They were running.
An entire Shrine of Howling Banshee Aspect Warriors at the back of their Exarch and they were forced to run.
But it was always thus with the Great Devourer. When the Shadow fell on a world, that world died. Every bit of it infected and digested into the writhing mass of acid spewing chitinous horrors that would consume every living thing down to the bacteria on worlds that her people had carefully crafted into paradises; everything died when the Tyranids came. They had been among the last to leave, circling out to strike at the sides of the onrushing swarm, giving the Exodites enough time to preserve the world spirit, the fallen souls of the Eldar saved from Slaneesh's maw. Even the gate had been closed, and Lythara had known it would have to be, her force had destroyed hundreds, thousands of the horrors and it all it had done was distract them from ritual.
This world was lost, but her Shrinemates need not be. Lythara sprinted across the rocky bottom of a dried river, every step measured and precise on burnt amber rocks, her long crimson hair trailing from behind her blue and yellow extended helm and her mask untouched by the claws and jaws of her enemy. Her sisters had fought well, doing exactly how much damage they needed to shift the focus of the Tyranids away from the webway portal and then turning and fleeing, into the sheer walled cut that led to the only surviving webway portal on this dying world. They were almost there, they would return in the only victory she ever found in this time, in preventing more of her people's deaths.
The flap of wings and the overbearing psychic presence of the Devourer suddenly pressed on her from above as a sky-blackening swarm of Gargoyles swirled over the edges of the valley her sisters ran on. Lythara snarled a curse, they were so close! To die here without saving any of them was maddening! As the swarm descended she whirled and drew her mirrorswords feeling them hum with hunger for her enemies' vile blood. The other Banshee did the same, putting their back to the valley wall to limit the angle of attack their death could come from. It was going to be a little matter.
Then an even greater shadow cast over the diving swarm of tyranids.
And a beam of heat as strong as the sun's cut through the largest portion of the swam. Lythara cursed as her helmet automatically shaded from the intense light and dimly made out two giant shapes, curved and sleekly elegant, slicing through the clouds. Explosions shattered what remained of the swarm and the Harpies that were hidden from view were simply evaporated by smaller point defense weapons as the two Corsairs descended. An emotion surged through Lthara's toned and exhausted body that she wasn't used to feeling. Hope.
Until her visor cleared and she, for the first time, saw the ships that had saved her sisters lives. They were ebony black, resembling a collection of curved forward blades, a twisted reflection of her own fleet from Iyanden. Much like the perverse beings that piloted them. They were Drukhari ships.
And they were landing where the valley opened up, in the wide depression that led to the last webway gate. Lythara would have to travel directly towards them, they had no time to go elsewhere before the Devourer caught up with them. So wordlessly the Aeldari woman did just that, her stomach churning in fear for her sisters. To counter it she reminded herself that at least with the Drukhari killing a few of them might mean something, as long as she didn't let herself or her shrinemates be taken prisoner.
Lythara jogged into the wider valley and heard the soft whir of shardrifles behind the craft, and to her horror felt the presence of the Tyranids here as well. A presence evaporating as they were slain by an overwhelming fusillade of toxic crystals. A lurch of guilt gripped Lythara's heart as she realized that at best her sisters would have had to battle through more of the Tyranid to get to the gate, and at worst it had already been shut down. Twenty Kabalite were arrayed in a defensive perimeter around one of the ships, and they tracked, but didn't aim at Lythara and her sisters.
At the open ramp of one of the corsairs stood a figure that made fury well inside Lythara's sleek body, almost overwhelming her with its white hot intensity. He was taller than the rest, clad in non-reflective armor that almost resembled her own, shifting silently with every motion, a two handed blade held casually in his hands. This Drukhari was an Incubus, and to attain that rank, he had murdered one of her kind. Not just an Aeldari, or even an Aspect Warrior. No, he had murdered an Exarch and condemned the warrior's soul to Slaanesh, just to prove he was capable. The Incubus regarded her behind its impassive mask and tilted its head slightly.
The second ship's ramp opened up and two lines of female Drukhari slid out in disciplined columns. Though they were lockstep in their movements, 'marching' was a term as alien to them as the Tyranid were to this galaxy. They were just as lithe and graceful as Lythara's sisters and she hated them all the more for the twisted reflection they represented. Wyches.
As one they turned to face each other and knelt, head and eyes downcast.
From both ships solitary figures emerged, diametric opposites in outward appearance but still warped reflection of her own race's proud dignity. One was male, his armor the same non-reflective material as the Incubus who was likely his bodyguard, his helm smaller than an Archon's might normally be, spoke of all the more authority he had. At his waist hung a serrated Husk sword, and a Blast Pistol, harnessing dark matter itself rested on his side. And something in the undermesh of his armor glimmered with an unnatural green as he glided towards Lythara.
The other figure was female, the Succubus who led these wyches no doubt, though Lythara wondered why all of them wore different uniforms, The one floating along the rocky ground was dressed in the lurid red and green of the Red Grief cult, her form fitting bodysuit cut in tantalizing ways that even a mon-key street walker would find inappropriate. She wore knee length soft soled boots and elbow length gloves, and Lythara noted the shapes of adaptive armor in both, though the arrogant Drukhari wore no armor on her body. The succubus' hair was lustrous and caught light then shattered it along her ebony tresses. Lythara had been devoted to the path of war for centuries and put all thoughts of base lust behind her when she wore the mask of war and still this damnable creatures stirred something in her with her fetching face, the glimmer in almond shaped sapphire eyes, and the tilt of her perfect lips. As she approached the final two wyches she held her hands out and the two females placed the perfectly balanced hekatarii short swords so known and feared by the few who had seen them in use and lived.
The Archon stepped forward out of weapon reach and took off his helm, appraising Lythara with cool vermillion eyes set in youthful corpse pallor skin. His ashen gray hair was bound tightly into rows of braids to fit under his helmet and showed no deference to the beauty that the female obviously carefully constructed. This was a different sort of Drukhari than what Lythara was used to, he cared little for appearance.
"Time is rarely on your side and now even less so. We have bought time for your sisters but your path is cut off Exarch. I offer you a simple choice, I swear on my mind, essence, and soul that I will transport the members of your shrine to an Exodite world that is not under attack safely and with no harm to them, if, only if, you agree to the terms my associate gives you." His voice was carefully modulated and a smooth basso, not exactly what Lythara had expected, nor were his words. Lythara's eyes flicked to the Succubus, hidden beneath her Howling mask.
"I want your swords." The Drukhari female said, her voice a sensual giggle, idly rolling the blades she held over her palms. Lythara flinched back as if she had been struck.
"Khadajetti! I cannot give up the blessings of Khaine while I draw breath!" She snarled back and the unease she felt only deepened when the Succubus flipped her blades into a reverse grip and sank into a half-kneeling position that made her look coiled.
"Your terms are acceptable to me! After all, they'd be no fun to get if you just gave them to me!" The Drukhari woman laughed. Then exploded towards Lythara, flying across the distance between them flipping her swords back into standard grip and flicking her arm into a blindingly fast stab. The Banshee stepped back and snapped her mirrorsword up into a forceful parry then had to use her second sword to deflect an upward slash. Lythara tried to pivot away and rechamber her weapons only to find that she had to keep twisting and winding her swords as the Succubus forced her back.
Most other Drukharii the Exarch had slain darted in and out of an engagement keeping their attacks swift and not staying in close reach of their foe. This one was constantly on Lythara, angling and driving, one of her shorter blades constantly in contact with the Banshee's, the other flickering in a barrage of strikes Lythara tried to defend against, gritting her teeth as the tip of the Drukhari's sword carved whorls of wraithbone armor off of her.
In frustration Lythara howled and lashed her right leg out in a sweeping low kick, driving her armored shin at the Succubus' left thigh. Grinning maniacally the dark haired Succubus snapped her leg up and into Lythara's ankle, and the Banshee felt armor under the Drukhari's deceptively decorative boot. Impact shocked up Lythara's leg and the Succubus struck. She slammed the pommel of her right hekatarii sword into the side of Lythara's knee dropping her entire bodyweight into the blow and causing pain to scream from the Exarch's joint as it was twisted inside her armor. With a dancer smooth pivot the Drukhari woman stabbed her sword into the back of the Lythara's knee and before the plates of wraithbone could close the tip dug into the Exarch's flesh.
It wasn't pain now, it was agony howling from her leg in a wave that nearly made Lythara dizzy. Focusing her rage and pain into her mask the Banshee howled at her foe, only to see that the Succubus had already begun cartwheeling away, her hair streaming around like a serpent of ebony. The howl had missed. The wound was bad, the Succubus had seized her opportunity perfectly and nearly crippled Lythara's leg, but the blade hadn't bit that deep, for such pain to be screaming from her knee, and Lythara realized the cause.
The soulless woman had poisoned her blades with something that amplified the already keen Eldar senses. The succubus faced her and brought the blade close to her face, inhaling the aroma of Lythara's blood and smiling, her expression heady. She fully opened her eyes and met Lythara's baleful gaze, then exploded into motion again.
For the briefest moment the Drukhari woman hopped to Lythara's right, an obvious strategy to attack where the Exarch was weakest. Then with the same viper fast speed the Succubus bound the Banshee's weapon and skipped to the Banshee's left. The sudden shift in weight forced a gag of pain from Lythara but she planted her feet and parried the blistering sequence of flickering stabs and lighting slashes. More wraithbone was scored as the abominable weapons found their way past her defense but not another chink in her armor. Gritting her teeth under her mask Lythara forced her leg to work pushed forward, slashing back at her relentless foe forcing the Succubus on the defensive.
To Lythara's rage the Drukhari woman laughed again, eyes alight with glee.
Howling in fury the Banshee flicked three blinding slashes, keeping her dark enemy on the defensive, then a gap appeared in the other woman's defense, both blades held apart, and she thrust forward with killing power. The Succubus flowed just out of the path of Lythara's mirrorsword and crushed her weapons into the armor of Lythara's wrist and elbow. More pain slithered up the Banshee's arm but she drove through it, slashing at her Drukhari foe violently.
The Succubus spun away, stripping the mirrorsword from Lythara's left hand, but the Exarch's sword tip carved into pale skin and a shallow slash opened from the Succubus' right side to her thigh. The dark haired woman hissed in pain, crouching and holding her side, but her face was still locked into a crazed grin. A heartbeat later Lythara learned why. A second wave of poison-fueled agony scoured up Lythara's nerves, and she saw another drop of blood flow between the plates of wraithbone armor. In the hectic exchange the Drukhari had scored a surface slash on Lythara's elbow. The Exarch heard the ebony haired woman suck in a shuddering breath of ecstasy, and watched her stand as the blood from her own wound slowed.
"No one hurts like your kind, cousin." The Succubus said in her purring laugh, using the blades of her sword the Drukhari lifted Lythara's mirrorsword and began rolling the blade along her own with minute motions of her wrist. With a musical giggle the Drukhari woman hurled the mirrorsword back at Lythara and the Exarch slammed her remaining sword into the finely curved blade, knocking it to the ground. Lythara kept her sword up, waiting for the final assault from her hated enemy. And saw that the Succubus had taken up her initial pose again, hekatarii blades held in reverse grip, coiling down into a half kneel. The Drukhari woman looked up and met Lythara's eyes, grinned, and two needles flicked out into her neck, pumping something into her. The Succubus looked even more wildly manic as what were undoubtedly combat drugs pumped into her arteries. Like shards of glass in her mind Lythara realized what had happened.
This had never been a fair fight, she'd been exhausted from two days of battle against the Tyranid. The poison wasn't fatal, barely even damaging, just a method of dragging out the show. Despite earning the disarm, the Drukhari had given her the mate to her sword back. There was no way anyone else would have seen the Succubus inject herself with whatever stimulants she used, and yet she had waited until Lythara could watch it happen. They had been evenly matched before, the Succubus only able to wound her because of her fatigue and distraction. Muscles flexed and bunched under the ghost white skin of the Drukhari, her nostrils flared as she sucked in a frenzied breath. However dangerous she had been before, the Succubus was far more lethal now.
She had been an explosion of violence before, now she was a bolt of warpfire.
The first parry from the smaller weapon nearly blasted Lythara's swords from her hands as the laughing fiend slammed the hekatarii blades into her guard and began winding them in, forcing Lythara to constantly defend, unable to move her feet for fear of her injured knee giving out. That's when the final insult sank in. The Succubus mirrored Lythara's stance, planted just as immobile, giving up another advantage just to make the show go on longer, to give the illusion that they were fighting on equal terms. A scream of frustration and rage erupted from Lythara, counterpointing the dark, killer's laugh the Drukhari woman let out as their blades threw sparks around them.
Lythara's left arm gave out, agony blossoming afresh as her strained connective tissues tore. The Succubus blasted her right mirrorsword wide then hammered the pommels of her blades into Lythara's mask simultaneously. Almost contemptuously The raven haired woman finished the Banshee's knee with a brutal stomping sidekick and as Lythara crumpled the Drukhari woman fell with her, all of her bodyweight and impaling the Exarch's elbow with one sword, through armor, flesh, bone, and into the earth.
With a scream of predatory glee the Succubus knelt on Lythara's chest and hammered her hilt into the Banshee mask again and again until it cracked. Her expression savagely gleeful the Drukhari peeled the shattered remnants of the mask off the stunned Lythara then impaled her remaining arm. Lythara's will gave out and she let out a scream of agony, her face exposed for the first time in five centuries, moments before her death. The Succubus arched her back and drank it in, her body shuddering in ecstasy. Then the victorious Drukhari stood and picked up the mirrorswords hissing as the weapons seared her palms. Embracing the pain the Succubus mounted Lythara's heaving chest laying the Exarch's blades across her throat.
"You know, I actually regret this." The Drukhari purred. "Because some day, I won't ever be able to kill another of you again!"
The blades drew down, slowly, all the way to the bone. And stopped. Because that would have ended things to easily for a Drukhari. The succubus stood lifting her stolen blades, flicking them like a painter would artfully drawing a smile in her victim's blood. She turned to face the other wyches. An unseen command triggered and the Succubus' armor darkened to starry black and around her legs and arms dark green serpents formed and coiled in sinister paths.
"Was this enough? Will you embrace this path with me? Do you believe that I can lead you for more kills such as this? Are we now the Cult of the Void Serpents?" There was no spoken response, but as one every other wych's varied outfits mimicked their new leader's uniform. The Drukhari smiled, turning as two of the other Banshees approached, their posture broken as they knelt next to their murdered Exarch.
"And what are you doing?" The Succubus asked flippantly, tossing her lustrous hair, the wound on her side now entirely healed. One of the Howling Banshees looked up sharply.
"Her spirit stone, surely not even you would-" Her words died as the Drukhari woman seemingly appeared in front of her and smiled languidly.
"She's coming with me, all of her. Her life for yours, that was the offer he made, I made none." She spun and sashayed away, four of her new cult members jogging towards the fallen Exarch. The Banshee who had spoken got to a knee, hands going to her shuriken pistol and sword. And a black armored gauntlet clutched her throat and lifted her off the ground. The Drukhari Archon held her, the undermesh of his armor glowing brighter green, a similar fell energy seemingly pulsing in his veins, and his face was devoid of any emotion.
"I gave my word that you would live. Do you intend on making me a liar?" He lowered the now drained Banshee to the ground and held her immobile. "Did you not witness what happened? Are you so willing to make your Exarch's sacrifice meaningless? No, you will do nothing because you can only do nothing. Now get your sisters on my ship, take your chances with her, or remain here for the Tyranids, I care not."
He released the female Aeldari and she crumpled to the ground, The remaining seventeen members of the Shrine silently surrounded her, lifting her and entering the Archon's ship, slumped and defeated, under watchful guard of the Kabal troopers.
"This worked well, and as you got me what I wanted, so you will have what you want. The Void Serpents are with you." Came the Succubus' voice. The Archon turned and regarded her with a thin smile, glad for the emotion blockers he filled himself with when around her, because she was flush with the kill, sprayed with droplets of her victims blood, and every motion was intended to enchant. Under the chemical blocks to his base instincts he still craved her, she was an exquisite example of her path. And he needed a clear mind around this woman. She canted her head.
"What is next for your Kabal to be? Do you mean to keep your word? Drop those morsels off somewhere and let them plan their revenge?" She asked her tone playfully uncaring, and he smiled more widely in response.
"I always tell the truth. Out here and in Cormorragh, for when all around you deceive, honesty is the best deception. Leaving them alive, well, all that hope turned to despair and anguish, positively delicious. Now," He leaned forward and offered her his arm, she took it as graceful as any noble. As they strode back to their ships, the perimeter Kabalite warriors were already firing and retreating as the swarm finally caught up with them. "I believe it is time to take our leave, as for what next, hm. How's your mon-key speech?"