Chapter 79 The Fall of the Dark Aeldari (Bonus)

With the backing of Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect, the Archons of the Kabals overthrew the ancient nobility of the Aeldari Empire, cementing themselves as the true masters of the Dark City of Commorragh. They erected towering, macabre strongholds and built massive, exclusive gladiatorial arenas within them to satiate the citizenry’s endless, bloodthirsty craving for extreme violence.

The Kabal of the Ninth Talon was one of the most infamous syndicates in Commorragh. Its Archon, Malix, constantly launched brutal realspace raids across the galaxy, massacring Imperial worlds and abducting millions of slaves to provide fresh meat for his arenas. Every single day, tens of thousands of slaves and exotic xenos beasts were herded into his Colosseum, brutally torn apart to the deafening cheers of bloodthirsty spectators.

Normally, the arena was packed shoulder-to-shoulder every single day. But once the Imperium of Man officially declared war on Commorragh, the arenas, the slave markets, and the strongholds were completely deserted. Only the Kabalite warriors remained, scrambling to mount a defense.

“Slaughter all the mon-keigh slaves. Make sure they die before their so-called hope arrives,” Malix ordered coldly the moment he returned from the Spire of Thorns.

Even if his Kabal was destined to lose this war, he was absolutely determined that their captives wouldn’t live to see salvation. Forcing those trapped in a literal hell to die mere moments before rescue arrived—that was the ultimate, most exquisite cruelty he could inflict.

However, the second the Archon issued his order, a deafening, catastrophic explosion rocked the chamber.

The massively reinforced, pitch-black ceiling caved in under an incomprehensibly heavy impact. A massive crater formed in the center of the hall, sending jagged shrapnel and a blinding cloud of dust blasting outward in every direction.

“Ah… I smell slaughter and death.”

Vane strolled out of the settling dust cloud, wielding Bloodletter [Carnage]. Thick, crimson blood continuously dripped from the hyper-sharp blade, pooling on the floor in a visceral, sickening display.

He didn’t even know how many Drukhari he had butchered along the way. He just kept swinging. Slash. Cleave. Decapitate. Once he cleared a zone, he’d just open his mini-map, look for the densest cluster of red dots, and immediately teleport over to continue the massacre.

“The human Forefather.”

Sitting upon his throne, Malix instantly recognized Vane and grabbed the Sunspear resting beside him. It was a divine weapon forged during the zenith of the ancient Aeldari Empire, possessing the raw, apocalyptic power to incinerate entire worlds.

“Kill him.”

Malix pointed the Sunspear at Vane, his eyes burning with absolute, murderous intent.

Kabalite Warriors immediately poured from the shadows, raising their splinter rifles and unleashing a storm of highly toxic crystal ammunition.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

The toxic shards deflected harmlessly off Vane’s armor, failing to leave even a microscopic scratch.

Several Wyches, wielding poisoned blades, vaulted through the air, attempting to decapitate Vane from above in a synchronized strike.

“Pathetic xenos trash.”

Vane lunged forward, he swung Bloodletter [Carnage] in a dizzying, blinding flurry of slashes that left only red afterimages in the air.

In a fraction of a second, the entire ambush squad was cleanly bisected. Blood sprayed across the chamber as severed limbs and torsos rained down onto the floor, completely painting the room red.

Several Haemonculi, their bodies grotesquely modified with gruesome, bladed appendages—making them look like alien monstrosities—stepped into the fray. They fully intended to use their absolute mastery of anatomy and torture to dissect the Forefather alive.

Unfortunately for them, they completely underestimated the defensive stats of the Reaper of Souls Suit. Their surgical scalpels, designed to effortlessly slice through ceramite and plasteel, couldn’t even leave a scratch on the armor.

Meanwhile, Vane’s blade easily carved them into fleshy ribbons.

A few minutes later, the grand hall was completely silent, save for the dripping of blood. Every single enemy that had tried to engage Vane was dead.

Vane stood alone amidst a gruesome pile of severed limbs and shattered torsos. He casually leveled Bloodletter [Carnage] at Malix, who was still sitting on his throne.

“Your turn, Archon.”

“You are strong, mon-keigh, but you have provoked the wrong opponent.”

Malix activated the Sunspear. Blinding, searing flames instantly erupted along the weapon’s shaft, illuminating its intricate, glowing runes.

“Come on, then! I can’t wait to chop your head off,” Vane grinned, his eyes gleaming with genuine excitement.

“Die, you hairless ape!” Malix violently thrust the spear forward.

An incomprehensibly massive surge of stellar energy erupted from the spear tip, blasting toward Vane like a solar flare.

“Oh, nice! Didn’t expect a trump card like that.”

“If I were a normal guy, I’d definitely be dead right now. Too bad for you, I’m a majestic Minecraft player.”

Vane casually downed a Potion of Fire Resistance with one hand, while simultaneously raising his other hand to activate his Void Ring.

A miniature black hole instantly materialized in the air in front of him. It effortlessly swallowed the apocalyptic solar flare. Not only that, it completely atomized the Sunspear right out of Malix’s hands, instantly converting the ancient, world-ending artifact into a handful of cold EMC points.

Malix stared at his empty hands, then looked up at Vane, completely and utterly baffled.

The flames capable of incinerating a world… just vanished?!

My divine artifact… is just gone?!

“Got any other tricks?” Vane asked, looking at Malix with eager anticipation. “Whatever you’ve got left, just throw it all at me at once!”

Staring at the dripping crimson blade in Vane’s hand, Malix forced a smile that looked uglier than if he were crying.

“Is… is a peaceful resolution possible? I can pledge my absolute loyalty to you, just like Yvraine and the Kabal of the Black Rose!”

Vane was utterly speechless.

I told you to show me your ultimate trump cards, and your response is to immediately surrender?! Are you freaking kidding me?!

Seeing the sheer confusion and disappointment on Vane’s face, Malix immediately dropped to both knees with a heavy thud.

“Respected human Forefather, I—”

“Do not spare him.” A voice suddenly rang out from the entrance of the hall.

Vane and Malix both turned to see Sanguinius walking in, followed closely by a large group of emaciated, rag-clad Imperial Guardsmen.

Sanguinius, Dante, and the Sanguinary Guard had prioritized locating and extracting the Imperial captives. When they breached the slave pens, the Drukhari warriors were actively trying to execute the prisoners, but the Blood Angels had intervened just in time to slaughter the executioners.

A female Guardsman, bearing a horrific, jagged scar across her face, spoke up, her voice trembling with pure, unadulterated hatred. “Respected Forefather, I beg of you. Kill this xenos filth. Avenge the dead.”

These Imperial Guardsmen had been captured by the Drukhari just two weeks prior, alongside tens of thousands of Imperial civilians. In merely two weeks, the vast majority of those tens of thousands of people had been brutally tortured to death. Every single survivor present had endured unimaginable, soul-shattering torment.

Their hatred for this Archon was etched into their very bones.

“The dead cannot be resurrected! But I still possess great value!” Malix screamed desperately.

“Sparing you is easy,” Vane said casually. Malix’s eyes instantly lit up with hope, only to shatter into absolute despair a second later. “Just bring my people back to life first.”

“I…” Malix choked on his words, completely speechless.

Vane didn’t waste another breath. He casually swung Bloodletter [Carnage], cleanly separating the Archon’s head from his shoulders.

The Imperial Guardsmen Sanguinius had rescued immediately swarmed the corpse, practically going feral. They demonstrated exactly what absolute, visceral hatred looked like—tearing at the Archon’s flesh with their bare hands and drinking his blood in a desperate, maddened frenzy of vengeance.

“Have Guilliman arrange for their immediate care and rehabilitation,” Vane told Sanguinius.

“At once,” Sanguinius nodded solemnly.

Vane took one last look at the frenzied mob before opening his mini-map again, searching for the next massive cluster of red dots so he could continue his massacre.

Meanwhile, Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect watched Malix’s execution via a scrying prism. The ancient tyrant, who had ruled Commorragh with an iron fist for millennia, felt a genuine sliver of absolute despair creeping into his cold heart.

The human Forefather’s power is incomprehensible.

He casually neutralized an ancient super-weapon capable of destroying entire worlds. What possible method exists that could actually harm him?!

—

The Dark City of Commorragh echoed with the sounds of absolute, apocalyptic warfare and wholesale slaughter.

From the torture-filled satellite realms and the sprawling, bloody arenas of the mid-tiers, all the way up to the jagged, aristocratic spires of High Commorragh—the Imperium of Man drove forward like the spear of judgment. They swept aside everything in their path, leaving only cleansing flames in their wake.

The city of absolute sin was being rapidly reduced to ash. The Dark Aeldari—the sadistic boogeymen that countless races across the galaxy had feared as their ultimate nightmare—were being systematically exterminated by the Imperial war machine.

Yvraine, Eldrad, and the leaders of the Ynnari stood in silence, watching Commorragh burn. They did not plead for mercy, nor did they attempt to halt the human slaughter.

Their Dark Aeldari cousins had become the single greatest obstacle preventing the Aeldari race from achieving rebirth.

The Craftworlders and the Exodites had chosen the Path system, Infinity Circuits, and World Spirits to protect their souls from Slaanesh’s grasp. The Drukhari had chosen a different route: constantly harvesting the agony and despair of others to temporarily patch the holes in their own draining souls.

But their method was ultimately nothing more than drinking poison to quench a thirst. Every soul they tortured, every drop of agony they harvested, only served to feed Slaanesh and make She Who Thirsts even more powerful.

This fundamental ideological chasm was why the Craftworlders and the Drukhari despised each other. The Drukhari were actively perpetuating the same horrific, degenerate cycle that had caused the Fall of their original empire. If left unchecked, they would eventually drag the entire Aeldari race straight back into the abyss.

Only by letting Commorragh burn to ash could the Aeldari finally secure a chance for true rebirth in the future.

—

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