Inside the domed hall, the high-ranking seers fell into silence.
They had gathered here to discuss one thing: how to drive out that Commorragh ruler, "Asurmen."
Yet halfway through the meeting, Asurmen's psychic presence openly rode the Webway gate straight in.
Was that bastard trying to eavesdrop on their council?
Eden's sudden "arrival" was also a warning.
It proved that this so-called Asurmen not only understood the Webway's structure, but also possessed formidable psychic strength.
That violated everything the seers thought they knew. The Drukhari were different from them—historically, they rejected psychic power.
What disgusted the seers even more was that this place was essentially the only gathering ground for Alaitoc's highest seers, and it had never admitted outsiders.
Now Asurmen strolled in like it was his own home.
Their privacy was gone.
They couldn't exactly start holding secret backroom meetings either—doing that would only increase the risk of exposure.
"Damn it!" the blind seer's face flushed crimson, and even the psychic form he wore trembled faintly. "Is Alaitoc our world… or Asurmen's?"
He was suffocating with frustration.
From the moment that "Asurmen" entered the central district, he had used "relief" as a pretext to penetrate every corner of Alaitoc. His black-armored warriors had occupied numerous key positions.
All in the name of resisting daemons and "protecting our Alaitoc kin."
The Seer Council's influence was bleeding away.
"Alaitoc's Paths and faith cannot be defiled," another seer thought grimly. "No matter what, we cannot allow Commorragh's madmen to contaminate this world."
He was a conservative voice within the council—someone who would rather reject all help than accept any change to Alaitoc's spiritual foundations.
"By the skein of fate…" the elder seer's regret was even sharper, like a knife twisting in his chest. "I made a catastrophic mistake. I should never have allowed that ambitious creature into the central district and created this danger."
This respected elder had believed he could control the situation and keep that precious shipment of spirit stones.
But he had underestimated Asurmen's ambition.
The elder wanted spirit stones.
That creature wanted the entire craftworld of Alaitoc, pot and all.
Even though the Commorragh ruler had eased Alaitoc's crisis, the elder seer still did not trust him.
Commorragh's distant kin were infamous across the galaxy, loathed by nearly every civilized species.
It was hard to believe such a branch could truly become "good."
The elder feared this was not sincere aid at all.
It was bait—spirit stones used to sculpt a false image and achieve a vicious end.
Once that ambitious creature held this world in his hands, he would reveal his real, ugly face—and then it would be too late.
The elder seer's wrinkled face seemed to age another decade as he sank into deep self-blame.
"Even if it costs my life, I must drive that presence away…"
The instant Eden's psychic presence appeared, a storm of thoughts rose among the high-ranking seers.
They all disliked the Commorragh ruler.
Even so, none of them rushed into conflict. That was not how they operated.
At minimum, they would divine first—then act.
Craftworld seers divined everything, seeking the skein of fate's guidance.
More importantly, they needed to see how High Farseer Elarai would respond, so their own actions could follow her lead.
At that moment, the High Farseer's eyes shone a dazzling blue as she watched Asurmen's psychic presence.
The sanctity radiating from her created a heavy distance that made others instinctively look up in reverence.
And then, in the very next moment, Elarai—the holy High Farseer—lost control.
Her psychic body trembled.
For the first time, she showed emotion.
And it was intense.
"High Farseer," Eden said with perfect elegance, "Alaitoc's situation is critical. Even if I commit all my strength, I cannot erase the ever-worsening spread of Chaos."
He wore the expression of a man thinking only of Alaitoc, as if he were pleading for cooperation.
"Perhaps we should connect—borrow your mind to—"
Buzz.
"Stop your offensive words," Elarai inhaled slowly, cutting his speech off. "That is not the conduct of an ally."
She masked it well, but in the depths of her crystalline gaze, a thread of disgust still surfaced.
It wasn't only the High Farseer.
The other high-ranking seers reacted even more violently.
They stared at Asurmen, psychic pressure spilling into the air without restraint, their fury naked and sharp.
"Asurmen, you dare insult Alaitoc!"
"Malicious blasphemy. Retract your impious words. You will apologize to us for this!"
"Get out of Alaitoc!"
For craftworld Aeldari—especially for Alaitoc—each soul's inner world was the purest, most flawless sanctuary.
No defilement was permitted.
Even among the Children of Alaitoc, only when facing someone they trusted completely—someone they would die for—would they allow that person to connect to their inner world.
Alaitoc's inner discipline was exactly what made their spiritual sanctity so prized.
Which was also why they feared the Dark Prince all the more.
That horror could pollute the mind of an Alaitoc Aeldari.
It could manufacture endless ecstasy and filth inside the soul.
Worse than death.
And now this Commorragh ruler—this ambitious schemer—had dared to speak of entering the holy High Farseer's inner world.
An intolerable stain.
An unforgivable humiliation.
…?
Only then did Eden realize just how many people were present in this psychic sanctum.
He maintained perfect politeness.
"My apologies. I didn't realize the seers were all here. I believed only the High Farseer was present."
The Infinity Circuit's immense psychic power had masked the other seers' signatures, leading him to assume this place contained only the High Farseer.
Eden had sent his psychic awareness here in the first place to discuss reinforcing the Infinity Circuit—resisting Slaanesh's corrosion.
By plan, he would draw the Goddess of Life Isha's authority into the Infinity Circuit, granting stronger protection over this craftworld's Aeldari.
That would greatly reduce defensive pressure and cut down casualties on his side.
Otherwise, even if his warriors could resist corruption, they would still bleed slowly over time—daemons could match the Tyranids in sheer numbers.
More importantly, once the Goddess of Life entered Alaitoc's Infinity Circuit, it would effectively mean Eden held this world's controls in his own hands.
No one would be able to stir trouble.
With the Vigilus region growing more chaotic, Eden urgently needed more power. Securing Alaitoc quickly was the best outcome.
It would give his forces a mobile, planetoid-scale rear base, and the resources and materiel his logistics fleets delivered could be stored far more efficiently.
For Alaitoc's Aeldari, this was their home.
To Eden, it was an ideal logistics hub.
But to reach that objective, he needed High Farseer Elarai's cooperation.
She controlled the Infinity Circuit.
He needed to enter her inner world as a bridge—only then could he pull the Goddess of Life in.
The problem was that, to Alaitoc's Aeldari, Eden's request to "connect" was the spiritual equivalent of walking up to a stranger on the street and saying, "Let's connect."
Possibly worse.
Alaitoc valued the sanctity of mind far above physical contact.
It meant unconditional trust.
And deep, intimate fusion.
"This craftworld's culture is… particular," Eden thought, feeling the seers' anger thicken the air. Things had become thornier than he expected.
He knew Alaitoc valued the inner world, but he hadn't realized the depth of it.
Their resistance was far stronger than his assumptions.
Perhaps it really was cultural divergence.
Imperial psykers wouldn't care about any of this—mind-probes and interrogations came as naturally as breathing, and psychic scrutiny was routinely used to judge loyalty.
Even when Lion had only recently returned, Imperial psykers had questioned him to confirm his identity.
Eden kept his posture elegant and began with an apology.
"High Farseer, I spoke out of turn.
But whatever the case, I have been working to help our Aeldari kin. You should consider this carefully.
No one understands Alaitoc's condition better than you do. I hope you will not—because of personal feelings—miss the chance to save this world."
Even now, he moved to moral pressure, climbing onto the high ground with practiced ease.
It was essentially the same posture as saying, "Ma'am, you wouldn't want…," only he carried no guilt about it.
If the high-ranking seers could not save this dying world, then Eden would.
At minimum, he could save the Children of Alaitoc who were being tormented.
He had already been merciful enough.
If these seers were foolish enough to prefer feeding their people into Slaanesh's jaws rather than changing course—
Then he wouldn't mind using force.
Even if the losses were not small, at least Alaitoc would survive.
When Eden finished, his figure gradually faded, withdrawing from the dome's psychic realm.
He had already seen the High Farseer's stance, and the moment was not suitable for further discussion.
Pushing would only ignite conflict.
…
Alaitoc, Central District.
Spire-terrace.
Eden's awareness returned. He opened his eyes slowly.
His gaze shifted away from the dome and swept over this battered world. Smoke rose in many districts.
Which meant the war against Slaanesh's daemons was still ongoing.
The High Farseer and the other high-ranking seers' resistance had caught him off guard, sharply lowering the success rate of his plan.
Eden frowned slightly.
"Next, I'll see how the Seer Council reacts, then apply pressure accordingly."
He didn't dwell on it.
He returned to the ancient, austere long table and continued reviewing the intelligence being compiled and delivered.
Eden had too much to track—both in the galaxy and in the Warp.
He needed to keep the entire board in view.
"Hiss…"
Eden sucked in a breath, eyes widening.
"Not bad for my brother from another mother. His head is really that hard, huh?"
According to the report from a sneaky daemon mole—
Ka'Bandha didn't know what possessed him, but he'd suddenly roared out a challenge to the Blood God, then stepped forward and smashed Khorne in the face with an axe.
He even shattered the Brass armor.
And then Ka'Bandha got hammered by Khorne's fists and beaten clean out of the moment.
By the informant's description, the supreme Bloodthirster was dragged back to his daemon-palace like a dead dog.
No one knew when he'd wake up.
"Ka'Bandha is a warrior," Eden murmured, full of reluctant admiration. "He actually dared to do that."
That brother of his was either charging headlong into the next catastrophe—
Or recovering from the last one.
He simply never backed down.
Now, across Khorne's realm and much of the Warp, anyone who mentioned the supreme Bloodthirster would raise a thumb in respect.
It was brutal.
But everyone had to acknowledge the courage.
Thankfully, the Blood God hadn't grown furious enough to cast Ka'Bandha down like Skarbrand.
Maybe because Ka'Bandha had charged him head-on instead of striking from behind.
After checking on Ka'Bandha, Eden turned his attention to his other "good brother," Guilliman.
Still no news.
No one knew what corner of the void he'd gotten lost in this time.
"Here's hoping he makes it back in time to pop the champagne at Vigilus," Eden thought.
Then he reviewed the Imperium's latest reports.
They were probably from two or three years ago—time differentials were what they were.
The Imperium itself hadn't changed much. The reforms were basically complete, and infrastructure rebuilding in reclaimed regions was still ongoing.
Lion and the Khan were grinding away at fortress construction along Imperial borders near the Pariah Nexus.
Perturabo's experimental complex had already been fully built.
Corax still had no news.
Dorn seemed to have left traces somewhere in the galaxy, then vanished again.
The only real headache was the constant invasions and uprisings.
Imperial forces were putting out fires everywhere.
The frequency of Chaos incursions and rebellions was high, and it did slow down reconstruction—
But most of those crises looked like thunder with little rain: loud, flashy, and ultimately limited, yet still impossible to ignore.
Fortunately, the Imperium was in far better shape than it had been right after the Great Rift tore open. Supplies were steadier too.
They treated it as training.
Astra Militarum troops were broadly satisfied—new weapons to kill heretics and xenos, and they could even eat well on campaign.
They also received substantial subsidies, enough to improve their families' lives.
Bread and vat-meat were actually on the table.
The current subsidy and compensation systems could already cover every "bright-side" world under Imperial administration.
No more soldiers vanishing into war without a trace.
They could even send letters home.
Mail moved through the military's logistics chain; it took roughly half a year to three years to reach a household.
For the Imperium's shipping routes, that was astonishing speed.
"Good," Eden said, allowing himself a thin smile and a satisfied nod. "Looks like Chaos is running out of steam. It's all small-time noise."
He still didn't relax.
The situation was too abnormal.
It felt like something larger was being prepared in the dark.
He would keep watching and gather more intelligence.
Soon, an urgent report tightened Eden's focus.
His brows drew down.
"Erebus, that old snake, is in the Vigilus region?"
His recon forces had detected Erebus's presence—and the cost had been an entire reconnaissance unit, sacrificed just to push the message back.
Eden read the details, his expression hardening further.
"So he's decided to come at me directly. And he's stronger than the records suggest. He's probably been cutting deals with the gods…"
It felt like a deliberate provocation.
Erebus had shown himself on purpose, letting Eden know he was here.
The Departmento Munitorum's timeline comparisons confirmed that after the Dark Apostle arrived, the Vigilus region's chaos intensified and drew in even more xenos and heretics.
Another major development also caught Eden's eye.
One branch of the Vigilus expeditionary fleet had been attacked by Necrons.
They had withdrawn in time, but still suffered meaningful losses.
The Necrons in this region were more dangerous than expected, and their ancient technologies were extensive.
As he continued reading, Eden's smile vanished entirely.
He needed a breakthrough.
The longer this dragged out, the higher his risks climbed.
Not long after, new information arrived.
Ilyss entered and reported softly.
"Master, Alaitoc's seers are resisting your rule. Several high-ranking seers refuse the Goddess of Life's faith, claiming it is not the path guided by the skein of fate."
Eden glanced at her. This captivating Lhamaean liked to call him "Master" in private, and the word carried more than one meaning.
He didn't mind.
She had been among the earliest Drukhari to follow him.
"So the Seer Council isn't unified," Eden said with a small, controlled smile.
That was good news.
He had expected the high-ranking seers to stand as a single wall.
Instead, only a tiny minority were actively resisting—likely the conservatives.
Eden popped a piece of local pastry into his mouth.
"Tell our forces: since they refuse the Goddess of Life, we have no way to help them.
They are to receive no spirit stones and no armed support.
Most importantly—our forces are not to engage them under any circumstances. Stay far away."
He had not fully stabilized his position yet.
If an armed clash broke out now, it could be exploited—used to inflame ethnic hatred.
That could trigger Alaitoc-wide resentment.
Eden suspected the conservative seers wanted exactly that.
His aid had allowed Alaitoc to catch its breath.
Now they believed they had the leverage to resist him.
"Unfortunately," Eden said, confidence returning like steel sliding into place, "this is all wishful thinking.
Soon they'll learn what it means to be wrong.
Alaitoc's Aeldari will know who they should follow."
This was a collision of faith and governance.
Alaitoc was loosely structured.
High-ranking seers each managed their own zones. They followed the High Farseer's guidance, but held autonomy locally.
It was an outdated system—proof of Aeldari decline.
Right now, Alaitoc resembled a nomadic tribal confederation drifting through space, ruled through priestly authority and lacking real law.
Eden, however, held a more effective divine authority, along with a more advanced system of administration—one that could actually impose control.
Before long, Alaitoc's Aeldari would feel the benefits of the new order.
"Compared to war," Eden said quietly, "I still prefer building."
Hands clasped behind his back, he walked to a crystal floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the district.
Construction and repair were in full swing—ruins cleared away, structures repainted in radiant colors, life returning to the streets.
Children of Alaitoc worked with smiles on their faces, as if fear itself had been driven out.
But Eden knew the truth.
A greater fear was about to descend.
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]
"Looks like we humans really are better at administration…"
Eden gazed at the Central District as it steadily came back to life, feeling a surge of emotion.
The Aeldari were individually powerful. Even an ordinary warrior wasn't that far off from an Astartes in terms of raw combat ability.
But compared to humanity, their numbers were far too small, and their organization was too loose.
In human space, any truly prosperous region started at the trillion-mark. The population and workload were staggering.
As the Emperor of the Imperium, Eden governed all mankind. Organizing and managing the Aeldari of Craftworld Alaitoc was, by comparison, effortless.
In a very short time, he restored order across the relevant sectors.
"Unfortunately, conquering a people quickly is never that simple."
Eden shook his head.
This "Asurmen" of his had entered Alaitoc under the banner of aid.
Once the craftworld recovered and regained stability, if he still hadn't secured legitimate rulership and absolute control…
Then the best outcome would be leaving behind the faith of the Goddess of Life, letting it seep into everything little by little.
But that was too troublesome, and it cost too much time.
He didn't have the patience, and the situation didn't allow it. Put simply: time was not on his side.
That was likely why the senior seers were so calm. Aside from the old seer and the conservative faction, almost none of them confronted him directly.
They were stockpiling strength, preparing to reap the benefits.
The moment Alaitoc stabilized and recovered its vitality, he would face a fierce counterattack.
"Destruction is always easier than creation. No wonder the old Imperium loved solving problems with slaughter."
Eden thought it quietly.
But he also knew that if he started a war, everything would become far more complicated.
Aeldari individuals were strong. Even if he won, their remnants could simply slip into the shattered hulks of the craftworld's ruins and vanish into the Webway.
And what awaited him then was years of guerrilla warfare—high-ranking seers striking from the shadows, appearing now and then to deliver a devastating blow.
Unless he completely destroyed this craftworld.
Which, in truth, was exactly why Vigilus had become a grinding stalemate for every faction involved.
Years of chaos had filled that planet's vast wilderness with countless fortress-bastions, while every developable region had been overexploited to exhaustion.
Hive cities spread like rampant vegetation, sprawling to incomprehensible scale, forming one "continent" after another.
In other words, no one even knew how many layers Vigilus had. Every faction was jammed inside, locked in deadlock—push, withdraw, clear, lose ground, repeat—until the sheer difficulty of purification would drive any commander mad.
No one knew how many bodies would have to be poured in before it was finally "solved."
After all, a single hive in the Imperium could hold hundreds of billions, even trillions. Who could possibly know how many enemies were packed into those heretic- and xenos-held forts and bastions?
The problem was that nobody dared to use world-ending measures. That was mutual destruction—and with blackstone's durability, even some weapons of mass annihilation couldn't crack it.
So everyone could only advance inch by inch.
"That planet's probably the Imperium's worst headache. The outer zones are crawling with heretics and xenos, and the interior is packed to bursting."
Eden's thoughts drifted to the war's core world, and a familiar pain settled in his skull. The Chaos Gods were almost certainly working with Erebus behind the scenes.
And the Necrons were watching, hungry and patient. Where blackstone gathered, that terrifying ancient species was never far.
He even suspected there were multiple tomb worlds beneath Vigilus.
Under those circumstances, he needed a platform like a craftworld as his rear base—something vast, defensible, and capable of both advancing and withdrawing at will.
As for manpower, the relevant forces were already working to solve that.
His Ork and Tyranid contingents had reached the Vigilus theater and were actively "picking soft targets," devouring smaller splinter forces of their own kind to grow stronger.
On the Aeldari side, he would personally take the field and win through quality.
The only real pity was that he couldn't get his hands on a Necron army. Controlling them was simply too difficult.
Otherwise, he could have dug into their secrets.
As for the human armies, they would serve as the core mobile striking force, committed to the most critical fronts.
When it came to decisive wars, it still had to be mankind—precise operations, disciplined execution.
Humm—
A psychic message arrived. Eden's brow tightened.
Just moments ago, High Farseer Elarai had rejected his proposal again. She was still resisting.
Then there was no choice.
At that moment, a figure on the street below caught Eden's attention.
Fashimel.
The beautiful warrior was looking up at him, her blue eyes full of gratitude and admiration.
Not just her—more and more Children of Alaitoc saluted toward him, thanking the great Asurmen, thanking their distant kin-allies from Commorragh.
Hope filled their hearts.
"When life is lost at the very moment it comes closest to hope… that's when it hurts the most, and leaves the deepest bitterness."
Eden maintained his graceful smile in reply, then stepped away from the enormous floor-to-ceiling window.
As the sheer curtains drew together, their shadow fell across him, making him seem faintly sinister.
So often, no matter what you chose, the price was heavy. There were no perfect options.
Since there was no better way, he would apply pressure.
He would use harsher methods—
Force the High Farseer and the Seer Council to yield.
For xenos like the Aeldari, he felt little psychological burden.
As a human, he had already been merciful enough.
…
In the Spire District.
"Asurmen is noble and kind. He has brought the Children of Alaitoc the hope of renewal…"
Fashimel stared at the window.
Even after the presence within had disappeared, she couldn't tear her gaze away.
Since that moment of spiritual contact, Asurmen had left an imprint on her—deep, undeniable.
She found herself always longing to see him, even craving another touch of the mind, that merging that brought peace and stillness to her soul.
And yet he was so exalted.
She had no right to approach him.
Even standing at his side was an extravagant fantasy.
"The seers said we must remain vigilant. We can't place too much trust in our distant kin of Commorragh."
A burly Guardian leader had been watching her the whole time. He couldn't help but warn her.
Among the Guardians, opinions about the Commorragh kin were divided. Many didn't want the allies to remain on Alaitoc for long.
They believed Asurmen's motives weren't pure. The "honeymoon" between the two sides wouldn't last.
"I believe in Asurmen. He isn't an evil presence."
Fashimel's voice was firm.
"I saw it in the skein of fate. He truly wants to save the Aeldari kin of Alaitoc."
She cupped the dazzling spirit-stone hanging at her chest as if it were priceless, a bright smile blooming across her fair face.
Like many Children of Alaitoc, her mind remained pure. She trusted the great Asurmen more than she trusted suspicion.
Asurmen had given so much to Alaitoc—dispatching forces to resist the Dark Prince of Excess, helping their kin escape torment.
No ally went that far. Not even the seers cared with that level of urgency.
Only the purest, kindest soul could be so selfless.
"That could be a disguise."
The Guardian leader shook his head.
"No doubt about it—they're trying to infiltrate our home."
"No."
Fashimel's gaze sharpened.
"Asurmen is restoring the home we already lost. The soulstones he delivered saved us.
Everyone has witnessed it. The craftworld is healing. The Children of Alaitoc are smiling again—something we haven't seen in how many years?"
She pointed toward the laboring Aeldari, toward the residential structures that were slowly becoming new again, and pushed back hard.
For centuries, no one had dealt with the ruins. No one had organized rebuilding. Everyone lived in fear, spending every scrap of strength just to survive.
In truth, if not for Eden's intervention—and his immense capacity for construction and logistics—these Aeldari, diminished to something near tribal and lacking soulstones, would have struggled to rebuild even a fraction of it.
When she finished speaking, Fashimel couldn't help glancing up again at the great window, half-expecting the noble presence to appear without warning.
The Guardian leader had no counterargument. He fell silent.
Watching her, a sour, uncontrollable ache rose in him.
He had protected Fashimel for a long time. She was the sanctuary of his heart.
And not long ago, she had undergone spiritual communion with Asurmen—rough, overwhelming, leaving a deep imprint.
That was Alaitoc's most intimate rite.
And Asurmen had treated it as if it meant nothing.
Under the blessings of revelry's authority, life energy, and countless other powers, Eden's charm had reached its peak—enough that even the Aeldari were affected.
Of course, it wasn't coercion. It couldn't dissolve all hostility, or else the Lord of Excess would have been invincible long ago.
The burly Guardian leader stood beneath the towering window, so small he looked almost pitiable.
Yet he still protected her.
Fashimel sensed none of it. She was thinking about how to fight Chaos at Asurmen's side, how to rebuild their home more effectively.
Soon, she joined the work crews—laboring alongside the Children of Alaitoc and their Commorragh kin.
Every Aeldari face shone with joy. The terror in their hearts was fading.
But that happiness didn't last long.
Bad news arrived one after another.
The struggle and Chaos hidden within this craftworld had been surging beneath the surface for a long time.
…
Inside a wraithbone residence paved in white stone.
Elarai paced.
Her translucent white veil draped freely over her elegant form, stirred by a sacred breeze.
Her striking eyes were tightly knit, blue irises rimmed with faint tear-tracks.
The holy High Farseer had refused Asurmen once again.
Now she was trapped in turmoil and unease, unsure of what choice to make.
The skein of fate above.
Elarai did not want any Child of Alaitoc to be harmed.
And she wanted to accept Asurmen's proposal—if it could buy safety for this suffering world.
But it was a choice steeped in threat, and painfully difficult.
Perhaps others didn't understand what a psychic linkage truly meant.
Elarai did.
It meant absolute trust.
It was the equivalent of handing over everything—herself, and the safety of the Infinity Circuit's soul-routes—into the hands of that Asurmen, the ruler of Commorragh.
It would allow him to seize Alaitoc's fate at will.
If that happened, and Asurmen decided to do something to this craftworld and to the Children of Alaitoc…
No one could stop him.
That was why the skein of fate had chosen Elarai in the first place: her psychic power was strong enough, her spirit pure enough.
With the Infinity Circuit in her hands, it was safest—untainted by ulterior motives.
And yet she could feel it: Craftworld Alaitoc was sliding toward an extreme crisis, poised on the brink of destruction, desperately needing a savior.
Could that person be Asurmen?
She couldn't be sure.
"O skein of fate… can I truly trust him?"
The holy High Farseer attempted divination again.
In the pure white veil of light, she saw a young figure wrapped in both purity and filth.
She couldn't see his face. She couldn't read his stance toward the Aeldari—benevolent or cruel.
She tried again.
And in the next instant she let out a startled cry, severing her psychic connection at once.
Because she had seen the legendary Goddess of Life—
And that being seemed to be kneeling before the young figure.
It was blasphemy. It was something that could not possibly occur.
This divination had to have been distorted by the Warp, perhaps by the dreadful Dark Prince of Excess.
Elarai's heart went cold.
Another failure.
Her mood sank even further.
And she realized the situation was slipping beyond control.
"Does the Goddess of Life truly wish to shelter Alaitoc?"
"Is that Asurmen's promise real?"
The holy High Farseer was lost, unable to decide—whether to resist, or to trust.
For the first time, the skein of fate offered no definite answer.
It was as if fate itself failed around Asurmen, forcing her into an impossible position.
…
Not long after.
Rumors spread everywhere.
The Children of Alaitoc heard that an even more terrifying Chaos tide was about to arrive.
Asurmen was under immense pressure, sinking into sorrow—and what hurt him most was that the Seer Council had rejected his proposal to reinforce the Infinity Circuit.
Their shared home might not withstand the tide's impact, plunging into an even greater catastrophe.
Some high-ranking seers, ignoring Alaitoc's suffering, refused Asurmen's aid, leaving many kin still trapped in extreme misery.
Asurmen fiercely condemned them, declaring that those selfish seers had defiled the goodwill of their Commorragh kin.
In certain sectors, extremists even toppled statues of the Goddess of Life, refusing to allow that divine presence to claim faith on Alaitoc.
The only goddess they would honor was another Aeldari deity of foresight and destiny—
Lileath.
The Children of Alaitoc sensed the crisis. Anxiety gnawed at them.
With the enemy at the gate, the relationship between both sides was deteriorating. An act as grievous as desecrating another's god was enough to ignite war.
And yet Asurmen and the Commorragh kin remained restrained.
They didn't clash with the extremists.
Instead, they silently gathered the shattered remnants of the statues, repairing the buildings damaged by their collapse.
That made even more Children of Alaitoc feel ashamed, and it pushed their hearts further toward Asurmen.
"We shouldn't have done this… We shouldn't have broken our kin's goodwill…"
Tears slid down Fashimel's cheeks, her chest aching.
As she felt shame for her people, she pitied Asurmen all the more—his selfless efforts had been stained.
This young Guardian did not yet understand how ruthless struggle truly was.
In reality, the moment the Children of Alaitoc sensed Chaos drawing near, Eden's scheming Slaaneshi Greater Daemon was already closing in at the head of an army.
The Burning Legion arrived even earlier—nothing but elite Slaaneshi Chaos warriors and daemons.
For the Aeldari of Alaitoc, it was a nightmare enemy—precision strikes aimed straight at their weaknesses.
"Our victim narrative is in place. Next comes the pressure—manufacture more despair."
Eden looked out at the thickening taint of Chaos and spoke softly.
He turned to Ilyss.
"Have the warrior detachments stand ready. Resolve everything as quickly as possible."
Since the Children of Alaitoc valued the mind so highly, then that was where he would strike. His plan was already set.
It might be more effective than breaking bodies—more controllable, too.
But once the relevant sectors were breached, debauched corruption would spread fast.
He would still need to contain it in time, or the cost would outweigh the gain.
"Master, your servants are ready. We will execute the plan exactly as laid out."
Ilyss smiled, seductive and cold. She had long since grown sick of these lowly Aeldari who dared refuse their master's "mercy."
At the same time, within the Warp.
With help from certain shadow-creatures, a fissure leading to Alaitoc was being carved open at frightening speed.
It would be an invasion on a scale never seen before.
Gaerki, the leader of the Corpse Brotherhood, let his long tongue loll as excitement flooded him.
"What a delicious world. What pure minds…"
The Corpse Brotherhood had once been one of the thirteen Chapters of a penitent crusade.
But when Oleincis fell, they were captured by the Lord of Excess.
These blasphemers wore blue armor, often slick with mutated fluids leaking from their joints, and they loved using electrical pulses to stimulate certain regions of the brain—
To make themselves "happy."
More importantly, they had all been collectively castrated.
And without that part of themselves, they became obsessed with… special methods.
However, after the Burning Legion occupied Oleincis, the Corpse Brotherhood belonged to the Dark Prince now.
They belonged to Diablo the Destroyer.
This time, under the Dark Prince's orders, Gaerki led the Corpse Brotherhood—and even more daemons—into an invasion of that delicious, fragile world.
It was a perfect opportunity: using the rift corridor to bypass the enemy's defensive belt.
Strike straight into the enemy's core.
"Diablo above.
We even have their deployment layouts. I can't wait to defile those pure, delicious minds."
As he spoke, Gaerki hissed and slurped, nearly biting his own tongue.
Even among devotees of excess, he was a particularly vile outlier.
For this invasion, the Corpse Brotherhood had even manufactured specialized blasphemous projection rigs—
Enough to make those pure souls' senses and spirits convulse with overwhelming tremors and rapture.
"Ah… feel it. Taste it. Increase the intensity!"
The warlord of excess drove his host closer and closer to the widening fissure.
His heart throbbed with anticipation.
What a scene it would be.
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]