Across the galaxy, the skittering tides of the rat-men began to stagnate. The first to suppress the infestation were the dynasties of the Necrons.
The domains of these metallic skeletons were rich in mineral wealth but utterly bereft of edible organic matter. Furthermore, the multidimensional nature of Necron sub-space rendered it impossible for the Skaven to infiltrate their core complexes. As Gauss Flayers reduced rat-kin bodies to molecular ash, the Skaven, denied any means of scavenging or replenishment, were swiftly broken by the mechanical legions.
"Fascinating flesh-creatures. I shall claim them," Szeras the Illuminator remarked with a satisfied nod. He directed his Necron Warriors to haul a bloated, gargantuan Rat Mother back to his stasis-crypts to serve as a specimen for his experiments.
"As you wish. May these treacherous vermin bring glory to your grand designs," a Necron Phaeron replied, inclining his head toward Szeras. His dynasty had dismantled the vermin's primary stronghold, and he was keen to trade the spoils to the Illuminator.
…
The next race to successfully beat back the Skaven were the Orks. As ancient rivals who had clashed since the world-that-was into the 41st Millennium, the Greenskins were initially caught off guard, but the sheer number of foes soon drove them into a state of prolonged, joyful hysteria.
A grueling war of attrition erupted across various Ork worlds. Initially, the Skaven surged onto the surface, their ramshackle machinery clashing violently with the crude ingenuity of the Orks. However, once the Greenskins' genetic trigger for total war was pulled, the lesser Skaven clans found themselves unable to withstand the Orks' sheer momentum.
Countless Gretchin and Choppa Boyz swarmed the Skaven lines in a tide of green. Their high-caliber sluggas barked like starting pistols, firing wildly into the air or haphazardly into the fray, whether the bullets found a fellow Ork or a rat-man mattered little to them.
Boom, boom, boom…
Hundreds of Poisoned Wind globes rained from the sky, shattering to create zones of toxic green lethality. Orks caught in the vapor collapsed as their flesh bubbled and melted.
Seeing this, an Ork Warboss bellowed over the carnage, "Dey's doin' it again! Get da big blowas up 'ere!"
A mob of Mekboyz lugging massive, jury-rigged fans stepped forward. The bladed rotors spun at high speeds, forcibly dispersing the noxious fog.
"Wahaha! Da rat-ladz is outta tricks! WAAAGH!"
Clanrats huddled in crooked trenches, unleashing volleys of Warpstone bullets that felled many Choppa Boyz. Yet, from behind the melee, the Shoota Boyz responded with a far more ferocious storm of lead, pinning the Skaven down with overwhelming firepower.
As the Choppa Boyz hacked into the rat-ranks, Killa Kans and Grot Tanks followed in their wake, tearing through the Skaven defensive lines. Forced off the surface, the Skaven retreated into their sub-sector tunnels to begin a war of tunnels.
In this, they found some success. The Orks of the 41st Millennium lacked the Night Goblin subspecies, specialists in subterranean warfare. The Skaven managed to stall the Greenskin advance in the dark. Eventually, bored by the cramped, pitch-black conditions that offered no "good skraps," most of the Orks wandered off, leaving only a few dedicated mobs behind to "bash da rats." To an Ork, if you can't see the enemy, they don't exist, though having a foe that occasionally popped up for a punch-up remained a source of minor amusement.
…
The third faction to suppress the Skaven, much to Lucius's surprise, was the T'au Empire.
Thanks to their rigorous urban planning and strict census systems, T'au cities lacked the decaying, labyrinthine ecology of Imperial Hive Cities. Their pristine environments offered little opportunity for common rats to breed, let alone the Skaven.
The scientists of the Earth Caste spent a year or two developing specialized seeker-drones designed to track Skaven signatures. Consequently, T'au worlds were either swiftly overrun or completely purged. Though the Empire lost contact with dozens of worlds, they successfully cleansed the vermin from their remaining territory.
At present, the only faction still locked in a desperate, grinding struggle with the Skaven was the Imperium of Man. The Imperium's derelict governance and the squalor of its Hive Worlds provided the perfect breeding ground for the Skaven to wage a war of eternal attrition.
"Oh, Emperor... look at your realm. Only your Imperium is truly a match for my Skaven," Lucius mused. He felt no frustration at the Skaven being repelled elsewhere; rather, he found it poetic. "Tell me, how truly different is your Human Imperium from my Skaven Empire?"
The massive loss of Skaven life did not bother him. Their souls merely swelled his Realm of Ruin. The despair, famine, and betrayal sparked by the plague only served to empower him further. To Lucius, these dead Skaven were nothing more than cheap pawns, generated infinitely by the cycle of ruin.
"...This is not what I intended. Humanity must be the master of the galaxy," the Emperor spoke, his psychic presence as searing and somber as a sunspot. He had attempted to use Imperial Truth as a weapon to sever humanity's link to the Warp, yet now, Mankind was drowning in the depths of religion and Chaos.
Lucius sneered. "Hmph. If your emotional intelligence or political wisdom were even a trillionth of your psychic power, the Imperium wouldn't be in this state. You preach about severing the Warp's influence while clinging to its conveniences. You make the Primarchs and Astartes fight for you, yet deny them any political standing. Your Primarchs are handled worse than my Clan Chieftains, at least mine have power and status commensurate with their ability, even if they live in eternal fear of me."
The Emperor remained silent.
Suddenly, Lucius raised a hand, catching a massive blow of psychic energy mid-air.
"Sore loser, are we? Resorting to psychic slaps now, you Roman She-Wolf?" Lucius mocked. The Emperor was on the precipice of becoming the Dark King, the God of Destruction, but Lucius had already ascended. He did not fear him.
The "Roman She-Wolf" comment clearly struck a chord, but the Emperor did not retaliate further. Instead, his golden, youthful form began to expand, shifting into the towering, radiant majesty of the Emperor at the height of the Great Crusade.
"...I shall begin."
Displeased, the Emperor unleashed his divine power of destruction. Golden flames erupted, illuminating the entirety of the Warp. The temperature scorched even the rotting flora of Nurgle's Garden, prompting the Plague God himself to roar from his ruinous mansion and shroud his domain in a protective downpour of acidic rain.
Though not fully a god, the Emperor's power was now indistinguishable from that of the Ruinous Powers. Under his might, the massive Warp storms triggered by the Great Horned Rat's ascension, storms rivaling the birth of Slaanesh, began to subside.
…
"Father... no, that is the power of the Corpse-Emperor. But to force him to exert such strength to calm the tides... Haha!"
A bald Primarch narrowed his eyes, sensing the new divine resonance from his ten-thousand-year seclusion. A smirk played across his lips.
"Father, what is it?" a Word Bearer inquired.
"Before we continue our sermons, we must refine our creed," Lorgar Aurelian replied, closing his Book of Lorgar. He began to contemplate how to expand the Chaos scriptures he had been writing for ten millennia.
"A new God has been born. We shall go to pay our respects, and receive his Holy Word."
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