"You're playing foul, aren't you? Get down from there! How are we supposed to have a proper game?" Lucius shouted, pointing a finger at the Emperor. The golden youth stood atop the table, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy, yet he remained there with a stubborn, shameless persistence.
The boy shook his head slowly. "I am the Emperor of Mankind. To protect them is my sacred charge." No matter the argument, he refused to budge. Lucius, currently no match for the Emperor's power, couldn't exactly drag the youth down by force.
"Come down now, darling. Don't embarrass yourself in front of the newcomer~" Slaanesh let out a tittering laugh, though the undertone was a razor-edged threat. "Unless you wish to pay an... additional price~"
Khorne glared directly at the Emperor, his silence radiating fury at this blatant disregard for the martial order of their game.
However, Nurgle let out a deep, boisterous guffaw. "The Great Game has long since begun! My friend, you may act whenever you please. As for him... we shall ensure he abides by the rules."
Lucius realized that the Four Powers had grown accustomed to the Emperor's interference; they simply had their own ways of restraining him.
Sure enough, faced with the collective pressure of the Chaos Gods, the Emperor slowly crouched down. He cast a handful of souls onto the tabletop. Among them, one soul shone with the ferocity of a beast forged of iron, wielding a massive, thunderous hammer with peerless savagery.
"Very well. These shall be my pieces," the Emperor declared. "Though I cannot dictate the path of humanity's progress, I shall use them to shatter your assault. If you fail, Shadow of the Horn, you will uphold your vow."
"Hehe, now that's more like it," Nurgle chuckled, patting his cavernous paunch. He seemed immensely interested in this battle with the newcomer who shared his particular... aesthetic.
With a flick of his wrist, Lucius summoned Nightlord Sneek and his thirteen legions of Eshin daemons into existence.
The Emperor stared at the loathsome entities for a moment before turning his gaze toward the sea of stars beneath his feet. He knew that Abaddon's invasion of Vigilus and the Nachmund Gauntlet was destined for stalemate. Thus, he sought to draw this new conflict away from the primary theaters of war. The Great Horned Rat was an anomaly, a variable capable of toppling the galaxy's fragile equilibrium.
After scouring the Segmentum, the Emperor fixed his gaze upon a relatively isolated world currently besieged by a Green Tide: the planet Bard.
Curiously, on this world, Urien Rakarth, the Master Haemonculus of the Prophets of Flesh, was leading various Drukhari Kabals in an apparent effort to "assist" the humans against the Orks.
It was, of course, a facade of the cruelest order. Soon, the humans would be led by Drukhari lies straight into the pits of Commorragh to endure eternal agony.
"You intend to use the Great Game to save your subjects? Oh, darling, that is dreadfully droll," Slaanesh said, eyelids drooping in boredom. The Emperor ignored the Dark Prince.
"I wager my Legions shall save the twenty billion souls upon that world. And you?" the Emperor challenged Lucius.
"You're using me as a tool, it seems. No matter, I shall enjoy the sport regardless," Lucius replied with an air of magnanimity. Internally, however, he was snarling: 'To hell with you! I'm winning this! You think you're the only one who can manifest on the table? The Great Horned Rat is the god of divine intervention!'
"Good. Then let it begin."
…
While the Nightmare War raged across Vigilus, Urien Rakarth, the Master Haemonculus who had sought out this distraction purely for his own twisted whims, had successfully repelled wave after wave of Orks, albeit at the cost of many Drukhari lives.
The Drukhari had fed the Planetary Governor a tapestry of lies regarding the state of the wider Empire, stoking his terror until he accepted the "charity" that would plunge twenty billion Imperial citizens into the abyss.
At the victory feast, the Master Haemonculus shared wine with the Governor. Having been "saved" from the Greenskins, the humans held no suspicion toward these pale, cruel corsairs. Rakarth suggested that the Orks were merely delayed; he proposed that the Governor and his people retreat with the Drukhari, promising to find them a pristine new world.
Blinded by fear, the Governor readily agreed.
As twenty billion Imperial civilians emerged from their hive spires, the Kabalite Warriors, decked in black, spiked plate, were so giddy with the prospect of the coming betrayal that they treated the "mon-keigh" with a terrifying, mocking politeness. They ushered the humans toward the transport ships with practiced grace, their hearts racing at the thought of the exquisite despair that would erupt once the truth was revealed.
But the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.
The Drukhari had chosen this world specifically because it sat outside the immediate gaze of the Imperium and Chaos. They did not realize they were now the centerpiece of a divine wager. If they had known, their excitement would have curdled into absolute horror.
With Drukhari technology, the relocation of twenty billion humans was an efficient, cold affair. But this "superior" fleet had already become a game board.
Inside the navigation sanctum of the flagship, Urien Rakarth discovered that their Webway gate projectors had suddenly seized.
"What is the meaning of this? Incompetents!" the Kabalite Archon roared. The longer they remained in realspace, the greater the risk of attracting the gaze of She Who Thirsts.
The Drukhari pilot's brow dripped with cold sweat. Every diagnostic returned green, yet an unnatural Warp storm of strange, musky energy was barring their entry into the Webway.
Then, an unusual sound began to echo through the fleet's corridors.
Squeak-squeak-squeak...
Rats scurried in the shadowed corners of the Drukhari decks. Disgusted by these "vermin" brought aboard by the humans, the Drukhari warriors raised their splinter rifles and began picking them off.
"Filthy mon-keigh pets. I cannot wait to see their faces when the flaying begins. Do you know? Several of the females actually asked if I would 'court' them. Hahaha..."
"Oh, it seems you are in for a very... memorable day."
Two patrolling Kabalite Warriors joked as they swept the dark recesses of the ship, ensuring no Orks had stowed away. Suddenly, they noticed their shadows twisting and elongating. The silhouettes grew elongated ears and thick, muscular tails that lashed to and fro.
Their laughter died instantly. In a panic, they spun around, weapons raised.
Zip-zip-zip!
The splinter rounds hissed through the air, embedding themselves harmlessly into the alloy bulkheads. A pair of weeping-green blades appeared at the Drukhari warriors' throats.
"Only... the Eshin blade."
"You—!"
Before another word could be uttered, the two xenos were decapitated. A tall, lithe rat-creature, standing nearly six feet, stood over them, draped in a cloak that seemed woven from the very shadows themselves. This was an Eshin Shroud, a manifestation of pure malice and Warp-energy.
"Honored Lord of Death-Blight, the sector is purged."
Countless Eshin Vermin Herders transmitted the report via psychic link to the towering Verminlord resting atop a pile of Drukhari corpses. Nightlord Sneek rose to his feet.
Beneath his talons lay the remains of an entire Kabal. As an assassin of eons, Sneek appreciated the artistry of the kill. He had used psychic glamours to lure the Kabalites into this vast, unobstructed hall, roughly the size of three athletic stadiums, and systematically assassinated thousands of them without a single alarm being raised.
The final survivor, an Archon, had fired his splinter pistol and swung his power sword hysterically until he collapsed from exhaustion. Only then, reflected in the pool of his own blood, did he see the triangular brand that had been carved into his forehead.
To slaughter thousands in plain sight without being detected was merely a warm-up for Sneek, a simple clearing of "trash" for the Great Horned Rat's battlefield. Though the Nightlord did not know why his master had personally commanded him to liquidate every soul aboard this fleet, as an assassin, he asked no questions. He followed the Horned One's will as a shadow follows the body.
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