Earth Standard Time, Year 24,237.
After their reconnaissance fleet's encounter with the Human Federation, the Aeldari intelligence network gradually pieced together fragments of information about this rapidly rising civilization.
Upon comparison and analysis, certain hidden divisions of the Aeldari Empire finally took note of the Federation's meteoric rise.
In earlier, more disciplined centuries of Aeldari rule, such a civilization would have been subject to covert scrutiny, perhaps even intervention.
But in this age of decline—when the once-mighty empire had sunk into decadence and excess—most Aeldari were too absorbed in their indulgences to care.
And once they discovered that humanity's accelerated growth hinged upon high-level AI and cybernetic servitors, their disdain only deepened.
In their eyes, the Federation had already planted one foot in its own grave. Left to their own devices, the humans would inevitably self-destruct. No need to intervene.
Thus, while the Human Federation sneered in secret at the stagnation and decadence of the Aeldari, convinced they would one day surpass them. The Aeldari dismissed humanity as reckless fools hurtling toward extinction.
Each side regarded the other as walking corpses.
Each was convinced it alone sat securely upon the high seat, free to watch the galaxy's storms unfold.
One was smug. The other, contemptuous. Both, utterly certain of their superiority.
---
The Aeldari Pantheon.
After millennia of decay, the Pantheon bore little resemblance to its ancient glory.
Now, it was wholly ruled by the Dark Gods.
The once-great deities—Asuryan the All-Father, Khaela Mensha Khaine the War God, and countless others—had weakened to the point of impotence, unable to influence events.
In their place, the throne of the Aeldari God-King rotated among the Dark Gods in thousand-year intervals.
Fair and reasonable, by their twisted logic. None trusted the others; only such rotation kept the fragile balance intact.
The current God-King was the God of Torment, a being steeped in Slaanesh's corruption.
His intellect flickered erratically, rising and collapsing with disturbing regularity.
Little need be said of his domain. His name alone revealed it: he and his followers thrived on inflicting exquisite suffering, finding ecstasy in the screams of others.
Among the Dark Gods, he had gained the most from Aeldari corruption—his power swollen monstrously. Yet he had also lost the most, his sanity and reason eroded into a haze of bloodlust.
"Hahahaha! Let us revel once more!"
At his bellow, the Pantheon erupted in shrieks of approval.
The God of Torment seized a skinned slave from beside him, slit its throat with a talon, and poured the blood into his goblet of wine. He drank deeply, crimson rivulets staining his maw.
Once, the Aeldari Pantheon was a place of reverence, awe, and divine majesty.
Now it resembled a nightmare slaughterhouse.
Corpses and viscera littered the floor. Though attendants constantly cleaned, the cloying stench of millennia of massacre clung to the very stones.
The air itself was thick with malice—resentment and terror from uncounted billions sacrificed in agony.
Even the Dark Gods themselves could no longer recall how many lives had been extinguished here. The number was simply too vast.
---
And in a layer of reality beyond the perception of Aeldari deities, a figure strolled casually.
Orsaga, Chaos God.
His expression was calm, almost amused.
To him, these Aeldari gods were nothing more than swine fattened for slaughter.
Worthless, perhaps—but their endless cruelty lent this place a certain charm, reminding him of his true home: The Abyss.
Nostalgic by nature, he sometimes wandered here simply to savor the familiar atmosphere.
But this time, his leisure was cut short.
The God of Torment's eyes lit with sudden inspiration. He turned and roared to the others:
"Hey! Listen! I have an idea!"
The other Dark Gods glanced at him with puzzlement, uncertain what madness he now proposed.
Yet curiosity stirred. Boredom gnawed at them—endless centuries of the same games dulled even gods.
"What idea?" several asked with a note of intrigue.
The God of Torment swept his gaze across them, grinning with grotesque pride.
"Have you ever wondered about that so-called God of Art? Always so mysterious, never showing himself. I say we hold a contest—see who can lure him out! And as a prize, whoever succeeds shall hold the throne of the God-King for an extra thousand years!"
A ripple ran through the Pantheon. Some Dark Gods howled approval at once, eager for mischief.
Others hesitated.
The God of Art was whispered of only in dread tones. His greatest trait was his power.
For that reason alone, he had long been tacitly left undisturbed.
And now? To bait him for amusement?
It felt… unwise.
But one God could not restrain himself. He leapt up, laughing madly:
"Hahahaha! I shall slaughter the Art Temple itself—I dare him not to appear!"
He never finished the boast.
An unseen force seized his skull like a vice, lifting him into the air.
His scream split the chamber as the invisible hand twisted his form like a rag.
Bones cracked. Flesh tore.
At last, his body burst apart in a spray of blood and gore, showering the silent Pantheon.
The other Dark Gods froze, not daring to move.
___
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