This is the bonus chapter for reaching 900 Powerstones.
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Everything was ready. Zeke made a final confirmation of his communication with the Lion, sending the dimensional coordinates of Commorragh to him.
If he messed up the plan, the Lion would pilot Caliban, utilizing the Discordant Engine to directly tear through the barriers of the Webway and come to his aid.
Returning to the lower levels of the Imperial Palace once more...
The Emperor's phantom led Zeke beneath the Golden Throne. Behind a breach in the wall, Zeke once again saw a familiar landscape: the ever-changing interior of the Webway.
The area near the breach was crowded with Adeptus Mechanicus personnel who were trying every possible way to repair it. It was through this very breach that those Dark Eldar had made their way beneath the Throne.
"Do you want to go fast, or do you want to go slow?" the Emperor asked with a smile.
"Of course, the faster the better. After all, time waits for no one."
Zeke nodded. Before he could even finish his sentence, an unrivaled thrust against his back instantly stole his breath.
Pure golden psychic energy wrapped him entirely into a dazzling comet, hurling him directly into the bizarre depths of the Webway.
Zeke could only see countless twisted dimensional forks rapidly receding in his vision. He transformed into a beam of holy light tearing through the eternal darkness, pointed straight at that tumor in the deepest part of the galaxy.
When the soul-retching wave of dizziness dissipated, Zeke had arrived at the edges of Commorragh, within the satellite realms.
These hidden sectors were where Dark Eldar pirate corsairs collected their tolls. Passing through here to reach Commorragh, if one lacked strength, would inevitably cost a heavy, agonizing price.
The Emperor's psychic energy also shielded him from all prying eyes. Zeke swaggered right through the satellite realms, flying toward that eternal City of Sin.
Commorragh.
A hell composed of endless, grotesque architectural geometries.
Because of extreme over-utilization, the buildings in the city had been forced to develop vertically, frantically building upward into the sky, making the city look like a steel wire brush scraping the sky.
At the highest point of this city, enslaved dark suns were imprisoned.
These dying stars, captured during the zenith of the Aeldari Empire, were bound by frigid gravitational fields at the peaks of the spires, providing eternal energy for this realm of shadows.
To the cruel Dark Eldar, enslaving stars was no different from enslaving mortals; they were merely ornaments to flaunt their arrogance.
Zeke's figure swept past a dark sun radiating an oppressive light.
From the spires of High Commorragh, to the madness of the dark mid-tiers, to the agony-filled Old City, all the way down until he plummeted into the deteriorating Sprawls.
The Sprawls, the absolute lowest level of Commorragh, equivalent to the underhive of a Hive City. Here, not even the light of the dark sun could be seen.
Here everything died in suffering.
The ground below drew closer and closer. Zeke took a closer look: it was a foul-smelling port lake, filled with a dense mass of floating corpses from all kinds of races.
"Fuck, Emperor, I'm not done with you for this."
Zeke pulled out an Oak Boat and, utilizing his incredibly fast hand speed, placed the boat on the surface of the lake right before he fell in.
He right-clicked and sat straight in it, avoiding the fate of becoming a drowned rat. (TL/N: I like writing it like this now xd;)
Zeke looked around and began to row the oars.
The small boat stirred up waves, and the waves pushed against the corpses in the lake, causing one to roll over. Its miserable, white eyes stared at Zeke, silently condemning the sins of this city.
It made a wave of nausea rise in Zeke's heart.
He soon found out where these corpses came from.
As Zeke rowed forward, a massive port used for docking ships came into view.
"Organics, you will regret this," Zeke heard a weak voice coming from ahead.
He took out his Spyglass, and a scene was framed within its lens.
A slave ship was unloading its cargo. A T'au, covered in lacerations, staggered onto the ground.
Beside him, a gracefully figured slavemaster was elegantly licking the split wound on his neck.
With a bone-chilling crack of an agoniser whip, the T'au's throat was viciously throttled, and the female xenos greedily sucked in the despair permeating the air.
In every shadow of the port, thousands of slaves were being herded.
They would pass through the port to reach the slave markets of the City of Sorrow, where they would fulfill their purpose and be traded away.
Those pathetic wretches who refused to move forward due to broken wills would have their mouths violently pried open and finally be pushed into the lake.
Accompanied by "melodious" screams, they became just another fatality in the lake.
Zeke swept his Spyglass around and confirmed there were no fellow humans in sight for the moment. It seemed this group of Dark Eldar could live a little longer before dying.
If he had to describe this city, Zeke had a feeling that it was a Dark City even more Gotham than Gotham itself.
Gotham only had one madman Joker, whereas Commorragh had countless madman Jokers.
And now, Commorragh was about to welcome its very own Batman.
Zeke pulled the Kabalite Head from his inventory and put it on.
"I am Vengeance! I am the Night! I am Batman!" Zeke said with a straight face, rowing the boat closer to the port, stepping into this city of madness.
Occasionally, a few malicious pairs of eyes stared at Zeke.
In Commorragh, the first rule of survival was never to provoke the silent, strong lone wolves.
The murderous aura projected by the shell Zeke had chosen caused those gazes to retract the moment they touched him.
Standing at the port, Zeke looked at the dense network of passages. For a moment, his brain overloaded; even looking at the large map, he couldn't find a suitable path.
What was I supposed to do again?
Right. Expose the Dark Eldar to Slaanesh's gaze. And if possible, find the method to clone the Emperor.
And while I'm at it, exterminate the Dark Eldar in this city.
Just as Zeke confirmed his goals and prepared to act, an Eldar with a hunched figure, draped in a torn robe of human skin, sidled up next to him.
Shriveled fingers gripping a flyer that reeked of hallucinogenic ink handed it over to Zeke.
"Hehehe... You look filled with a thirst for slaughter. Today, the arenas are hosting a once-in-a-lifetime beast fight. If you don't go witness it, it would simply be a blasphemy against the art of torture."
The Wych Cult arenas of Commorragh were a universally known attraction in this city. Watching slaves from various races slaughter and fight each other was also the goal of many who came to this city.
Zeke rolled his eyes at him. What I've seen is who-knows-how-many levels higher than your Dark Eldar arenas.
Word Bearers vs. the Wither, Tyranids vs. the Warden... Aren't those way better to watch than your arena?
"You don't know just how popular this newcomer is in our arenas right now. This kind of unruly Space Marine makes many female slavemasters unable to hold themselves back. He is the top star of our arena."
Zeke originally intended to wave this fly away, but when his gaze swept over that specially-made flyer poster, he froze.
A weather-beaten face. A fiery red mane not tied up like it was on Cadia, but scattered sloppily to the sides.
The whip marks of slavemasters on his body. Terminator armor in terrible condition.
Zeke never expected to run into an acquaintance here, let alone in this manner.
Wolf Lord Bloodhowl, how the hell did you end up like this?
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Next Goal = 1200 Powerstones.