"...What did you say?"
The smile on Idranel's face froze. His pupils contracted to the size of needle points, and the only sound in his ears was the drum-like thumping of his own heart.
What? An Aeldari Farseer was actually so arrogant as to publicly pronounce his death sentence? Who did he think he was?
Idranel's shock lasted less than an instant. In the next breath, shock turned into a monstrous rage.
"You will regret this!"
He let out a piercing shriek, his voice laced with psychic tremors that caused the surrounding air to warp. Visible ripples expanded from the Farseer's body, not only churning the stagnant underground air but also throwing back several Aspect Warriors who had charged forward in an attempt to decapitate him.
"I will make your betrayal of the Aeldari known to all! Eldrad Ulthran! Every Craftworld will hunt you until Commorragh is the only place left for you to hide!"
Ulthran did not heed his roars. The old Seer merely waved the Staff of Ulthamar calmly, and the Aspect Warriors from Craftworld Ulthwé behind him surged forward like a tide.
Craftworld Ulthwé was positioned closer to the Eye of Terror than any other. Throughout their ten-thousand-year history, the Aeldari of Ulthwé saw themselves as sentinels guarding the Eye. Beyond possessing the most powerful psykers, they held peerless mastery in both martial and psychic arts.
The fusion igniters of the Fire Dragons spat out searing jets of flame, blossoming into flowers of death among the Chaos fanatics. Striking Scorpions swung their chainswords, clashing with mutants fueled by drugs. Howling Banshees unleashed ear-splitting war cries, paralyzing the minds of their enemies for a split second before slicing them into fragments with power swords.
"The mists woven by the Changer of Ways have already corrupted your mind."
The old Seer's voice cut through the clamor of the battlefield, now entirely calm. "You are no longer fit to lead your Craftworld. Your subsequent actions will only lead your people, and the future of the entire Aeldari race, to total ruin."
"You are lying!"
Idranel roared, his witchblade parrying a psychic lightning bolt aimed at him. His eyes burned with a frenzied light; the strings of his sanity were snapping one by one.
Kill. Kill! KILL!
The more the enemy opposed him, the more it proved he was right! As long as he crushed these Aeldari who opposed him, he could still complete his plan and save his people! This thought coiled like a venomous snake in the depths of Idranel's consciousness, biting at his last shreds of clarity.
With startlingly fluid swordplay, the Farseer cut down a Howling Banshee who had lunged at him. Under a psychic burst, the warrior's body exploded into a mist of blood in mid-air.
—I will win.
Idranel felt the surging power within him, and a twisted smile appeared on his lips. He could feel something watching him from behind the veil, and that power was flowing into his body in an endless stream.
Yes, it was just a small matter of utilization. He was a rational Farseer; he had the confidence to use this power without being controlled by it. Look at those humans corrupted by Chaos—they were immersed in the abyss, unable to even recognize their own fall.
But he was different! He was one of the most elite Aeldari Seers. His will stood above the petty tricks of the Chaos Gods. He was using Their power pragmatically and purposefully, not succumbing to Their influence!
Another bolt of psychic lightning shot out, charring three Guardians. Idranel's laughter grew more deranged.
However, in the next second, two even more terrifying psychic presences locked onto him simultaneously.
One came from Sibylla. Cold killing intent surged in the depths of the Inquisitor's eyes. Her psychic power was like an invisible giant hammer, slamming violently against the psychic shield wrapped around Idranel, causing it to instantly fill with cracks like shattering glass.
The other came from Ulthran. A blinding light erupted from the tip of the old Seer's staff. Ten thousand years of combat experience and wisdom condensed into a precise and lethal strike, piercing directly into the flaw in the depths of Idranel's soul.
...The "blackened" version is three times stronger? What a joke. Even if he were truly three times stronger, how could he possibly withstand the joint pincer attack of two of the top psykers in the galaxy?
Idranel's psychic shield shattered with a roar. He let out a muffled groan, the intense agony nearly forcing his knees to the ground.
No! Idranel closed his eyes in despair. His momentum was gone, and he awaited the final, lethal blow.
However, at the moment he was about to be completely crushed—
Boom!
A pale blue psychic barrier manifested out of thin air, blocking all the attacks from Sibylla and Ulthran. Idranel opened his eyes, looking at everything before him in disbelief. He looked down and saw a Soulstone had appeared in his arms at some unknown moment.
What was that? Blurred images appeared in his mind, making it almost impossible for him to distinguish truth from falsehood.
—Is that my master's Soulstone?
Right, he remembered now. This was the relic his master had personally handed to him when he left the Craftworld... was it?
"Master... you?"
A soft chuckle came from the Soulstone. The laughter was eerie and twisted, carrying a malice that surpassed mortal understanding.
"You have done very poorly," the familiar voice said, but with a tone of playfulness and mockery that Idranel had never heard before. "However, it does not matter. After all, this is all part of my plan."
"What?" Idranel's pupils contracted violently. He finally realized something was wrong. The psychic fluctuations emitting from the Soulstone, that familiar yet strange aura, that—
"Why is it like this?" His voice began to tremble, the madness in his eyes gradually replaced by terror. "No... this isn't right..."
What is happening to me?
In his mind, blurred impressions slowly returned, but were those things truly done by him? Or were they...
The laughter from the Soulstone grew louder and more piercing, finally evolving into a twisted, deranged cackle that did not belong to the Aeldari at all. Idranel's body began to shake violently. He felt something tearing outward from the depths of his soul, stripping his existence from his shell bit by bit.
"No—!" He struggled with all his might, but found he could not move at all. The Soulstone was like a wedge driven into his soul, dragging his entire consciousness toward an unnameable abyss.
"NO! NO—!!"
Desperate screams echoed through the cavernous underhive. Idranel's body began to warp and deform, gradually being covered by colors that did not belong to this dimension. Finally, with an exaggerated burst of laughter, Idranel's shell collapsed.
Every Aeldari present stepped back. Even the Aspect Warriors, who had tempered their will and skills through long training, turned pale with terror. Idranel's soul... had fallen into the Warp. And the fate of an unprotected Aeldari soul falling there was well-known.
—A one-way ticket to the Six Circles of Slaanesh.
However, the Soulstone did not hit the ground. It floated in mid-air, the light on its surface constantly shifting, finally condensing into a figure that descended before everyone. Accompanied by psychic fluctuations that made hearts stop, the blue wings behind the visitor suddenly unfurled. The avian pupils in its head held clear playfulness, and its right hand gripped a crystal staff topped with a book-shaped ornament.
It was... a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch. A Lord of Change.
"I must admit, you have done quite well," it looked around at the crowd, its voice carrying undisguised mockery. "But before the great power of the Changer of Ways, it is still for nothing."
Though the humans and Aeldari witnessing this tectonic shift were battle-hardened warriors, the fire they projected—whether Aeldari shuriken fire or the hellguns of the Scions—was easily swallowed by the expanding storm of witchfire.
As the Lord of Change waved its staff, all the nearby Tzeentchian fanatics shuddered and collapsed. From their corpses, various giggling Daemons of Tzeentch flew out. Chaos Spawn, Tzaangors, Horrors, Screamers, Flamers, Mutalith Vortex Beasts...
The whole menagerie was there. The Lord of Change looked with satisfaction at the chaos it had wrought, but there was one thing it found strange—something it truly didn't understand.
"Why are you not reacting?"
It looked curiously at the enemies before it. A premonition that things might go sideways inexplicably appeared in the heart of the Lord of Change.