The moment that rift appeared, the stench of the Warp surged out, greedily feeding upon the emotional energy condensed within the Webway of Commorragh.
"Fear… and hatred?"
Eden sensed the emotional tides flowing within it and understood. What loomed faintly through that rift was one of the Eight Paths of Apotheosis within the Warp.
Most likely the path of Greedful Dissolution.
Of course, this wasn't the true road itself, but a manifestation of the concept. Nearly all high beings across the galaxy unknowingly walked upon one of these divine ascension paths.
The only difference was in how much they were influenced.
Only those who reached the very summit could become a true Warp God.
At present, those who had reached such heights were the Four Ruinous Powers—Khorne, Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and Nurgle. The Emperor Himself could also do it…
…but He bugged out the system and stubbornly refused to ascend.
As for the sixth competitor once destined for godhood—Vashtorr, who represented Malicious Craft—he had already been slain by the Emperor.
Now, however, the Warp was welcoming a new contender for that exalted place: the Supreme Overlord of Commorragh, Asdrubael Vect, who sought to embody Greedful Dissolution.
"So it seems, that old bastard Vect really is something," Eden muttered with mixed feelings, casually yanking his legendary power sword free from the rear of a Slaaneshi Greater Daemon, drawing from it an even more agonized scream.
But he never believed Vect could achieve this feat on his own.
From a lowly slave in the ancient Aeldari empire to Commorragh's Supreme Overlord and now a contender for godhood—without the aid of the Changer of Ways, there was no way in hell.
Even the Imperium of Man, vast across the galaxy, occasionally needed Tzeentch's hidden balancing hand. Commorragh, far more fractured, had no chance otherwise.
The question was, what did the Changer of Ways truly want? Was He creating a rival for Slaanesh to weaken Her, or was He setting Vect up to fail at the final step, turning the Supreme Overlord's millennia-long plotting into a joke for His amusement?
Hiding behind the curtain, laughing at the chaos.
Eden hoped it was the first possibility—that Vect would succeed, ascend, and get the hell out of realspace.
The Warp was already overflowing with monsters. One more wouldn't matter, and chances were slim that Vect could reach the end against the opposition of the existing gods anyway.
If it was the second possibility, then Eden himself would have to make sure Vect succeeded.
For that, he had already laid out multiple contingency measures to ensure the plan of godhood ascension went through.
The changes in the Black Throne pushed the war in the core into even greater frenzy. The Greater Daemons of Slaanesh pressed harder, while Khorne's champions desperately held them back.
And the Greater Daemons of Tzeentch? They still lazed about at the perimeter, doing nothing but watching.
"Foolish beast, begone!"
Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets glared with mounting fury at Ka'Bandha, who barred her path. "Would you truly see a new Warp God rise?"
"Doom of Secrets, you're panicking."
Ka'Bandha stood firm with a savage grin. "I told you—I won't let you gain any glory today."
The Bloodthirster's sole goal was to cut her down and deny her any war spoils.
His twin axes roared with each swing, sending the Keeper of Secrets staggering back, before he turned and hacked wildly into every Slaaneshi Daemon foolish enough to rush in.
Gululu~
Beside the Black Throne, strange vats bubbled violently.
"Hahaha—I… am ascending!"
Vect's ecstasy was unrestrained.
His soul's essence was condensing in another dimension, growing ever stronger.
The fear and hatred of countless lives and souls within the Webway sculpted the form of a new Warp God.
"I've succeeded—none shall ever deny my power again…"
Vect's thoughts burned with triumph.
Of course, he knew the Warp was dangerous. The Ruinous Powers would never allow another true god to emerge—not even a hint of possibility.
That was why he needed the Black Throne.
Once he adapted to his new divine essence, he would immediately retreat into the Webway, just as the Laughing God Cegorach had done.
With the Black Throne, he would command the entire Webway—opening and sealing its portals at will.
The Veil itself would grow stronger.
Then, the Dark Eldar and all the denizens of the Webway would be free from She Who Thirsts and the corruption of the Ruinous Powers.
But they would serve a new master instead—Vect, the God of Schemes.
He had already envisioned the path forward.
He would sup upon the souls of the Drukhari in place of She Who Thirsts, and drive them to enslave the galaxy, gathering endless mortals to feed his divine might.
At the end of the Path of Greedful Dissolution, he would stand as the Warp's Fifth God.
That pitiful heir of Asurmen… and the so-called Savior… neither had any idea what was coming.
And even if they did, they would be helpless.
They would crawl at his feet, begging the God of Schemes for the right to walk the Webway.
Such would be his core dominion.
He would barter Webway passage rights in exchange for endless streams of human slaves, food for his power.
The Imperium would surely agree.
Short-lived monkeys would sacrifice anything for their star-lanes—even entire sectors. Even the Emperor would compromise.
That wretched being, once the mightiest of all mortals, had sacrificed too much for the Webway already. With only a hint of access, he would bend.
CRACK!
The vat exploded, and Vect's body was engulfed in a surge of power. The shockwave hurled every nearby being away, including the Kabalite masters, the twin Keepers of Secrets, and even the elite guards.
"Worship me…"
Vect floated in the air, wracked by pain, but smiling down at all present. His eyes locked on Eden, mocking and defiant.
"Hope Primarch… thank you for stalling the Daemons. I'll repay you—perhaps you should kneel right now."
"???"
Eden parried a Keeper's claw with his sword and flipped Vect the middle finger.
He had no idea what kind of mania had seized the old bastard.
But it hardly mattered—no one could stop Vect now. His apotheosis was at its critical peak.
WHOOSH!
Laughing madly, Vect's mortal frame was torn apart by the force, while his soul-essence was drawn fully into the Warp.
He shed the material plane completely and entered the Immaterium.
Everyone felt it—that overwhelming aura. A new god had been born in the Warp.
The Haemonculi covens howled in jubilation. "The noble Drukhari… at last, we have our own god!"
It was their greatest triumph.
They had forged a god for their people—one who would protect them from She Who Thirsts.
"Finally, that bastard Vect is gone," Eden breathed in relief.
Because now that the Supreme Overlord had entered the Warp, the "bandwidth" of the Black Throne was free—ready to channel the souls of the mini-sun into the Emperor's clone.
Then the puppet strings could be pulled.
Eden's eyes lit with anticipation. "Old Khan… it's all on you now…"
"White Scars sons—ride with me!"
VROOOOM!
Engines roared as Jaghatai Khan's sacred war-chariot, the Pale Eagle, blasted forward, flanked by his White Scars elite.
They gunned the throttles and charged straight toward the Emperor's clone, unflinching.
The White Tiger Blade gleamed, cutting down every foe in their path.
Khan's veins bulged, his whole body straining as he threw himself fully into the effort—racing against time itself.
Through the mechanical ruins he thundered, smashing through barricades and walls, until at last he brought the divine machine to the Throne's heart.
He had hidden and waited for this moment. Everything hinged upon him.
Breaking through every Daemon and xenos line, he led his warriors to the core.
Eden and his allies were exhilarated—yet their nerves frayed tighter still.
The most perilous battle was only now beginning.
"Hey, hey, move aside—you're blocking my research!"
The immense form of Archmagos Kaul clambered off a transport, lugging sacred machinery with his many arms.
His mechanized limbs ripped through the flesh-wrought barriers of the Haemonculi, shoving them aside while seeding them with viral code, leaving them incapable of interference.
Then, together with Magos Mos, he immediately began the modification of the Black Throne.
They had rehearsed this countless times. Every machine, every procedure was prepared.
Dozens of mechadendrites unfurled as the two great Magi fused the divine devices into the Throne with astonishing speed.
Cables hissed. Servo-arms blurred.
"You idiots… this workmanship is atrocious. Why pack in so many useless parts?"
Kaul's mechadendrites ripped out fistfuls of components and flung them behind him. At the same time, he pulsed a datacode salvo into the Throne. "Hmm… where's the master energy cutoff?"
They'd planned this part long ago.
He had to shut the Black Throne down, briefly—just in case Vect's jump into the Warp triggered some delightful catastrophe.
Moments later, Kaul's labyrinthine command-strings took hold.
The cathedral-engine's heartbeat ground to a halt; the special rift crowning the Black Throne sealed, going dead and dark.
...
Meanwhile, in the Warp.
That seething, infinite dimension of raw thought and feeling—of every sentient mind's passions curdled into power—boiled with twisted effigies for the nightmare-things that fed upon them.
From their feast came still more terror, more whispers.
"All struggle, all treachery, all plotting ends here. The Forever Diadem is forged."
A crooked shadow stared greedily across the Immaterium, its voice rasping outward, cold as a blade: "Behold, Warp—your new god arises. Even the Four shall tremble at my advent…
"And they can only watch as the God of Schemes raises His palace, tier by tier!"
Vect reveled in his newborn divinity, in the avalanche of empyric venom coursing through him—still drinking more hatred, more fear.
In the ages to come, the thoughts and emotions of the wise and the wretched alike would nourish this fledgling god.
"Back to the Webway, before the Ruinous Powers begin the hunt…"
He forced down the rising savagery in his core. He was newly anointed; he needed time to grow.
Yet when he turned toward the return path the Black Throne had left him… there was only emptiness.
"…?"
"Where is my way back?!"
The newborn God of Schemes hesitated.
He had no sanctum, no bastion here. Greater hungers had already scented him.
From far off, vaster shadows drifted nearer, and for the first time—Vect felt a flicker of unease.
This was the high table he had coveted—the Warp's apex game, where only the strongest gathered.
Soon, distant screams rolled across the tides.
...
Commorragh Webway—Black Throne precincts.
Vmmm—
Gentle, golden radiance throbbed.
The sacred machine poured the Little Sun's soul-fire into the Emperor's clone slotted within the Black Throne. Even the conduit-tubing sheathing the body glowed with auric light.
"Why isn't it taking!?"
Eden stood beside the Throne, brow furrowed at the humming reliquary.
"Savior, sir—please don't rush me… I'm working as fast as I—"
Cawl wrestled the machine-spirit, stammering under the pressure, sweat beading his human features.
He had to use the holy energy to bind the Little Sun to the Emperor's clone—and, at the same time, reassert deep control of the Black Throne to bring it back online.
"Whether any of us walk out alive… that's on your Omnissian genius," Eden muttered, staring at the oncoming tide—an ink-black tsunami of Daemons.
With the Throne offline, new rents yawned open. A choking mass of Warp-spawn flooded in, almost impossible to hold.
No help remained—not even from the Emperor.
The Warp roared higher.
All save the Plague Lord—still ensconced in His charnel manse—had risen from their domains to covet the Webway: three Dark Gods, intent and hungry.
The Emperor was holding them.
Unseen, at a stratum beyond mortal sight, He wrestled the gods themselves to keep them from the Webway's throat.
Even for Him, the burden was crushing.
"Who said you could pass!?"
Ka'Bandha bellowed, seizing Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets and pounding her through the daemon tide, the two of them tumbling in a storm of claws and ichor.
"Then I'll kill you first!" Syll'esh, lacerated and incandescent with fury, committed fully—Keeper of Secrets against Bloodthirster, every strike thirsty to kill.
But the flood could not be denied. It rolled toward the Throne's heart; the line bent, then shrank.
Warriors fell—one after another.
"For the Emperor!"
The White Scars Primarch, the Captain-General of the Custodes, Titus and countless others fought grimly, ready to spend their lives to save mankind's roads through the Webway.
A knot of Greater Daemons smashed through the last field barriers, howling as they reached for the Emperor's clone.
Eden gritted his teeth and hurled himself in, wringing the last drops from his bled-dry psyker's well to stave off the heretic onslaught.
Bolts of damnation shattered his wards and hammered home.
The Hope Primarch's armor sloughed away under corrosion; rotten meat bloomed; tendrils writhed from ruined flesh. His strength failed.
He struck the floor—and his breath went out.
"Brother!?"
Jaghatai's eyes went blood-red. He tried to break free to reach him—but he was locked in his own battle, unable to help.
"So this… is corruption…"
Eden puddled to the ground, organs failing one by one. Darkness closed in.
Thump—
His heart forced one last, stubborn beat… then fell silent.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!!!
Suddenly—stronger heartbeats, like the pulse of bedrock, hammered through the chamber.
Gold brilliance washed over the Throne. Everyone knew that power—knew it in marrow and myth. It was Him.
In that instant, human, xenos, and daemon alike held their breath and turned to the source.
From the cataract of light, a towering, perfect frame rose—broad, vital, unmatched.
None could ignore His presence.
Golden panoply sheathed Him; a solar diadem crowned His brow; liquid aurum fire welled from every seam, flowing like molten daylight across the armor.
Every line of that body was flawless—and feral.
Even the Daemons flinched, pupils pin-pricking.
"The… the Accursed!?"
A tremor of fear ran through the Warp-spawn ranks.
"Your Majesty!"
The Captain-General and his Custodians wept to behold the holy vision.
"F… Father…"
Even Jaghatai drifted forward in a daze.
For an aching heartbeat he was back in the Great Crusade—before fratricide, before sundering—when the brothers yet had a father.
The golden helm turned.
The chiseled, indomitable face looked to the Primarch, and a voice rang out—ancient and familiar, the Emperor's timbre from ten millennia past:
"Khan, don't stand on ceremony. Call me brother."
He slung a massive arm around Jaghatai's shoulders and waggled his brows. "Weren't we going to hit the baths together? Proper relaxation—just the two of us."
"…?"
Jaghatai almost keeled over on the spot.
"By the Throne…" the Captain-General muttered, suddenly tight-chested—and very tense.
"You're… Eden!?"
Khan shook himself and understood: inside that resurrected vessel, the soul was the Hope Primarch's.
Which meant—the plan worked.
"Kh-khm… yes. I'm Eden—just… getting used to it."
Eden breathed through the storm of power boiling in his new flesh. His grasp of the Warp and the soul had vaulted to a new peak; his voice steadied; his features settled toward his own.
At last, he truly felt the Emperor's might—psyker gift and fleshly potential twined in absolute supremacy.
Even standing still, he was a natural apex.
"Now then… it's time to deal with you."
He strode down the Throne's steps. The umbilicals snapped away, one by one. His aura climbed, higher and higher.
He scooped up the fallen master-crafted power sword—and ignited it.
A golden blade more than three meters long fountained forth, holy fire turning it into a blazing reliquary. Runes flickered within the light.
With a thought, he pulled a second powersword to his palm. It, too, blazed into a sacred brand.
Vmmm—
"I'm so strong right now… I'm scaring myself."
Wings of hammered gold unfurled from his back. Twin sun-swords in hand, Eden hurled himself into the daemon tide.
Seven times in, seven times out—where he passed, the horde quailed; the great ones fled.
None dared meet that edge.
ROAR—
A terrible bellow rolled across the ruins.
"Savior! At last—our final duel! Ka'Bandha will take your head!"
The Bloodthirster burst from the wreckage, brandishing the severed head of Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets.
His wrath howled to the heavens; his battle-fury and strength had peaked.
He had waited years beyond counting. Now—his life's enemy stood revealed in golden fire.
Ka'Bandha followed the trail of that terrible aura… and saw a towering, relentless shape of living sunlight.
(End of Chapter)
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