A workshop could be seen within a grand chamber of scintillating stone and ephemeral metal bathed under the light of an actual constellation if such a meager word could begin to describe it. For it was no ordinary workshop, befitting of its station as the centerpieces of this room beyond the understanding of the mortal mind.
To its leftmost corner was an impossible array of what appeared to be flasks, containers, tubes, and support of all kinds reminiscent of equipment for chemistry, yet not for it was more, far more and closer to alchemy and beyond. Iridescent liquid dripped from one pipe to solidify into a pure white crystal of a thousand facets in another as it worked on its own for the most part. Smooth humanoids of a material superior to the finest Aeldari wraithbone danced, manning its most delicate part in an eternal ballet.
In its opposite direction, passing by an array of other portions from the more modest woodworking of wood older than entire species to weaving in the form of an impossible machine of stellar thread, was a sweltering forge taller than mountains of a metal darker than any black hole. Its maddening oppressiveness swallowed any blinding light and destructive heat that would leak from the stars contained within as their energy thrummed.
But the centerpiece was of a less extravagant nature despite being made of flowing gold floating in stasis shaped to represent an anvil, for that was it, an anvil. The thunderous sound of metal against not below the loudness of continental plates slamming against one another echoed as a hammer of pure gold fell upon the anvil.
Each strike was of skill, precision, and technique rivaled only by a long-since deceased Great Old One, for none was equal to the wielder of this hammer, and no one would ever be.
Fury and hope in equal measure fueled the divine motion of the Aeldari God of Craftsmanship, Smith, and Artisan as he worked tirelessly. The illusory fiery chain melded to his soul and tied forever more to the anvil, clanking with the rhythm of his soulful blow upon one of the components he had been ordered to craft by his King.
But also in a far more heated manner by Khaine, whose blinding rage he could hear from here despite the Bloody-Handed God being kept in a secure formation by said God's Consort, the Three-Headed Goddess, Morai-Heg.
It was a rage equal only to the time of the betrayal. A shivering shudder almost destabilized Vaul from the memories, but he kept on. This task given to him was not merely an order he was following but the fate of the galaxy, and so he hammered on working on what the Betrayer had built to rescue his equally traitorous brother, in the process lying, confusing, and manipulating Isha, Kurnous, and their daughter to do the same.
There was no other alternative.
'Despicable creatures. Death and despair await you in the hand of your true masters.' He internally spat, vigor growing with each strike as emotions fueled him, yet burning deep was twisted satisfaction of what he always knew.
Hoopa's betrayal from his disposition and behavior had always been a matter of when Vaul knew of it. His words, going unheard at the time, changed little. The same was true for Cegorach, but the latter had always been far smoother and more discreet, even if it escaped his vigilant senses at times, to his immense shame. But the Great Harlequin was that good, for all the terrifying prospect it could and had led to.
But the scheming brothers' skills were not in creation and engineering, and so from the moment the portal to the outside of the Celestian Enclave became self-destructive, he began to tinker. It was… an interesting device. The readings it left and the echoes in time and space revealed that Hoopa created the design and used his authority from his prison to maintain it.
It was simple, so simple in fact that the Forgebound was confident in assuming they were made to be operated by mortals of no particular exceptionality, a flaw that was a feature and now a weakness despite the clever but ultimately futile. Not that the design wasn't ingenious—it was, but ultimately, it was a pale copy of what Mother Cthylla and her brother–may both never be forgotten and avenged–had created, the golden rings of the Archdjinni.
It was a portal connecting two points in space from virtually any distance, bypassing any defense and obstacles. Never was it enough to mention a copy of the original design, a mediocre one at that, with the only positive point that it was stable and worked as intended. If one praise could be placed, it would be the use of Hoopa's artificial language of magic, an incredible tool yet a pale copy of the Song of Creation as well. A common theme with Hoopa, he reckoned, was that the Fallen God was always to steal and corrupt to his whims and dark design whatever his claw grasped, a skill Vaul hated to admit had been of immense use in the war.
But it was not unique to Hoopa, so the Aeldari God of Smith was working on rebuilding, refitting, and recalibrating the escape, which was the only chance to avoid the Fall—merely a matter of moment for a being of his position. He might have weakened, but raw power had never been what his purpose had been, and so he forged on with purposeful strikes and a beating heart of rage, trepidation, and hope.
•••••
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Caligari was a proud Laer, a purebred born from the perfected art of genecrafting and biological engineering of his proud kind to have the great gift of psychic power. Through the completion of his intelligence, hard work, and blemishless loyalty, he became one of the illustrious Magus, servants, and students of the Beast in life and death and beyond.
His specialization in the arcane was one of the grandest, the non-Euclidean displacement of matters, souls, and minds, otherwise known as teleportation. A branch of magic that was most complex, delicate, and dangerous for the hasty of mind. He was a traveler and guide for the lost ones who sought and served Lord Hoopa; there was no more noble path in life for one such as him.
From this, it came as no surprise he found himself stationed with his squad in an amphitheater where the leaders of this Maiden World were ending the phase of the integration protocol in the Ark of Life. This event was observable by everyone on the planet through its broadcasting, rather unique but not unrecorded in the Ark's archive.
This event, which was exceptional for so many, was merely a routine for him. It was common for such events to happen since the depraved Empire began the indiscriminate murder of any not fully in tune with their lunatic path. Also, why was he adding the final touch to the ritual that would warp this planet away? A source of harm that suspiciously stopped firing at the planetary shield for long minutes, halting all processes in the soon-to-be-shattered runic matrix.
He had an ominous premonition. This was no normal behavior of the Empire when victory was in grasp; from the past record, it might have been, but the ancient civilization fallen from grace adapted, but they remained predictable.
This… this was new in all the wrong way.
The telepathic bond he had gave him the needed information to realize this and spread it around. The depraved Aeldari had ceased their assault and changed formation, vessels placing themselves in suicidal positions and moving in rigid ways. The last part was the most important, as they would never pilot their cruisers in such crude ways.
-We won't have the tim-- His telepathic message was interrupted by all light vanishing, and the ground violently shook, gravity tearing apart the planet as alert blared of the sudden appearance of two black holes.
-Two artificial gravitational singularities were brought into reality! Put emergency protocol B2A44-T into immediate effect if you wish to live to tell the tale!- A voice that wasn't Caligari's echoed–his superior–and he obeyed with his soul-tethered mates; the ritual to warp the planet to the Dark Cradle changed—one second to another, the Magii and as many Aeldari as possible were teleported.
Pain flared like shards of glasses on a burning wound across Caligari's serpentine body as he barely kept himself stabilized, his soul aching from the action. But that was only the beginning as he stared up to the ceiling of the Crystal Forge–a portal hub with a permanent population and several vital services secured deep in the Labyrinthine Dimension for the surrounding point of interest–it was a murky black and turning to dust instead of its impossibly colorful endless corridor.
"-I repeat, this is not an exercise; the foundation has been pruned from the Webways. Please process to evacuate through the Golden Gate in a quick and orderly manner. Any who act opposite to such shall be put last. This-" And the message from the sound of it from an Aeldari woman went on bearing grievous news.
The pruning, a simple word that was terrific in this context, the Crystal Forge had been cut off the wider Labyrinthine Dimension, like a creature practicing autotomy, tearing off a body part to protect the rest, a sacrifice.
Why it hadn't been done here before was easy to explain; this area was the root of a much bigger system of tunnels, important enough for the Aeldari Empire not to attempt an attack. A common strategy Lord Hoopa had blessed them with in his wisdom.
That didn't mean a case like this never happened, but this base was at a hub of worlds. It was highly unusual and, with the recent happening, a source of growing dread for Caligari. His prayer only moderately helped him calm down as he proceeded as intended to the Golden Gate.
An hour later, the Laer Magus found himself within the sacred confines of one of the most legendary places across the Ark of Life, the Atrium of Kadath at the highest peak of Mount Hatheg-Kla on Yuggoth. Or so he mused it would have been if not for the Wandering World's inaccessibility due to an all-out attack from the three treacherous, twisted psychic conglomerations.
It was one of the greatest honors, but he was honest with himself, and he wouldn't lie that he was disappointed or preferred it be in better circumstances.
He was in a simulation. However, the people were real, and so were the ones behind the life-like illusion. From his Matriarch and Patriarch above to the mysterious man of metal that was the Treasure of the Vault, and the centermost figure that, even through the construction of psionic hard-light, reclaimed immense respect for he was a hero of legend, an exceptional leader, and the Herald of Darkness itself, Majun the Archdeacon of the Church of the Beast.
His expression was neither pleased nor angered. It was neutral yet projected heaviness as a slight frown appeared. The meeting of leaders, soldiers, generals, scientists, and more was silent as the elderly Khrave critically studied them.
"Greeting," he began curtly, his voice crisp and smooth. I have commandeered the presence of you from the highest to lowest under our Lord's divine edict."
"I'm to inform you of one of our greatest enemies' queer actions." A map of the Milky Way appeared, "As many among us have seen, their behavior had taken a sudden shift; winning battles were fled, their planet destroyed, and much more as they left, shattering all behind for none to use. All proceeding simultaneously in an orchestra of death and annihilation lacking in rhymes and reason."
Thousands of videos of the hours past and present illustrate his point: star systems controlled by the Aeldari Empire abandoned in hours to be consumed by black holes, grand fleets splintering and exploding, and world cities in the Labyrinthine Dimension collapsed in and on themselves. It was a show of obscene destruction only seen sixty million years ago, and that was the immediate effect, the damage to forever scars reality.
It was beyond bizarre as if an even stronger form of madness had taken control of the Empire. Many did not understand the gravity of the situation, however, and saw it as an opportunity to advance. In the minds of many, it was the reaction produced by one of the Dark Muse captures. But Majun was soon to clarify it.
"This is no uncontrolled madness; they are migrating their population to a singular location, the heart of the Empire and Aeldari civilization. Trillion upon trillion of Aeldari moving like a tireless swarm toward their ultimate fate, the epitome of their perverse perception." His tone was distorted at the end, and pressure began to be felt even through the communication device.
"The Fall has begun." Silence, confusion, and tension greeted this statement: "Under my command, there will be no attack, pillage, and scavenging for the little to none that remains, for I command an immediate complete withdrawal of the entirety of our force and resources across the stars and every realm not under our Lord's dark protection. My words are his, and they are absolute."
And so they obeyed, any divergence was an heretical impossibility as information on how to proceed trickled in their mind as the Ark of Life's meager presence vanished.