What?
The fact that the Asurmen descendant did not deny the accusation left all of the Drukhari present utterly stunned.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, the entire area erupted into a buzzing uproar, especially among those who had long placed their faith in the Asurmen descendant.
They felt a sense of absurdity, as if their faith had collapsed — as if the heavens themselves were falling.
"No… impossible, the Asurmen descendant could never be a Mon-keigh…"
Fok panicked, unable to accept this truth.
No Drukhari could believe that this generous and wealthy Asurmen descendant was merely a Mon-keigh in disguise.
Even less could they accept that he would openly admit it.
"But I must point out the error in your words, oh sly and deceitful Supreme Overlord."
Eden quietly observed their reactions before speaking again:
"It is true that I am a savior — but not the savior of mankind. I am the savior of the Drukhari.
I am a descendant of the Asurmen line, the noble bloodline preserved from the ancient Aeldari Empire — Raphael Asurmen.
I was born to deliver the Drukhari, to end the suffering of my wretched kin…"
Eden had long prepared for the possibility of Vect exposing his identity.
After all, that old fox was cunning enough to have pieced things together from scattered clues in the Redemption Satellite Zone.
Too many traces were impossible to completely conceal.
Eden's counter-strategy was simple — never admit it outright.
Who would believe that the so-called savior of mankind would come running into the Dark City to deliver comfort and relief to the Drukhari?
Who would believe that he had not only built the Redemption Satellite Zone as a haven, but also created a near-perfect arena, and even generously distributed soul elixirs to ease their torment under the gaze of She Who Thirsts?
For a people who thrived on infighting, slaughter, and for whom souls were more precious than life itself — he was closer than a father.
This was why, in only a handful of years, he had shaken the power structure of Commorragh that had stood for millennia.
And now, with roots firmly established in the Dark City, all he had to do was continue providing sanctuary and distributing souls. The Drukhari would never care who he truly was.
Vect, of course, was a trueborn Drukhari.
But how did he treat his kin? With endless exploitation, cruel massacres, treating Commorragh's denizens as slaves, toying with them as playthings.
Under such circumstances, what did it matter if Eden admitted to being the Hope Primarch and savior of mankind?
As long as he gave enough, countless Drukhari would still flock to him — eager to serve as guides, leading him to strike down the Supreme Overlord himself.
Such things had happened before in the Imperium.
Many worlds, crushed under the yoke of the Emperor's Tithes, had defected one after another to the Tau Empire.
And once they defected, they often became more loyal than the purest of the Tau themselves.
Of course, Eden would never reveal his true identity unless absolutely necessary.
At least — not yet.
Sure enough, once he spoke, though a few still harbored doubt, the vast majority chose to believe.
Especially those who had already defected to the Redemption Satellite Zone.
After all, it is hard for anyone to admit they've made the wrong choice — especially when such an admission would cost them everything.
Besides, the citizens of Commorragh were long accustomed to the Supreme Overlord's fickle whims and constant lies.
They feared him, but never trusted him. They were far more inclined to believe that the arch-conspirator was the one deceiving them.
This was one of Vect's greatest weaknesses: his own subjects no longer believed in him.
The massive projection of the Asurmen descendant raised his hand toward the image of the Supreme Overlord, declaring in a voice filled with unshakable conviction:
"Asdrubael Vect— within three months, I will drag you, this usurper slave of power, from your throne!
I will end your cruel tyranny and liberate all oppressed Drukhari."
"That is the funniest joke I have ever heard."
Vect barely reacted, giving only his signature cold laugh.
He did not linger on Eden's identity, but rather let it pass.
He could tell from the reactions of the crowd that this revelation would not inflict any serious damage.
Besides, he had no solid proof — he was only probing with suspicion.
If he pressed the matter further, it would only make him look desperate.
Better to wait. He could always fabricate or uncover more convincing evidence later, and release it piece by piece to sow doubt.
As for Eden's boast of overthrowing him within three months?
Vect dismissed it entirely.
In fact, he deliberately encouraged such talk, allowing more of his subjects to nurture hope.
"Hope is the sweetest poison."
So Vect thought:
"While they count the grains in the hourglass, dreaming of the Asurmen heir's coronation, I will revel in watching their hope swell and twist under the nourishment of lies.
Until that hope is devoured, leaving behind only endless decay and an eternal winter…"
He deliberately allowed the spectacle to grow, knowing that when hope was crushed, despair and terror would spread even deeper.
This was a tactic Vect had used many times before. He would even secretly nurture rebels himself, allowing them to rise, to almost touch victory — before casting them into the abyss.
The repeated failure and despair of such would-be liberators was the very foundation of his unshakable rule.
Even now, many of those former rebels still lived — flayed, suspended by iron chains in the Forest of Chains within the Throne Hall, their skins stripped, their bodies tormented by sorcery for centuries, their groans of agony echoing endlessly.
Some had been suffering for thousands of years.
They served as a warning to every Archon who stepped into the throne room, their misery whispered outward like poison.
One message was clear:
Never oppose the Supreme Overlord.
Vect gazed at the Asurmen heir. Soon enough, this pitiful upstart, this rat of the gutters, would join those damned rebels.
And Vect would oversee his torment personally — a rare honor indeed, for so few ever merited his direct attention.
"How exactly will you do it, I wonder?"
Vect found the Asurmen heir's theatrics amusing — far more entertaining than the mummer's plays of his slaves.
Eden continued, controlling the massive projection with impassioned performance, delivering his speech to the Drukhari.
Soon, the entire recording would be spread throughout Commorragh by his propaganda network.
This, too, was one of his favorite tactics.
Speaking with utmost sincerity, Eden promised the Drukhari:
"I, the Asurmen descendant, swear to all who have suffered under She Who Thirsts since the Fall —
I will not only free you from the Supreme Overlord's brutal reign, but I will also release you forever from the torment of the Thirst, and lead you into rebirth.
And these humble soul elixirs are my pledge to you…"
The colossal projection raised its hands high:
"…All Drukhari shall partake freely!"
The words had barely fallen when—
BOOM—
Next to the projection, several shadowy portals tore open, disgorging a ceaseless torrent of soul elixirs.
Like twin waterfalls, they crashed downward, flooding the entire street in a breathtaking display.
"Souls… pure souls…"
On the street, the Kabalite warriors stared at the cascading flood of soul elixirs, trembling as they howled:
"These are all pure souls!!"
Every Drukhari present was shaken to their core — including those from the Redemption Satellite Zone.
Even though they knew in advance that soul elixirs would be manifested in such a manner, the reality of it was overwhelming, seared into memory forever.
Many dropped to their knees, weeping openly. Some citizens of Commorragh were so overcome with excitement that they fainted on the spot.
To describe the feeling — it was as though a beleaguered Space Marine Chapter, desperately clinging to life and scouring the galaxy for lost gene-seed, suddenly witnessed gene-seed raining from the sky.
In such a moment, what could they do but collapse to the ground in tears, offering prayers of eternal gratitude to the Emperor?
That was the intensity of emotion now sweeping through the Drukhari as they beheld the Soul Elixir Waterfall.
These were pure souls — salvation itself!
They watched as the elixirs splashed onto the ground, surging forward like a flood.
This was precisely the spectacle Eden had designed, to carve an unforgettable impression into their hearts.
Some of the elixirs spilled into the lower levels of the city, where even more citizens of Commorragh scrambled to snatch them up.
At that instant, none believed Vect's words anymore.
Who said the Asurmen descendant was a Mon-keigh?
A Mon-keigh could never give us souls.
Hell, not even our own kin ever gave us this much…
In this Dark City, who but the great and generous Asurmen descendant — the scion of noble blood — would act like this?
"We Drukhari… finally have a savior…"
"He is the Black Sun of Commorragh!"
Some of Commorragh's long-tormented, emaciated residents dropped to their knees in tears.
Now, no one questioned Eden's identity; they regarded him as something even more exalted.
More and more hoped he would end the Supreme Overlord's rule and become the new master of the city.
Even so, despite the torrents of soul elixirs coursing along the grand avenue, few dared to grab them.
Only when a vial accidentally fell into a pocket or splashed across a cuirass would a Kabalite quietly hide it away — they, too, were starved for souls.
Very soon, a brittle patter of glass shattering rang out.
The vials that had hit the paving stones, cracked, and then were crushed beneath the weight of others began to burst; the souls within — amped with a host of extra-potent additives — spilled out.
A multitude of ruptured elixirs blossomed into billowing, polychrome mists, spreading on the wind and suffusing the Central District.
Amber haze for euphoria, viridian for pain-relief, crimson for frenzy, sable for rage — vapors of different effects rolled out and covered vast swathes of Drukhari.
They were super-concentrated, mixed-series soul mists!
In moments, every Drukhari touched by the haze instinctively inhaled, filling the void gnawed out by She Who Thirsts.
In an instant, the whole quarter erupted in cheers — everyone was high.
No one could restrain themselves any longer; even the fear of the Supreme Overlord was drowned out.
They surged forward, madly scrambling for the intact vials, and the frenzy grew.
"…Long live!"
No one knew who shouted first; it was like a spark in a powder magazine. Cries swelled in waves, worship for the Asurmen heir roaring to the heavens.
Whether Commorragh's civilians or the Kabal of the Black Heart's warriors — all alike.
The scene plunged into utter ecstasy and chaos.
"Your plan is absolutely perfect!"
Fok stared greedily at the sea of vials below, praising the Asurmen heir's peerless cunning; he was a heartbeat from leaping down to scoop some up himself.
But he restrained the impulse.
What were a few elixirs compared to the rewards he could earn by serving the Asurmen heir well — like a luxury manse that could ward off She Who Thirsts…
With a pure-soul swimming pool, no less!
What Eden was handing out now was the mid- to low-tier elixir lines. It made the volume look spectacular. There were also Advanced, Deluxe, and Supreme grades.
Each tier up was a world apart.
Even the Advanced grade could rival the exquisite souls lovingly prepared by a Haemonculus' craft.
Fok swallowed hard and talked himself down.
He was a top-tier registrant of the Redemption Satellite Zone; he couldn't act like some guttersnipe of Commorragh, losing composure over a few mouthfuls of soul.
In truth, many Drukhari who had moved into the Redemption Satellite Zone had developed a quiet sense of superiority thanks to their improved living conditions.
"Tch~"
Eden looked out over the delirium below and was, for a second, dumbstruck.
This wasn't part of his staging at all — a complete accident. Who could've guessed the glass vials would be this fragile?
Who designed these things? Someone was going to be held accountable!
Utterly substandard — nowhere near his quality benchmarks.
Then he remembered:
Hadn't he recently overseen the soul-elixir production line and suggested thinner glass for the vials?
Save materials, look more crystalline and elegant.
"Honestly, the design works — precious things should be fragile."
He dismissed his earlier thought and, in fact, felt satisfied.
This spectacle had even greater impact now; inspiration struck — they could do more of these carnival-style releases in future.
That was exactly the Drukhari vibe.
His plan was advancing perfectly.
Once these elixirs spread and were then confiscated by the Supreme Overlord's forces, it would kindle a cataclysmic fury.
And at that moment, he would move to the next step.
…
With the Asurmen heir's public challenge and pledge delivered, it wasn't only the Central District where torrents of soul elixirs poured. On the main avenues across numerous districts of the Dark City, the same thing was happening.
Transports — skiff-like Raiders — charged into the streets packed with elixirs and scattered them with abandon.
Even the Archons of the Black Heart did not order the destruction of the transports trespassing in their jurisdictions.
These were holds upon holds of pure souls — who would have the heart to simply blast them out of the sky?
Worst case, better to seize them than destroy them.
Other Archons winced in pain at the thought — such gleaming, white-bright purity, just… handed to the rabble.
Sacrilege!
Beyond the shock-and-awe dumps in the key boulevards, most of the distribution was carried out with precision by the Mandrakes of the Shadow Host.
These creatures of Aelindrach slipped through the city's shadows and pressed elixirs into every outstretched hand they found, ensuring no one missed the Asurmen heir's gift.
Now, those so-called nightmare fiends — the legendary horrors of the half-shadow realm — had become little more than delivery runners, beloved bearers of luck and wealth wherever they appeared.
After all, when you met them now, you weren't cut to ribbons — you were handed soul elixirs.
And what you got was randomized. With luck, a commoner might even pull an Advanced or Deluxe vial.
Like hitting the jackpot.
Even in Commorragh, that could mean relative prosperity.
Citizens, having received their vials from the lucky nightmare couriers, shouted blessings as they hurried off:
"Long live the Asurmen heir!" "Down with Vect!"
Because of the noble Asurmen descendant's selfless generosity, the Dark City had fallen into revelry.
It might have been the happiest moment the Drukhari had known in ten millennia.
Since the Fall, the once-masters of the galaxy had lived in pitch darkness.
They felt like sewer-rats, skulking in the Webway to escape the Thirst.
The lower castes felt it worst.
They endured both She Who Thirsts' gnawing and the extortion of the Kabal of the Black Heart, receiving almost no soul-rations at all.
As for the souls of thinking beings? Unthinkable.
Those were for nobles, Archons, and Kabalite warriors. The masses made do with dregs — some couldn't even afford beasts or fowl.
They snared whatever scuttled through the conduits to plug the hunger in their souls.
These long-lived, near-undying lowborn Drukhari rarely made it to a mere century before withering away in soul-starved agony.
The unlucky ones had their souls seized by She Who Thirsts afterwards, to suffer eternal torment.
Never to be released.
But now the people of Commorragh had the Asurmen heir — one who would feed them souls and promise to free them from the Thirst.
He was… the Savior of the Drukhari!
Nor were ordinary citizens the only recipients — the Kabalite warriors themselves received Eden's gifts.
While patrolling the avenues or driving off crowds, the nightmare creatures suddenly popped out of shadow and forced armfuls of elixirs upon them.
They were stunned. "Us — the Black Heart's own? We get shares too?
Even the enemy gets a cut?"
It made the Kabalites… happy. It softened them toward the Asurmen heir.
What they received was worth several times their usual income.
It wasn't easy for them to gather souls; they had to brave death or the Thirst, raiding outside the Webway.
To get so much for free — who wouldn't be pleased?
In short, today, all of Commorragh's souls were being picked up by the Asurmen heir!
…
On the palace terrace.
High Archons issued order after order — have Kabal forces stabilize the situation, contain the chaos.
Confiscate all soul elixirs.
The Supreme Overlord's terror still held sway in Commorragh; no one dared disobey.
Vect looked down upon the tumult, his body trembling.
But on the Supreme Overlord's face… was an excited smile, the look of a plot well sprung.
"The Asurmen heir's move isn't bad — using the gain and loss of souls as bait to stoke the entire city's wrath.
And all that wrath will become a poison dagger pointed at me…"
Vect lifted his gaze toward the distant spire — the gutter-rat Asurmen heir was over there.
As if he had foreseen this development, he murmured to himself:
"Let me guess — your next step is to arm Commorragh's people with poisoned blades, yes?
A pity for you, fool — everything you've done is a witless struggle. Those souls, in fact, have done me a great service!"
(End of Chapter)
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