Archdjinni of the Rings: Hoopa (Warhammer 40k/Pokemon)

I gazed at the Flask of Sealing–my prison–an object I have come to hate almost as much as 'Mother. A feat seldom few were capable of earning this kind of intention from me.

I wasn't hateful. I was petty, not hateful.

Khaine was imprisoned under my decision, but my hate wasn't mutual with his blinding rage. He was a particularly dislikable annoyance of a brother. Still, he would remain in the deepest layer of the Vault in arcane and temporal stasis until the Pantheon managed to break the chains enforced on us.

He had crimes to pay for. It was hypocritical of me, but I was king, and my words were laws. The Phoenix King didn't punish him for murdering countless for no reason other than an inane vendetta and breaking and enslaving Vaul, to name only the greatest. I won't be so pathetically lenient.

As for Asuryan, I never was a fan of his. It wasn't exclusively his fault. He had been engineered to be a wholly loyal puppy by the frog bitch. He was a victim as much as I was, but regardless, he had been complacent and incompetent, and his punishment was comparatively extremely lenient.

He bent the knee and dutifully obeyed my every call, simple as that. He was honestly pitifully pathetic, a hollow shell following my words almost robotically. You can never hate the Old Ones enough, a lesson I repeatedly learned.

Extensive work was required for me to hate you.

The Aeldari of the Empire managed that with the Dark Muses merely standing above. They were puppets in a game of inane schemes and manipulations and delighted in their suffering, helplessness, and terror. But truth be told, it was the Chaos Gods–the abominable psychic gestalt of failures–the Changer of Ways, Tzeentch in particular, I hated—an upstart arrogant fool of the highest order.

I don't hate the tumors for what they were; it was for their action in the past and future. They chose aggression over diplomacy by failing to force me into transforming into She-Who-Thirst. And quite a cathartic failure it was for me and catastrophic for him.

I would have never let them be free for what they represented, but it was an amusing way for them to build a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Still, this inanimate object that was the Flask of Sealing was above the unsightly cuttlefish two-bit magician in my hate checklist. It was far less rational here, but that changed little to my need for it. Two bits magician as the bird and cephalopod may be, the wound done was infectious.

It couldn't be healed. It couldn't be stopped. It couldn't be halted. But nothing was absolute.

Biting one of my eighteen fingers, I drew the runes for the ritual to come with the black tar-like blood upon the Blackstone pedestal handmade by a grumpy God of Crafting, where I placed the Flask of Sealing.

I didn't fear any trap put into it; it wasn't how Vaul mind worked. He was too straightforward, and I made certain he wouldn't try something funny, something surprising in my commission. The pact we made after the Crone submitted to my rule, while it wouldn't have killed him, was thorough.

If I wanted him to cease existing, I would do so myself. He would be utterly powerless against my judgment, but this was an extreme that shall never pass. My dear brother was shaken and in need of time. He was infuriating at times but among the greatest victims of the Old Ones.

My claw tips, coated with an endless supply of my blood, trailed on the Blackstone, in the air and the void, on time and space themselves. Wherever they were, wherever they passed, reality and unreality sizzled, melting into the primordial soup of the dawn of Creation, anchoring the runes into the fabric of all that was, is, and would be.

I was working my magic.

My jaws were clenched tight, but my movements remained supremely steady and controlled as burning agony flared through five points. Each was a Cronesword–the names of the blades used by Khaine to stab me–and it was Isha and Morai-Heg using them on me.

They trimmed the undesired, separating what must be separated and dividing to isolate the fraction of the whole from my very soul. While the duo of Goddesses operated on me, I continued the ritual; it was a delicate balance, but ultimately, it was relatively simple.

'Show yourself, little parasite…' I internally cooed, shifting my soul, and the pain gained magnitude, showing my effort proved effective. It was deeply rooted, and ripping out wasn't an option.

'Show you-! Got you!' A growl boomed from the deepest recess of my chest as my body contorted from the pain that felt so wrong and good at once.

A distorted, screaming moan escaped my lungs. It was one of raw, conflicting emotions of joy, rage, pride, helplessness, despair, hatred, and confusion, but the motion of my floating hands never ceased or grew any less effective. Like a well-oiled machine, their task remained unperturbed.

I would like to say it was solely the result of my willpower, but a spell was put in place beforehand. I won't take any chances, and my pride holds no importance before my safety and freedom. My paranoia would not allow such infantile mistakes.

It brought memories I would have wished to forget from when my humanity was shredded, altered beyond hope of salvaging, and reformed into what I was once upon a time.

My tail lashed at these painful thoughts and the ongoing physical torment. The arrow-tipped limb bashed behind me with the force to shatter smaller moons. But a barrier manifested from the chains around, saving Isha from being flung into a nearby pillar and the five next.

She was unflinching.

Another precaution, the dark chains proved effective in restraining potential rampage, but if it didn't suffice… it was a contingency among hundreds. No risk was permitted. No leakage was allowed. No mercy was given.

I had enough.

Enough to be a pawn, an object to be used and thrown away–a thing lower than a tool. No more. From then onward, no Master would ever take control. And Slaanesh, a depraved part of my existence twisted by the Aeldari Empire and its puppet masters, would have no sway over me–never. No matter how minute it might be.

There would be no little game enforced on me, no color around my neck, and no obstruction to my path.

"I̷'̸M̸ ̵H̸O̴O̴P̴A̷,̷ ̶K̵N̸O̷W̴ ̵M̶E̸ ̸A̷S̶ ̷T̶H̴E̶ ̷A̵R̷C̴H̸D̴J̶I̴N̶N̷I̸ ̸O̶F̶ ̴T̸H̴E̵ ̴R̷I̸N̸G̷,̷ ̵T̷H̶E̷ ̵D̴A̷R̵K̶ ̶K̸I̴N̷G̶,̸ ̴T̷H̸E̵ ̵M̷A̸S̵T̴E̷R̷ ̵O̷F̶ ̴A̸L̶L̶ ̶R̸O̶U̴T̵E̴,̷ ̷T̵H̷E̵ ̶R̷O̶O̷T̵S̶ ̸O̸F̷ ̶A̵L̶L̵ ̵M̵A̴G̸I̴C̶ ̵A̵N̶D̸ ̸T̵H̶E̸ ̵D̶A̶R̵K̷N̴E̵S̷S̷ ̵O̶F̶ ̵A̵L̷L̴ ̷E̵N̴D̶ ̷A̴N̵D̶ ̶B̴E̴G̸I̸N̶N̶I̵N̵G̴!̵" I chanted, my heart hammering as my words echoed in the highest order of Anoqeyån—my 'bastardized' version of the Song of Creation.

The six hundred and sixty-six runes that I carved lit up at once in a pale, ominous, foggy purple and fleshy pink. My symbol, the encircled five-pointed stars–the pentacle–manifesting in the epicenter above my bare torso.

It was me as me, but parts were undesired. In the middle, tainting my symbol was two curved scythes on one line connecting to a full circle with eight jagged arrows jutting at equal distances—a Mark of Chaos.

Yet it was more, far more… It symbolized a Chaos God in its purest form or the form it could manifest in this plane of reality from its weakened state. It was a part of myself forced to become as such—an abomination of the worst kind.

It was a vicious seed of annihilation and one undeserving to know anything but endless darkness, wandering, and ignorance. It was the worst of what could be for a being of endless excess.

I wasn't blind to the irony of it all. I was seeking the same for my freedom, and I was sending a part of this self into eternal damnation. But it was a sacrifice I was willing to make for my safety.

"U̶N̶D̸E̷R̴ ̷M̶Y̵ ̶T̸R̶U̷E̶ ̷N̸A̷M̷E̴ ̵I̶ ̸D̶E̴C̵L̶A̶R̶E̵ ̵T̷H̸E̷E̸ ̵U̷N̶F̸I̶T̸ ̷T̸O̷ ̸B̶E̶ ̵A̴N̵D̸ ̶B̷E̸G̸O̵N̷E̸ ̴O̸F̷ ̶T̴H̸I̸S̴ ̸V̸E̵S̵S̵E̶L. Y̸O̴U ̷W̶I̵L̶L̶.̸ ̴N̴O̷W̷ ̶W̶E̵L̶C̸O̷M̴E̷ ̷Y̶O̵U̵R̵ ̶P̸R̴I̷S̸O̴N̸ ̶A̸S̷ ̷I̸ ̸Y̵O̷U̴R̶S̵E̸L̷F̸ ̶A̷N̶D̵ ̸Y̷O̴U̸ ̵J̷A̶I̸L̸E̶R̴ ̶B̴A̷N̷I̸S̷H̷ ̷T̵H̷E̴E̵ ̸T̴O̴ ̴E̴T̶E̴R̴N̵A̴L̸ ̸N̷O̷T̴H̶I̵N̷G̸N̴E̶S̸S̵." A horrific, soul-piercing screech of despair left my wide-open maw of fangs as the words left me.

I cried blood as part of my being was taken out from the whole that I once was through my sisters' efforts. I wailed. There was no greater pain and relief; I felt incomplete, wrong, missing an integral part of my soul… yet I felt free of the toxic smog that had been clouding my mind and had vanished.

The pain felt good but for an entirely different reason than moments ago. I didn't hear the tantalizing whisper in my mind anymore. I did not wish endlessly for more. I was myself once more.

Still, my hazy gaze was on the part of my soul and the tether between us. It looked like me but off… too slender… too feminine… too masculine… too curvaceous… and more and less to appear as some twisted idealization that could never be. It was not me, and yet it was.

I hated it. I hated what it represented.

My final words echoed with a vengeance and vitriol, "I̷ ̴C̷U̴R̶S̶E̷ ̴T̷H̴E̴E̸!̵ ̶B̶E̷G̶O̶N̶E̷!̴"

The Flask of Sealing was uncorked, and it vanished, turning to smoke and absorbed within. The bottle closed itself the next instant, and the six rings on it were taken and thrown into preemptively placed seals.

Slaanesh was gone. But we were still one; what was done didn't separate me. It sealed part of my soul, and it was painful… oh so excruciating. It was as if my guts were twisted and ripped out, held by an invisible force into a different place, and the point of connection compressed.

The power keeping my body afloat failed, and I fell to my knees. Dark blood intermixed with saliva, sweat, and tears trickled down my wheezing from into the afterglow of the ritual formation. A hole in the middle of my abdomen showing no internals remained unclosed.

"It's a success…" I whispered with difficulty; my throat was raw, my head was pounding, and my vision was blurry. My wide smile remained unchanging, however.

It went perfectly. The hole will close as adequate worship fills. What was taken for what wasn't damaged couldn't be healed. Slaanesh was put elsewhere to never be important beyond an item in my collection. The largest threat to my life was taken care of.

Happiness would do little to describe the extent of my state of mind.

Still, I had more cleaning to do.

•••••

Slaanesh was no more.

Yet war was spoken.

One against the Primordial Enemies, the force of Chaos, the three Chaos Gods. Creatures of the Warp formed upon the congregation of every emotion, idea, and experience. Little terminology existed that would even begin to describe their power, the dread, and the futility that it was to fight then.

It was madness to do so.

But the rigged game was flipped, and the Ark of Life under the Aeldari Pantheon led by the Dark King did not abide by any convoluted rules. It was no fair battle.

To even call it a battle would be erroneous. The barrier of the ancient king Asuryan had been shattered, and the Labyrinthine Dimension damaged, but the Aeldari Empire echo of destruction remained.

There were no civilizations traveling the stars alive that weren't part of the Ark. Any that would cohort with Chaos would see an Aeldari God or Goddess descend from the heavens from a golden portal and be cleansed in divine might. Treachery was answered swiftly and efficiently by the destruction of the soul.

There were no battles, no grand fights, merely protection of mortals, of worshippers. Safety and prosperity were given, and the five pillars of Hoopa were respected. Conflict existed, but the Pantheon controlled their destiny under Morai-Heg's guiding hand.

It was a shell without cracks, an aegis. An unbreakable shield wielded to protect the lower life forms. Order against Chaos

A battle across numberless worlds that couldn't be one, for it wasn't one. The fissures within the Well of Eternity proved insufficient. Omnipotence within one's own personal realm was no omnipotence at all. Gods unable to alter the world alone were no Gods; they were parasites—weaklings under a veneer of incomprehensible powers.

It wasn't a war. It was pest control and the Pantheon, the eradicator.

The Great Game was broken, the pieces lost or broken, and the players in disarray.

The far future of grim and darkness was never to come to pass.

The power of technology and science was never to be forgotten and cease growth. The promise of progress and understanding was never to be forgotten under peace, for any other path was to meet annihilation. There was no war amongst the stars, no eternity of carnage and slaughter, only the laughter and tyrannical rules of primeval gods.