Mercy Cain The Liberator?
The Descent of Mercy
The air was thick with the acrid scent of despair and the bitter tang of blood as Mercy stood atop a jagged spire in the heart of Commorragh. Below her, the dark city writhed like a living organism, its labyrinthine streets alive with the endless torment and indulgence that defined the Drukhari. Her golden hair, now streaked with the faintest hint of shadow, caught the dim, sickly light of the artificial sky. In her eyes burned a resolve as fierce as a nova, the culmination of years of planning and preparation.
Mercy had not come to parley, nor to simply watch. She had come to destroy.
The ritual began with whispered invocations, each word imbued with the weight of her rage and purpose. Her hands, delicate yet trembling with power, traced ancient sigils in the air, each one blazing briefly before vanishing into the fabric of reality. With every gesture, the veil between the material world and the Warp grew thinner, the air crackling with an unholy energy that made even the hardened Drukhari pause in their revels.
When the portal tore open, its edges seething with chaotic light, Mercy cast her voice into the Immaterium. Her tone was neither pleading nor subservient. It was commanding—a daughter of Chaos speaking to those who had shaped her destiny.
The Bargain
"To She Who Thirsts," she began, her voice ringing with unyielding determination, "I offer the greatest prize of all: the souls of the Drukhari. For millennia, they have defied you, clinging to their stolen existence, their torments feeding only themselves. No longer. Take their souls, O Prince of Excess. Let their screams echo in your halls for eternity."
The portal pulsed, and for a moment, Mercy felt the Dark Prince's presence, an intoxicating caress on her soul. She pressed on.
"To the Lord of Skulls," she continued, her tone sharpening with fury, "I offer the chance to show these cowards what true strength means. They hide behind their cruelty, their tricks, and their blades. Let your warriors show them the honor of battle, the raw power of true warriors. Burn their city with the fires of war and prove their frailty."
The portal darkened, its edges tinged with a red haze, and Mercy could almost hear the growl of approval from Khorne.
Finally, she turned to the ever-shifting energies at the edge of the portal. "To the Architect of Fate, I offer knowledge. The technology of Commorragh—its ships, its weapons, its secrets—will be yours to scatter across the galaxy. Let the tools of their arrogance serve to shape new destinies, their pride turned to ash in the hands of those they once considered lesser."
The portal swirled with hues of blue and gold, the impossible geometry of Tzeentch's laughter resonating in her mind.
Then she issued her condition. "You will spare the humans. Harm not a single one. They are to be delivered to my father's domain, the Cainite Protectorate, where they will find sanctuary. This war is not theirs to fight—it is ours to wage against the Eldar who scorn you."
For a moment, there was silence, a tense stillness in which the entire city seemed to hold its breath. Then, the portal exploded in a kaleidoscope of color, and Mercy felt their agreement, a surge of energy that nearly drove her to her knees.
The gods had accepted her terms.
The Invasion
The Warp tore wide, and from its churning depths spilled legions of Chaos. The forces of Slaanesh danced into Commorragh, their movements a blend of elegance and savagery as they descended upon the Drukhari. The air filled with the maddeningly sweet symphony of their laughter and the agonized screams of their prey.
Khorne's warriors followed, their red-armored forms charging into the fray with unstoppable fury. They smashed through the Drukhari with brutal efficiency, their axes cleaving through those who dared stand against them. The Blood God's wrath was a terrifying spectacle, a storm of rage that made even the most sadistic of the dark Eldar blanch.
Tzeentch's influence was the most insidious of all. The Changer of Ways wove intricate spells that twisted the fabric of the city itself. Gates flickered and shifted, trapping the Drukhari in their own labyrinths. Entire districts collapsed under the weight of impossible geometry, and every piece of technology stolen by the Drukhari was spirited away into the Warp, destined to reappear in the hands of other, lesser species.
As the chaos unfolded, the human slaves of Commorragh vanished, their chains broken by the Changer of Ways and their forms whisked away to the Cainite Protectorate. Mercy's gaze followed them, a flicker of relief in her otherwise hardened expression.
The Dark Prince's Smile
Far above the carnage, Mercy stood alone, watching as the forces of Chaos consumed the dark city. She could feel the approval of the gods, their satisfaction radiating through the portal. But it was the Dark Prince whose presence she felt most keenly, a sensation both comforting and terrifying.
Slaanesh smiled, a smile that resonated through the Warp and into her very soul. The neverborn gathered around the edges of reality, eager and ecstatic. They hungered for the feast Mercy had provided, for the souls of the Drukhari who had evaded them for so long.
Mercy's rage burned within her, but so too did her resolve. She had struck a blow against the darkness of Commorragh, had shown the Drukhari that their cruelty was not invincible. One day, the galaxy would remember this moment—not as the triumph of Chaos, but as the liberation of the enslaved.
She turned away from the carnage, her heart steady and her purpose clear. This was only the beginning.
The Flight Through the Webway
Mercy gripped the controls of the stolen Drukhari cruiser, her heart pounding with exhilaration as the sleek, angular ship hurtled through the twisting corridors of the Webway. Behind her, Commorragh burned—a writhing, screaming abyss of destruction that fed her sense of justice. The Drukhari, who had avoided the grasp of the Dark Prince for so long, were finally receiving their due.
She smiled to herself, a flicker of warmth softening her otherwise intense expression. The thought of the freed humans—no longer shackled, no longer suffering under the cruel whims of their tormentors—filled her with quiet pride. Each of those lives was a small victory, a piece of the grand liberation her father had envisioned. They'll be safe now, she thought. The Cainite Protectorate will welcome them. Father will see to it.
The ship thrummed beneath her, its alien controls almost intuitive in her hands. The stolen vessel was a masterpiece of Drukhari design, a razor-sharp dart of shadow and speed. It had been surprisingly easy to seize amidst the chaos, its previous owners too distracted by the sudden invasion to stop her. The Webway twisted and turned around her, its walls shimmering with impossible colors, but Mercy navigated it with purpose.
Her thoughts drifted back to Commorragh. She imagined the Slaaneshi daemons gliding through the streets, savoring the screams of their prey. She saw Khorne's warriors smashing through Drukhari enclaves, teaching those butchers what true strength meant. And she envisioned the works of Tzeentch spreading like wildfire, unraveling the stolen technologies that had propped up the dark city for so long.
They deserve it, she thought, her grip tightening on the controls. Every last one of them.
An Unseen Passenger
Mercy's focus was so consumed by her thoughts that she failed to notice the faint clangs and echoes from the lower decks of the ship. Deep in the shadows, moving silently through the alien corridors, a figure stalked with purpose.
Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars, moved like a ghost through the vessel. He had been imprisoned in Commorragh for centuries, his once-proud armor battered and dull, his strength tested daily by the sadistic whims of the Drukhari. Yet even in his captivity, he had not broken. The chaos that had erupted across the dark city was his opportunity—a chance to escape the clutches of his tormentors and return to the stars.
The ship Mercy had stolen was the perfect vessel for his escape. He had found it in the chaos, its engines already thrumming with stolen energy, its direction clear. The girl at the helm, though young and unfamiliar, radiated an unmistakable aura of power. She was no Drukhari, that much was clear. Her presence intrigued him, though he chose not to reveal himself just yet.
Mercy's Resolve
As the cruiser neared the edge of the Webway, Mercy's thoughts turned to her father. He would be waiting for her, perhaps already receiving the rescued humans. The thought brought a smile to her lips. The Protectorate was a beacon of hope, a sanctuary for those the Imperium had cast aside, and she had contributed to its cause.
She didn't regret the pact she'd made with the gods. The Drukhari's punishment was long overdue, and the destruction of Commorragh felt like justice. Her mother's twisted pride in the suffering of others had been a poison, one Mercy had vowed to expunge.
The ship shuddered slightly as it emerged from the Webway into realspace, the endless void stretching before her. The Cainite Protectorate was not far now. Mercy exhaled, a deep sense of accomplishment washing over her.
But far below, in the shadows of the ship, Jaghatai Khan watched and waited, his keen mind already piecing together the nature of his strange savior. The stars stretched out before him as well, promising freedom—but also questions.
Who is she? he wondered, his thoughts mingling with his anticipation.
For now, Mercy remained blissfully unaware of the legendary figure hidden aboard her stolen ship, her focus fixed on her triumph and the promise of what lay ahead.