Deep within the chaotic current of the Warp, where the influence of the Great Corruptor, the Lord of Rage, and the Changer of Ways thrived at their strongest, most unique, and unusual objects were moving in close a knitted formation at exceptional speed unburdened by the psionic storms.
Those were Cruisers, each multiple kilometers in length with a slick and ergonomic design, their shape elongated and lacking sharp angles of any kind. Their appearance was almost organic, only broken with the deep orange of their light and the dark grey of their spiked hull where delicate purplish membranes grew the two faintly reminiscent of rib cages and hands.
It was a fleet of a species unknown to the greater whole of the galaxy, the Khrave, and this fleet of a dozen vessels was their most expensive and powerful one, for it was their only one.
They were the first species to use the unfathomable turbulent depth of the Warp as a method of travel since its fall into an endless abyss of delirium, or more accurately, the first to do so voluntarily and knowing of the danger.
Not even the bravest Aeldari dared to do so, for death in such a condition was eternal. It was the definition of insanity, and it's every synonym.
Every Cruiser, from the smallest and lightest to the flagship itself, was a creation of unrivaled arcane possessing runic technology never seen before.
Its energy source was boundless and took the form of the chaotic psychic energy of the Warp. This energy of unnatural quality to Realspace was taken, shredded, filtered, transformed, and reused into purified psychic power through a runic system called Lethe Matrice.
When in use, it took the form of a purple translucent field of energy that adapted accordingly to the shape and size of the vessel.
Its purpose was twofold: in addition to being an excellent perpetual energy generator, it was a shield warding ferociously against the effect of the Warp and the unspeakable creatures living within. And this, as a byproduct of being activated, the field collecting psychic energy will catch and crush all unlucky or reckless enough to try to enter it.
This was but one of these Cruisers' unique features; they were designed for Warp travel and fitted appropriately to do so to a level almost unrivaled. All masterpieces were designed by the many talons of the Pathmaster and Father of Magic, Hoopa, no matter how this last title might displease some.
Though it was not by Hoopa's divine touch and immaculate rune smithing that had assembled those Cruisers, they were built in the Dark Cradle only by the Khrave and what they understood of his blessings and teaching in the uses of Lesser Anoqeyån, the various schools of magic, and their own technosorcery they had developed.
Their creation remained great but not to what true potential they had. Yet it remained sufficient to travel through the under and contradictory current of the Warp lashed with the influence of the Dark Gods.
The Lethe Matrice of each Khrave spacecraft protected them as they dug ever deeper into the chaotic ocean, unafraid of all threats that would ravage their minds, souls, and bodies beyond mortal limited imagination. But their destination and the path to reach was precise and unchanging, for it led to where their God laid unjustly prisoner.
But to reach such a contradictory, profane, and sacred ground, the path was one of many perils and complications. The ancient planet of Yuggoth surfed along the psychic winds and orbited the Well of Eternity as a planet would to a star.
It existed, yet it didn't and moved through impossible destinations, annihilating all in its path through the dark power of the ancient Aegis Seal of the Archdjinni. A spellcraft older and hardly comprehensible to even the most devious and contradictory player within the Great Game.
Not for the fault of the latter lack of trying or opportunity for this planet, the mother world of the near totality of all life was generally moving unperturbed through the domain of the Architect of Fate, the Crystal Labyrinth.
A never-ending maze of fractured, ever-shifting crystal atop an illusory plateau of nonexistent shape and color, hiding within were labyrinthic libraries of infinite knowledge, treasure controlling the fate of reality and structure of impossible design benefiting their creator's indecipherable mind.
A realm of sorcery connected through its mutable nature to its two siblings' fractious psychic domains in the Warp, the Brass Citadel, and the Garden of Nurgle. Both places of non-importance to the Khrave for their destination were bare to their sensor, skidding at the very edge of a scintillating crystal dome of countless spiked and inverted angles.
Yuggoth could not be mistaken for anything else; it shattered the ever-changing harmony of the Crystal Labyrinth by its very presence, breaking mutagenic rules of power unrivaled in this realm of entropy.
A sphere of many shapes and shades, six onyx pentacles stretched above it in a formation of runes with only its author possessing its secrets.
Below the center of each five-pointed star was a black war machine, sophisticatedly linked in a series of rune patterns. Each was an immense mobile fortress of the Old Ones with purposes unknown yet distinctly an intricate part of the spellwork veiling the ancient rocky planet from the outside.
And so the Khrave fleet sent by the Archdjinni of the Rings himself on this sacred quest entered the domain of Tzeentch, unburdened by any of its contradictory edicts and changing formalities.
The ethereal shine of their psychic shield became miniature stars; such was the intensity of the current, turning them into beacons for every creature residing within the realm—an awaited signal by the master of those lieux and his most powerful servants.
In the heart of the Crystal Labyrinth was a palace in which the concept of shape was meaningless; its appearance changes to the observer's subconscious. It was the Impossible Fortress. And within it, or outside it, hidden in a room placed on evidence, was the Court of Changes where the destiny of trillions, from the most insignificant insect to the greatest general, was decided in their most minute detail.
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Whispers, hisses, and clicks of countless creatures of many shapes and colors echoed in the vast room to come to an end as on a throne of broken crystal, a creature no mortal mind could begin to comprehend materialized, Tzeentch himself gracing his traitorous and loyal servant with his maddening presence to even the greatest of his Daemon.
His gaze was of many angles, faces, and colors locked onto those intruders, a smile of thousands of meanings and twisting visage between flesh and teeth became visible his face from which long twisted horn and a body of spindly limbs and shimmering skin where mouth whispering dark secrets grew and melted in an entrancing musical ballet of madness.
"The complex tapestry of fate, the threads of destiny, every scheme, ploy, and plot carefully crafted for eons will be burned in the dark power and shattered by the unreadable shadow of the Fallen God. He who was brought from beyond the Well of Eternity by the hubris of a losing race deluded into the illusion of power and knowledge. He who the brothers and sisters had erased from the threads of destiny themselves yet could not stop from existing and thriving in the sounds of all." the Great Conspirator began quieting any sound that might remain as an illusory image of an infamous place known by all appeared in the heart of the room.
A place from which none returned the Forbidden World, the Dark Hold, the Black Veil, among many more appellations for this planet lost in the Warp where none but a fraction of a fraction could begin to comprehend what it represented.
A place that inspired the greatest terror for any beings present in the Court of Change, for it granted death in its purest form. One from which not even their master in all of his power could alter or stop; it was finality, an end to the flow of time and insidious complexity of their machination—the end of an endless journey.
And as for the being spoken of, even less were the ones that understood it, but for the ones that did distress etched into their soul. Their progenitor duality of emotions was extreme in intensity with nature that many did not fathom such an entity could or should experience.
But this fact also made it into a mystery, a well of knowledge and power the Dark Gods did not possess nor understand. Like a moth to a bonfire, untold had tried and were still trying in their insanity and despair to breach the impenetrable shield to only extinguish themselves in a pitiful attempt to gain powers that will have never remained theirs for longs.
"The Magician, the First Betrayer, the Original Sin, a horned creature of legend long forgotten by time itself, yet one cursed by his Master and Creator to eternal servitude. Whoever gathers the six keys and opens the seal, the Archdjinni of the Rings shall be the slave. He has awakened from his deathly slumber, reborn anew from the War in Heaven, defiant and devious, treacherous and honorable, ignorant and wise. Oh, I adore him, oh I hate him, oh I envy him, oh I love him, oh, I despise him, oh I want him, oh, I loathe him, oh I need him," Tzeench said, mumbled, moaned, whispered, shouted, sobbed, yelled through mouths and beaks in a soft clatter of maddening incantation.
As he did, utter silence spread out of the purest of shock in the Court of Change, an impossibility; none could fathom the reason for such words. The mere concept of the Architect of Fate acting in such ways was alien to them to the highest degree.
Then, the blinding psychic pressure surrounding the Dark God's indescribable body increased enormously, resulting in countless Daemons not fast enough in their escape to disperse into the winds, dying and rejoining the essence from which they were born.
The effects were not exclusive to the weaker spectrum of Deamon. Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes faced the brunt of the eldritch storm lacing the crystalline room, and their legs buckled under the weight of their body and psyches. They fell on the reflective floor and lost their track of thoughts and ability to speak, making a mortal child more capable than any of them combined.
But not all were turned into senseless babbling creatures incapable of the most basic of reasoning; the most powerful and influential Lord of Changs barely stood their ground by using their staffs, pillars, fence, and other such objects. Any attempt at magic failed miserably, either fizzling uselessly or backfiring horribly.
One such Greater Daemon was Ghargatuloth, the Seventy-Seventh Masque, one of the generals of the innumerable Scintillating Legion. His feathers of myriad patterns and colors atop his great wings shivered as he pushed himself up with immense effort.
"Holy Tzeentch!" Ghargatuloth began, his body straightening under the pressure that all but increased with the intention he gathered from his sire. The information spoken shook him to his core but did not stop plans from budding in his twisted mind; many secrets had been revealed, but what were lies, truth, and in between… That none could tell.
The Great Manipulator was many things, but a truth-teller, he was not. Riddles, metaphors, secrets, and false truth were his gospel, and that was to his servants to translate it, if translation there was. Logic and reason were not the basis of his incomprehensible schemes.
"May we lowly ones be shared slivers of your grand wisdom, Master? What is your infinite design for the future that awaits us all? What goals must we reach, where must we weave deception and truth, and through what deceitful method?" he asked as the pressure in him receded to a level he could draw breath and exist without the threat of losing all semblance of consciousness.
"My most loyal followers search through creations for the keys to the looped flask with the horned cork, their shape and nature form reminiscent of the Eternal Slave first calling." the Architect of Fate declared, his countless mouth and beak closing for the one where his pale imitation of a visage was open in a grin.
"Spread the knowledge of their purpose across the stars, shape the legend of the ancient curse carved in the Universe. But remain discreet, whisper in the ears of the ambitious and desperate; the words of such a prize will echo. Be careful. However, his awakening must not alter the course of his brethren's tempestuous destiny. Their act of absenteeism must hold true until the time is ripe, and the greats shall fall to never rise again." Tzeentch finished disappearing in a brilliant flash of impossible colors, leaving his audience to ponder and act on his ambiguous edicts.
"Per your wish, Master, I shall do so with my very soul," Ghargatuloth said with a heavy bow, a self-pleasing smile appearing on his crooked beak as he ignored the glare from his fellow Greater Daemons.
As all began to warp, fly, slither, dig, and crawl away, they froze for the briefest of instants as a large portion of their scheming master coalesced in the general location of the fleet of intruders and the homeworld of the extinct species known as the Old One.
Surprise was the emotion ubiquitously shared by all, the moments that had passed not proving the contrary. The Changer of Ways was going to act directly.
Within the flagship of the Khrave fleet, alarms of all kinds were ringing through psychic frequency only decipherable by the crewmembers.
"Archdeacon Majun, we will soon arrive on Yugg-the main glyph alphabets detect an immense psychic presence! No, it's more, far more! The master of the realm is coming to confront us," were the quick words of a female Khrave in a decorated light armor of Palestone heavily reminiscent of Aeldari high ranking armor of a long past war.
Beyond its appearance, it shares many of its capabilities and utility; you do not change what is not broken.
The one spoken to was a tall, aged Khrave reaching nearly three meters (~9). His old thin, almost skeletal body thrumming with psychic power was hidden by a grand flowing violet robe, with slits for his large membranous wings and second pair of atrophied arms.
This robe was an ornate artifact with many symbols of their God depicting their first contact, the Time of Dawn, to this very instant as it continually wrote history in real-time. Around his neck was a gold chain ending in an intricate pendant taking the form of Hoopa's divine insignia, a pentacle pulsing with even more psychic power than himself.
"It is as per his divine message, Lower Helmer Jarkla. Abominations do feel fear and will act to destroy the source of such sentiment or act in ways to change it." Archdeacon Majun responded solemnly, his restful bat-like face showing no sign of fear and worry, only certainty of what awaits them on this perilous path, whatever it may be.
"And what is it to fear from such predictable parasites that we on this holy mission have not been aware of? Death, eternal enslavement, and corruption. Such will be the journey of many of our brothers and sisters, for we lack powers, and sacrifice is necessary. But those are for the journey of the Beast and us, his faithful servant. One we have vowed to follow and understand the entails that followed." he added with enthusiasm, his upper hands moved in clasping motion, the rings and middle finger folding to the palm. At the same time, the pinky, index, and thumbs touched their mirror tips.
His cyan eyes glowed glee at fulfilling his purpose of existence while a smile showing long, pure white fangs appeared on his face. And he was not alone in all Cruisers, such chants, prayers, and rituals repeated by every passenger.
Their collective psychic energy fixed itself on the fleet and culminated into an interweaving spell in preparation for the imminent attack. Though not one of offensive nature or even defensive, for it was impossible to resist a fraction of even a Dark God power in its realm.
Then it happened: a creature, no, a thing beyond the imagination of the most depraved and insane, appeared in the middle of the fleets. An abominable monstrosity above any and all mortal comprehension enough to crush all rationality and heal madness only to birth it again in an endless dance.
Its body was humanoid yet not; its ever-changing form, waves of tentacles, orifices, feathers, mouths, eyes, fangs, and limbs grew like cancerous tumors and mold in a spectacle of kaleidoscopic light and contradiction holding knowledge and destiny, everything and nothing, life, and death.
Tzeentch had come, and none would escape his grasp.