The Multiverse Project: Warhammer 40,000

When the Chaos warbands, so numerous that they blotted out the stars, entered the Vhilytra system, Isha had believed that they could prevail. She should have known better. After millions of years of existence, ten thousand of those spent in unspeakable torment, how could she remain so optimistically naïve? It was in her nature, and she could be remised by how events had unfolded at first. It didn't take long for the Chaos Gods to learn of her escape from Nurgle's Garden, and Isha had anticipated swift retaliation from the Pestilence God. Instead, unholy clarion calls had resounded across the Sea of Souls, and came forth were the armies of Nurgle, Khorne, Tzeentch and Slaanesh, the ultimate enemy of the Aeldari people, her children. But the Order of the Solace Sun, the brave and stalwart faithful who had kept her memory alive after these many aeon and achieved the impossible triumph of liberating her, were ready. There were six planets in the Vhilytra systems, Ruhaki, Thima-Chantra, Anatkin, Velpharon, Syveon and Takee, and these celestial bodies had provided the bulwark that brought the invasion to a stalemate. Many had lost their lives in her defense, sacrifices Isha held heavy and close to her heart, but the Chaos gods were not the only one who had sounded the trumpets of war. The Aeldari, reduced to a scant billions drifting upon Craftworld refugee vessels, had swiftly learned of her emergence and answered her call for aide, bolstering the defenders of the Vhilytra system. They inflicted heavy casualties upon the various warbands, a loose alliance corroding from within by constant in fighting, and were in the process of encircling the invasion force.

But then they showed up.

At the twilight hour when the Solace Sun was poised to strike a killing blow, Chaos reinforcements poured from the Warp, forcing the Aeldari to reassess their plan. It was a mistake to withdraw, one that had cost them dearly in lives and might have doomed them in totality, for the commanders of this new group outranked all the leaders of the warbands.

She was familiar with one of them, Luscinia, a prodigy of genetic engineering that had readily embraced Nurgle when her homeworld succumbed to the Pestilence God's corruption. Despite being only ten years of age, young even by human's standard, the girl had possessed a cold singlemindedness and a pathological need to strive for perfection, unhindered by compassion, empathy and morality. Isha remembered watching the girl grew into a woman of sharp beauty, but that quality paled before the deadly ethereality of her mind and intellect. Where Nurgle focused on the entropic death of life, Luscinia seek absolute mastery over existence. She frightened Isha greatly.

"Your eminence?" The soft, but stern words pulled Isha from her dark memory. Blinking, Isha gazed at the Aeldari war council gathered around her, all of them bleak in disposition.

"Forgive me, lord Tanrion," Isha inclined her head and stared at the map projection hovering above the round table they occupied. The runes and markings further solidifying their dire situation. "Was the evacuation successful? How many did we manage to save?"

"All of them, your eminence," lord Tanrion nodded, but despite the agreeable murmurs rippling across the command tent the captain general of the Solace Sun was not mollified. "But lord Amonbas and many of his Iyanden pilots were lost in the ensuing battle."

Isha closed her eyes and voiced silent prayers to those lost souls, too far away for her to guide to a peaceful rest, now consumed by Slaanesh ravenous hunger. If she listened hard enough, she could hear their last ephemeral cries echoing on the purgatorial breeze between life and death. She wouldn't weep, no, she did too much of that already.

"And the Chaos forces? What of their casualty?" Lady Farseer Celalira of the Alaitoc Craftworld now asked, hard and stern in beauty, a veteran of many millennia.

"Amonbas and his pilots were successful in inflicting substantial damage on the armada," lord Tanrion grunted with clear satisfaction. "They were able to take down four battlecruisers along with a score of supporting vessels before being overwhelm. Their action blooded the Chaos forces and gave us a much needed time to recuperate from the constant orbital bombardments and consolidate our resources and manpower."

"Not that it matters," lord Ysuhith, a Dark Reaper exarch of the Ulthwe Craftworld spoke up, and Isha was forced to agree. Although her divinity stems from the preservation and protection of life, the imprisonment she'd suffered under Nurgle had unwittingly taught her the horror that was war. Like a sickness that crept through a healthy body, Isha was not able to escape Nurgle's many war councils, something he took great pleasure in forcing her to attend, knowing how it distressed her to see him waged war on the humans and the Aeldari. But Isha, despite her apparent revulsion, learned from Nurgle's pestilential campaign. Slowly, but surely, she had come to grasp the tenet of warfare, the strategy, the tactic and the logistic. Over the course of ten thousand years Isha now understand the working of command and conquer. Yet compared to those who had spent a lifetime perfecting the path of war, Isha was nothing but a neophyte, her academic, second handed knowledge more of a hindrance than a contribution.

Why they had made her the supreme commander, she would never know.

"Lord Ysuhith is correct, for the Chaos armada dominance of the sky holds no bearing over the war being wage here on Thima-Chantra," they nodded at her words and Isha cringed inwardly, knowing that all she did was made a simple summation of the current event, something a child could have done. Diminished though the Chaos fleet may be, they were too numerous for the Aeldari navy, commanded by the formidable lady admiral Elakeza, to overcome in their battered state. And now that Thima-Chantra alone remained as the last planet standing in the Vhilytra system, the Chaos army has besieged it in totality. With every passing hours the blighted servants of the Dark Gods continues to funnel tens of thousands of troop planetside unopposed, reinforcing the millions already engaging the Aeldari defenders. Her children fought bravery, their willingness to die for her was heroic and heartbreaking to behold, but the enemy's numerical superiority had nullified all advantages that can be brought to bear.

Mathematic law dictated that their defeat was guaranteed.

"Your eminence," lady Farseer Celalira began heavily, drawing solemn looks from the others around the table. "There are other tidings that you must be made aware of."

"Go ahead lady Farseer," Isha nodded and braced for the bad news.

"Our emissaries sent to parley with the Ynnari have return," Celalira continued. "Our request for an alliance has been met with failure."

Isha was stoic as she sighed, but the Aeldari around the table, to her surprise, were faltering in their composures. Lord Tanrion was especially afflicted, his unyielding façade that Isha had come to rely upon in these trying times was cracking, blistered by unfetter anger.

"Bastards, the lots of them!" Lord Tanrion growled, his silver white gauntlets shaking dangerously. "Now more than ever the Aeldari people must stand united against the Great Enemies. Never since the Fall had we been given such hope for the future and survival of our species, yet those Ynnari scums spur us, treat us as nothing but rival to their ascendant when we wish nothing but unity. They deserve nothing but damnation!"

"Please lord Tanrion, I implore you not to speak so ill of our brothers and sisters," Isha interceded, saddened by the captain general's fiery vitriolic. "They have made their decision, and I respect it. I ask that you respect it too."

"My apology your eminence, that was disgraceful of me," Tanrion bowed lowly, swiftly mending his decorum. "But you must know that without reinforcement from the Ynnari, we might not be able to survive this war. Furthermore, I believe that Yvraine, the leader of the Ynnari, is deliberately sabotaging us, for they do not want rival that could impede on their domination of the Aeldari race. This decision stems from nothing but the desire to see a rival fall."

"They are simply scare lord Tanrion, none of us, even myself, are immune to the fear of the future to come," Isha went on placatingly. "I have tried to converse with Ynnead, and like me he is weak, so much weaker. His thoughts are fragmented, frightened and fragile, while his body can only be described as embryotic, with his only sustenance being the souls of his dead followers. And he is hungry, starving, but the nourishment he receive hurts him too, for he knows that for him to ascend so many lives must be lost." Isha offered the gathered council, their heads held low in shame, a soothing smile. "I cannot blame you for feeling aggrieved, but I ask you to show compassion. Remember, we are not the only one besieged."

Tanrion was barely placated but nevertheless bowed to her words, dropping the subject. Isha nodded her thanks.

"What of the Immortal Spirit battlegroup?" Exarch Ysuhith's question was met with silence, even a few consternating looks, but the Dark Reaper paid it no mind as he pressed on. "Have any of our search parties return with news? What of Fanduin? Was he and a small taskforce not sent to retrieve her eminence's relics from a planet inhabited by humans? Do we not have words on this at all?"

"None of the search parties returned," Farseer Celalira said grimly. "As for Fanduin, we can safely assume that he had failed in his mission and perished in the process. It is because of the desecration brought upon her eminence's holy relics that this Syrathel and her Chaos army were able to find the Vhilytra system."

"I was under the impression that Fanduin was able to make contact with the Immortal Spirit battlegroup, if his last few transmissions were to be believed," Ysuhith continued.

"And given how numerous and well trained Syrathel's forces appear to be, the only conclusion we can draw is that this fabled battlegroup has met its demise along with our kin," Celalira snorted derisively. "I knew those stories cannot be trusted."

"How can we even begin to contemplate asking the mon-keigh for help when those of our own species abandoned us?" Tanrion said bitterly and Isha shot him a stern warning look, for she abhorred the derogatory term placed upon the human race. Blind prejudice and unhampered arrogance had charted them all toward annihilation, a vice that doomed Aeldari and mankind alike, and Isha had warned her people gravely not to repeat this mistake again. For all their countless faults Isha saw the potential for good in mankind, for she had known them before the decaying edifice that was the Imperium came into existence. By the stars, she even knew their Emperor before his ascension to godhood.

"Grim times are ahead of us," Isha leaned heavily on the table, shifting her gaze away from the ominous blinking runes and toward the war council. "We will fight, that is the only option left to us now, to preserve and protect our people. That is now our only goal, making sure that our people survive." She locked eyes with Tanrion. "Can we break through the blockades? How many ships can we muster to evacuate the noncombatants off the planet and into the Webway?"

"The ships in our possession are of the military nature, all of them currently engage with the Chaos armada," Tanrion said. "I'm afraid none can be spare for evacuation details, and even if some can be pulled away from the formation, they are not equipped for long space voyage or are able to sustain large number of civilians."

"I see, thank you lord Tanrion," Isha sighed softly, but her disappointment must have been stark because the war council became more visibly downtrodden.

"I'll do what I can, your eminence," Tanrion said quickly before Isha can say anything more, bowing lowly, absolute in his willingness to see her wishes made tangible, no matter how staggering the odds. It was an endearing gesture, and Isha can only smile. For all their aeon, the Aeldari can still be so young sometime.

"Thank you," Isha stood up a little straighter and swept her gaze over the council. "Was there anything else?"

"Not currently your eminence," Tanrion went on.

"Very well then, I believe it is time we return to our duties," Isha said and the council stood at attention, their bearing crisp and powerful. "My blessing goes with you, and may we be victorious against our adversary."

"For life and for light, your eminence," they intoned as one, bowed, and filed out of the tent with quickened, purposeful steps, ready to face whatever comes, to die in her name.

"Farseer Celalira, may I trouble you with your company?" Isha called after the dark haired Farseer, the last person to remain within the tent.

"Of course your eminence," Celalira bowed and waited for Isha to join her, her steps light and would've been soundless if it wasn't for the silver bone armors she wore over her white embroidered dress.

"I so despise these things," Isha groaned as she and Celalira stepped outside, their paces unhurried as they walked down the beaten flagstone road leading to the vehicle pool. Tsking, Isha started fumbling with the big plate strapped across her chest. "Do I truly need to wear this infernal thing?"

"No one is safe, not even under the shadow of your citadel," they both glanced back at the gleaming white spires grazing the cloudless sky, deceptive in its serenity. The cluster of towers, carved of silver veined marbles, clung to a vertical cliff face that caught the golden radiance of the rising sun, below the skyscrapers was a semi-circle, tiered city complex that radiated toward the open flat field beyond. The structure built in her honor would have been beautiful, albeit a little ostentatious, if it wasn't studded with battlements, every inch brimming with weaponries. "The Great Enemies lurks in all places where the light fails, and they are audacious enough to strike at you in the open." Celalira flashed a grin. "Beside your eminence, you look positively dashing in that ensemble."

"I feel like a fraud," Isha moped. "I am not worthy to wear such raiment, parading myself as a warrior when I can't even fight. And now they want me to be a leader of war…sometime I wish it was me who'd perished when Slaanesh was born, Khaine would have been a better patron for the Aeldari people than I could ever be, especially in this epoch of endless war."

"Do not say that," Celalira hissed as they came to a stop before a Vyper hitched to an open carriage compartment, the drivers and staffs mingling around the carpool turned to look at them in shock, unbelieving of the Farseer's impudence. Personally, Isha was glad that someone had the courage to speak to her with honesty, absent restrain. "If the Bloodied Hand God was to lead our people, then we would have since lost everything to mindless bloodletting. No, Khaine is the master of war, but you are the mistress of life. And for our people to survive, we must learn to live once more."

"Thank you Celalira," Isha nodded as the Farseer helped her into the padded seat.

"Where to your most holy eminence?" Celalira asked as she sat down opposite Isha.

"To Eyvtalien please," Isha said and the vehicle lifted softly off the ground, gliding soundlessly down the south westerly direction. Eyvtalien used to be a prosperous pilgrimage city, where the weary faithful stayed before making the final trek to the citadel itself. Since the start of the war, and the subsequence campaign, the city was now filled with refugees, civilians and wounded warriors from the other fallen planets. Isha had made it her mission to visit the city every day, to do what she can to ease the suffering of those afflicted by the scourge of war.

"A dangerous choice," Celalira said easily, knowing full well that Isha was immovable on this subject. "The frontline crept ever close. My latest report indicates that the rearmost trenches and fortifications have been driven back to only two kilometers from Eyvtalien's eastern outskirt. It is currently the most dangerous place on the planet."

"There are no more safe places on Thima-Chantra Celalira, you and I both know that," Isha snorted mirthlessly, a puerile gesture most unbefitting of a goddess but she was beyond caring at this point. "I will not sequester myself inside the safety of the citadel while the Aeldari suffer on my behalf. No, I'm done with being passive and inactive."

"Your character speaks volume, your eminence," Celalira smirked lightly, teetering between sincerity and amusement, Isha very much liked that. "And I shall be there to make sure no harm comes your way, I am ready to lay down my life for your safety."

"Please don't say that Celalira," Isha said, the fatalism of the Aeldari people was heart wrenching to behold.

"Forgive me your eminence…"

"Isha," she looked the Farseer in the eyes beseechingly. "Please call me Isha…just for a while."

"…As you wish, Isha," Celalira nodded with clear awkwardness. "As I was saying, the frontline is very volatile right now, and if the Chaos forces are aware of your frequent visit to Eyvtalien, then it is possible that an assassin, or several in fact, could be waiting."

"Things have been fine on my previous visits," Isha huffed petulantly and Celalira chuckled quietly. "I am sure our warriors will keep the Ruinous Power at bay."

"The thing is, they haven't," Celalira's tone hardened. "The Chaos army have been steadily pushing us back these past few months with embarrassing ease, every defensive line we've erected was swiftly swept away by Syrathel and her cohorts."

"Luscinia knows how to pick her allies," Isha said. "Forgive me for asking, but why have our warriors not been successful in stopping the Chaos army? I've been meaning to ask Tanrion, but I do not wish to offend him."

"He wouldn't be, the man will do anything for you, he's smitten," Celalira very much enjoyed the pink blush on Isha's cheeks. "But to answer your question, our current predicament stems from the fact that the Chaos army, which comprised of humans and our traitor kin, have force us to fight them on their term."

"What do you mean?" Isha asked, out of everyone amongst the high council, she felt she could speak most freely with Celalira, and the Farseer was more than happy to be her confidant.

"The Aeldari method of warfare had always veered toward surgical strikes and swift skirmishes, done with the power and speed of a lightning bolt. We hit fast and hard before the enemy can put up a fight," Celalira explained, continuing when Isha nodded her understanding. "This is in complete contrast to how mankind wages war. They prefer long campaign on a massive scale which pitted tens of millions of soldiers in a slow grinding battle, until total destruction or capitulation through attrition is achieve. This Chaos army greatly outnumbered our forces, and through this factor had nullified our combat doctrine, eliminating our ability to strike at their high command, effectively putting us on the defensive. Great warriors we may be, the Aeldari are not made to fight in bunkers and trenches."

"I see," Isha didn't speak for the minute that followed, only broaching the silence with a heavy sigh. "Celalira…I'm sorry about Fanduin. I knew you two were close. I'm sorry."

"…Thank you your – Isha. I only hope that his Soul Stone survive, so that I may find it and bring him to your loving embrace," Celalira smiled softly, the momentary faltering of her stoic mask quickly mended, sadness giving way to anger. "But to think…dying at the hand of those…those traitors who willingly sided with She Who Thirst."

"It is a sad fact that I have known since the birth of Slaanesh," Isha narrowed her eyes on the suddenly sheepish Celalira. The look she gave the Farseer was a little bit crossed. "I distinctly remembered how the council had disregarded my warning on this matter, with you being the most vocal in voicing the impossibility of the notion."

"A mistake that you will never allow me to forget," Celalira snorted and Isha found herself grinning. "The folly was mine, I humbly admit. It's just…I can't believe we can be corrupted like the humans."

"No one is incorruptible," Isha said sadly as the Vyper made a sharp banking turn around a steep hill, bringing them in sight of the refugee camp beyond, the glittering light of lamps and lanterns shone in great multitude like earthbound stars. "What have the skein of fate revealed to you in recent days?"

"Nothing but turmoil," Celalira frowned. "The future had blurred into an amorphous mass that churned like a thunderstorm, every vision coming in broken bits, then shattered into ten more fragments, each as chaotic as the last. But from the little we can decipher, all is war, and blood, and death…so much death that even I blanched."

"Is there no way out?" Isha hated herself for sounding so desperate, but she failed to keep the quivers from her voice. "Can you not see any paths that will lead us to victory, or at the very least for us to flee?"

"I will make more divination soon, I promise you that I will find something," Celalira reached out and took Isha's hand into her own, holding it firmly as the Vyper glided gently to a stop. The cool ambience of rushing breeze faded and was replaced by the deafening cadence of a thousand voices rising in despair, anguish and hope. Hands still clasped together, Celalira led Isha down the Vyper where a squad of Guardian…or was it a platoon? Or a company? Regardless, an armed escort drawn from the Craftworlds and the Solace Sun was waiting as she stepped off the carriage with Celalira, forming a wall between Isha and the downtrodden masses that were converging around the Vyper from all sides.

"Are you sure you want to do this again?" Celalira asked, her question barely audible above the rising din of begging supplication.

"I will not abandon them," Isha said sternly. "I am a goddess of life and healing, and I will do all I can to soothe them in both spirit and body."

"As you wish, your eminence," Celalira addressed her formally now that they were not holding private counsel and were amongst many a great people. With a flick of her hand she summoned a Singing Spear, the Farseer holding the polearm upright like a banner. "Stay behind me, I shall keep you safe."

"That will not be necessary lady Farseer," Isha took the lead, catching a ghost of a grin from Celalira as she laid a gentle hand on a Biel-Tan Guardian at the front. "Follow me and Farseer Celalira, and please be gentle with the people."

"As you command, your eminence," the Guardian bowed in reverence, he and his cohort falling in behind Isha and Celalira as they stepped into the waiting crowd. Desperate, frightened and hungry they may be her children still possessed the discipline their species were famous for. They did not rush her in a mad stampede, but parted an avenue for her in silent veneration, the somber ambience from before lessened to nothing as men, women and child reached their hands to her, skeletal and fragile, barren trees reaching for the sun in the coldest depth of winter. Isha offered them her smile then unfurled her arms wide, palms and fingers grazing the reaching hands, the touches feather light as she strode slowly, purposefully, through the avenue of congregating Aeldari. She would be the first to admit that, at first glance, the gesture appeared trite, insulting even, like the queens and empresses of old flaunting false concern for her subjects. But those minuscule touches held greater weight beyond mortal comprehension. Tapping into the serene well of power deep inside her, a mere puddle now compared to the vast ocean that it was before the Fall, Isha gathered her energy, drawn from the prayers of all who invoked her name, and cast it back into the material world. The air around Isha rippled as a gentle rolling wave washed over the crowd, the hue a radiant translucent silver. Within moments the thousands of faces, so taut and forlorn before, relaxed into one of empty equanimity, wounds and sicknesses placated then healed, the hunched and bent now standing straight, tears pouring down sobbing faces. And like the days before, Isha made her way through the refugee camp, giving the Aeldari the blessing of life, restoring them to vitality even when her own spirit and flesh diminished. This used to be so easy, a thing so natural that Isha barely spared it a thought, but now with her worshippers reduced to near extinction such exertion of power was proving extremely taxing. By the time her entourage reached a field hospital, the wounded spilling outside, Isha could barely take another step. Black exhaustion was creeping into her vision, banished only when Celalira took a firm hold of her shoulder.

"Isha, you don't need to continue, you've done more than enough," Celalira glanced back at the Guardians, many of them hovering close, ready to assist. Did she really look that tired? "Take her eminence back to the Vyper."

"No," Isha shook Celalira off gently, staggering a few steps before taking a deep breath, steadying herself with great effort. Once she was adequately presentable, Isha turned to Celalira and took hold of her hand. "I have done this much already, it wouldn't be proper for me to retire now. But I will be glad to have someone help me along. Will you walk with me, Celalira?"

"It will be my greatest honor," Celalira nodded firmly and waved the Guardians back. "Maintain position outside the tent while me and her eminence make our rounds, do not falter in your vigilance."

"Yes, lady Farseer," the Guardian nodded.

"Shall we?" Celalira squeezed her hand, firm and friendly.

"Of course, lady Farseer…"

The air shook, starting off as a low reverberation before rising to a terrible cacophony, shattering the calm silence that pervaded the refugee camp, the wailing cry of Aeldari civilians joining a darker noise that now encompassed the world. Blaring sirens, the tune pitched unnaturally high as to be physically abrasive, rolled through the tents like a stormy gale. The sky, cerulean and clear just moments before, now twisted and churned, bleeding red and purple, the foul spectrum wreathed in lightning as reality sundered. On the horizon, Isha saw pillars of iridescent eldritch light piercing the sky, the illumination sickly to behold. And at last, like the many days before, the symphony reached its crescendo with a thunderous blast of war horns, blaring from every hellish machine within the Archenemy's army. The acoustic assault forced Isha and Celalira to their knees, visages twisted in rictus pain.

"Get the Vyper here! Now!" Isha couldn't hear Celalira but she was able to read her lips, the Farseer bellowing at the Guardians, sending a pair away while the rest formed a protective cordon around her. Rising to her feet, the noises subsiding somewhat, Isha glanced at the pandemonium beyond her protectors and saw many of the injured warriors convulsing violently, their last breath coming in bloody foaming spittle before she can reached out with her power.

"Isha!" Celalira took her arm harshly, wrenching her away from the field hospital and toward the Vyper, the vehicle gliding smoothly into the corridor formed by the Guardians. "You have to return to the citadel, now!"

Isha was about to protest but clamped her mouth shut, knowing that Celalira was right. Although the gesture would be noble, but if Isha was to remain in the refugee camp the Chaos army will throw everything they have at her location, effectively putting the noncombatants in jeopardy. She cannot endanger them.

"You are right," Isha nodded and climbed aboard the carriage. But Celalira didn't join Isha, instead she closed the door and rallied the Guardians to her, Singing Spear held high in the air. "Celalira? What are you doing?!"

"This is where I must be," Celalira stated firmly, unmoved by Isha's pleading eyes. "I will lead the defenses here. On my life, I shall never allow Eyvtalien to fall."

"But…" you will die. That was what Isha wanted to say, but her desperate look more than adequately conveyed the message to Celalira, who offered her a thin smile. Steeling her visage, Isha reached out and took Celalira hand into her own, squeezing hard. "May you be victorious, Farseer Celalira, we shall toast your triumph later tonight."

"I look forward to it, your eminence," the muted thunder of discharging artilleries broke through the prevailing din, and with the wailing sirens receding Isha can almost hear the ordnance careening through the sky. Letting go of her hand, Celalira swung her Singing Spear back at the citadel. "Get her out of here! Go!"

Isha almost fell off her seat when the Vyper shot northward like an arrow let loose, the speed no longer gentle but reckless in haste. Strapping the seatbelt around her slim waist, Isha stared at the refugee camp until the detail became indiscernible, sadness and anxiety churned in the pit of her gut. Isha was taking a deep breath when she started coughing, softly at first before rising in octave. The hacking grew so bad that her chest, already compressed by the armor, felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside out. When she reached the citadel gate, Isha realized it was not stopping as specks of red spilled over her dress and armor.

"Is everything in place?"

"They are, awaiting your command."

Syrathel traded nod with Azarvhin as she watched the army marched into position, some with finesse and precision like Janet's Antebellan, the Dubh Casur Tormentors, the Saigner Aube Line Guards and the Chaos Aeldari, while the turncoat militias, cultists, PDFs and daemons drawn from the depth of the Warp jittered and shambled into a passable semblance of a military formation. Standing atop her personal Exorcist with her cohort, Syrathel gave the battlefield one last sweeping look, put away her binocular and waved over a Servitor baring a crystal clear and extremely detailed holographic map of the Aeldari's position.

"The Aeldari seems incapable of grasping the nuance of siege warfare and prolong engagement," Azarvhin sneered as she enlarged a section of the thirty miles long, painfully simple trench network that formed the foremost defense of Eyvtalien, once a metropolis of several million souls, built upon two river tributaries, now pounded to ruin by continuous bombardment. Yet the eldars were stubbornly holding the city despite the inevitable. "We should be able to take the city in approximately thirty six hours."

"An eagle without wings is as harmless as a field mouse," Luscinia made her comment, delicate fingers dancing quickly over her data-slate. "The Aeldari had always fancied themselves raptors, proud, precise and swift. Once that advantage has been taken away, they are nothing but prey."

"Don't be mean Luscinia, they gave it their best," Miriael giggled as she leaned companionably against a very agitated Azarvhin, the physical contact offending the Khornate Champion greatly. "Alas, their best was not enough."

"I want Eyvtalien taken before nightfall," Syrathel tapped several spots along the trenches then drew a circle around the refugee camp behind the city. "I want the armor columns to punch a hole through here, here, and here. Have them set up a beachhead for the infantries to storm the city. Meanwhile, concentrate our bombardment on the civilians. That should divert the witches' shields away from the frontline." Nods answered her as she turned to Azarvhin. "Are the Titans ready?"

"The damn cogs are still pacifying the Machine Spirit," Azarvhin shook her head. "It will be a while."

"No matter," Syrathel grunted. The Dark Mechanicus had never been dependable. "When the Titans are ready, have them arrayed to the north, toward the citadel."

"What's the hurry?" Miriael asked, pouting a little. "It's not like they have any more planets to flee to."

"The whispers in the Warp have been more than clear," Syrathel looked up from the holographic display. "The Immortal Spirit battlegroup is nearing the Vhilytra system as we speak, they will be upon us soon, and I rather we capture Isha before they arrive."

"You fear they will be victorious?" Luscinia's sneer was rewarded with a combined glare from Syrathel, Azarvhin and Miriael.

"Perhaps they will win, perhaps we will," Azarvhin said slowly, eyes narrowed on the Nurgle Champion. "We have fought the battlegroup enough time to know that an engagement with them, regardless of the outcome, will have a heavy toll on our army. We have long passed the need to try our luck, so unless the situation truly demands it, a full on engagement with the Immortal Spirit battlegroup is not advisable."

"They will not make it in time," Syrathel spoke over Luscinia. She had some idea of what the Nurgle Champion was about to say to her Khornate counterpart, the resulting blood bath would not benefit anyone. "The Aeldari defenses are pitiful, we can send in cultists, turncoats and lower daemons and they'll probably overrun Eyvtalien."

"Then why don't you?" Luscinia asked.

"I'm not a wasteful person," Syrathel made one last inspection of the map. "Besides, I don't believe you would want expendable grunts to be the ones to seize glory for the Dark Gods, do you?"

"I suppose not," Luscinia grinned sardonically then swept her gaze over the army arrayed around them, fifteen million warriors of Chaos Undivided, many heaving and shaking with barely restrained need to maim, kill and burn. "So when are we attacking?"

"Now," Azarvhin looked to Syrathel, who nodded. "Concentrate artillery fire on the refugee camp behind the city, ten minute salvo. Janet, have the tanks form a firing line and bombard the trenches, maintain barrage for twenty minutes before sending in the infantries."

"As you command, my lady," Janet acknowledged Azarvhin the same moment their batteries opened fire, the ground shook violently, pounding shells and arching rockets torn across the sky, filling the air with horrid shrieking. Beyond Eyvtalien, pillars of black smog and writhing flame bleed across the blue horizon.

"Oh Janet, do be careful," Miriael put in sweetly, the honey dripping from her grin sizzled with venom. "I had so much fun with you and I don't want you perishing needlessly. You were such a joy to play with!"

"It is not something I will likely forget," Janet snapped, the threat clear in her timbre, before terminating the transmission. Miriael giggled then shrugged when the other turned to glare at her, Azarvhin was especially aggrieved by the Slaanesh Champion's nonchalance. Syrathel couldn't blame her. None of them can intervene when Miriael took custody of Janet for a month long punishment session after the Antebellan general had disrespected her on Yomi, an altercation they all saw. When Syrathel had checked on the general in the infirmary after Miriael applied her hallowed art of torment…well, the only reason Janet was still alive was because of her Khornate blessing.

"Their lines are already crumbling," Azarvhin swept the landscape with a binocular and Syrathel gave her staff a tap, enhancing her eyesight so that she was able to see beyond the row of tanks now unleashing a brutal barrage on the Aeldari's trenches. Falcons and Fire Prims quickly flew in to support the beleaguered infantries, but before they could counter the Leman Russes the Chaos Aeldari's vehicles moved to intercept. Although similar in composition at first glance, the Chaos eldar's hover tanks lacked the intricate perfection commonly found amongst Aeldari vehicles, the appearance more spartan and performance minded, massed produce to be a weapon of war, cheap in creation and easily expendable. That doesn't make them any less dangerous, if anything the destruction they wrought upon Isha's pathetic army was nothing short of breathtaking. Swooping in packs over the trenches, unbothered by shuriken fire and too fast for the Falcons and Fire Prisms to counter, the pentagram shaped Myotis unleashed a strafing burst on the hover tanks, killing them in a splendid explosion of sparkling flames. While the Chordata, slower disc shaped heavy tanks with a spinning sphere of black violet situated at the forward most stern, unleashed explosive beams of plasma from the gun ports atop and under their hulls on the Aeldari. Within twenty minutes the xenos were abandoning the trenches and fleeing into Eyvtalien.

"A correct decision," Azarvhin observed with a very clear hint of scorn. "But futile in the end. Shall I order the artilleries to concentrate fire on Eyvtalien instead?"

"No, keep the barrage on the refugee camp, twenty more minutes," Syrathel braced her staff on her shoulder and strode toward the brass stairs, made from captured eldars by fusing alloy into their flesh and bolting them to the side of the Exorcist, gliding down quickly with her cohort close behind. "Send the cultists and lesser daemons after the retreating Aeldari, we need to gouge the city defenses. Put the regiments, our sisters and the Chaos eldar on highest alert, we'll be marching in after the fodders."

"Is it me, or are the Aeldari looking a bit…out of sorts?" Miriael was watching the frontline with her binocular, her steps carefree and bouncy. "They don't usually break this fast. By Slaanesh, even their tanks are behaving oddly, as if they can't concentrate on the fight."

"Not at all surprising, what ails Isha affect them all," the grin creeping up Luscinia's lip was cold with satisfaction. "I do apologize if the effect took a bit longer to manifest, that was an unfortunate setback."

"No worries Luscinia, it appears to be working according to your specification," Syrathel was smiling as they walked down the column of turncoat guardsmen and their sisters. The soldiers saluted crisply, the Slaaneshi sisters bowed elegantly, the Khornate sisters raised their weapons high in raucous salutations, the Tzeentchtian sorceresses inclined their heads respectfully, and the Nurglite surgeons just stared at them. "It goes to show how truly weak Isha is."

"What did you do?" Azarvhin demanded when they were at the head of the army, joining the companies commanded by Kayaamat, Kayako, Talova and Dalilah. To the left and right, the Chaos eldar held their line firmly with iron discipline. They didn't like being sidelined, but followed the given order promptly.

"Of course you will be displeased," Luscinia scoffed, "you Khornate and your martial honor, how uncouth and unintelligent."

"Isha was poisoned," Syrathel cut in before Azarvhin can snap at Luscinia. "Most of the refugees that fled our army had been infected with a viral pathogen specifically design to attack the eldar goddess. The stupid bitch has been visiting the refugee camp every day, to heal them, and had unwittingly poisoned herself with the sickness."

"Will it kill her?" Miriael asked sharply.

"I honestly don't know," Luscinia shrugged. "If the Fall taught us anything, is that gods can die. Isha's divinity and power had been significantly diminished during her time under Father Nurgle's hospitality, but she has always been a tenacious creature. Perhaps she will die, perhaps she won't, only time will tell."

"I rather she doesn't expire at all," Miriael huffed snappishly, looking genuinely upset. "Slaanesh will have her prize so long denied, and she can only indulge if Isha comes to her whole. And despite what all of you have heard, no, we do not take pleasure from corpses."

"Are you still fixated on that nonsense?" Luscinia asked. "Isha belong to Nurgle alone, and none will stop me from dragging that whore back to the Great Father's Garden."

"Enough, both of you," Syrathel silenced the banter. "We have a damn war to win, let's us crush the Aeldari first before discussing the spoils."

"Fine."

"As you wish."

"Azarvhin," Syrathel glanced at the Khornate Champion, thanking the Dark Gods that she at least have someone dependable standing at her side. "Send the Death Guards, Black Legion, World Eaters, Word Bearers and Night Lords to the flanks. We shall be the one to take glory from this battle."

"That won't make them happy," Azarvhin nodded at a communication Servitors manned by a squad of Antebellan. They relayed the missive quickly, received a less than pleased response, and out of the corner of her eyes Syrathel saw the Fallen Astartes stomping away to their designated position.

"No they won't, but I hardly care about the mutants' feeling," Syrathel traded grin with Azarvhin then tapped the vox bud in her ears. "Send in the first waves."

Low rumbling horns resounded across the ranks, the harrowing cadence punctured by the rapid tempo of cracking whips, the symphony of war reaching its fiery zenith when a million voices, humans, beasts and daemons, joined in exaltation. The ground shuddered violently as the fodders charged Eyvtalien, countless in number, a black tide of guns, swords, talons and fangs, roiling with malignant animation, crushing all in its path. With the trenches abandoned, the fodders cheered raucously as they surged toward the city, so great were the masses that many were lost in the ensuing stampede.

"Forward! Slow pace and keep in formation! Follow me!" Azarvhin drew Redwind and held the daemonic sword high in the air, the Battle Sisters roared heartily in answer as they followed the heretics and daemons at an easy march. Another rapturous cry followed the first one, the Slaaneshi sisters shrieking with unhidden delight as Miriael, not to be outdone by the Khornate Champion, stabbed the hellish sword Agonizer skyward, the unholy steel shimmering and distorting the air around it. Azarvhin flashed her canines in a smirk. "Not bad."

"Oh, thank you!" Miriael crooned when thunderous explosions rolled across Eyvtalien, radiant red and white flames consuming the forward most element of the heretic's vanguard. It didn't take long for the fodders to start screaming. "Would you look at that, the Aeldari are still fighting, and here I thought things were gonna be boring."

"For the first time, I actually agree with you," Syrathel rolled her shoulders, loosening the knotted muscles, sighing when the bones popped satisfyingly. Shifting the grip on her staff, Syrathel slammed the butt into the ground, summoning a transparent shield of light azure. The other Tzeentchtian sorceresses, taking her cue, erected their own barriers until they were all sheeted in a long, seamless energy shield. "I believe we shall have the honor of making the beachhead and taking the city, what do you say my friends?"

"A most excellent idea," Azarvhin held Redwind up at the ready as they jogged toward the nearest, largest cluster of buildings where the Chaos tide was receding in bloody tatters, the surviving heretics shoving and pushing each other in a mad scramble to flee, "fucking cowards."

"They did their job," Syrathel shrugged as she and her entourage of elite troops quickened their steps, stomping over the dying and swathing away those retreating. Smatters of shurikens making a pleasant twinkling melody on the shield, the Aeldari were getting brave and forming a defensive line along and inside the buildings. Syrathel took in the sight then closed her eyes, concentrated for a moment before opening them again with a scowl. "They're being led by a Farseer, and a powerful one at that. Kayako, can you sniff her out, she's masking her location."

"Give me a minute," Kayako's fingers danced swiftly across the air, plucking and strumming the powerful skein of the Immaterium to her bidding. They were nearing a fortified barricade when Kayako snorted. "She's leading from the front, the fool, three buildings down that way, on the right."

"Ah yes, I see it now," Syrathel held her gaze on the aforementioned building, concentrated her power on the singular spot until she found the sneaky little Farseer. The cloak she had woven was superb in quality, able to ride the small undercurrent of the Warp that hid her presence from the world at large. Not only that, the Farseer had also made copies of her essence and send them into the sorcerous current, letting the mirages drifted away in several different directions, perfect in deception. The Farseer was truly a master of her craft, too bad Syrathel was simply better. She turned to Azarvhin then, trading grins. "Take your Khornate sisters and go break their spirits."

"Gladly," Azarvhin unfurled her wings wide, majestic in its draconic beauty, and shot skyward, bellowing at the top of her lungs, "blood for the Blood God!"

"Skulls for the Skull Throne!" The red clad sisters roared and thundered after their Champion, chainswords purring and bolters blazing as they charged the Aeldari line. A quick glance told Syrathel that similar attacks were happening all along the frontline, the push synchronized, las, plasma, melta, bolts and sorceries unleashed upon the defenders. Within heartbeats Azarvhin was already gore deep inside the Aeldari's rank, the air specked scarlet by the ichor Redwind had spilled, the drizzle quickly becoming a storm. The soldiers at the barricade fought bravely, but the concentrated salvo failed to kill a single Khornate sisters. Shurikens and pulse lasers ricocheting harmlessly off the Khorne blessed armors, the xenos can do nothing but screamed as chainswords and chainaxes turned them into twitching minced meat.

"Beware of the buildings sisters, the cowards hide within!" Syrathel shouted as she leapt over a destroyed barricade, drew her bolt pistol, and send a salvo of bolts and Warp inferno at a curvaceous townhouse, setting the third and second stories ablaze in roaring azure flame. Screaming eldars leapt out of the building, wreathed in twisting, devouring fire, their charcoal bodies splattering pleasantly on the street below. "Spare none sisters! The Dark Gods will have their fill tonight!"

"Don't forget to capture them too!" Miriael said after bisecting a Dire Avenger in two. "The more prisoners we get the more fun it'll be!"

"Take the city! Isha and the Aeldari die today! For the Dark Gods!" Syrathel roared, the warriors responding with blood drunk gusto, and emptied her bolt pistol on a Dark Reaper exarch trying to lift his Reaper Launcher at them with his last remaining hand, the man splattered brilliantly, croaking in agony.

"Mael-Danna!" Rolling her eyes, Syrathel glanced to the right, more bored than alarm at seeing a group of Guardians, a colorful bunch comprised of several Craftworlders, bulling aside a single Slaanesh sister and charging straight for her, the scene rendered less than impressive by the lack of bayonets.

"Oh, bother," Syrathel swept her staff at the oncoming eldars, sending a wall of crackling blue light at the warriors. The dazzling illumination danced like an aurora borealis as it consumed the Aeldari, most combust brilliantly and exploded into charred pieces of meat, while those that survived were butchered by the miffed Slaanesh sister who was knocked over earlier. Taking a moment to appreciate the sight of an Ulthwe Guardian getting eviscerated, the Slaanesh sister deaf to the woman's shrieking plea, Syrathel strolled toward the building where the Farseer was hiding, her pace leisured, unbothered by the shurikens bouncing harmlessly off her transparent shield, let them see who was coming.

"You need any assistance?" Azarvhin asked from behind her, the fighting was dying down somewhat.

"I'll be fine," Syrathel waved away the Khornate Champion's concern. "If anything happen, I'll let you know."

"Have fun," was Azarvhin's grinning reply as three Howling Banshees charged Syrathel. She impaled the first stupid bitch that leapt at her, the xeno screamed for a few heartbeats before her staff disintegrated the woman into speck of black soot. Side stepping a flurry of attacks from the other two, Syrathel decapitate one with her staff and shot the other in the face, her movement a graceful blur before continuing toward the two storey building. Summoning a crystal sphere of silver, volatile veins of flowing white making a pleasant circuit across the palm size globe, Syrathel peered at the boarded up doorway and windows, every gun inside now pointed at her, the rattling barrage making an annoying chime, and found a small open. She threw the crystal, it slid easily into the crevice, and not a moment later every door and windows burst outward, the roar of guns replaced by howls of pain. Allowing herself a little smile, Syrathel stepped over two twitching charcoaled shapes that used to be…Warp Spiders if she had to make an educated guess, waved away her staff, the weapon disappearing in a cloud of dust, reloaded her bolt pistol and went inside. Everyone was either dead or dying, but Syrathel paid them no mind as she headed for the stair at the back of the building. The Farseer was still alive along with a few of her followers, their auras burning bright. Not bothering to hide her approach, Syrathel bounded quickly up the stair, reached the top in a heartbeat, and leapt away from the shuriken barrage that ripped the walls behind her apart. Rolling on to her knee, Syrathel send a bolt each into the cranium of the seven Guardians who had shot at her, splattering their brains across the walls and ceiling, then dashed aside to avoid the Farseer's Singing Spear decapitating arc.

"You're slow," Syrathel snorted and lifted up her hand, stopping the Farseer's witchcraft with her own sorcery, the two powers collided and grinded against each other like dueling swords caught in a deadlock, blue and silver sparks flying. "Not bad at all Farseer, you are almost a threat to me."

"You will never triumph, Chaos spawn," the Farseer hissed through gritted teeth, her Singing Spear quivering as Syrathel closed their distant, one easy step at a time. "Isha will triumph, and your soul shall be cast back into the foul empyrean from whence you came!"

"Powerful words, but empty in the end," the Farseer's eyes widened when Syrathel reached out and grabbed the blade of the Singing Spear, holding it firmly as she sends a current of blue bolts into the eldar woman. She screamed loudly, back arching to the point of snapping as Syrathel kicked her in the gut, launching her clear across the room and into a wall. Throwing away the Singing Spear, Syrathel walked up to the rising Farseer, limbs still spasming from the electrocution, and kicked her in the side. Syrathel didn't know whether the audible crack came from the armor or her ribs. "I wonder who would last longer. You? Or your dear goddess?"

"She will prevail!" Syrathel laughed aloud, mirthful and mocking, when the Farseer tackled her, the Tzeentchtian Champion barely felt the bone pauldron colliding into her ceramite breastplate. Although taller and faster, the Aeldari were barely stronger than the average human, and Syrathel was wearing power armor. So she put the Farseer in a headlock and threw her upward, the eldar crashed into the ceiling with a jarring bang, face twisted in agony as she careened back to the ground. Syrathel caught the Farseer midair with her Warp power, making sure to bend the eldar's body backward until she cried shrilly before tossing the woman into the wall again, her head making an indentation on the brick, alas her neck didn't break.

"Come to think of it, you might be doing a lot better than her," Syrathel shrugged and strolled easily toward the Farseer, the eldar was obviously concussed but was already getting up, her tenacity admirable to behold. With a twitch of her finger, the fallen Singing Spear flew into the Farseer's shaky grip. "Well done, and here I thought your brain would be too rattled by now."

"Isha will triumph," the Farseer snarled. Half her face sheened in dripping crimson, "even if I do not live to see it, I know she will be victorious over you!"

"I doubt that," Syrathel easily dodged the Farseer's desperate lunge, battered the Singing Spear out of her grip again, and lashed at her throat. Both hands clasped over the Farseer's slender neck, Syrathel shoved her against the wall and pushed her up so that her legs kicked feebly against the Tzeentchtian Champion's power armor. She squeezed, but not enough to kill just yet. "She should have thought better about visiting those wretches in the refugee camp."

"W-Wha?!" The Farseer croaked wetly, her fingers scraping over Syrathel's armguards.

"Nurgle's pathogen can lie dormant, even in the presence of a goddess," Syrathel continued to add more pressure, the Farseer struggling all the harder. "And now they bloom unbidden across Isha. Tell me, did the stupid bitch enjoy touching all those sick people? They were such lovely gift from us, weren't they?"

"Y-You bastard!" The Farseer glared through bloodshot eyes.

"I like you, I've always admire those with fire in their heart," Syrathel tilted her head to the side, her visage one of mockery. "I might even keep you alive, so you can watch your goddess die."

"No!"

"Yes."

"NO!"

She wasn't one to easily admit mistake, but in this instant Syrathel was willing to acknowledge that the fault was her own. Spurred by the news of her beloved goddess imminent demise, the Farseer summoned an orb of concentrated power and blast it point blank at Syrathel. Groaning, her body lodged so deep into the wall that she was actually surprised she wasn't already outside, Syrathel stepped back into the room, dusted off her armor, and frowned when the Farseer was now where to be seen. Striding quickly toward a shattered window, Syrathel glanced outside and caught a glimpse of the Farseer dashing into an alleyway, leaving behind twitching corpses of a dozen soldiers and sisters in her wake. Well, a wolf was most dangerous when cornered after all. By the time she walked back outside Azarvhin, Miriael and Luscinia were waiting for her. Around them the Chaos humans and eldars went about finishing off the wounded Aeldari, both side trying to out cruel the other as they dragged out the slaughter.

"I never took you for someone who play with their prey," Azarvhin observed, chastisement clear in her tone.

"Of course she does!" Miriael added chirpily. "Remember how she danced with commissar Tangmo back on Tera-Antebella? Oh, how I wish to experience such a romantic moment myself!"

"Like everything else about you, your perception of reality is eschewed and twisted," Syrathel growled, pushing down her rising anger at the mention of that bastard, the task made near impossible by the smirk Kayako shot her, "our casualties?"

"The cultists and lesser daemons suffered forty percent complete casualty, seventy thousand dead," Azarvhin said dispassionately. "As for the warriors and soldiers that matters, about a thousand injured, most of them light, and one hundred and twelve dead, mostly from the regiments."

"And Eyvtalien?" Syrathel went on. "Has the city fallen yet?"

"It will fall, but the Aeldari are well entrenched within the ruins and refuses to yield," Azarvhin turned to the alleyway the Farseer had disappeared into. "She's the leader of this defense, should we shift priority and go after her?"

"Leave her be," Syrathel waved the suggestion away easily. "Let her bring news of Isha's creeping death to the defenders, we'll see how spirited they remained after that."

"They will reap the consequence of putting their faith in a fallen god…" Luscinia began but went still, a look of grim consternation coming over her face. She tapped the vox bud in her ear, sighed, then glanced up at the sky. "It appears that we need to revise our timetable. The Immortal Spirit battlegroup is here."

Damn. Not unexpected, but an aggravating development nonetheless. Up in the sky purple bled, a most familiar sight for Syrathel, but what comfort the rippling unreality might bring was dampened by the fact that she knew what kind of filth it was spewing out.

"The Immortal Spirit fleet are moving into battle formation and linking up with the remainder of the Aeldari navy," Azarvhin was listening intensely to the vox chatters clashing across the army's frequency, the messages panicky but identical in content. "Our own forces are moving to engage."

"As they should," Syrathel shrugged and summoned her staff again, the tip glowing a vivid blue as pulsing light radiated upward, the air shimmered from the blinding radiance. "Might as well have a little chat with them, it's customary at this point."

"Missing the commissar already?" Kayako giggled along with Miriael.

"Why did I pull you out of that well, I'll never know," Syrathel groaned, cleared her throat, then speak, her voice resonating loud across the earth and sky. "Well, well, took you long enough, lord commissar."

Silence answered her. No bratty retort, no foul mouthed tirade, nothing. Syrathel quirked a brow at her compatriots, all of them as confused and alarmed as she was.

"As you can see, lord commissar," Syrathel went on. "You are too late. Isha will perish by our hands and your battlegroup will have the honor of witnessing her downfall."

More silence.

"What's the matter, Tangmo? Have we shaken you so badly on Yomi that your wit is no longer with you? Or have your façade of valor finally crumble to reveal the honest cowardice beneath?"

Still no response.

Blinking, Syrathel flicked her staff from corporeality and turned to Azarvhin, "what is the status of the Titans?"

"Operational and awaiting your command," Azarvhin said.

"Redeploy all of them to Eyvtalien and put the Fallen Astartes and Chaos eldars in charge of the operation here, they are to destroy the city and the refugee camp beyond, what they do with the prisoners is their prerogative," Syrathel turned northward and took off, her entourage catching up a few moments later. "Pull our regiments, the sisters and Janet's brigade out of Eyvtalien, we're making for the citadel immediately. Prepare the sacrificial pits, the Dark Gods will need ample sacrifice for what we seek to invoke."

"Your will be done," Azarvhin nodded. "May I ask as to why this sudden change in strategy?"

"Them," Syrathel pointed at the fading tendrils of the Warp above, reality reasserting itself until all was whole again. "The battlegroup is not playing around this time."