As Slaanesh personally deigned to intervene, the entirety of Dulan plunged into a phantasmagoria of extreme terror and inexplicable euphoria. Even the Adeptus Astartes, bolstered by the presence of their Primarchs, found it difficult to stave off the encroaching madness, to say nothing of the frail mortals.
"Oh... it seems the entertainment has reached its climax?"
Fulgrim, locked in a swirling melee against Omegon, the Lion, the Wolf, Alpharius, Angron, and N'Kari, sensed the shift instantly. A triumphant, distorted smirk spread across his mutated features. Having lost interest in the slogging match with his brothers, the Phoenician parried the Pale Spear and the Lion Sword with the Blade of Laer and his Fireblade. His massive, serpentine lower body coiled and recoiled, surging backward with predatory grace.
"A delightful opening act, brothers, but it is time for the curtain to fall," Fulgrim laughed, his voice a melodic cacophony. He unfurled his vast, membranous wings, making to take flight.
"Don't you dare flee!" Leman Russ roared with berserk fury. Leaping like a feral winter wolf, he lunged at Fulgrim, his blade biting deep into the Primarch's serpentine coils. Simultaneously, Lion El'Jonson and Alpharius flanked the Phoenician from left and right, their masterwork weapons carving two horrific furrows into his iridescent scales.
Yet Fulgrim merely offered a moan of agonizing ecstasy. "Oh~ more strength, my brothers! Imagine your steel skewering and mincing my flesh~ Carry the news of my rapture and pain back to that other me, so that he might know this perfect bliss!"
"Disgusting wretch, stop insulting my brother's face!" The Wolf King snarled, baring his fangs. He stomped down upon Krakenmaw, which was still embedded in Fulgrim's flank, and with a blur of motion, unsheathed a frost axe to sever one of Fulgrim's multiple arms in a single, brutal hack.
Despite the mutilation, Fulgrim did not retaliate. He simply laughed, utterly consumed by the sensation of the moment. He had long since ceased to care for the integrity of his physical vessel.
It was only after the Lion finally decapitated the Phoenician, banishing his essence back to the Warp, that the two loyalist Primarchs turned, panting, toward Shalaxi Helbane and Angron.
Angron remained a whirlwind of mindless slaughter, but suddenly, the crimson mists in the sky coalesced into a sanguine vortex. The cyclone swallowed the Red Angel, his Khornate legions, and the World Eaters whole. Omegon and Alpharius understood: the Blood God had glimpsed a far more interesting spectacle elsewhere and no longer cared for this petty skirmish.
The abrupt withdrawal of their foes left the loyalists incensed. Their cold fury turned toward Omegon, who remained in his towering Verminlord form.
"Once he is dealt with, Alpharius, you are coming back with me for investigation," the Lion spat. In these Daemonic Primarchs, they had felt the unmistakable resonance of their brothers' souls and unique psychic signatures. Neither the Wolf, the Emperor's Executioner, nor the Lion, the Master of the First, would let such a transgression pass.
But without warning, the Spear of Alpharius lunged toward the Lion's back. El'Jonson reacted with preternatural instinct, rolling aside, yet the blade still opened a jagged, deep wound across his armor and flesh.
Simultaneously, the Alpha Legion Astartes, who moments ago had fought side-by-side with the loyalists, turned their bolters upon their erstwhile allies. As bolts detonated within the ranks of the First and Sixth Legions, the shrouded agents began a coordinated withdrawal.
"What are you doing?!" Russ bellowed, raising his blade against Alpharius, but Omegon moved in tandem with his twin to repel the Wolf King's assault.
"Trust is a precious thing, brothers, but it is also a fatal flaw," Alpharius said softly, stepping up to stand beside Omegon. Slowly, his form began to warp and distend, mirroring his twin's transformation into a Verminlord.
The twin Daemon Primarchs stood together, exuding an overwhelming pressure that seemed to stifle the very air.
"You... you are both traitors?!"
"No one can truly comprehend the reality of the Alpha, my brothers," the twins spoke in perfect, haunting unison. "You are shackled by the Emperor's lies; we have finally been liberated."
The loyalist Primarchs lunged forward in a fit of righteous fury, but before their blades could connect, the twins dissolved into shadows. Along with them, the Alpha Legion vanished entirely. The warriors of the Dark Angels and Space Wolves, reeling from the betrayal, found no trace of their prey.
Yet this was a secondary concern. The twin Daemon Primarchs were already imagining the chaos that would ensue when the "loyal" Omegon and Alpharius of this realm were forced to answer for these deeds.
…
For the Aeldari, being cast into the domain of Slaanesh is akin to lambs wandering into a den of wolves.
Yvraine, Eldrad, and their retinue stood trembling as they shielded Isha. In this kaleidoscopic, maddening realm, they first beheld the towering, opulent walls of a sprawling palace, the outermost perimeter of the legendary Six Circles of Slaanesh.
The air was thick with terrifying laughter and the cacophony of forbidden desires. Every sound threatened to tear the Aeldari souls from their physical shells. Isha's face turned ashen; in an instant, she felt that Nurgle's Garden was a sanctuary by comparison, and even the Realm of Ruin seemed preferable. Anything was better than this.
"Mother... what do we do?" Yvraine bit her lip, her expression one of utter despair. Even she had no hope of escaping this place; their only hope lay with the Goddess.
But how could Isha, the captive mother, find the strength to resist the Prince of Pleasure? The Aeldari, once united, began to fracture under the weight of anxiety, some turning to bitter recriminations.
Eldrad Ulthran alone remained composed. He stepped before Isha, bowing deeply. "Mother, this is a tribulation we must endure. But please, show us where the hope lies."
Beholding her children, some clinging to fragile hope, others lost to madness, fury, or fatalism, Isha looked toward the Palace of Slaanesh and made her choice. "Very well... if that is the price, I shall endure it for your sake."
Deep within the manse, Slaanesh sensed a flicker of something unexpected. Abandoning the plan to watch Isha slowly wither and fall through the Six Circles until she crawled like a broken pet to the Dark Prince's feet, Slaanesh struck.
An invisible, titanic hand manifested, reaching out to seize Isha. The Visarch, heedless of the cost, manifested as an Avatar of Khaine once more, and Yvraine summoned the Avatar of Ynnead.
Against a Chaos God, these manifestations were less than parchment before a hurricane. They shattered instantly.
At the precipice of doom, Isha cried out, "In the name of the Lord of Distortion, save my children!"
To pray to a Dark God is a peril beyond measure, for their ears catch every whisper in the void. It is an open invitation to the soul.
In that heartbeat, the purple, decadent realm was violently encroached upon by another domain. The rotting delicacies, fine silks, and gilded finery of Slaanesh's pleasure gardens were forcibly overwritten by dust-choked ruins, treasures discarded in gutters, and chewed-up wiring and defaced art.
"Hahaha! The Great Horned Rat has heard your call, and He shall answer most generously!"
CRACK!
A massive, shadowy hand slapped Slaanesh's claw away.
A towering, horned silhouette of darkness manifested within this pocket of the Realm of Ruin. Countless swarms of rats, Verminherders, and Verminlords erupted into the space, screeching with avaricious glee as they eyed the opulent, fallen land.
"Pretty-things! NO-NO! Throw-toss the gems in the sewer! Tear the clothes, tear-rip them to shreds! Let the holy-filth overflow! Let the thirteen bells toll!!"
Kritislik shrieked, clutching a massive tome bound in the fused flesh of a Rat-Daemon, his voice echoing with manic fervor.
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