Chapter 45 Aeldari amp; Archmagos Cawl

“If the Laughing God is explicitly breaking His silence, the situation must be catastrophically dire.” Yvraine, the founder of the Ynnari and the chosen Emissary of Ynnead, the Aeldari God of the Dead, frowned deeply.

Having previously walked the Path of the Seer, this legendary Aeldari figure could also hear the cryptic whispers of Cegorach.

His sudden, direct communication deeply unsettled her.

For the Laughing God—an entity who exclusively operated from the absolute deepest shadows, speaking only in maddening riddles and abstract pantomime—to speak with such stark, unambiguous clarity…

It meant the ripple-effect of this event was going to fundamentally alter the cosmic balance.

“A new human God is being born on Baal?

What exactly is on Baal?” Sylandri Veilwalker, a high-ranking Shadowseer of the Harlequins, mirrored Yvraine’s deep concern.

She, too, had never witnessed Cegorach communicate this directly.

Previously, even when speaking to His absolute most favored Harlequins, His guidance was exclusively delivered through esoteric metaphors and dramatic irony.

To speak plainly meant He was absolutely terrified they would misinterpret the situation.

Sylandri immediately attempted to gaze into the skeins of fate, trying to catch a fragmented glimpse of what was currently happening on Baal.

However, the normally vibrant, infinitely complex tapestry of the future was completely gone.

In its place was an absolute, suffocating void.

She could see literally nothing.

“What is happening?

Has my prescience failed?!” “It is not just you, Sylandri.

My vision is equally blinded,” Eldrad Ulthran grimaced, having just attempted the exact same divination with identical results.

“My sight is also blocked,” Yvraine confirmed, her voice tight with anxiety.

“What manner of incomprehensible power could possibly blind the greatest seers of our race simultaneously?” Eldrad asked, his ancient face carved with profound dread.

“It must be the exact same power triggering the apocalyptic anomaly on Baal.

The question remains: what exactly is on that world?” Yvraine demanded.

“Baal is the homeworld of the Blood Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.

It serves as the tomb for their fallen Primarch,” Eldrad answered, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“Beyond that, it is merely an irradiated, desolate rock.” “Could it be the fallen Primarch?” Autarch Meliniel of Craftworld Biel-Tan suggested, sounding highly skeptical.

“Imperial myth claims that the sons of the Anathema all possess a shard of His Warp-essence.

Theoretically, that could provide the metaphysical foundation for Apotheosis.” “Impossible.

Sanguinius is completely, irreversibly dead.

The Ruinous Powers personally and meticulously shredded his soul.

There is absolutely no entity in this galaxy capable of resurrecting him.

Unless the Anathema Himself physically stands up from the Golden Throne and permanently restores His peak power, it is impossible.” Yvraine immediately, instinctively shot the theory down.

Resurrection was the absolute, exclusive domain of Ynnead.

The Aeldari had literally sacrificed the entire Craftworld of Biel-Tan and frantically gathered four Croneswords just to partially awaken a fraction of the God of the Dead’s consciousness.

If humanity could just casually stumble into the power of resurrection and Apotheosis out of nowhere, it would make the Ynnari look like absolute, pathetic clowns!

“If the anomaly is not the Primarch, then what could it possibly be?” Sylandri paced, her mind racing.

“Could it…

could it be the final death-echo of the Vampiric Ascendancy?” Eldrad’s voice suddenly dropped, heavy with the weight of ancient, terrible history.

“What is the Vampiric Ascendancy?” Autarch Meliniel asked, completely unfamiliar with the term.

“A pathologically arrogant, highly psychic xenos race that foolishly believed they could hunt our ancestors,” Eldrad explained grimly.

“This was millions of years ago, during the absolute apex of the Aeldari Empire, long before we forgot how to sing the Webway into existence.” “The ultimate fate of the Vampiric Ascendancy was absolute, apocalyptic annihilation at the hands of our ancestors.

The ‘Red Scar’—the massive, highly anomalous sector of space surrounding Baal—is the literal, radioactive scar left behind by the weapons used in that war.” Hearing this ancient lore, Yvraine and the other Aeldari felt a profound mix of deep awe and crushing sorrow.

Every single one of them had been born into the suffocating darkness of the post-Fall era, living in the shadow of Slaanesh.

They had never witnessed the absolute, god-like majesty of the ancient Aeldari Empire; they could only read about its unparalleled supremacy in dusty, fragmented archives.

“Fascinating as our history is, I strongly suggest we stop wasting time on variables we cannot currently observe.

We must prioritize extracting the human survivors from Klaisus.” Yvraine forcefully dragged the council’s attention back to their primary, immediate objective.

“Abaddon the Despoiler has shattered the Cadian Gate.

The forces of Chaos are mobilizing with unprecedented, apocalyptic fury.

If we fail to assist Belisarius Cawl in resurrecting the Lord of Ultramar, who exactly is going to lead the Imperium against the Black Legion?!” “If the Imperium collapses and no longer serves as our primary shield against Chaos, the current Aeldari race will be instantly and completely crushed by the Ruinous Powers.” “Yvraine speaks the truth.

Whatever anomaly is occurring on Baal must wait.

We must secure the Imperial survivors immediately,” Eldrad nodded in absolute agreement.

The Ynnari host rapidly advanced, finally arriving before the massive Wraithbone Webway Gate that connected directly to the ice world of Klaisus.

Yvraine began chanting a series of ancient, guttural incantations, aggressively channeling her psychic power directly into the Wraithbone structure.

Countless ancient Aeldari runes flared to life, floating elegantly in the air like glowing, ethereal fish.

As she finished the incantation, the runes violently snapped into the gate, and the massive Wraithbone portal slowly ground open.

A brutal, freezing gale from the ice world of Klaisus immediately blasted through the portal, carrying the heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood.

The Ynnari marched through the gate, stepping onto the frozen, blood-soaked tundra.

The sight before them was one of absolute, apocalyptic slaughter.

Corpses of Imperial Guardsmen, Space Marines, and Chaos cultists littered the frozen wastes for miles in every direction.

Countless critically wounded and dying Imperials dragged themselves through the freezing bloody mud, desperately seeking cover.

The Imperial survivors had been aggressively cornered by Abaddon’s forces.

They had absolutely nowhere left to run.

The Black Templars, the Adepta Sororitas, the Cadian Shock Troops, and the Skitarii cohorts of the Adeptus Mechanicus had formed a final, desperate defensive perimeter around their surviving heavy armor and Imperial Knights, preparing for a suicidal last stand.

They were mathematically guaranteed to die, but they were determined to make the Black Legion pay in oceans of blood for every inch of ground.

“Strike now,” Yvraine ordered her host via a tight psychic broadcast.

The Reavers and Hellions of the Dark City struck first, screaming out of the freezing fog.

They were immediately followed by the Wych Cults and the elite aspect warriors of the Craftworlds.

The Ynnari host surged forward like a hyper-lethal, elegant tidal wave, completely bypassing the exhausted, utterly bewildered Imperial defenders and violently crashing directly into the Black Legion’s flank.

The sudden, catastrophic ambush immediately threw the Chaos forces into disarray.

In a matter of minutes, the Ynnari inflicted horrific casualties on the Traitor Astartes.

“DAMNED ELDAR!” Witnessing the sudden, catastrophic Aeldari intervention, Abaddon roared in absolute fury.

His own forces were already exhausted, running purely on spite and their fanatical hatred for the Corpse-Emperor.

Having a massive army of fresh, elite Aeldari warriors suddenly violently plunge daggers into their flanks was a fatal blow to their momentum.

Furious but pragmatic, the Despoiler ordered an immediate tactical withdrawal.

The Black Legion would fall back, resupply, and launch a renewed assault once they had consolidated their lines.

As the Chaos forces pulled back like a receding, bloody tide, the utterly exhausted Imperial survivors, who had been fighting a desperate, running retreat ever since Cadia shattered, finally collapsed in profound, weeping relief.

They had survived.

Without wasting a single second to rest, the surviving Imperial officers immediately began reorganizing their shattered command structures and organizing emergency triage for the wounded.

Simultaneously, the three highest-ranking Imperial commanders—Inquisitor Greyfax, Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl, and the Living Saint Celestine—approached Eldrad and Yvraine for immediate, incredibly tense diplomatic negotiations.

After several grueling hours of heavily armed diplomacy, the two fundamentally distrustful factions reached a pragmatic, desperate consensus: they had to unite to fight Chaos.

The Imperium formally accepted the Ynnari’s offer of assistance and agreed to utilize the Webway to safely transport Cawl’s artifact directly to Macragge.

— Having finished resupplying, Abaddon was just preparing to order a massive, combined-arms assault to finally wipe out the Imperials when he received the catastrophic intelligence report: the Imperial survivors, aided by the Aeldari, had successfully evacuated via the Webway.

The Warmaster of Chaos was absolutely apoplectic.

“DAMNED KNIFE-EARED FILTH!

I SWEAR I WILL SLAUGHTER EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!

I WILL PERSONALLY SHATTER YOUR PATHETIC CRAFTWORLDS INTO DUST!” However, the Aeldari escape wasn’t even the worst news of the day.

Chief Sorcerer Zaraphiston rushed onto the bridge, frantically delivering an absolute, overriding decree directly from the Four Chaos Gods.

Abaddon was ordered to instantly abandon all current military objectives in the sector, immediately transition his fleet to Macragge, and absolutely ensure that Roboute Guilliman was not resurrected.

He was commanded to steal the Armor of Fate and physically destroy Guilliman’s stasis-tomb at all costs.

Why the sudden, panicked change in priorities?

Because the God-Emperor’s other son—Sanguinius, the Great Angel—was currently, actively resurrecting on Baal!

If Celestine, Cawl, and the Ynnari successfully resurrected Guilliman on Macragge while Sanguinius was simultaneously resurrecting on Baal, the Traitor Legions would suddenly be facing two loyalist Primarchs!

Ten thousand years of meticulous Chaos plotting would be completely, catastrophically derailed!

To prevent this absolute worst-case scenario, the Four Chaos Gods had immediately, frantically declared a temporary ceasefire in their Great Game.

They had mutually agreed to form a united front to address the catastrophic crisis in realspace before resuming their eternal war in the Warp.

“Impossible!

That is impossible!

My Father personally slaughtered Sanguinius!

He physically crushed the Angel’s body and soul!

He cannot possibly resurrect!” Standing on the command bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon listened to Zaraphiston’s frantic report and instantly dismissed it as absolute, drug-induced lunacy.

Horus literally beat Sanguinius into angelic paste!

How the hell could he possibly resurrect?!

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