The nightmare's serrated bone-cleaver fell with fluid lethality, hewing down the final Greenskin in this squalid shantytown. The brute's massive head tumbled into the distance, severed in a single stroke.
These assassins, strictly bound by their contracts, now slaughtered the enemy driven by thoughts of incomparable glory. Never since their inception had they gathered under a single banner with such selfless unity.
Lileath walked with satisfaction across the corpse-strewn earth. This was the final major Greenskin settlement to fall to the Aeldari; the eyesore junk-heaps were being demolished, and scattered spores were purged by the cleansing roar of heavy flamers.
The only remaining resistance on the planet were the Skaven clans entrenched deep within the subterranean dark. However, as news of the Greenskin massacre spread, the ratmen scrambled to abandon their surface holdings, fleeing back into the depths.
Lacking an immediate solution for the subterranean Skaven, Lileath did not dwell on them. She was impatient to declare her first victory.
"My beloved brothers and sisters, my proud kin! Starting from this ancient world, we hereby proclaim the return of the Aeldari Empire! Let this news be spread, let it be broadcast far and wide, for our glorious return is unstoppable!"
Below her, the gathered Aeldari wept openly. Unlike the minor deities of the Imperium who were seized by the Emperor to serve as Primarchs before they could even manifest, Lileath was a goddess of renown within their mythos. Consequently, Lucius had not suppressed these memories, but rather subtly altered them.
He allowed Lileath to believe she was the reincarnation of the minor goddess Lileath, which, in a sense, was the truth. Thus, while the Aeldari did not view her as the original Goddess of Dreams and Innocence herself, they revered her as a being far superior to any mere Chosen.
Through the Webway, the Kabals began to broadcast the news across the galaxy: the Avatar of Lileath had begun the restoration of the Aeldari Empire. The Aeldari hailed the time since Isha's rescue as the Era of Resurgence. The successive salvation and resurrection of their gods had galvanized the race; even the most pessimistic among them began to believe their species had finally struck the bottom of the abyss and was now rebounding.
Tragically, they did not know their "resurgence" was merely a cog in the machine of a Chaos God's design.
The other three Ruinous Powers raised no objections. Whether the Aeldari rose again meant nothing to them. Khorne would gain more skulls, new wars, and fresh blood; Nurgle would taste a new vintage of despair; and Tzeentch was positively delighted.
The Weaver of Destinies, standing before the Well of Eternity, often felt that his pursuit of infinite change was being stifled by an indescribable sensation, as if everything he did was not "true" change. Since the emergence of the Great Horned Rat, that feeling of suffocation had vanished, replaced by a liberating breath of air that left Tzeentch jubilant.
As for the Emperor, his heart was a knot of contradictions. To speak plainly, seeing the current state of the Imperium had long since driven him to despair. He realized that this version of the Human Empire was doomed, and that humanity was destined to go extinct at its own hands. Yet, the Great Horned Rat's plan provided a way for humanity to survive, albeit in a manner that deeply offended him, as it meant humanity could no longer exist as the masters of the galaxy.
Even he, in his lack of omniscience, could not judge which path held more weight.
However, the Dark King, the nascent fifth Chaos God who had been forced into the sixth position, was far from pleased. Existing as a cold, black sun, the Dark King expressed its fury either by manifesting in the guise of a youthful Emperor to speak, or by erupting with frigid solar flares that brought ruin to any passing daemons. The Dark King and the Emperor had now become two distinct entities. Should the Dark King truly take form, the Emperor's consciousness would be extinguished; yet, as long as humanity survived in some form, the crisis remained just short of immediate.
…
Following the purge of the Greenskins, Urarchia became the first world in realspace claimed by Lileath. Aeldari from across the stars flocked to the planet to witness this Avatar of the fallen goddess. Among them were arrogant Archons and Craftworld Farseers, many seeking to "bring to justice" the one they suspected of being a pretender.
But upon seeing Lileath, they invariably fell to their knees.
Lileath was not stingy with these newcomers. Instead, she magnanimously appointed them as the Sacred Bloodline of the Second Aeldari Empire.
Upon a magnificent blue-and-white edifice, a structure mimicking the style of the ancient Aeldari Empire, built at the cost of countless lives of Haemonculus-bred thralls, Lileath held a resplendent grail of gold and gems. Within it shimmered golden holy water.
Thirteen Archons, Succubi, and Farseers who were the first to swear fealty were permitted to drink from the grail. Immediately, their bodies erupted in a blinding golden light as a potent divine power surged through their mortal frames. It required no explanation: they had been elevated beyond the limits of their kind. The cheers for Lileath shook the very heavens.
…
While the Aeldari were engaged in massive infrastructure projects to transform the world into their new capital, an envoy from Clan Rictus was screaming in fury within the filth-ridden tunnels of the Under-Empire beneath Urarchia.
"Fools-stupid! The Nachmund Gauntlet was... was a tithe-gift for the Great Horned Rat from Clan Rictus! The pointy-ears cannot be here! Cannot!"
This Rictus Warlord stood over three meters tall, bloated by countless growth stimulants. His power armor was covered in aggressive spikes as he spat at the chieftain of the local Skaven clan. As an envoy of a Major Clan, he could lord over the leaders of minor clans with impunity, provided he wasn't assassinated first.
The local chieftain, drenched in the Warlord's spittle, could only offer a groveling smile.
"Envoy, listen-hear our excuses! Those pointy-ear things are strong-powerful! Even the Greenskin-things could not fight-kill them! We need more-more rats! We must dig-collapse their pretty tall-houses, turn pretty gardens into ruins! Let the sacred clutter fill this world!!"
The Rictus envoy remained incensed. The entire Nachmund Gauntlet had been claimed by Clan Rictus as their sovereign domain; Kratch Doomclaw had no intention of yielding worlds like Vigilus or Sangua Terra to anyone. This sudden "Aeldari Empire" was nothing more than an intruder causing chaos in the Rictus nest.
"You-you go first! Lead the swarm! Drive the pointy-ear things out-out!!"
To dedicate a planet to the Great Horned Rat was no simple task. The God of Ruin was a demanding deity; such an offering was impossible until every trace of "cleanliness" on the surface had been obliterated. To fail was to invite the Great Horned Rat's wrath for the sin of sloth.
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