Mercy Cain the Liberator 4
The air of Commorragh crackled with Warp energy, a chaotic storm of unreality tearing through its labyrinthine spires and shadowed streets. The once-pristine darkness of the Drukhari capital was now a riot of impossible colors, each hue bleeding into the next in a maddening display. Daemons poured from countless rifts, their grotesque forms dancing, stomping, and slithering through the chaos.
The Drukhari, masters of cruelty and excess, were now the prey. Their blades and advanced weapons seemed useless against the unrelenting tide of the Immaterium. Fear, a foreign emotion to the sadistic denizens of the Dark City, had taken root in their hearts.
The forces of Chaos fought not as a unified tide but as rival predators, tearing into each other with as much ferocity as they attacked the Drukhari.
Slaanesh's daemons, elegant and horrifying, moved with grace and mockery, their laughter slicing through the air like knives. They sought not just to kill but to devour, feasting on the souls of the Drukhari who had defied their god for so long.
Khorne's berserkers and daemons charged through the carnage, caring little for the artistry of Slaanesh's torment. To them, the Drukhari's cunning and cowardice were insults to true warriors, and every Archon they decapitated was a statement of Khorne's supremacy.
Tzeentch's forces, ever scheming, transformed the very architecture of Commorragh. Walls became mazes, gateways twisted into dead ends, and entire districts dissolved into shimmering Warp rifts. The Drukhari's technological marvels were transported per the deal to the far corners of the galaxy.
The three powers clashed at every turn, their daemons fighting over every soul, every piece of the city, each seeking to claim Commorragh for themselves.
In the heart of the chaos, Asdrubael Vect, the former Supreme Overlord of Commorragh, stood on the crumbling balcony of his fortress. His once-imposing figure, draped in flowing robes and adorned with relics of countless victories, now seemed diminished. The destruction of his city played out before him, a nightmare he could neither stop nor control.
His cunning mind raced, trying to comprehend the scale of the disaster. For millennia, he had ruled Commorragh with an iron fist, manipulating rivals and betraying allies with ease. But now, he faced an enemy that defied all his machinations.
"This is no mere raid," he muttered, his voice trembling despite himself. "No rebellion or uprising. This... this is annihilation."
The walls of his fortress shuddered as a massive claw tore through them. Vect turned to see a Keeper of Secrets, its androgynous form gliding into the chamber with impossible grace. Its many arms held blades and instruments of torment, and its eyes burned with cruel amusement.
"Asdrubael Vect," it purred, its voice a symphony of mockery and allure. "The Dark Prince has been waiting for you. Your soul is a treasure long denied."
Vect's composure shattered. He drew a concealed weapon, firing a burst of concentrated darklight at the daemon. It screeched in delight as the weapon's energy carved through its shoulder, but it did not slow.
"You cannot run from destiny, Vect," the daemon sang, its steps unhurried as it advanced. "Slaanesh waits for you at the end of all things."
Vect activated a hidden teleportation device, vanishing in a flash of light.
He reappeared in the depths of the Webway, staggering as the teleportation's energy drained him. Around him, the last remnants of his Kabal scrambled to flee, their once-pristine armor scorched and battered.
"Supreme Overlord," one of his lieutenants gasped, "Commorragh is lost. Where do we go?"
Vect slapped the fool across the face. "Commorragh was never a place," he snapped, his voice regaining some of its icy control. "It was power. I am Commorragh."
His followers nodded, too terrified to question him further. But deep inside, Vect knew the truth. His empire was gone, and his power was shattered.
As they fled deeper into the Webway, the air shimmered, and a voice echoed from the shadows.
"You can run, Asdrubael," the voice purred, unmistakably daemonic. "But every step you take brings you closer to Slaanesh."
Vect felt a chill he had not known since the Fall of the Eldar. He turned, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness, but the voice only laughed, fading into the distance.
When they finally emerged into a secluded Webway pocket hiding one of Vect's secret fallback bases, Vect collapsed onto a makeshift throne, his body trembling with exhaustion. He had survived. For now.
But his mind burned with fury. Mercy—the hybrid child, the chosen of Slaanesh—had orchestrated this disaster. Her actions had destroyed the empire he had spent millennia building.
"She thinks she can humiliate me," Vect muttered, his voice low and venomous. "She thinks she can reduce me to nothing."
His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. "She will learn the cost of defying me. I will rebuild. I will rise. And when I do..." He leaned forward, his eyes glowing with malevolent determination.
"I will make her regret the day she was born."
As the faint echoes of daemonic laughter lingered in the shadows, Asdrubael Vect, once the ruler of the Dark City, began plotting his revenge.