely proceeding in their direction will force them to reallocate their forces to prepare defenses against you. Hitting them hard enough will disrupt centralized planetary control of all forces, and destroying them will disrupt local control long enough that you may hit another target. You will be encircled, however, and there will be no escape. Then again, there is no escape for any of us anyways. Buy me 3 hours. That is all I need."
Drogmar snorted before replying. "I don't know whether we'll last that long, but we'll buy you as much time as we can, Alarathis."
"That is as much as I can ask. Die bravely Drogmar."
Alarathis turned and walked away towards the anti-orbital Pulsars.
Drogmar stared at the Autarch's back for a couple of moments before snorting and turning to the Kretchin servant who carried his weapons when he wasn't using them.
3
"Did you hear what that knife-ear said to me?" He snorted as he grabbed his favorite oversized Fusion Gun and power claw.
"You've got pointy ears as well, boss." The Kretchin retorted as he clambered up the 12m giant to fit twin-linked shoulder mounted repeating missile launchers to his Warlord.
"I know I have pointy ears, you dolt." Drogmar growled, shaking his shoulders causing the Kretchin to yelp and hang on for dear life. "They're the right kind of pointy, and they're green. But that's not the point. He told me to 'die bravely'. What a stupid sentiment." The Krork turned towards his troops, and sucked in a deep breath before roaring out at them.
"There is no bravery in death! There is only the fight! Death is the end of the fight, and the time of judgment before our gods! I have given enough worship to Mork by working with these knife-ears! Now, I can finally show Gork that I am worthy!"
Cheers came from every Krork. This was their time. This was their fight. They had endured the boredom and depression of apostatic peace for long enough. Now, they could practice their faith for the first time after the initial beachhead on this planet.
"So, what's the plan, boss?" Drogmar's Kretchin underling asked as he slipped down from his Warlord's back.
"There is no plan." Drogmar snorted. Plans were for the Aeldari, and their inferior coward gods hiding in the Sea of Souls.
"There is only the fight. There is only the Waaagh. The Waaagh! To fight with brutality and to fight with cunning! We'll use the knowledge of those knife-ears, and we'll borrow their weapons and their armor! But, this fight is ours! Ours! Nobody else can have it, for this is all we have and the only reason we were made! That is what our gods want, and what we want to do for our gods!"
Roars of religious fervor rose from every Krork as they lifted their weapons and shook them above their heads. Green and yellow sparks flew from their eyes as the Waaagh field began to grow so thick it began to overflow from their bodies.
"Right!" Drogmar's Kretchin laughed as he clapped his knobbly hands together. "Haha! Sure is glorious being green!"
"Shut your mouth and grab your gun you git!" Drogmar spat while giving a backhanded slap to the back of the Kretchin's head, sending him face first into the brown sands beneath them. "All of you, do you see the targets in my mind?" Drogmar roared, pointing to his head, and all the Krorks nodded enthusiastically. "Good! Then you know where to go!"
The Krork began to march forwards, separating into equally sized groups to charge towards each Necron Lord and Command Barge. Aeldari infantry ran, jogged, or were dragged past them as the Krork took control of the battlefield.
"Fight, fight, and fight!" Drogmar called out as he marched at the forefront of the foremost group. "Give worship to Gork with your hands as you tear apart the enemy head on! Give worship to Mork as your feet carry you to where it will hurt them the most when you hit them!"
Green and yellow sparks leapt from the psychoactive Wraithbone armor that encased his 12m frame as the Krork Warlord raised both of his weapons as the foremost and final rank of Aeldari shield bearers parted to reveal the Necron Warriors marching towards them.
"Gork and Mork! Mork and Gork! Great gods of all Krork, witness what we do this day and welcome us back in open arms so we can fight and fight and fight!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Every Krork roared out in unison as they charged headfirst into Necron Warriors, who reacted by leveling every Gauss weapon they could at Drogmar and firing, but the Waaagh energies encasing his armor acted like void shielding and annulled the molecule stripping energies that flew at him.
He was the Warlord of the Krork behind him. The biggest, baddest, and most beloved Krork by the gods Gork and Mork. His Krork believed nothing could hurt him, so he was immune to everything the Necron threw at him.
The 12m giants crushed the Necron Warriors under their boots, and Waaagh lightning zapped any scarab that attempted to touch them like bugs trying to fly through an electrified mesh.
Annihilation Barges fired their Tesla cannons into them, but whatever electrical energies penetrated the Waaagh field was absorbed by the thick Wraithbone armor provided by the Aeldari.
Drogmar blasted the nearest barge with his Fusion Gun, melting its cannons, before grabbing it with his power claw and throwing it at an incoming Destroyer cultist, crushing both of them. All the while, the twin-linked missile launchers fired from both of his shoulders like rapid fire auto cannons, mowing down any Necron that moved with multiple miniature plasma warheads.
The force the Krork attacked with reopened the wounds the Aeldari's mechanized push had inflicted on the Necron formations, and the burning wreckage of the grav-tanks served as suitable cover for them as they dove into the ranks of the Yngir slaves.
Soon, Drogmar smashed his way through to the first Necron Lord, guarded by several Praetorians and shield-bearing Lychguard.
His power claw scooped up the nearest Lychguard, shield and armor piercing glaive squished against its body, then crushed the reinforced armor of the bodyguard to the ancient Necrontyr aristocracy as he turned his Fusion Gun upon the rest of them. The Lychguard raised their shields, and placed themselves between the Krork and their Lord while the Praetorians lifted off with their anti-gravitational packs to shoot at the Krork with their Rods of Covenant. Incinerating beams crackled against the Waaagh energies encasing Drogmar, and his twin-linked shoulder missile launchers fired up at the Praetorians like anti-aircraft guns as he charged head first into the Lychguard's shield wall while suppressing them with multiples shots from his Fusion Gun.
Black necrodermis shields glowed red from the heat, then Drogmar barrelled through them like a bowling ball knocking aside a set of pins and raised his Fusion Gun to deliver another shot at the Lord that had been hidden behind them. But, before he could pull the trigger, the Necron Lord's Warscythe blasted the Krork with a blast of eldritch lightning, tearing apart Drogmar's favorite Fusion Gun. In return, the 12m giant swatted away the Necron Lord's weapon with what remained of his firearm, breaking the reinforced joints of the higher grade body provided to the Necrontyr aristocracy, and grabbed him with his power claw.
"Now you've done it!" Drogmar roared as he pointed both of his shoulder mounted missile launchers and unloaded several miniature plasma missiles into the Necron Lords face as he crushed its body like an empty can. Soon, the compressed and headless Necron Lord was raised above the Krork's head, and he roared out with the victorious battle cry all Krorks shared.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Mad lightning erupted from Drogmar's body, as his own religious fervor mixed with those of his boys, and the euphoric joy of battle rose to a mighty crescendo summoning a towering giant in the form of a buck-naked Krork.
500m tall, barrel chested with a thick belly and bulging arms and thighs, Gork emerged from the Waaagh field of the Krork to celebrate with them upon the field of battle.
Roaring joyously, the God of Brutality raised his fist before slamming it into the ground, smashing countless leaderless Necron Warriors and vehicles, before sweeping his hand aside burying entire phalanxes in rubble, sand, and rock.
The titanic deity stomped, kicked, punched and swatted at the now disorganized Necron, trampling their soldiers and the odd unlucky Krork beneath his feet as the hurricane winds whipped up by his mere passing sent Scythe craft wobbling through the sky, only to be smashed between his massive hands like a mosquito.
But, the Necron did not retreat, nor relent. They were already dead and even if they could feel fear, they did not have the free will to act upon it. A different Necron Lord from a distant Command Barge reasserted control over the Yngir slaves, and ordered them to ignore the raging god above them and kill the Krork that allowed it to exist.
Concentrated Gauss fire finally brought down one of the Krorks, overwhelming the Waaagh field surrounding him with more weapon's fire than he could imagine, saturating his yellow-green barrier even as dozens fell to his mono-molecular chain-blade and oversized Prism Blaster. Motes of Gauss energy that got through the protective shields of pure self-confidence ate away at his armor until they finally began to vaporize flesh. Bit by bit, the Krork was disintegrated, until one of his massive legs finally broke in two from his own weight.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
But, there is no defeating a Krork. Kill them, hurt them, torture them it makes no difference. There is only the fight for them.
Galloping on three limbs, the 12m giant grabbed the Nearest Necron Warriors he could reach even as Gauss Flayers unloaded in his face, disintegrating half his skull. Then, with his grip strength alone, the Krork compacted the necrodermis bodies into a makeshift club before using it to smash the next nearest Necron Warrior he could reach.
It was only after the Necron Warriors finished disintegrating the rest of the Krork's head, the remaining leg, and right forearm that the Krork finally stopped fighting. Then, a massive shadow loomed over them as Gork's foot stomped down on the remains of the Krork and the Necron Warriors that surrounded him. All the while, the brutal god laughed, joyous that his mortal followers remained loyal to his creed.
Despite the localized victories the Krork gained, the battle in general was slowly falling into the Necrons' favor.
New reinforcements were being teleported down from the Cairn-class Tomb ships every second. Fresh Monoliths, Immortals, and Arks materialized in flashes of crackling emerald energies and began to march towards the Krorks along with the reconstituted Warriors who had been felled earlier in the battle. Newly produced Canoptek creations such as scarabs and Acanthrites arrived in droves, descending upon the Krork and their god in black clouds of chittering claws, buzzing cutting beams, and maliciously masticating mandibles.
As the Krork fell, the titanic form of Gork faded, then disappeared as the Waaagh energies necessary to support him faded.
Deep behind enemy lines, Drogmar kept fighting. Both shoulder mounted missile launchers were smoldering melted wrecks. Instead of his favorite Fusion gun, a Necron Gauss Flayer crackled in his armored fist, slowly frying away the Wraithbone that enclosed his hand. His Power Claw was missing along with his arm, having been cut off by a Lychgaurd's power glaives.
But, the Krork would not fall.
Vestigial Waaagh energies continued to spark around him, frying away the scarabs and stunning the larger Acanthrites long enough for him to swat them away with the Necron weapon he was using as a makeshift club.
Before him was a damaged Command Barge with its guard forces lying in torn and trampled pieces around them.
Drogmar spat out a tooth loosened when he headbutted a Destroyer Lord that tried to fly up to cut off his head, then smiled as he felt the last of his Krork die.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He roared as he charged the Command Barge once more.
He was the biggest, baddest, and most beloved Krork by the gods Gork and Mork. That was why he was the last one standing, even long after his god Gork had left the fight. There was nothing but joy and pride and his heart at having outlasted a god. Nothing could defeat him in his mind, and this metal skeleton would just be another foe beneath his bootheel.
The last Tesla cannon of the Command Barge fired at Drogmar, only to be deflected by the pure self-confidence of his Waaagh energies. The 12m giant tackled the floating vehicle, knocking it upside down, sending the Necron Lord aboard it sprawling across the ground.
Before the Lord could rise to its feet, the jagged remains of a Gauss Flayer pierced its royal cloak and broke through its ribbed torso, pinning it to the ground. Then, Drogmar's boot stomped on its skull like head, twisting and breaking its neck before flattening the metal cranium in a spray of green sparks.
"Krorks are the best." Drogmar slurred, before collapsing. His body and brain had been overclocked this entire time as he summoned Gork while fighting his way through endless swarms of Necrons and their Canoptek constructs. Now, with this last offering to his gods, Drogmar's spent body died on its own, undefeated by the Necron.
Autarch Alarathis watched the giant form of the Krork god fade before turning back to his brethren. They had pulled back all they could, but only a few thousand had made it back to them. The rest had either fallen during the retreat, or had died on the way here.
There were many wounded among them, and some were lying in weeping fetal balls, unable to block out the psychic scream of the Sepulchres suffusing the planet.
There was nothing but depression, misery, pain, and hopelessness among the Aeldari. They were all intelligent enough to know they could not win, and that they could not escape.
Alarathis sighed internally. These emotions would not do. They did not burn red enough, nor were they black enough that the very touch would be like a caustic acid upon the mind.
There were few gods that could be called while under the effect of the Sepulchres, and the one that they needed would require a deeper and darker despair to appear.
"Aeldari!" The Autarch cried out, voice magnified by the speakers in his helmet while his psychic touch transmitted his message to everyone of the soldiers and support crews under his command. "The battle is lost! Our kin have fled the skies and the Webway is closed to us. We have nowhere to flee and no hope of fighting our way through the eternal enemy."
Woeful eyes focussed upon the Autarch, and tears brimmed in some as their situation was stated clearly and succinctly, leaving no room for hope or escapism.
"Fill your hearts with curses!" The Autarch cried out. "Curse those who leave us here to die! Curse those who sent us here to fight on this barren world! Let your bitterness fill your voice until it becomes the banshee howl! Let the sorrow of knowing you will never see your home, or travel through the immaterium ever again fill all the spaces in your soul!"
Fear and anger began to churn in their hearts, as the bitterness of being forced to fight on this godforsaken desert rock burned at their minds.
"Aeldari!" The Autarch as he unsheathed his sword and alighted the crackling psychic fields that enhanced its cutting edge. "Fight! Fight and die!" He cried out as he beat his chest with his free fist. "Fight for there is nothing else left to do! Die for that is what they made us for!"
Throbbing emotional pain turned into a vengeful grudge. Hatred began to burn where hopelessness stifled their hearts.
"Let our screams pierce the veil and let our hate burn the stars! Let our might shine bright in this last moment, for we shall never shine again!"
The Aeldari began to stand, calm minds now consumed by the curses they could no longer contain. There was no more 'next time' for them here. Their reincarnation would not work so close to the Necron. Their souls would be entrapped by the myriad of blackstone devices the undead carried to harvest the lives of all to feed to their Star Gods.
"Cry out at the injustice we are made to bear! Cry out at the arrogance of our enemies and what their overreaching folly has unleashed upon us all! Scream and cry, for our pain and sorrow is what our masters want!"
Those curled up in weeping balls unraveled their limbs; pain and sadness now served as fuel for the burning rage that boiled their blood inside their veins.
"You will never see your children! You will never see your parents! You will see your brothers and sister, for they stand beside you just as doomed as you are!"
Capture meant eternal torment, whether as food for the Yngir or as floating brains in Cairn-class Tomb ships. The only release they had was complete death.
"We shall never wake in another body with the memories we scrounged and scraped and scavenged for thousands of years! All you have is now lost!"
Thousands of years of effort and hardship flashed through every Aeldari's mind. Years upon years of endless hours to perfect skills, hobbies, and build relationships were now all wasted.
"So hate! Hate and rage! Curse and wail! Fill your heart with sorrow and scream at what has been forced upon us!"
Autarch Alarathis screamed out, caught in the fervor of his own speech. He could feel his own pain and despair overwhelming every thought and action as his words infected every Aeldari before him, focussing them all on the unfairness of the world around them.
"This is our end! There is no future! There is no hope! Die with despair on your lips and tears in your eyes! Die cursing our gods and our kin! Die cursing our creators and our slavers! Die cursing the parents who brought us into this world of suffering and strife!"
Banshee howls erupted from the Aeldari, no longer able to contain the maddening grief they felt.
On the horizon, the black clouds of Canoptek constructs began to rize.
"They have come!" The Autarch roared. "Fight or flee, it makes no difference now! Die in pain! Die alone! Die with those beside you knowing that they will be tortured just as you will be for the enemy has no mercy!"
The Aeldari gathered whatever weapons they still had, and began charging the Necron individually or in groups.
"Curse! Rage! Scream! Hate! Cry, and suffer! This is our fate! This is what we were born for and what we were given everything to do!"
With those final words, the Autarch turned, and charged the Necron himself.
Unprotected by Wraithbone shields, and with the banshee howl occupying their voice, the Necron Gauss Flayers could only be avoided by their foresight. However, the sheer volume of fire left the Aeldari nowhere to run.
The Necron Warriors cut down several groups before Tesla cannon wielding Immortals could get to the front lines. Bolts of electricity arcked and electrocuted the Aeldari, killing some while stunning others. The Necron Lords wanted survivors to interrogate, and these Aeldari were far easier to capture and more knowledgeable than the Krork. But, before the paralyzed Aeldari could be carried off by the scarabs, their brothers and sisters executed them as they passed with a single shot before continuing to attack any Necron they could.
Finally, the Necron Lords lost their patience, and simply sent the Canoptek swarms to tear apart the survivors.
As the last Aeldari soldier disappeared under seas of scarabs, torn to pieces by thousands of metallic mandibles, their hand reached up to the sky with their final thought.
Meanwhile, high above in orbit, Eldanesh felt the last Aeldari life on the planet fade.
"The battle has been lost." One of his attendants spoke sadly as the rest of the Aeldari fleet began to leave orbit. The Necron ships here had expended every ounce of energy in their inertial drives to get here. They could not follow the Aeldari void ships if they ran now.
"Then victory is ours." Eldanesh replied tiredly. "Full power to all Distortion cannons. Weaken the veil between us and immaterium. The less power our mother expends emerging from the Sea of Souls, the faster we can reclaim this planet."
"As you will." Eldanesh's attendant replied.
Soon after, several white blasts of psychic energy lashed out at the planet's surface, obliterating the remains of the Aeldari encampment and tearing a hole in reality.
Eldanesh took one look at the widening rift into the Sea of Souls, then ordered his ship to follow the others in their retreat.
4
In the remains of the Aeldari camp obliterated by the Distortion cannons reality tearing energies, thousands of Aeldari souls flowed like silver streams around a single blinding point of light. Sorrow and pain sent ripples through the realm of unconscious dreams and stillborn thoughts, calling to something that swam in the depths of the Sea of Souls.
As their pining cries rang, she answered their call.
The light from the hole in reality grew and grew until it took a form of a colossal feminine form. Long sheets of white light flowed over her like the liquid curtains of a waterfall, washing over her to form clothes and hair as the form coalesced into the titanic figure of a beautiful Aeldari maiden above the dead and destroyed land.
Her heavenly form pierced the clouds, and her blessed feet floated above the blasted earth; as if the tainted ground itself rejected her presence.
The prayers and souls of all the dead Aeldari gathered towards her like streams of silver stars, flowing into her open arms and filling her godly ears with their cries. Her divine heart moved with their sorrow, and a single dark red and black tear pooled in her eye.
As all the Necron fired their gauss weapons, and their metallic monstrosities surged forward to reach her, that burgundy drop beaded and fell from her holy cheek.
Crystalized pain and suffering from thousands of dead children in the throes of the deepest and darkest despair descended upon the planet's surface in the shape of a single tear.
As soon as the tear hit the ground, it burrowed through the earth, crushing and burning its way until it reached the dead core of the planet and exploded.
The crust tore open, releasing steaming geysers and pyroclastic flows while opening deep ravines that sent Necron soldiers and any vehicle that couldn't fly hurtling into the abyss.
Winds picked up speed until they were unbearable hurricanes that sucked up the Scythe attack craft and Canoptek swarms, smashing them together and shredding them with the debris picked up from the ground.
From the cracks torn in the crust, red glows began to rise before molten magma burst out, swallowing everything else upon the surface. Hands made of burning rock rose to grab at the Monoliths, dragging them down below the tectonic plates where the weight of the planet itself would provide the pressure and heat to crack them apart and reduce their overly complicated machinery and metals back into messy ores.
The magnetosphere reformed as the dead core of the planet was jolted back to life, molten and solid metal portions rotating in different directions that generated magnetic fields so powerful it messed with the electronics of all the Necron including those in orbit.
Thousands upon thousands of grasping arms tipped with long-nailed feminine hands formed from the burning blood of the world killed by the Necron reached upwards with open palms to grasp at the ships in orbit; unable to escape in time with their exhausted inertial drives.
One after another, Necron cruisers, escorts, and Carin-class Tomb ships were dragged down by the weight of the molten rock that grabbed at them as the long nails of the hands pierced and scratched their hulls. The doomed ships fell on a collision course with the churning planet itself which opened jagged maws made from the splintered tectonic plates themselves to swallow the Necron ships large and small.
Soon, nothing remained around or on top of the Daemon world birthed by the sufferings of a few thousand Aeldari, leaving only the screaming planet to digest the alien metals of all that had been swallowed.
The Necrons' plans for this system were put on hold, for although they had driven the Aeldari and their allies away, there was nothing they could do to reclaim the insane world to complete the Dark Resonance necessary, even after the immaterial energies finally bled away from it.
This world had been reduced to a primordial state.
Hypercanes and magma flows covered the entire surface as acid rains endlessly fell upon the surface forming boiling caustic seas.
This was the miracle of the Goddess of Life. She took the worlds utterly killed by the Necron, and 'reformatted' them so they would eventually support life, even when the Necrons finally suppressed the unnatural effects of the immaterium.
This was the miracle of life granted in the only way reality could rationalize it. A replication of the astronomically rare series of events that led to living beings emerging from self-replicating chemical reactions.
The entire vision took less than a millisecond to play out before Neoth, and he was free the moment it ended.
He charged forwards at that moment, raising his sword to smash the burgundy crystal forming upon Isha's palm.
Goddess of Life. Mother of the Aeldari.
What sophistry and propaganda.
That was no spirit of mother nature.
She was a weapon designed to bring psychic Exterminatus on the lost dead worlds conquered by the Necron, and the terraforming device to ensure that those planets would eventually be reclaimed by new life; new psychic life that would serve as foot soldiers and sacrificial materials to power the other psychic weapons the Old Ones forged which their mortal creations called 'gods'.
That was her purpose, but her second title was what contained the secret of her power.
Isha spoke of an emotion the Old Ones had carved her core out of.
He understood what that was now.
The maternal instinct.
The Old Ones had taken the most overwhelming and overpowering emotion they knew of, and crafted their most horrible weapon out of it.
This emotion was the overwhelming mothering urge that made Panthera females adopt the babes of wildebeest and zebras instead of eating them.
This emotion was the overpowering instinct that forces fish to swim upstream only to die to leave their spawn, that forces cephalopods to starve themselves to death as they pump fresh oxygen rich water over their eggs.
This emotion provides the adrenaline fueled burst of power that would spur a female brown bear to charge suicidally at a much larger grizzly in order to save her cubs.
This emotion was all consuming and could overwrite all other natural and learned behaviors.
Thus, it did not matter what thoughts or emotions her children had when they were consumed. All would be devoured, leaving only the magnitude of their feelings being the important factor that fuelled her.
It was what explained her unnatural reserves of power reclaimed from only a few thousand Aeldari.
Efficiency.
That was the factor that the Emperor had underestimated when he made his first calculations regarding how much power Isha would recover when talking to her children.
He could consume a large portion of the thoughts and dreams of humanity thanks to expanding his concept as the legend of humanity, but the conversion rate was not 100% efficient.
Isha was different.
Thanks to the emotional equation carved into her core, she could consume every part of her children's 'life' including the best and worst parts of their being.
No.
As the Goddess of Life, her efficiency increased with the percentage of 'life' she consumed.
Thus, it was when her children died while calling out to her as their mother that she would be able to take in everything they were to fuel her as the maternal goddess of life, love, and mercy.
It was as she said.
She was a monster born from 3 billion tortured women frozen in endless suffering within her core, forced to listen to the dying wishes, pained cries, and desperate howls of their blood related children who fought to their last breath on abandoned worlds; crying out for the comfort of their parents and peaceful childhood with their last breath.
What else could shed tears formed from the same materials as those crystalline shards that were found only upon the Crone Worlds of the Aeldari empire; worlds suffused with the eternal sufferings of billions upon billions of lives trapped in the excessive pains and pleasures of She who Thirsts.
However, Isha is not an insane god of Chaos.
She is the god of life in balance, the cycle, the renewal and the end.
Despair without hope leads to self destruction. Hope without despair leads to blind optimism.
The balance of what she was created from and what she was tasked to do would be kept by her tears that would be shed with love tainted red and black.
It was small wonder Isha had remained as confident and almost arrogant this entire time he had been with her.
He had seen those streams of silver stars emanating from the Aeldari refugees from their ships flowing into Isha's breast when she first spoke to them.
Their cries filled her ears, and sorrows moved her heart just as they did in the vision he had just seen.
Like a fool, he stood by and did nothing as Isha took an empty shell casing, put in new primer, powder, and bullet before loading it into the barrel of a gun and pointed it at his head.
Now, the hammer had been cocked back, and her finger was on the trigger.
"You see why I dislike it when you speak of my titles." Isha white teeth were bared in a grin as her silver eyes opened wide as she raised the fully formed crystal in her hand as the remaining red trails of ichor disappeared into her skin. "This is my tear. The suffering of 3 billion mothers and their uncountable children, a crystal of grudges that shall kill a planet with its curses. Now, gaze upon it, this is the miracle born from the love of the Goddess of Life."
Neoth continued forwards. He could not let that thing fall.
He could not annul the crystal itself. It contained almost all of the power Isha had held, and he had been unable to deplete her in his fight with her earlier. His only method of stopping it was to strike it down with his sword.
It would detonate when he shattered it, and he had no idea whether he could survive the explosion, but he could not allow her miracle to be unleashed here.
Suddenly, there was a dull rumbling of something massive traveling through the air, and Neoth's instincts screamed at him to turn around.
He grimaced, then swung his sword raised to strike Isha's tear behind him, just in time to block a massive Wraithbone spear with a golden tip sparking with his Truth.
Far off in the distance, one of the Psychomatons rumbled like a child blowing a raspberry as its hastily repaired Wraithbone limbs cracked and crumbled beneath it.
Isha had not resummoned the next generation of the Spear of Kurnous, for she had already passed on all she had learned to the Psychomatons who were her oldest and most knowledgeable children in all things related to death and destruction.
Neoth grimaced as the Wraithbone spear continued to force him back. He had just destroyed 3 different versions of the Spear of Kurnous when he slashed apart her first arrow, crushed the second one in his gauntlet, and shattered the spear that had been left behind in his chest plate. The destruction of those three weapons had allowed Isha's weapon to proceed 3 more generations, and had reached its final evolution without his knowledge.
The Wraithbone spear began to shift, pushing Neoth perpendicularly away from Isha as his sword sparked against its tip. It was still being psychically guided by the Psychomaton, and the sheer mass of the weapon forced him backwards.
Gold flames encased his sword, and he cut through the spear, sending its disintegrating giant halves flying past him before launching a blazing shockwave at the Psychomaton who had attacked him.
But, before his flames could incinerate the Psychomaton, obsidian rocks surrounded it in a reinforced coffin before sucking it into the ground with the rest of its delimbed brethren, causing his flames to only singe the air where they once stood.
"Forgive them their interruption." Isha chuckled. "I never had the chance to teach them manners before they were taken by Khaine."
Neoth turned towards her, but the tear was no longer in her hand. He turned his Warp sight downwards, and watched the red and black drop burrow its way through the molten mantle and reach the core of the planet.
「我が呼び起こすのは星の息吹き。」
"(I wake the breath of this planet.)"
Isha spoke in a foreign language.
「大地の精霊は安らぎから目覚める。」
"(The ground spirits rise from their rest.)"
Neoth did not understand the words at first, but his new understanding of her allowed him to decipher it.
「水どもをその眠りからたたき起こせ。」
"(Let the waters be squeezed from their slumber.)"
These words were Enuncia in full sentences.
「ここにて我が血と涙を起きんとする永眠者に捧げる。」
" (Now, I give my tears and blood to this stirring eternal sleeper.)"
The language of the Old Ones that were said to reform reality at their very word.
「我が祝福をこの大地にあらんこと。」
"(Let my blessing flow across this land.)"
Isha's tear detonated at the planet's core, and the shockwave rippled the ground, throwing Neoth off his feet and away from Isha.
"This is what I really am Neoth." Isha spoke as a massive arboreal throne made of stone tore itself out of the ground behind her. "You should have wondered why there was no other thing upon the world the Aeldari first drew breath upon, and how new life could come upon a barren planet where not a leaf nor fish nor bird nor animal grew or swam or flew or walked beside my children." She referenced her legends as Neoth landed on his feet several kilometers away from her, armored boots digging into the shaking soil as he bled off the remaining force he had been thrown away with.
"This trickery is the first and the final gift my Eldanesh left for me." The Mother of the Aeldari whispered as the cathartic carnage her tear had released twisted the corners of her mouth upwards in ecstasy while the anguish of once again only being able to provide a miracle predicated on the death of her children widened her eyes with self-loathing.
Geysers and volcanoes blew open around them as they did so all across the planet, jetting boiling steam and black smoke into the air.
"Now, God of Heroes, you may call me the Goddess of Life."