As the Warp-Drill teams ground the walls of Slaanesh's palace, a blasphemous fusion of unknown matter and living essence, into dust, the opulent yet decaying core of the realm was laid bare.
The Six Circles of Seduction form a concentric gauntlet surrounding the Palace of Slaanesh, designed to ensnare the soul through six distinct temptations. Throughout the eons, both mighty mortals and the rival hosts of the Dark Gods have attempted to breach these perimeters.
The outermost tier is the Circle of Avidity. Here, mountains of gold and cascading gemstones exist on a scale that defies mortal comprehension. Amidst these riches, starving mortals crawl, obsessively attempting to count every coin until they succumb to the curse, hardening into twisted statues of solid gold to be mocked by the daemons lining the thoroughfares.
But as the breaches opened, a tide of vermin, who understood nothing of the value of such "shiny-things," began to pour in. The Daemons of Slaanesh, accustomed to toys of mortal soul-stuff, immediately rose to meet the intrusion.
Daemonettes of Slaanesh, their lithe, elongated forms draped in provocative and bizarre silks, darted forward with blinding speed, their pincer-limbs snapping. Simultaneously, Hellstriders mounted upon Steeds of Slaanesh and Hellflayers, vicious chariots of spiked rollers drawn by exhilarated beasts, thundered toward the chittering mass, intent on grinding the vermin into the gilded dust.
"YES-YES! FOR THE GREAT HORNED RAT'S TEETH!" The Mors Verminherders shrieked at the sight of the daemonic host. Driven by the delusional fervor of being the Great Horned Rat's chosen, they raised their warp-blades and halberds against the Seekers.
These Verminherders were as lean as their foes but far more brawny, their bodies covered in dark brown fur and ending in lashing tails. Their combat style was pure brutality. Raising triangular shields, they slammed into the daemonic line in disciplined, violent wedges.
Clad in their own iterations of power armor, the Mors Verminherders possessed a raw physical strength that eclipsed even the Daemonettes. They formed interlocking defensive phalanxes, using Warp-lightning discharges to incinerate the delicate, pale flesh of the Slaaneshi host.
As more sections of the wall crumbled, the floodgates truly opened. A literal tsunami of Clanrats, their eyes glowing a frenzied red, swarmed into the breach. In the mind of a Skaven, the only substance of true value is Warpstone. To them, the gold, silver, and jewels of the Circle of Avidity held only one use: a means to mock the "civilized" races.
The swarming rats overran the emaciated mortals who were still clutching at gold, devouring them where they lay. Masterfully crafted gold and silver artifacts were used as whetstones for yellowed incisors; filthy paw-prints and rat droppings defiled priceless, multi-colored gemstones.
The Daemons of Slaanesh were consumed by a cold, sharp fury. To them, it was as if a collection of exquisite, rare treasures was being systematically smashed by a horde of mindless, filthy children.
"YES-YES! THIS IS OURS-OURS!" a Mors Verminherder roared with a rasping laugh. It kicked over a golden statue that had once been a man, spraying it with foul musk from its scent glands before moving on to desecrate the next treasure.
Suddenly, a pack of Fiends of Slaanesh, monstrous, multi-limbed nightmares with needle-thin legs, leapt into the fray. They tore through the marauding Mors warriors, their razor-sharp claws shearing through power-armored hides as if they were parchment. Facing these monstrously agile entities, the Verminherders found themselves crushed by sheer kinetic impact before they could even bring their blades to bear.
"Hahaha—Mors-things are weak-weak! Useless!"
A Moulder Verminherder sat perched atop the back of a centipede-like colossus. This Warp-beast, a nightmare born only of the Realm of Ruin, possessed over a dozen rat heads and scores of limbs stitched with various rusted blades. The experiments of the Moulder Verminherders were far more depraved than those of their mortal kin; having received sufficient sacrifices from the Skaven clans of the mortal realms, they were more than happy to showcase their "art" on this stage.
"Scum-meat! GO-GO! ATTACK!"
With a crack of a Warp-beast lash, dozens of Rat Ogres, their flesh reinforced with welded plates of ceramite and the skeletal remains of other species, roared and lunged at the Fiends. While these brutes lacked the ethereal grace of the daemons, their raw power and expendability made them perfect shock troops.
A Rat Ogre pounced, smashing its fist into the anteater-like snout of a Fiend. It was immediately impaled through its muscular torso by a daemonic claw, but the beast, pumped full of combat stimms and lobotomized beyond the reach of pain, ignored the skewering. It lashed out in a suicidal frenzy, its massive claws tearing the Fiend asunder as it bore the daemon to the ground in a tangle of gore and shadow.
Behind them, massive Hell Pit Abominations began to lumber forward like living mountains, mercilessly crushing the magnificent palaces and piles of gold beneath their distorted bulk. Every Abomination crafted by a Master Mutator of Clan Moulder is unique in size and shape, yet they all share one singular, blasphemous goal: to create the ultimate avatar of their deity, the King of Many Tails.
Following the wake of Moulder came the Skryre Verminherders. These semi-mechanized mad scientists unleashed a devastating bombardment upon the Circle of Avidity using warp-weaponry unseen in the mortal world. They fired without regard for their own troops; green mushroom clouds erupted alongside emerald flames that melted gold into slag. Lethal toxic gas filled every opulent villa, rapidly forcing the Slaaneshi daemons into retreat.
"Hahaha! Useless Slaanesh! Beaten like this by a newcomer!" Khorne let out a booming laugh from his brass throne, the sound vibrating through the very foundations of the Brass Citadel. He had considered intervening personally, but now he was in no hurry. If Slaanesh was humiliated by the Great Horned Rat, Khorne would have enough mockery to last ten thousand years.
The loss of the Circle of Avidity sent Slaanesh into a towering rage. Within the Palace, the Dark Prince struck the Masque, who was mid-dance, sending the daemon spinning away.
"I do not wish to see rats defiling my palace."
Even in obedience, the Masque could not cease its rhythmic movements, bowing to its master's command before retreating instantly. The other daemons present dared not utter a single sound of mirth, fearing the legendary spite of their capricious lord.
Across the infinite stretches of the Warp, Slaanesh and the Great Horned Rat locked gazes. This war was for more than just the fate of Isha; it was a struggle for dominance and hierarchy among the Dark Gods. Of course, the "Old Man on Terra" remained a mere proto-god for now, seemingly unwilling to involve himself in such squabbles.
The Masque, leading six Greater Daemons of Slaanesh and a vast legion, surged out from the Palace. They raced through the remaining five circles, and by the sheer will of their patron deity, transformed the second barrier, the Circle of Gluttony, into a vast, featureless battlefield.
Only in an open expanse could the superior mobility of the Slaaneshi host be fully realized. This was the inherent disadvantage of invading another god's domain; just as any rival entering the Realm of Ruin would have to contend with the very environment turning against them.
"An interesting foe approaches," Lucius remarked, watching the legendary Masque descend upon the field.
"Please, allow me to take its head for you," Sneek said, dropping to one knee.
"No, I have someone else in mind," Lucius said with a predatory grin. "What of your apprentice, Snikch?"
Sneek froze for a heartbeat, then bowed his head, his voice devoid of emotion. "Clan Eshin is your blade. Snikch will prove his worth."
"Good. Let him go."
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