The Keeper of Secrets struck with all its might, and the other four Greater Daemons followed, launching their attacks in unison.
Several Greater Daemons, driven into desperation, unleashed suicidal strikes that merged into a terrifying onslaught.
A whip woven from virgin spines cracked through the air with wails both joyous and mournful. Serrated poisoned blades thrust forward, followed by clouds of pink miasma and bone-crafted instruments of war.
The dreadful soundwaves transformed into bladed dust of blood, shaking the very fabric of space around them.
"Hiss~ Are the Chaos Greater Daemons always this desperate now?!"
Eden felt the deadly threat and sucked in a sharp breath.
He summoned his psychic might, forming a golden shield before him to ward off the incoming Chaos barrage, protecting himself from greater harm.
This battle wasn't just physical anymore—it reached into the realms of the Warp, carrying conceptual assaults.
BOOM!
The Chaos attacks crashed against the golden psychic barrier. Warp-spawned energies clashed with psychic brilliance, twisting and devouring one another.
But slowly, the Chaos surged ahead.
"Damn, it's breaking… I can't hold much longer…"
Eden strained to maintain the shield, but it was being torn apart piece by piece.
Five Greater Daemons attacking at once was no trivial matter.
And worse—he couldn't grant himself full blessings.
His precious reserves of energy had to be saved for the Emperor's clone. To spend them here would be wasteful.
Finally, after devouring much of his energy, the attacks ripped through his psychic shield and smashed into him.
The Hope Primarch was hurled back, slammed into the ground of the Webway, bouncing violently as he was flung further away.
"Lord Savior!"
Jubal Khan, Chapter Master of the White Scars, had been watching closely.
The moment he saw Eden fall, he gunned his White Hawk grav-craft at full speed, rushing to him.
???
The five Greater Daemons of Slaanesh and their hordes froze, stunned.
They had charged Eden as though facing certain death, prepared to sacrifice everything.
And yet… in the very first exchange, the Primarch had fallen. How absurd was this?!
"Dark Prince… did we just… slay the Hope Primarch?"
The first Keeper of Secrets swallowed hard, its voice disbelieving.
Wasn't he Ka'Bandha's lifelong rival? Wasn't he the strongest of the uncorrupted Primarchs?
How could he collapse so easily?
"Yes! He fought with everything he had, and still he couldn't withstand us!" another Keeper howled.
They were certain—what they struck down was truly the Savior, no mistake about it.
And at that thought, they grew ecstatic. They had defeated one of the Daemons' most feared foes—Eden, the Hope Primarch!
Their confidence soared. They prepared to press the advantage—only to realize he was already gone.
Just moments before, Jubal had scooped up Eden's prone form and was fleeing at full throttle.
"After him!"
The Daemons ignored the White Scars Primarch who was breaking out elsewhere. Their full focus turned toward pursuing Eden.
Every Daemon knew—the glory of slaying the Savior would bring the Dark Prince's favor, and perhaps even blessings from the other Chaos Gods.
Especially their Lord of Excess, who had long hungered for Eden's soul.
And now, the chance was before them. They would never let it slip.
Inside the Webway.
The White Hawk roared ahead, its grav-engines screaming.
Jubal piloted at maximum thrust, still sparing concern for his Chapter's foster-father.
"Lord Savior, are you hurt?"
Eden shook his head, calm as stone.
"Nothing serious. Just a few ruptured organs. It's fine."
At those words, Jubal finally exhaled.
A few broken organs were hardly mortal wounds for an Astartes—let alone a Primarch.
Some Primarchs with regenerative gifts could return even from a shattered body, or fight on headless for a time.
Truly monstrous beings.
Eden patted his chest. His muscles ached and burned crimson.
Those Daemons had struck hard—truly fighting to the death.
He had underestimated them and nearly paid the price. At the last instant, he had ridden the force of their Warp-energy to disengage.
That escape bought his survival.
He had no interest in pointless fights. He hadn't even invoked his blessing to strengthen himself.
There was no gain in lingering here. Even victory would mean wounds with no reward—pure loss.
Better to use himself as bait, drawing the Daemons away.
Still… compared to Ka'Bandha, his current strength felt lacking.
That wasn't just Ka'Bandha, but Ka'Bandha with Khorne's blessings. Facing that was no small feat.
On paper, the difference was clear. In truth, though, Eden could still fight.
If he unleashed his Sun's Dark Side blessings without restraint, bolstered by the Orks' "Orrk Logic Field," he might even have a chance to smash Ka'Bandha down.
But the risk was immense—an unpredictable deathmatch.
Jubal suddenly shivered. A chill crawled up his spine.
"Lord Savior… why do I feel something cold behind us?"
Eden crouched casually on the side rail of the grav-craft like a golden corncob, his expression calm.
"Mm. Just the wind. Keep your speed up. Whatever you do—don't look back."
But Jubal's sense of dread only deepened. Against instinct, he glanced over his shoulder.
And froze.
His eyes filled with pale, towering forms—three pairs of white, thunderous wings.
He gulped, his body numb.
Behind them, the Greater Daemons of Slaanesh closed in, so near they nearly brushed the hull. Around them surged more Keepers, and beyond… an endless tide of Daemons.
The Webway itself seemed to drown beneath their flood.
The twisted abominations surged forward silently but relentlessly. If they caught up, the consequences were unthinkable.
Jubal turned his gaze forward again, his voice trembling.
"Lord Savior…"
"I know," Eden replied evenly. "Keep control of this craft. If you falter, we're finished—lost in the horde."
BOOM!
An attack streaked past the White Hawk, smashing into the ground ahead. Shards of stone exploded skyward.
Thankfully, the grav-craft skimmed above the terrain, immune to rough ground that might have flipped a wheeled vehicle.
Still, the turbulent currents threw them into a wild lurch, letting the Daemons close further, threatening to engulf them.
"Lord Savior, hold on!"
Jubal yanked the controls, sending the craft vaulting high into the air, clearing a broken chasm.
"Steady it!"
Eden turned, bracing on the side rail, twin bolters roaring in his hands. Alchemically enhanced explosive rounds tore through the pursuing Daemons, pushing them back.
Shell casings rained down like a storm.
Thankfully, the machine spirits of his legendary bolters burned strong—no jams, no misfires. They carried him through this storm of pursuit.
At last, Jubal's lips curled in a fierce grin.
"I see a new route! We can lose them there!"
The White Hawk dropped back to the ground, banking sharply into a narrow Webway branch.
The Keepers of Secrets, hulking monstrosities of sin, could not force themselves through the narrow Webway artery. Their sheer size and the press of countless Daemons behind them left the passage clogged.
It was one of their greatest weaknesses.
Chaos Daemons were too vast in number, too steeped in extremes of emotion. When they descended in invasion, they seldom thought of tactics. They relied on sheer tides of flesh and claw—Daemonic swarm assaults that often collapsed upon themselves.
Jubal steered the White Hawk grav-craft through twisting side-passages, cutting through bends and arcs until another artery opened toward the Black Throne.
This was Eden's advantage after years of preparation in Commorragh.
Through webs of cabals and intrigue, he had seized knowledge of countless hidden routes, able to strike or retreat at will.
Only when he sensed no Daemon pursuit did Eden finally lower his twin bolters, their barrels glowing red and trailing smoke.
These were no ordinary weapons. They had been unearthed in a ruin, said to be forged by the Lord of the Salamanders himself.
Eden grinned, admiration plain as he tapped their warm barrels.
"These twin bolters are beasts… truly Vulcan's handiwork!"
Until today he had treated them only as relics, ornaments. This was their first true battle—and their ferocity was staggering.
Even the machine spirits within the weapons seemed to roar with joy.
They had lain buried in ruin for millennia, then polished, anointed, honored—yet never fired, never let loose upon heretics. Eden had even nicknamed them "Guns of Peace."
Now, after an age of silence, they had spoken at last. No wonder the machine spirits trembled with delight.
"Hhhss~"
Eden's brow furrowed, unease creeping in.
"Wait. I didn't even reload once. And yet… nearly nine thousand bolts fired? That can't be right. Did the Omnissiah bless their spirits directly?"
The thought was chilling.
These legendary bolters were more than weapons—they conjured their own ammunition. A ceaseless war-beast, sustained by faith and fury.
But then, this was the Webway, so close to the Warp. Miracles and madness were one and the same.
In the Imperium, the Omnissiah's touch had manifested in stranger ways. There were even tales of an agri-harvester felling a Chaos war engine.
Eden let the mystery lie, slinging the relics back to his side. He pulled up intelligence from Jaghatai Khan, the White Scars Primarch.
They had pierced the Daemon lines and were nearing the Black Throne.
"Young Jubal," Eden murmured, lounging lazily against the gunwale, "see if you can find us a shorter route. Best we hurry."
"Yes, Lord Savior."
Jubal bowed his head and worked the grav-craft's auspex, seeking a clearer path.
At the same time, the news of Eden's apparent defeat raced through the Warp, rippling outrage and laughter alike.
"How amusing," sneered a towering champion, Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets, Champion of the Arenas, gazing upon a projection of Eden crumpled in the dirt. "The so-called Hope Primarch, weaker than rumor. His legend is hollow."
By the projection's estimation, he could never stand against her.
"Ka'Bandha chose such a feeble wretch as his life's nemesis? It shames us."
Her words stirred the gathered Keepers. Their respect curdled into fury.
They saw it clearly now—Eden's power was borrowed. He leaned upon cursed relics. His true might had seldom been revealed.
And they had already learned the counter to holy weapons. No longer would such relics slay them so easily.
Perhaps… the time had come to shatter his myth.
"Carry my words," Syll'esh hissed to a Daemonic herald. "Tell Ka'Bandha this: Doom of Secrets will tear off his precious foe's head, and grind it to ash before his eyes."
To slay Ka'Bandha's vaunted rival and profane his corpse—such insult would drive the Bloodthirster into a frenzy, forcing a duel on her terms.
Syll'esh mounted her chariot of torment, wretched forms screaming as they were lashed to its wheels. The Dark Prince's cloak of tendrils streamed behind her.
From afar, a Warp-rift shimmered. Through its twisted veil, the Black Throne loomed, a titanic silhouette of power.
That was her target. Its Dark Eldar engines and Cursed clone-flesh were treasures beyond compare. Eden would never ignore such a prize.
And when he came… he would fall.
...
Elsewhere in the Immaterium.
Flames roared as a brass chariot thundered toward another rent in the Veil—one that opened upon the Black Throne.
"Impossible…"
Ka'Bandha stood upon the chariot, eyes fixed upon the same vision of Eden's fall.
Agony and denial gripped him.
"No… Blood God, no! My life's nemesis cannot fall before others!"
His faith cracked.
How could Eden, the one rival worthy of him, be struck down by five mere Keepers? Just five! They should be no more than five axe-swings.
Perhaps Eden was holding back? Yet the vision showed his reserves drained, his relics silent.
Ka'Bandha's burning eyes widened, smoke rising from his straining thoughts.
At last he seized upon a desperate answer:
"It must be but an avatar! A fragment! The true Savior has yet to appear!"
Nonsense though it was, he clung to it.
And so the question grew—had the true Eden ever walked the galaxy at all? Was it always shadows, always masks? None knew his true strength.
Still, a seed of doubt had been sown.
Ka'Bandha began to believe Eden weaker than legend. Even his true self, should he come, would not prevail. Perhaps his relics were spent, broken in Nurgle's Garden long ago.
Confidence swelled in the Bloodthirster. He would claim Eden's head. And then none would stand before him. His name would resound forever in the Warp.
A slavering, canine Daemon of Slaanesh scuttled into view, chattering nonsense before vanishing again.
Syll'esh's herald.
Ka'Bandha's bellow shook the Immaterium.
"Doom of Secrets! You dare profane my foe?!"
His form burned red, fury incarnate. That she would belittle Eden and seek his death—such insult was unforgivable.
Whatever else, Eden could only be slain by Ka'Bandha's hand.
With a roar, the Bloodthirster stormed toward the rift, his chariot blazing. He would carve through to the Black Throne, and teach Syll'esh terror.
...
Commorragh. The Black Throne.
The war reached crescendo. More Daemons poured in with each breath. The White Scars Primarch closed from one side. The Doom of Secrets advanced from another. Ka'Bandha thundered down a third.
And from yet another path—
"Young Jubal," Eden coughed, perched on the battered, smoke-belching White Hawk as Jubal shoved it forward, "next time… maybe check the road's condition first."
The Savior had arrived, ready to meet the tide of Daemons head-on.
The final confrontation at the Black Throne had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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