Author's Note: For those interested, there are three advance chapters on P-atreon (remove the spaces and dash): p-atreon/ SkySage24.
For anyone interested, here's an invite code to my Discord server: PFfHyyge
Beyond the veil that separated reality from dreams, beneath the stolen skin that Be'lakor wore, Isha could see him.
Be'lakor's true self was beyond mortal comprehension or understanding. He was a leviathan that could devour stars whole in its maw. He was a great clawed hand without a body, one that could crush planets in its grip, pressed against the veil that dared to block him from reality. He was a crown of tainted gold.
He was all of those things and more, for the creatures of the Immaterium were not bound by absolutes.
The leviathan's bubbling skin was every nightmare of a million million mortals. The hand's bones were the desiccated carcases of every empire that he had ruled, of every civilization he had driven to ruin.
And his crown… the crown was the worst thing of all. The gold was forged from the sins of every being that Be'lakor had corrupted, and it was adorned with millions and millions of gemstones, each and every single one the story of the tears of the children of every civilization that the First-Damned had driven to ruin.
This was Be'lakor's true self. This was what a Daemon King was; a god in waiting, the incarnation of sin, a creature of terror and horror that left nothing but ruin in its wake.
This was what the War in Heaven had unleashed upon the cosmos.
What the sins of Isha and her kin, of her allies and her masters, had unleashed.
Today, that would end.
Today, the First of the Damned would die.
Isha hurled the power maul at Be'lakor, the weapon flying through the air like a meteor, crackling green with her power.
But the First-Damned simply melted into shadows to avoid the blow, the maul crashing into the mountain walls and embedding itself deep in the rock instead.
"You should not have sent the Anathema away, Isha," Be'lakor taunted, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere, the shadows in the room shifting and encroaching upon her. "Him, I could not defeat. You, are another matter."
Isha did not bother to reply directly, instead intoning an ancient Aeldari Warsong.
She had not spoken the words in aeons, but they came as if she had spoken them yesterday. The shimmering melody wrapped itself around her in armour, and the sharp lyrics coalesced into a spear of emerald light in her hand. The shadows shrank back at the sound as the Warp echoed with the memories of ancient battles, of every time Be'lakor had failed and been defeated by her children, of how he had always run from her and her family rather than engage them directly.
The great clawed hand drew back from the Veil, its skin smoking and burnt from the song.
Isha smiled slightly, and spoke, even as the melody became self-sustaining. "I am not so easily defeated, Be'lakor. I may be diminished and weakened, but I am still a god."
"You are indeed," Be'lakor acknowledged with a growl. "But that is why I am here: to claim that spark of divinity within you for myself, to reach the status that was denied to me for so long!"
The hand moved, and tendrils of darkness sprang from it like puppet strings, hooking themselves into each of the Chaos cultists present, until Be'lakor no longer had a single possessed puppet, but hundreds.
Ancient spells of terrible power exploded around her, seeking to flay the flesh from her bones, to turn Isha's essence inside out, or to pull her directly into the Warp.
Isha deftly dodged them all, whirling her spear in one hand until it was a blur, unleashing a maelstrom of green wind that repelled Bel'akor's puppets and his spells.
"Is that the best you can do, Chaospawn?" Isha asked scornfully, even as she reached out, seeking to remove the taint of Chaos from Be'lakor's pawns and free them…but she found nothing.
The slaves were all hollowed-out shells, she realized with horror, their souls long gone.
Be'lakor's mocking laughter echoed through the air at her discovery.
"Come now, Isha, you did not think I would let you tear the souls of my chosen from me now, did you? I am aware of what you are capable of, and I prepared accordingly."
Isha bared her teeth as they lengthened into fangs. "You will regret that, Be'lakor."
She slammed the butt of her spear into the ground, and waves of wooden spikes erupted from it, impaling Be'lakor's slaves and tearing them to shreds in a shower of flesh and blood.
Perhaps she could not free them from torment, but she could at least deny Be'lakor's use of their bodies.
The First-Damned seemed to care not, however. Lukas Chrom's body rose into the air, twisting and bending as further limbs erupted from it, Be'lakor leering at her through his face.
Isha, however, did not wait for him to make a move. Her power coursed through the room, through this pocket realm that Be'lakor had built, seeking to wrest control of it from him.
Their wills clashed, and the cavern swirled and shifted around them, from a verdant forest back to the corrupted Mechanicum lab, then again to the depths of the ocean and the burning ruins of a forsaken city.
Back and forth it went, the battle of minds affecting reality around them even as their physical vessels clashed.
Alas, it was not to last.
Isha was a goddess, but Be'lakor was the greatest Chaos sorcerer to have ever lived. Perhaps the greatest sorcerer, regardless of nature. And this was his domain, which he had prepared and built accordingly for years in anticipation of this confrontation with her.
Lines of crimson light spread below their feet, shooting across the room and then spreading across the floor and walls. It was a runic array, and Isha recognized not just Chaos sorcery, but also elements of her own children's workings. The workings of civilizations long dead melded with human sorcery barely ten thousand years old, forming something grotesque yet intricately woven, and above all, horrifyingly potent.
Isha reeled as Be'lakor's will reasserted control with a flare of power, the backlash sending her stumbling backwards for a moment.
And then the floor exploded. A great metallic hand with dark claws pushed its way out of the ground, followed by the rest of the body.
Be'lakor's newest toy floated in mid-air, a behemoth of iron and steel larger than any that had come before it, with great wings of serrated metal and shadow extending from its back. The screams of the psykers imprisoned within the machine echoed in both reality and beyond it. The machine's iron skin turned a poisonous black, as its head burned with a hellish crimson flame, sprouting great black horns.
It was far more dangerous than any of the Mechanicum's creations could hope to be, a twisted amalgamation of human ingenuity and Chaos sorcery creating a mockery of the psychic technology of Isha's children, powered by the souls of the damned.
Be'lakor's Titan was still no match for a true psychomaton, but it did not need to be. The power of its master more than made up for that.
Isha rose into the air as the floor collapsed below her, just as the twin shoulder cannons of the Titan lit up, unleashing a weaponized psychic scream.
The scream slammed into Isha, making the bones of her avatar shake, but she held firm. Physical pain meant nothing to a god.
Her spear became a bow as tall as she was, and she pulled back the string, an arrow of green light materializing moments before she let it loose.
One arrow became hundreds, blasting against the Titan.
"Your little toy won't stop me, Be'lakor," Isha growled. "A poor facsimile of a psychomaton? Really? Is that the best you can do?"
Be'lakor's only reply was another blast from the cannons, unleashing a…temporal distortion wave?
Genuinely surprised, Isha barely managed to erect a shield before it engulfed her. The very fabric of time buckled and bent as Isha felt her avatar age and weaken against her will, her bow shattering into fragments of light.
"Is that good enough for you, Isha?" Be'lakor asked smugly.
Isha's aura exploded, dispelling the wave and sending the Titan hurtling back.
"Not bad," Isha admitted. "But compared to the Yngir and their slaves, this is a parlour trick."
She smirked slightly at Be'lakor's snarl of rage, but she didn't wait any longer. She sped forward, a sonic boom caused by her flight, a new spear forming in her hand.
Which she promptly buried straight into the Titan's head.
"I told you, Be'lakor," Isha growled as veins of green light spread through the Titan where she had stabbed it. "You can't beat me with your pathetic toys."
But he didn't respond the way she expected. "I know." Was the calm reply.
And then the Titan exploded in a shower of hellfire and blood. Isha was thrown against the wall by the explosion, dazed for but a moment.
But a moment was more than enough for Be'lakor.
The blood and oil in the Titan dripped down into the ritual lines and runes carved into the floor, spreading through them rapidly, the crimson light becoming crimson flames, erupting into a blaze of infernal fire that even Isha could feel pressing against her skin. And with a chill, Isha realized she recognized the language of the spells.
Enuncia.
The steel pods, previously smooth and unmarked, burned with the same foul light as the rest of the room, and Isha realized what was in them.
Souls. Thousands upon thousands of souls, extracted and imprisoned within metal pods, used as fuel for Be'lakor's entrance into the world.
This must be what he had done with his followers, but those alone would not have served. He must have possessed Chrom for years, gathering souls, waiting for this moment.
The great dark hand pressed against the Veil once more, but this time, slowly but surely, it was passing through.
And then it was done.
Reality shrieked and writhed in protest as the pocket realm collapsed around them, and the side of the mountain was shattered by the explosion of power, revealing them to the outside world. Through the new hole in the side of Olympus Mons, Isha could see the skies above burning a bloody crimson, the clouds banished by the light of hell.
But her view was soon obscured as great pillars of hellfire erupted to encircle the mountain, like…like the bars of a cage, pressing down on Isha, making her feel heavier and weaker.
And finally, the body of Lukas Chrom exploded in a shower of black blood, unable to bear the weight of the Dark Master's power, but that was by no means the end.
Because at last, the true Dark Master of Chaos stepped forth into the world. Be'lakor had taken many forms through the ages, but today, he appeared as a twisted mockery of a hero-king of the Eldar. Black armour, embossed with the mark of Chaos where there should have been Eldar runes. Long dark hair and silver eyes set in a wide, handsome face, a face which Isha recognised all too well.
The face of Eldanesh.
A rush of pure hatred erupted through Isha as she stared into the visage of her most favoured son, and the monster who dared to mock her with it.
In that moment, more than anything, she wanted to kill him.
Be'lakor smiled with a cruel smile that did not fit Eldanesh's features. "And now, Isha, we are face to face at last. Just you and me. No toys, and no tricks."
"Except this cage," Isha spat, rising to her feet.
"Well, I had to make some preparations to put us on even ground, didn't I?"
"What do you want, Be'lakor?" She demanded, hoping to buy some time as she tried to adjust to the pressure of this new prison, to find a way to break through the sorcery. "Why are you doing this? You must know your masters will punish you for killing me. Why risk their wrath instead of dragging me back to them? For that matter, why risk unleashing the Dragon? Even for you, that is madness and folly."
At this, Be'lakor's facade of calm shattered. The sick parody of Eldanesh's face twisted and shifted, and the pressure around her intensified as his fury erupted.
Yet, despite that, Isha would be lying if she did not derive some satisfaction from breaking his cool.
"Why?" Be'lakor raged, a maelstrom of red-black energies swirling around them as reality cracked and melted in turn. "You dare ask me why!?"
"I do," Isha answered resolutely, her presence the eye in the heart of the storm even though she was bound, a light in the darkness stabilizing reality and preventing Be'lakor from overwhelming it completely.
"Because I deserve it! I am Be'lakor! I am the Dark Master of Chaos, the Firstborn! It was I who saw the power and potential of Chaos before anyone else! I should be its undisputed master, the greatest god to have ever lived!"
"Yet time and time again I am denied what is rightfully mine! By your accursed children! By the Anathema! By the machinations of those upstarts, those petulant children who call themselves the Gods of Chaos, who think they are better than me! But I will be denied no longer! I will devour your essence and claim my destiny!"
"Or perhaps I will die here, slain by you or the Anathema, or even the Dragon! But no longer will I suffer being the slave of my inferiors!"
"Devouring me will not grant you godhood, Be'lakor," Isha snapped back. "You said it yourself, I am diminished. You may become stronger, but you will not be the equal of the Emperor, much less the Four."
At this, Be'lakor laughed, his rage gone as soon as it had come, like the morning dew. "Oh Isha, how unimaginative you are! I am well aware of that. Devouring you will not make me equal to those brats that dare to rule my kingdoms, but it will give me something better."
A chill went down Isha's spine at Be'lakor's words.
"You can't mean-"
"Oh, but I do."
"That is impossible," Isha growled, baring her teeth. "That is not what happened when Slaanesh devoured my family."
"Oh credit me with more intelligence than your gluttonous daughter," Be'lakor sneered, clearly relishing the way Isha bristled at his description of Slaanesh. "I have been preparing for this for a very long time, since before your King cast his Edict. I tore apart the minds of your children, searched the ruins of the War in Heaven, and plundered the graves of the Old Ones. Even so, I did not think it would be possible. I needed you or one of your kin for the ritual, but you were too powerful to touch. Now? Here you are."
Be'lakor drew the Blade of Shadows from the Warp, great black wings unfurling behind him until they blotted out the sky. "I will devour your essence, Lady Isha, and I will corrupt it. And then, I will not need clumsy vessels such as this. I will be like you, unbound by the restrictions of the Veil, able to freely stride across the Materium at will: An Incarnate."