The prow of the Void Sword erupted with a brilliant, blinding ignition.
It was a heavy lance-weapon battery array, retrofitted onto the vessel's foremost superstructure for the express purpose of fracturing Greenskin planetary fortresses. Driven by terrifying kinetic momentum, the Void Sword smashed back through the gradually sealing planar walls of the Webway without a shred of resistance, punching deeper and deeper into the spatial labyrinth.
Further out in the void, the recently evacuated Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars legionaries could only witness a sudden, epoch-shattering lance of light streak past. The floating detritus and planetary fragments of Wyrmwood, drifting in the ruptured pocket of space, were pulverized into absolute molecular dust in a single microsecond.
As the monolithic hull of the titan forced its way deeper, the localized density readings of warp-energy began to skyrocket exponentially. The staggering telemetry suggested the Void Sword had plunged directly into the raw, unmitigated depths of the Immaterium itself.
Suddenly, the space directly ahead warped and buckled into impossible geometries.
The velocity of the Void Sword plummeted abruptly. The volatile laws of the Warp twisted the standard constants of physics, violently arresting and nullifying the massive kinetic energy bound to the hull. To guarantee the structural survival of the ship, the Geller field generators were driven to maximum output, enveloping the hull in a protective barrier that forcefully sheared the maddening warp-currents away from the armored plating.
In that same instant, a swarming host of daemons manifested within the roiling currents.
Onboard the Void Sword, rows of Ectoplasmic Dissociation Cannon batteries opened fire in perfect, synchronized salvos. Within a matter of seconds, countless malevolent entities were utterly dissolved, erased entirely from the surrounding spatial reality.
As the vessel's sub-systems engaged the warp-energy isolation fields, the ambient miasma of the Immaterium began to rapidly dissipate. Through the cleared path of the boiling psychic tides, the sensors of the Void Sword locked onto the target: Vashtorr the Arkifane.
This was the precarious threshold dividing the Webway from the Warp, a terminal fault line where the churning tides of the sea of souls were desperately clawing to reclaim the breach. The daemonic demigod was in a truly catastrophic state. His entire form was blackened and scarred by the residual fury of heavy ordnance detonations, his unnatural metallic flesh rent by cascading fractures. One of his great horns had been sheared off entirely, and fountains of unholy, warp-born blood jetted periodically from his ruptured frame.
Yet, despite his ruin, his massive, dual claws burned with a profane, desperate power as he clung fiercely to a mechanical apparatus that radiated a brilliant, pristine white luminescence.
"％@＃￥＊!＃"
Vashtorr spat out a torrent of unintelligible, forbidden scrap-code and ritualistic syllables, focusing every shred of his remaining willpower to constrain the Dissonance Engine before the ancient machine fractured completely.
Whoom!
A beam of concentrated, dark energy cut through the gloom, tracking directly toward Vashtorr's thoracic core.
"Raagh! Why must you all persist in obstructing my design?!!!"
Though the daemonic demigod sensed the absolute, existential doom carried within that localized beam, he still could not bring himself to relinquish his dominion over the Dissonance Engine. Raising a single claw, he swung his iconic Hammer of the Soul Forges, channeling what little Chaos energy he could gather, now dangerously thin due to the dreadnought's warp-isolation fields, to intercept the oncoming strike. His remaining hand remained frantically clamped around the shaking chassis of the engine.
But the calculus of the machine cared nothing for his desperation.
The dark lance effortlessly bypassed Vashtorr's chaotic defenses, utterly erasing the Hammer of the Soul Forges from existence. A relic forged from pure warp-matter and blasphemous metallurgy stood zero chance against the absolute finality of an Ectoplasmic Dissociation Cannon; it was laughably fragile. The chaotic energies feeding it were instantly snuffed out, and its physical framework was forcefully reverted into a twisted, deformed mass of molten scrap-iron.
The obliterating beam did not stop there, completely vaporizing Vashtorr's entire arm in the same microsecond.
For the first time in his immortal existence, the master-smith of the Warp experienced an agonizing sensation so absolute it robbed him of the ability to scream. It was a searing, fundamental mutilation of his very soul.
With his focus shattered by the agonizing psychic trauma, Vashtorr's grip on the Dissonance Engine slipped for a crucial fraction of a second.
The Old Tech artifice detonated instantly.
The entire framework of the Dissonance Engine fractured into hundreds of volatile shards, scattering wildly in every conceivable direction across the Warp before vanishing into the infinite tides. As a device meticulously constructed by the ancient Old Ones, even its shattered remnants retained the inherent capacity to pierce the veil of the Immaterium. This time, however, it was statistically certain that no entity in existence would ever be able to reassemble the engine.
"NOOOO!!!"
Witnessing the absolute dispersion of his lifework into hundreds of fleeing sparks, Vashtorr's roar of pure, unadulterated fury echoed through the localized pocket of the Warp.
Yet, Axion remained completely indifferent to the daemon's screaming.
The iron intelligence sought only data: specifically, what exact yield and caliber of ectoplasmic dissociation weaponry was required to permanently vaporize or mortally compromise a true, sovereign entity of the Warp. The initial strike had yielded an extraordinarily satisfying diagnostic calculation.
Though that singular beam had originated from an inconspicuous, minor auxiliary battery array on the Void Sword, the destructive efficacy had surpassed expectations. The daemonic demigod Vashtorr had not been instantly annihilated like the lesser entities before him, but had instead sacrificed his masterwork weapon and a primary limb to absorb the kinetic and psychic shock.
With the destruction of the Dissonance Engine, Vashtorr turned his absolute, wrathful attention toward the detestable iron automata. For the first time since his genesis, the final extinguishing of his ascension was replaced by a cold, alien sensation creeping into his immortal core: the primal dread of true death.
They were deep within the Warp now.
From the moment the Engine vanished, Vashtorr had frantically attempted to regenerate his severed limb and re-forge his fallen hammer. However, the profound, hollow weakness echoing from his spiritual core was no illusion. His very soul had sustained an irreparable, existential fracture.
Lesser beings might have remained blind to such spiritual decay, but the Arkifane could feel the catastrophic unraveling of his essence with absolute clarity.
Enduring the agonizing torment of his fractured soul and the terror of his mangled physiology, Vashtorr unleashed a desperate surge of chaotic energy, attempting to mold a fresh weapon and knit his missing arm back together. Yet, that spiritual wound acted as a gaping, unbridgeable chasm, severely bleeding off his output and drastically undercutting his formidable power.
Onboard the Void Sword, advanced target-acquisition matrices remained completely locked onto Vashtorr's coordinates. An iron automaton never relaxes its vigilance against an active target; even though the daemonic demigod was severely compromised, Axion still classified the entity as an extreme systemic hazard. The paracausal anomalies of the Warp frequently exceeded the predictive capabilities of standard machine logic.
Vashtorr threw his head back in a deafening, reality-warping shriek, his ambient chaotic energies coalescing into colossal, violently twisting tendrils that lashed out toward the Void Sword with apocalyptic fury.
The defensive void shields of the dreadnought flared into brilliant life. The massive tendrils smashed against the kinetic barriers with a sickening, metallic hiss, sending cascading ripples of displaced energy washing across the defensive grid. Driven to absolute madness, Vashtorr abandoned the cold, structured logic of the technology he championed, throwing himself forward in a feral, unrefined tantrum of raw, destructive malice.
"Ectoplasmic dissociation weapon caliber adjustment: elevate to secondary battery array parameters."
As the mechanical directive cleared the processing networks, a massive gun-deck on the flank of the Void Sword, sporting a barrel diameter spanning a full hundred meters, began to hum with an unholy, crackling ignition.
"Activate the Ultra-Heavy Soul-Eradicator."
A monolithic pillar of absolute, dark illumination erupted from the barrel, instantly swallowing Vashtorr's entire frame and the twisting storm of tendrils surrounding him. The daemonic demigod offered no resistance, melting away within the dark energy like fat against a searing blade.
As the blinding column of light slowly flickered out and dissolved into the void, it left behind a profound scar within the Warp: a yawning chasm of complete, absolute nothingness spanning hundreds of meters wide and stretching into an immeasurable length. Within that total vacuum, not a single atom or trace of psychic resonance remained.
Yet, deep within the furthest, uncharted abysses of the sea of souls, no one could have known that a minuscule, heavily diminished incarnation of Vashtorr had quietly coalesced once more. His eyes stared blankly into the psychic dark, completely hollow, his memory banks entirely wiped clean.
As a daemonic demigod, Vashtorr still possessed active cults across the galaxy, and countless dark compacts remained sworn in his name. It was through the anchoring weight of these mortal tethers that the shattered entity was pulled back from absolute non-existence, allowed to crawl back into the dark even after his soul-essence had been entirely erased by the machine.