Chapter 75 Sending You to Meet Slaanesh

In her relentless pursuit of the Path of the Warrior, Yvraine had once lived as a Corsair before plunging into the dark heart of Commorragh to join a Wych Cult. Under the fierce patronage of Lady Malys, she rapidly ascended to the rank of Succubus, becoming a rising star in the bloody gladiatorial arenas of the Dark City.

That was exactly when Archon Kh’miel of the Kabal of the Black Rose first crossed paths with her.

Yvraine had participated in a massive, no-holds-barred free-for-all organized by Lelith Hesperax, the Queen of Knives herself. The brutal spectacle had featured Wyches, Tyranids, T’au, Orks, and a myriad of other races. Yvraine had actually managed to pin Lelith down early in the match, but a single fatal misstep allowed the Queen of Knives to secure a lethal counter-kill.

Following that death, she was miraculously chosen and resurrected by Ynnead, the Aeldari God of the Dead, becoming His exalted Emissary. Her awakening triggered a catastrophic daemonic incursion within Commorragh. Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect was so utterly enraged by the disaster that he placed a massive, staggering bounty on her head, vowing to make anyone who challenged his absolute authority suffer eternally.

Because of all this, Yvraine was practically a household name in Commorragh.

Hearing their Archon beg, the surviving members of the Kabal of the Black Rose all snapped their heads up, looking at Yvraine with desperate, pleading eyes.

“Are you going to ask me to spare them?” Vane turned to Yvraine, a playful, half-mocking smile on his lips.

“Absolutely not,” Yvraine rapidly shook her head. “Respected Forefather, their fate rests entirely in your hands.”

Kh’miel’s last shred of hope shattered completely. He completely lost his mind, screaming hysterically.

“Traitors! You have betrayed the entire Aeldari race! You led these pathetic, primitive apes right into Commorragh!”

“Our ancestors will never forgive you! Even in death, they will curse you!”

“Ancestors?” Vane let out a loud laugh. “If I recall correctly, Craftworld Aeldari get safely tucked away in their Infinity Circuits when they die. But you Dark Eldar freaks? Doesn’t your soul get instantly slurped up by Slaanesh the moment you flatline? You want me to send you to the Prince of Pleasure so you can ask them yourself?!”

Vane reached into his inventory, pulled out a Slaanesh Idol, and slammed it onto the deck, making it abundantly clear that he was fully prepared to hand-deliver every single one of their souls straight to She Who Thirsts.

The moment the Drukhari felt the intoxicating, horrific aura of Slaanesh radiating from the idol, all the color instantly drained from their faces. Pure, unadulterated terror seized them.

“No…” Kh’miel’s legs completely gave out. He collapsed, his entire body trembling violently.

This was no laughing matter. If their souls were dragged into the Warp by Slaanesh, they would suffer an eternity of torment infinitely worse than mere death.

“Respected human Forefather! As long as you do not surrender our souls to Slaanesh, we will give you absolutely anything you desire!”

“We will fight for you! We don’t even ask to live; we only beg that when we die, our souls are permitted to return to the embrace of Ynnead!”

In the past, the death of any Drukhari guaranteed an eternity of suffering within Slaanesh’s maw. However, following the awakening of the God of the Dead, any Aeldari who actively worshipped Ynnead—or simply died in Yvraine’s immediate presence—would have their soul safely diverted into His divine realm instead.

Vane glanced at the Slaanesh Idol. He honestly didn’t expect the Drukhari to be this terrified of it.

Oh man, the things I can do with this now!

Little Succubus, you wouldn’t want your soul handed over to Slaanesh, would you? Hehehe…

“Forefather, how do you want to handle this filth?” the Lion asked, stepping forward.

“Throw them in the penal battalions and use them as cannon fodder,” Vane decided. “Otherwise, tossing thousands of perfectly good souls straight to a Chaos God is just a massive waste of resources.”

Vane’s ruling sent a chill down the spines of Kh’miel and his surviving Kabalites. They knew they were as good as dead. Yet, not a single one dared to voice an objection, utterly terrified that the human Forefather would actually make good on his threat and wholesale auction their souls off to Slaanesh.

And just like that, the Kabal of the Black Rose was completely annihilated. The surviving members were unceremoniously drafted into a suicide penal legion. Anyone holding even a shred of authority had a highly explosive collar bolted around their neck; a single hint of disobedience, and their head would instantly become a red mist.

Kh’miel touched the cold metal of his explosive collar, not daring to entertain even a single thought of rebellion. This human is simply too terrifying. He genuinely has the means to package their souls and send them straight to the Prince of Pleasure.

The newly formed Drukhari penal legion grabbed their weapons and boarded their Raiders, flying directly toward Commorragh to serve as the Vanguard cannon fodder for the Imperial invasion of the grand Webway city.

—

With the Imperial forces having completely secured the satellite realm previously held by the Kabal of the Black Rose, they quickly utilized it as a beachhead to launch their main assault on the heart of Commorragh.

Word of the invasion spread like wildfire. The Archons of the surviving Kabals frantically converged on the Spire of Thorns—the heavily fortified citadel of Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect—desperate to formulate a defense against the unstoppable Imperial juggernaut.

The grand audience chamber was obscenely opulent. The floor resembled a frozen spiderweb, layered with jagged, irregular psycho-crystals. Towering spikes of alien crystal formed massive, interlocking concentric rings, stepping upward toward the center of the chamber. Sitting atop this elevated dais was the throne of the Supreme Overlord of the Dark City, the most terrifying tyrant in Commorragh’s history: Asdrubael Vect.

Vect lounged upon his throne, looking down at the assembled Archons. Regardless of the endless, bloody vendettas they held against one another, they were currently united in sheer panic, desperately trying to survive the single greatest catastrophe in Commorragh’s history.

Even the daemonic incursion triggered by Yvraine paled in comparison to this. The Imperial armada was utterly overwhelming, led by three literal Primarchs. The sheer scale and momentum of the Imperial war machine was something no single faction in the galaxy could hope to withstand. If they didn’t unite immediately, they would be exterminated in a matter of days.

Hovering high above the chamber were countless floating prisms—the Eyes of Vect, divine artifacts that allowed the Supreme Overlord to scry upon any corner of the Dark City.

One prism displayed a towering spire in High Commorragh completely engulfed in a raging plasma inferno, the flames greedily consuming its foundations. Despite the spire being thousands of meters tall, the structural integrity finally failed, and the colossal tower collapsed into the burning cityscape below.

Another prism focused on the lowest dregs of Low Commorragh—a sprawling, lawless expanse of gambling dens, brothels, and slave markets. The slums had already erupted into absolute anarchy, with millions of desperate lower-class Drukhari rioting and butchering each other to hoard whatever scarce resources they could find.

“The wretched mon-keigh are currently attempting to devour our home, my lords.”

Vect’s voice was deathly calm, but every Archon present knew the Supreme Overlord was harboring a fury capable of igniting a black hole.

“If any of you have a tactical proposal, present it now. Because once Commorragh burns to ash, you won’t have a mouth left to speak with.”

Archon Aurelia Malys of the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue stood up to speak first.

“Supreme Overlord, the human invasion is overwhelmingly aggressive. The scale of their armada is completely unprecedented. I suggest we temporarily retreat and avoid their vanguard.”

Archon Malix of the Kabal of the Ninth Talon immediately stood up and aggressively objected.

“What an absolute joke! You suggest we turn tail and run from a pack of hairless apes?!”

“My proposal is to immediately unlock the Relic Vaults! We mobilize the ancient super-weapons left behind by our ancestors and slaughter these damned mon-keigh where they stand!”

The moment Malix finished speaking, he unslung a massive spear from his back and pressed an activation rune. Blinding, searing flames instantly erupted across the weapon’s shaft, carving intricate, glowing circuits into the metal.

The sudden, aggressive motion caused Vect’s hidden Incubi bodyguards to immediately tense, their hands dropping to their Klaives. Had Vect not subtly raised a hand, ordering them to stand down, the Archon’s head would have been violently separated from his shoulders on the spot.

Sitting upon his throne, Vect’s cold, pitch-black eyes scrutinized Malix, silently calculating the weight of the Archon’s reckless display.

Malix, attempting to maintain a facade of calm, let out a slow, quiet breath of relief, thankful he hadn’t just been executed by the Supreme Overlord’s personal guard.

“This weapon is the Sunspear, an ancient relic passed down through my bloodline. It possesses the raw power to incinerate stars,” Malix declared boldly. “I am absolutely certain that many of you hoard similar divine artifacts. The time for hiding your trump cards is over!”

“Is there truly any merit in fighting a war of attrition against the Imperium?” the Archon of the Kabal of the Shattered Sigil frowned. “The Dark City has already suffered catastrophic losses from the Great Schism and the daemonic incursions.”

“The Dark Throne remains incomplete! Even if we miraculously repelled the humans by exhausting our entire arsenal, we would still be utterly defenseless against the endless daemonic harassment that would follow.”

“Rather than committing to a pyrrhic victory, we should sever the arterial Webway spars connecting the satellite realms to the core city, evacuate our populations, and preserve our true strength.”

“Evacuate?!” another Archon scoffed mockingly. “And where exactly would we evacuate to?!”

“The Webway is our only sanctuary! If we abandon it, where the hell do we go?!”

“The galaxy is fractured. Realspace is entirely under the gaze of the Chaos Gods! If we flee into the Materium, She Who Thirsts will undoubtedly send her daemonic legions to hunt us down!”

“And if we flee to other sectors of the Webway, Yvraine and her Ynnari lapdogs will simply guide the Imperial fleets straight to our new doorstep!”

“Supreme Overlord, we have absolutely no option but to fight to the bitter end!”

“Enough.”

The moment Vect spoke, the entire chamber of Archons fell completely silent, all eyes instantly snapping back to the Supreme Overlord.

“The fool speaks the truth. Where could we possibly retreat to?”

“The galaxy is vast, yet outside the Webway, we have no safe harbor.”

“If the Imperium truly desires a war of extermination, then let them have it. We will remind them that Commorragh is not a rotting corpse they can simply pick apart. If they wish to bite into the Dark City, they must be prepared to shatter their teeth in the attempt.”