Deep within the Warp, from that realm of debauchery, depravity, blood, and corruption, came wave after wave of anguished sighing.
The Dark Prince.
She Who Thirsts.
The Lord of Excess.
Slaanesh…
All of these names pointed to the same god, the youngest of the Chaos Gods, born from the Eldar’s own descent into depravity, and right now, that god sat within its own palace, licking its wounds.
Its daemons were, in essence, nothing more than extensions of its own will, stepping out of the Warp into every corner of the galaxy to spread its divine power of excess and depravity.
But lately, its strength had been steadily dwindling.
Ever since it had crossed paths with that strange soul, its own daemons had been vanishing one after another.
The young god couldn’t understand it.
An Emperor’s Children marine, perfectly fine one moment, had suddenly changed his nature entirely, now carrying a scent so foul it turned the god’s own stomach.
“Is this the work of the cursed?”
Thinking it over now, only that cold black sun could possibly have that kind of power.
But why would it bother blessing a traitor from a Chaos warband?
Should it send one of its own Greater Daemons to eliminate him?
Slaanesh hesitated.
The barrier between the Warp and reality on Andrallo’s world was simply too solid; every daemon operating there had already been brought in from somewhere else.
The god had no interest in wasting its own strength for nothing.
Going to that irritating creature in the Crystal Labyrinth was still an option worth considering, but as for going to those bird-men, Slaanesh would rather handle the matter personally.
Torn over the whole matter, Slaanesh finally let out a sigh, and sent word through its own palace, a seductive voice and scent drifting out into the crowd already lost in revelry.
Every daemon and every chosen mortal received word of the great power’s bounty:
“Kill the fickle traitor.
Whoever brings me his head will be permitted to stand at my side.”
Every follower within the Six Circles cheered in celebration, tearing at themselves and at each other, surging through a mire of rotting flesh, blood, and wine.
A fresh revelry had begun.
These devotees, each chasing their own extreme, set out at once in obedience to their master’s will, bound for that unremarkable little agri-world, hungry to indulge and to kill in equal measure.
On the far side of the Warp, deep within Tzeentch’s Crystal Labyrinth, an ever-shifting god watched over everything happening in the material universe through crystals of pure psychic power.
Countless threads drifted away from it in every direction, each one representing a different path, each one its own entirely distinct story, and not a single one of them had an ending.
Tzeentch had no love for fixed endings.
As the Lord of Change, nothing displeased him more than rigid, unmoving certainty.
And among these countless threads, more numerous than stars, one in particular caught Tzeentch’s full attention.
Andrallo.
The Merciful One.
Destroyer and Creator.
The End of the Cycle.
These were all facets of that strange soul’s fate, so many variables, so much left unresolved.
Within Andrallo’s own thread, Tzeentch could see countless possibilities: a quiet, ordinary life farming the land, a bold conquest carving through the galaxy, an all-consuming rage that devoured everything in its path, and…
an annihilation that could scour the Warp itself clean.
“How delightful!
A single soul, holding this much potential for change?
An absolutely perfect piece on the board!”
Tzeentch drew his attention closer to the planet, taking in the tide-like power straining beneath the surface of Andrallo’s own restraint, taking in the boundless futures still open to him, and fixed his gaze there.
There were followers of his own already present there too, and they would make excellent fuel, more than capable of pushing Andrallo to his full potential.
As for what would happen once Andrallo’s original fate was disturbed?
Tzeentch didn’t care in the slightest.
What he wanted was change itself.
The pleasure of tormenting others for sport excited him far more than anything so mundane as “victory.”
“Let’s see exactly how far you can go!”
As Tzeentch plucked at the thread of fate, a ripple passed through the Warp itself.
The Empyrean, gorgeous and lethal in equal measure, rippled like a pond struck by a thrown stone, layer upon layer of color weaving together, drawing countless twists of chance toward a single point.
Down on the planet, the Governor knelt in the nine-pillared sanctum of his family’s palace, praying for the God-Emperor’s deliverance.
Andrallo’s offensive had moved with brutal speed.
His guard’s defenses had melted away like snowflakes, and the fortune he’d spent a lifetime accumulating was wiped out entirely in under a month.
Worse still, the local civilians and slaves had all thrown their lot in with Andrallo.
The Governor couldn’t understand it: how had an Astartes who’d once simply worked for him managed to stir up an entire planet into open revolt?!
Now, every single day brought waves of drones harassing the palace.
Any soldier who so much as showed themselves was picked off instantly, forcing the Governor’s guardsmen to disguise themselves in servants’ clothing just to move around unseen.
Every stretch of land outside the palace had already fallen.
White vapor from the factories running at full tilt drifted around the Governor now, and swarms of drones and automated machinery poured out of it without end.
There wasn’t a trace of the World Eaters or Emperor’s Children warbands left anywhere on the planet by now.
They’d been torn apart and annihilated by wave after wave of unmanned combat units.
Inside the factory, Andrallo sat in an unusual mechanical chair, countless threads of violet psychic power being drawn out of his body and channeled through a network of pipes into a row of specially built containers behind him.
Sweat beaded across Andrallo’s forehead.
The agony of having his own power siphoned out of him left him thoroughly miserable, every cell in his body screaming under the strain, his own senses amplified a thousandfold in the process.
The chair looked less like furniture and more like an instrument of torture, but Kaides had insisted it was necessary, the key to breaking the deadlock that lay ahead of them.
“When is this going to be over?
Lord Andrallo can’t take much more of this!”
“Just a bit longer.” Kaides kept his eyes fixed on the data display.
“Our connection to the Void, sorry, the Warp, is too weak on its own.
The only way to draw out any power at all is to use the Chief as a relay.
Just hold on a little more!”
Andrallo looked at the people around him, wanting to reassure Maen and Charlotte, but the pain had his jaw clenched so tight he couldn’t get a single word out.
Great, what am I now, some meme about a guy getting electrocuted for a laugh?
No, better not say that out loud, that’ll just jinx me even harder.
He had no idea how long it lasted, maybe an hour, maybe only a few minutes, before the pain finally faded and the extraction ritual came to a stop.
Maen and Charlotte moved to catch him, but Andrallo’s sheer weight left them unable to budge an inch.
In the end, it was Kaides who stepped in to support him.
“Chief, you did well.
Go get some rest.
We won’t be drawing any more power from you for a while.”
“For a while?!” Charlotte’s voice shot up.
“Are you saying you’re going to keep torturing Lord Andrallo like this?”
“It’s not torture.” Kaides raised both hands defensively.
“It’s just that the Chief can’t direct the flow of his own power on his own yet, so extracting it through the Void is the only way I have to draw energy from him at all.”
Even the usually even-tempered Maen found that hard to let slide.
Aren’t you supposed to be Andrallo’s subordinate, she thought.
Since when did torturing your own commander come so naturally to you?
Andrallo just waved a hand faintly, taking a few steadying breaths to force the pain back down and pull his thoughts back together.
“Kaides, you’ve got a better handle on psychic power than I do.
Why don’t you find time to actually teach me?
Save me from going through this again.”
As he said it, Andrallo reached out and ruffled both Westminster sisters’ hair.
“You two should join in and learn too.
Kaides was the ultimate mentor back in the day.
Studying under him would do wonders for your own control.”
With Andrallo putting it that way, Maen and Charlotte had little choice but to agree.
Before they left, the dark-haired girl couldn’t resist shooting Kaides one last glare, leaving him caught somewhere between laughing and wincing.
“The Chief really is just as popular as ever!”