Day 69, Continued

The Space Hulk quaked as the softness of starlight filled it. A serpentine form snaked throughout the structure, moving so fast that it seemed to be everywhere all at once, when in truth its size was far smaller, its speed being just that great. It was as though a lightning bolt had spread through every corridor, vanishing in an instant, yet lingering long enough to blind sensors and even cause discomfort to the Warp-mech eyes of the daemon engines. Then, before the flash had even fully subsided, a great roar filled the hulk.

"WAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Internal defense systems corrupted by Warp-spells, engines that strode on two legs through the spirits bound inside them, all adjusted their targeting parameters, taking stock of this new threat that rushed forward in a rampaging green wave. Meanwhile, those areas where the Orks were most populated were vanishingly scarce with the Interloper's creations. Those few that were present were butchered by the Orks with as much fervor as the daemon engines were.

The daemon within the space hulk chuckled at the sight.

Not enough, interloper, not nearly enough. Do you think these cast-offs of the ancients will be enough to gain you victory?

The reply was succinct and simple, but it carried with it an amusement that had not been earned in the daemon's eyes.

Yes.

The daemon snarled at the mockery. It prepared for another attack on the engines it was connected to, growing moats of scrap-code the size of oceans, building walls of flame to block off entire systems. Yet, no siege came, no attempts to cross the seas it had formed were made. It laughed.

Do you really think you can beat me through force of arms? You think my power so diminished and diffuse that these creations of mine cannot simply rip your own apart?

Why yes. Yes, I do.

The daemon laughed at the bluff.

You don't have the time. You may very well overwhelm my daemon engines, but my wrath will scour the world below clean of your influence.

Oh, I doubt the destruction would be that great. If you had any chance of surviving this engagement, you'd have found I'm rather… durable.

Again, the daemon snarled in anger.

If you think you can distract me with these orks, you're mistaken. You cannot stop my descent.

Who said the Orks were the distraction?

The space hulk suddenly lurched as a new power surge from an unknown source surged through it. The daemon, stunned for only a moment, connected simultaneously to every camera and surveillance device still functioning within the hulk. It found the cause of the surge immediately.

Within an old, Imperial bridge, embedded into the skin of the space hulk and poking out into the void, a single grot stood on the palm of a tree-xenos, its tiny fists pressing down on a ludicrously large red button labeled with the Ork word for 'go'.

And then the twenty-four previously silent engines created by the Orks roared to life.

I just had to wait for the engines to get into position. Thanks for being so easily stalled.

The daemon screamed in rage and fury as the overpowered engines of the Orks not only halted them with ease, but also swiftly began pushing them back. The daemon tried to fight against it, putting more and more of the power harvested from the souls of Ate into the engines it possessed. It managed to slow the acceleration, but it wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

No, it could still salvage this. It focused not on blocking, but redirecting, pouring its energy towards the engines on one side of the hulk, trying to make it turn back towards the planet. Then the interloper was there, attacking not the systems the daemon was activating, but the ones it wanted anything but, with even greater force than it had in any of its previous engagements, forcing the daemon to split its attention and expend even more power.

And then more forces materialize into existence within the space hulk. Spawn of the interloper garbed in power armor like what had been encountered in the Wastes charge forward with battle cries, armed with las cannons that would be more suitable to be carried by a tank rather than a person. Warriors in crimson armor with silver trim move as fast as astartes, perhaps even faster, every blow crumpling metal, wielding melta guns and swords that burn with plasma. Tanks, jet bikes, even small aerial vehicles speed down the corridors, their powerful weapons melting away daemon-flesh and armor with deadly proficiency.

The daemon roars and even more of its power goes towards the daemon engines, increasing their might beyond what they would normally be capable of.

But it isn't going to be enough.

NO! YOU WILL NOT DENY ME MY THRONE!

The interloper was silent, dedicated towards its eradication. The daemon continued to fight, to struggle against the inevitable. All while the space hulk continued to hurtle through the void towards interstellar space. All while the daemon engines were continuously pushed back or broken down and trampled over. All while the first of the interloper's spawn broke through into the core of the hulk, where the daemon and its vessel lied.

Not yet.

The core of the hulk was nearly empty. It was as though someone had simply removed a large, elongated sphere of matter within the hulk, with twisting corridors and half-fused wrecks giving way to sheer, smooth nothingness. Within that emptiness, however, was a single vessel, untouched by any connection beyond power lines and cables that pulsed with hellish power and spread out like vines, embedded into nearby hulks.

It is an ancient ship, but unmistakably human. In truth, it looks similar to many of the Imperium's own vessels, if plainly decorated rather than possessing the ornate, gothic architecture of modern humanity's preferred style. Much of its paint has worn away, revealing adamantium armor which is like a spider web of cracks and hairline fissures, through which a purple power glows. Five kilometers long, it takes up a vast area of space, yet only a fraction of the strange chamber it sits within. Along its bow lies the only spot that seems to have survived the test of time relatively intact, where an example of an ancient language that was one of the many which low gothic was derived from lies, reading 'EFS-1071 Embrace of Audacity'.

As Flood forms pour into the chamber, the ancient weapons systems of the vessel begin to move, powering to life, though the largest weapons remain silent for their discharge would destroy everything, daemon-vessel included, while more of the skeletal daemon engines emerge from the vessel's bowels or crackle into existence with the flare of teleportation energies.

Scores of Flood forms are cut to ribbons. Weaponry designed to deal with fast-moving void fighters make even the jetbikes brought along with the Flood forms seem like slugs in comparison, ripping apart countless vehicles. Yet, this too is merely a distraction as far below, biomass gathers, connects, and slips out of reality.

The flash of vaguely purple light that explodes over the Embrace is blinding even to daemon-enhanced sensors and the autocannons and other point-defense systems of the vessel fire without sight, even as something is detected to have fallen atop the ship.

The Gravemind's tendrils are not very fast, but the strength within them is great enough. Even as tendrils have holes ripped through them by the defense systems as the daemon in control of them suddenly realizes what has happened, they still move, their sheer size making meter-wide gaps shot through them little more than an inconvenience. The tendrils do not try to crumple the adamantium armor of the vessel, but instead start with the weapons, which are comparatively weaker.

Autocannons and lances were torn off the ship with the difficulty of ripping a tissue from its box, and the tendrils plunge into the gaps that are left behind, connecting directly to the vessel's internals. There is a rush of daemonic energy as the daemon finally gives up on all other fronts to focus solely on the battles within this chamber, both in the material and the virtual. Tide wondered if now was the moment… but no, not yet.

You have made a mistake, backing me into this corner.

Tide let his amusement through the link. It was, to put it lightly, uncomfortable, being connected to a being, if it could even be called a being, such as this. The stench of its influence was nearly overpowering on its own, like too much incense. The daemon tried to expel him, but it had weakened significantly and even with so much of its power concentrated in this moment, it could do little more than slow his infection of the ancient vessel's systems.

'H-hel-'

Tide paused. That voice had not been his own, nor the daemon's. At least, he didn't think it was. A third party or a trick? He set the matter aside for now as he notes the daemon's intentions by its commands to the vessel's weapons. Not the point defenses, but the powerful lances.

The turrets, whose barrels were large enough to fit a tank in them, turn, rotating all towards the same direction. Not towards any individual Flood form, but towards the chamber wall.

Running away, little daemon?

There was no reply that could be verbalized, only a roar of anger and fury that took the form of lances firing. Half of the Gravemind and a quarter of the Flood forms present were vaporized in an instant, while the heat of the weapon ensured that anything flammable in the chamber caught fire in an instant. The wall that was struck melted away in sloughs, though the armor of the myriad vessels provided greater resistance.

And yet, Tide persisted. What was left of the Gravemind burrowed deeper into the ship, finding larger cracks in the armor and prying them open, releasing tendrils that wormed their way inside, connecting to every system that could be found and opening up more fronts in a virtual battlefield that was even more gruesome than the material one. More Flood forms, quickly growing thick hides designed to resist flames, charged inside. He could feel the vessel's power, now more Warp-based than natural, coursing through it in a complicated network, like arteries. The daemon was guarding those arteries from attack with everything it could spare, even as it channeled that power towards the lances, causing them to burn hotter, far hotter than the weapons should have been capable of.

He felt that power reach its height… and knew the time had come. His next words are not spoken to the daemon, but someone far below, someone who had insisted on aiding him for the sake of the unborn child he was meant to protect.

Are you ready?

There was a nod and a man appeared above the ship, garbed in the Star Road that had fitted itself to him almost like armor. It was only for a moment, an instant of time as Tide was willing to risk neither of them, but it was enough.

The man who had once been nameless but now was known as Gratis tunes the Animus Speculum helmet that had been temporarily returned to him, unleashing the full might of his anti-psyker abilities. Even now, even with how devastatingly powerful a Culexus is, before the might of this daemon, such a thing can do little to truly harm it, causing something akin to discomfort. But the intention was never for this to be a deathblow.

In that moment, the lattice that makes up the complicated network of daemon-possessed internal systems shatters under a kind of assault the daemon had not expected. In that moment, the power of the lance cannons die, the daemon engines that still do battle find themselves diminished greatly and howl in pain, and Tide has a single instant of free reign within the Embrace's systems. For the greatest of tech-priests and techno-sorcerers, such a moment might grant them the ability to capture control of the ship's weapons or engines or life-support, or something else critical to the operation of the ship.

Tide takes everything. Not a single system is left untaken in that instant and the daemon is barely able to realize what is happening before every system aboard the ship turns towards purging it. All save a single system that even Tide's efforts cannot capture, yet seems untouched by daemonic influence. He leaves that for later.

The daemon is still in the systems and the moment the blank vanishes it has already begun its counterattack. However, it lost so much power in that moment of lapsed concentration that it has no chance of taking back the entire vessel. Instead, it seeks to retake the weapons systems and, when it fails to accomplish even that much, solely focuses on capturing the lances.

Tide's response is not made in the virtual world, but the material one. Another Gravemind, even larger than the first, appears over the Embrace of Audacity, wrapping around it and covering it entirely in seconds. The daemon's efforts grow more desperate, even as its attacks weaken by the second. It abandons its daemon engines entirely, throwing everything into this last ditch effort.

It isn't enough and the Gravemind shudders as the vessel slips out of reality and into a realm that even the gods cannot perceive.

Daemons have many names to describe them. Most of these names give them power, makes them more real. The daemon within the Embrace of Audacity had many such titles. The Master. Galu'zal the Beneficent. Kydaros the Terror-Feast. When spoken, such names inevitably could draw the daemon's attention. However, there was one name, a secret name, that was more powerful than the others and held great power over the daemon. It could not be pronounced by mortal tongues or even comprehended by their minds, but the daemon guarded it jealously, for one's true name should never be shared lightly.

I see you.

The daemon was ripped out of its adopted host by a titanic force that it was powerless to fight against. Perhaps, if it had not expended so much of its own power, it could have fought and even harmed the entity that now trapped it, could have hidden even the deepest of its secrets like the true name that defined its existence. Weakened as it was, the daemon's whole being was able to be studied like an open book by the monster that took the form of a great, burning eye, filling up everything that could be perceived, wrapping it in a cage of flame. And, in turn, the daemon was able to know exactly how close to its end it was.

So quiet, little daemon? No longer interested in making threats?

We… we need not be enemies, great one.

The eyes burned with amusement, but said nothing, allowing the daemon to continue.

I see now you are powerful beyond measure, far more than I, but I might still be of some use to you!

What need have I of a Keeper of Secrets?

I am powerful, even among those of the Dark Prince's highest servants!

The daemon felt the flames burn hotter and coil around it, snaking about thought-form limbs, raking across unreal flesh, scraping away more of its power and self with each movement.

I will serve! I will gladly serve you!

You lie, little daemon. But do not fear. I am sure I will find a use for you.

Not for an instant did the daemon feel hope that it might survive this encounter. Not when the flames grew hotter, the claws began to cut deeper, the binding around its being tighter.

You… will not survive this. The Gods themselves will tear you apart before they allow you to challenge them.

Not if I devour them first.

The daemon laughed, but it could not hide its fear. It struggled, one last, futile attempt to escape.

Devour the Gods? Insanity. You would end all that exists. Life cannot survive without them, without us. We are a part of them, as they are a part of us.

And yet, this world lives.

For how long will that last, I wonder? Do you think I am the greatest of the servants of the Dark Prince? Of any of the Gods? This world will die. That is the fate of the mortal.

Nothing lasts forever.

Lies. Chaos is Eternal.

For now.

There is no sensation afterwards. What is not born cannot die, but it can end, and end it does.

The death of the daemon does not go unnoticed.

In the Warp, four islands, like icebergs, rock and quake within the ocean, slamming into one another in battles of an incomprehensible scale. In these battles, the death of a civilization is the result of singular blows. The devastation of a sector of space, even less than an afterthought.

This is how Chaos always is. How it always has been. How it always must be, for neither they, nor the realms upon which they parasitize and feed off of, could survive anything else, though whether these entities, as much forces of nature as beings, could truly prevent themselves from destroying all in a moment of ascendancy is a debate that has driven even the wisest of scholars to madness and the most powerful of sorcerers to despair.

Yet, now there is a lull in the fighting as one island takes note of something that should not have happened. The island's form is endless and resplendent and its merest gaze causes even the strongest wills to break before it. It turns that gaze now to a far off place, a part of the Warp that is strangely quiet, the eye of the storm that surrounds it. It hears a servant's dying scream before it is snuffed out, it sees a world where no souls can be seen to dwell, yet life persists. It is a place surrounded by the residue of humanity's ancient past, circling it in the Warp, though whether as predator or protector is impossible to say. It is a place where a gap exists, a crack in the fabric of unreality, through which nothing can be seen, yet something undoubtedly peers out of.

What is anger when felt by a god? Nothing a mortal mind could truly comprehend transpires in that moment as something like a decision is taken and destinies are rewritten by the will of something truly grand and terrible. Like a storm suddenly shifting its course, the change ripples throughout the Warp and others take note as well, and they concoct their own plans, draw up their own schemes, divert their own armies, and send their own warnings.

In reality, the change does not seem so grand. It is a dream, a single word whispered into a dreaming mind. The word itself is not important, only the intention behind it and the interpretation of it by the receiver.

It is a command, it is a promise, and it will have consequences beyond what even the gods themselves intended.