The Council of Madness
The air in the Council of Madness's chamber did not exist, yet it tasted of burning stars and forgotten screams. Geometry twisted and folded upon itself, forming impossible angles carved from flesh-toned stone and weeping metal. Shadows coiled like serpents, striking with whispered secrets that ground mortal minds to dust. This was the heart of a realm uncharted by any map, a nexus torn from reality's fabric and stitched into the raw, pulsating chaos of the Warp.
Seven thrones formed a fractured circle, each crafted from a substance reflecting the master who sat upon it — obsidian for Vader, weeping silver for Griffith, jagged bone for the Witch-king, polished promethium alloy for Wu, fused greenskin chitin for Shao Kahn, iridescent nightmare-stuff for Hisoka, and a grotesque monument of mismatched toys and jagged scrap for the final, empty seat.
Darth Vader sat motionless on his obsidian throne. His presence drained warmth from the impossible colors around him, a void of calculated coldness against the riotous chaos. The steady hiss of his breath echoed like a metronome amid the Warp's cacophony. He sensed it — a tremor in the currents, a violent surge of instability not born from random flux but with a purpose.
Griffith, perched upon his weeping silver throne, was a vision of stark, ethereal beauty. His pure white armor shimmered with an unearthly light, untouched by the Warp's filth. His expression was serene, eyes like polished glass reflecting the warped reality without betraying any hint of emotion.
Shao Kahn's massive form dwarfed the chitin throne beneath him. His skull-faced helmet bore the arrogant gaze of an emperor. The air around him crackled with raw power, conquest incarnate. His fist thumped the armrest, a sound swallowed instantly by the ambient Warp-howls, but his impatience was undeniable.
On a throne of jagged bone, the Witch-king of Angmar sat as a figure of dread. His black robes devoured light, his spiked crown scraping the non-existent ceiling. Ancient despair radiated from him, an aura of death given form. He haunted the seat rather than occupied it.
Dr. Henry Wu, oddly mundane in his lab coat amid cosmic horrors, adjusted his glasses on his adamantium throne. Wires snaked from the chair into the fabric of warped reality, monitoring unseen energies. His expression was that of intense intellectual curiosity, a scientist watching a potentially catastrophic experiment unfold.
Hisoka, perched on his throne of nightmares, licked his lips slowly. His jester's attire and painted face seemed strangely fitting here. One emerald eye, one amber, glittered with predatory delight. He tasted the chaos, savoring its unpredictable sweetness. His fingers toyed with a phantom deck of cards.
An unnatural silence fell, amplifying the Warp's low thrum. They had been waiting — for a sign, a reaction. Their subtle poisons, whispered temptations scattered across countless light-years, had been sown. Now, the harvest began.
Suddenly, a sound erupted, shattering the silence: high-pitched, utterly deranged laughter.
The final throne shuddered as a figure tumbled into existence—a tangle of purple fabric, mismatched gloves, and a face split by a rictus grin. The Joker.
He wheezed, clutching his sides, tears streaming from painted eyes. "Oh, oh, oh! You should have seen it! Or felt it, I guess, you sensitive souls!" He bounced on the strange throne, sending loose springs jangling. "He moved! The big golden lummox! Finally! I was getting bored!"
His laughter echoed, a wave of disorienting psychic static grating even these hardened minds.
Vader's respirator hiss deepened. He felt the tremor in the Force, amplified and warped. "The Emperor," he growled, voice grinding like ceramite, "perceives our influence. This instability… it has focus. He awakens. He suspects." He paused. "We must accelerate the timeline. Subtlety no longer suffices."
Griffith tilted his head slightly, serene and unreadable despite the Joker's antics. "Suspicion is the first step to panic," he said smoothly. "This reaction confirms our methods. Even here, the throne is not vacant. There is a power resisting us — a challenge worthy of godhood."
Hisoka's grin widened, eyes glittering with anticipation. "He twitched? Delicious!" His voice purred. "The scent of fear, desperation… intoxicating! New variables, new opportunities. Perhaps a loyalist Primarch is ripe for persuasion? A specimen magnificent enough to break..."
"Whispers," rasped the Witch-king, voice like sand and rust scraping a soul raw. "Whispers in the æther. The Anathema stirs, remembering too much. His slumber disturbed." He raised a skeletal finger to the invisible Warp boundaries. "We hasten decay. The Eldar, their precious Webway… vulnerable. We drown their maiden worlds in sorrow before reinforcements come."
Shao Kahn slammed his fist again, cracking the chitin armrest. "Good! Let him react! Let the Imperium bleed!" His booming voice was raw conquest. "Distraction divides their strength. This is opportunity, not setback. We strike total war!"
Dr. Wu furrowed his brow. "A 'move'? What sort? Static field tech? Anti-Warp science? Or proto-Webway rekindling?" He tapped a wire. "Unforeseen variables. We need time to analyze. My hybridization experiments depend on delicate conditions."
The Joker stopped laughing, grin fixed like a scar. He looked around, eyes gleaming manic joy. "See? See? Perfect! We poke the throne and it twitches. Now, let's see if it bleeds!" He clapped his hands, sharp in the thick air. "The big cheese is off his rocker! What's the encore? We need a plan — a magnificent plan! Something to make the galaxy giggle with terror!"
The chaotic energy shifted, focusing into tense deliberation. These disparate beings were united by one goal: to unravel the galaxy, cripple the Imperium, and bring down its silent god — the Emperor.
"Alright, then," Joker bounced on his seat, "Since I brought the good news, I propose the opening number: Operation Identity Crisis!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "We attack not just the body, but the mind! The Primarchs — golden boys, loyal to a fault, but buried doubts? Regrets? Oh, you bet! We send them visions — false, confusing, twisting their cherished memories and loyalties. Civil war begins in the soul before it reaches the stars!"
Vader's respirator hissed in consideration. "Psychic manipulation is effective but imprecise. Requires vast Warp energy and targeted strikes. My approach is more tangible." He gestured. "The Mechanicum — the spine of the Imperium's war machine. We flood their data nets with subtle corruption, introduce impossible schematics, whisper forbidden knowledge. Corrupt a key Forge World, perhaps Mars itself, to produce warp-tainted technology — weapons that betray, ships that warp into the void, power sources that consume instead of generate. Cripple their war effort by corrupting their tools."
Griffith's voice cut through like polished steel. "Efficiency over brute force. While you distract limbs, we strike the head." His gaze pierced the madness. "Terra. The administrative heart, rife with cults, secret societies, desperate souls craving power. We elevate them. Grant impossible power, forbidden knowledge, or means to infiltrate Terran nobility. Target the Priesthood, Administratum, Senatorum Imperialis. We do not burn Terra from orbit; we rot it from within."
Shao Kahn scoffed. "Subtlety? Cowardice! The Imperium speaks one language: conquest!" Rising, his presence filled the chamber. "The greenskins are eager for battle, easily directed. We orchestrate a Waaagh! like no other! Timed during the Emperor's distraction! The Orks become our blunt instrument, raging fire consuming worlds!"
Dr. Wu's scientific curiosity overcame caution. "A Waaagh! offers biological vectors. With Shao Kahn's numbers, I can enhance capability." He tapped his console. "My synthesis of Ork bio-mass and latent human psychic potential progresses. Hyper-aggressive mutant warbands. Combining Ork brutality with psychic aberrations. Self-replicating terror, bypassing defenses, sowing chaos. We weaponize evolution."
The Witch-king turned, malice focusing elsewhere. "Useful… but Eldar remain threats. Their Webway is both path and weakness." His whisper chilled. "We do not only corrupt their worlds; we poison their memories. Inflict unbearable sorrow, amplify ancient traumas through psychic poison. Let their maiden worlds become monuments to despair. Break their spirit, shatter unity, and ensure no aid for the Anathema."
The chaotic energies swirled faster as plans unfolded — visions for the soul, corrupted tech for the body, political rot for the mind, brute force at the borders, mutant terror on the ground, spiritual poison for allies.
Unspoken, unanimous understanding passed: not one plan, but all in tandem. The Emperor's move demanded overwhelming, multifaceted despair.
The Joker bounced once more. "All of it?" He giggled, high and manic. "Oh, you magnificent psychos! Madness from every angle!"
Shao Kahn slammed his fist in grim approval. "Total war!"
Griffith smiled faintly. "Perfect harmony… in devastation."
Vader inclined his helmet. "Calculated chaos."
Hisoka licked his lips. "So much potential… so much delicious misery."
Wu nodded, lost in calculation. "Extraordinary variables."
The Witch-king exhaled a sound too ancient, too sorrowful to be.
Then one by one they left the council room.