Herald of the Stars: Chapter Three Hundred and Seven

What lesson?! I scream in my head. 

My thoughts go unanswered and the Star Child turns back to the PD psy-lance and fires it at Tzeentch. 

A beam of golden light streaks across the Warp. Its light washes over mine and Alpia’s bodies and shimmers over my strike force. The energy is warm and fierce, carrying the wrath and hope of generations of Humans. Whispers fill the Warp, uncountable voices overwhelming my senses with ten millennia of prayers.

With a lazy wave of His staff, Tzeentch directs the tomes floating around Him to intercept the beam. Jagged runes flow from their pages and form a shield of Knowledge around Him. My third eye bleeds and I realise that Tzeentch is defending Himself with one of His domains, or concepts, much like how the Star Child embodies Human Kindness or The Emperor Survival. 

Were I not quaking in my armour, my mind near frozen by fear, I would likely be laughing that this is the closest I’ll ever get to seeing a high level Cultivator fight, like some Chinese fantasy epic.

I much preferred it when gods were just words on a page.

The golden beam is not enough to break the shield and Tzeentch laughs, a horrible cawing sound that resembles a flock of mocking seagulls and angry crows.

Wing clad figures form around the beam like angels of old, clad in heavy plate armour and bearing long spears. They flap their gold tinted, white wings and stream towards Tzeentch. Every angel blazes with faith in Humanity’s superiority.

Tzeentch grins, revealing two beaks full of rough, triangular teeth. His books transform into massive crows, their feathers glinting with Warp metals and glowing with blue sorcerous scripts. His runic shield continues to hold back the golden beam without trouble.

The two sides close in on each other, and just before they clash, the Star Child brings out a familiar book, the Liber Heresius. Tzeentch cocks both heads to one side and stares at the book with two, comically wide eyes.

Rather than collide with the giant crows, the angels’ appearances change, their smiles turning cruel as they radiate a hint of Deceit; the angels grab hold of the crows, then mount them. They turn the crows around and continue their flight towards Tzeentch who touches the tip of his staff against his shield, thickening the protective, glowing script.

Tzeentch flaps His wings nine times, each flap shedding feathers that shoot towards the incoming angels. The feathers, each as big as a strike-craft, phase right through the crows and angels causing no harm, then continue onwards to strike at the PD fortress.

A torrent of feathers shatter against the PD fortress’ ancient armour and against the Machine-God’s scaled energy shield.

The angels reach Tzeentch and each strikes a single rune with their spear, cracking them. Tzeentch gasps, then wraps himself in His wings just before His runic shield crumbles and He is struck by the golden beam.

Tzeentch exhales a horrid scream, as if a million birds cried out at once and then were silenced. The golden beam burns through His wings and punches through His chest and out the other side, cutting off His cry with a squark. The beam fades and Tzeentch sags. Rather than heal, His wounds linger, golden fire nibbling at the edges of the hole through His wings and chest.

Slaanesh tuts, “Tzeentch, you utter fool! You let Anathema get a hold of the book that contains our weaknesses? Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“As if that were even possible,” snarls Khorne, his voice sounding like breaking rocks. “I have no need to hide behind silk and tits. A worthy challenger is to be welcomed, not scorned.”

Nurgle coughs, then spits into his mug, “If He never falls, how will our feathered friend ever learn to stand up for hHmself? I dare say the lesson is yet to sink in.”

“Idiots, all of you,” says Tzeentch. “This is a plot, a trap, and you’re just going to float there and let it happen? Do you think this will end with a single blow?”

“What? One and done? I have a blessing to shore up such inadequacies,” says Slaanesh. “You need but beg at my feet and it will be yours.”

“No need to kiss my ass,” says Nurgle. He glances at his mug. “I’m quite happy to give you a gift for free!”

Khorne picks up his axe and stands, “I’ve never cared much about having a Casus Beli, but if you’re going to just hand them out like this, I see no reason to hold back!”

Khorne flaps His leathery wings and launches Himself at Tzeentch. The Star Child fires the PD psy-lance a second time, drawing enough power to break the chains connecting Enlightened Self-Interest to the Emperor. Nurgle hurls His mug. Slaanesh whistles.

Tzeentch stands in a hurry and summons new books. They flap their covers and runes slip from their pages only to sparkle and fade as His magic betrays Him.

“No!” cries Tzeetch. He catches the golden psy-lance beam on His staff and reflects it towards Slaanesh. “Anathema! You dare steal my magic?”

Slaanesh summons a fan, decorated with Aeldari souls, and withstands the golden beam with a casual sneer.

The Star Child teleports in front of Tzeentch, “I have no need for your crude workings.”

Tzeentch is struck by a mug of caustic brew, a rattling wave of sound, an axe, and a fist all at the same time.

Nurgle’s brew is knocked away by a wing, though the contents spills over it, rotting Tzeentch’s right wing to the bone. Slaanesh’s whistle hits Tzeentch hard enough to knock both His heads together. A jewel on His brow activates, mitigating some of the blow with a brief shield, though He is still stunned. 

Khorne decapitates Tzeentch, taking one of His heads, which He grabs with His fist. A brief shake of Khorne’s hand strips Tzeentch’s skull of its flesh and feathers. 

Blue fire ignites around Tzeentch’s neck stump and Khorne steps to the side and inspects the skull, seemingly losing interest in the fight. His step is perfectly timed to avoid the spray of gore from Tzeentch’s back as the Star Child thrusts a glowing fist into the hole in Tzeentch’s chest and rips out His heart.

Tzeentch freezes, then bursts into a flock of crows that scatter through the Warp, repeatedly teleporting until they are out of sight.

Khone gazes at the skull in His hand, “What a poor specimen.” He clenches his fist and crushes the skull to powder. The fragments fall from His fingers, igniting in red flames as they fall. “I have no need for Trickery.” Khorne looks down at the Star Child, “You have your prize. Begone.”

The Star Child looks up at Khone, then takes a bite of Tzeentch’s heart and chews, staring Khorne in the eyes. Blue blood dribbles down the Star Child’s chin. He swallows, a flash of distaste flitting across His stoic face.

Nurgle laughs, “Well now, Tzeentch always did love to be a catalyst of Change. I doubt He ever intended it to be so literal.”

“Oh I haven’t been so entertained in millennia!” says Slaanesh. “That deceitful twerp is just the worst. Khone may not care, but I won’t let you run off with that book, without paying me my dues, Ananthema. I won’t have you steal from me twice!”

The Star Child raises a single eyebrow at Slaanesh and continues His hearty feast.

“How about a few of those mortals?” says Nurgle. “It has been years since I was able to test my best brews against Humanity’s ancient technologies.” He yanks on Isha’s hair, “My current lab partner is rather tarnished and uncooperative. I would love to work with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

The Machine-God points a finger at Nurgle and a singularity forms beneath His palequin, sucking in four Greater Daemons, all the Nurglings, and the palequin of fused bodies, leaving Nurgle floating in the Warp with nothing left to hide His immense buttocks.

“The clockwork menace lacks manners? Whoever would have guessed!” Nurgle stands up and pats Himself down, “I see that those children are yours. I could have sworn they belonged to Anathema. Perhaps you two aren’t as cosy as you appear, eh?”

The Star Child swallows the last piece of Tzeentch’s heart.

The Emperor’s red eye flashes, ++Catalyst assimilated. Deploying ritual.++

“Oh drat,” says Slaanesh.

The Star Child clutches His chest and screams, lightning plays over His body, sparking outwards and enveloping Korne. 

Khone snorts and kicks the Star Child towards the Emperor. The Star Child passes right through The Emperor’s projection and slams into a piece of the research grade STC.

++Core materials identified,++ says the Emperor, His form rippling.

Khorne’s head snaps up and He bellows, then He charges at the Star Child. Blue lightning spreads through the STC as the Star Child lies on His back in a crater the size of London.

++Interference detected. Deploying countermeasures.++

Halfway towards the Star Child, Khorne is struck by a jagged green blast of energy that comes from the imprisoned C’Tan in the Emperor’s other eye. Khorne is teleported back to the centre of the STC core, then repeats His actions eight times before He breaks out of the time loop.

Meanwhile, Nurgle reaches behind Himself and plucks a black rose from His arse. He lifts it to his nose and inhales. A beatific smile sets His seven chins wobbling. He grabs Isha’s hand then scraps Her palm against the black rose’s thorns, coating them in silver blood.

Nurgle squints and points at the Emperor, His thick, forked purple tongue poking between His yellow lips. Nurgle hurls the black rose overarm at the Star Child. A winged angel in red power armour manifests in the rose’s path and draws a two-handed blade. The angel swings the blade and cuts the rose right down the middle. The rose turns to red blood that quickly evaporates into mist, then fades.

Slaanesh clicks Her fingers and an armada of ancient Aeldari void ships flicker into existence around Her, then multiply. Their hulls are scarred and, as their drives ignite and the vessels advance, bodies, liquids, and gasses spray from the rents in their hulls.

E-SIM fires upon the new enemy fleet, shattering 17 vessels in a single volley. Three times as many void ships disappear as the holofield that created them is smashed to oblivion. E-SIMs sensors detect a mass teleportation event then register a huge amount of bolter fire upon the Aeldari vessels.

The Aeldari vessels fire their guns once before they start to self-destruct, one by one. A massive volley of plasma and torpedoes streak across the Warp. The torpedoes are shot down by E-SIM’s strike-craft. The plasma smacks into the crackling lightning around the Star Child and disperse.

The STC shrinks rapidly, its grey metal flowing endlessly into the Star Child. Huge torrents of metal are dragged through the Warp, forcing the three Chaos Gods to retreat.

Over the course of what could be either minutes or hours, the Star Child starts to shrink, becoming younger and younger until He is a half-formed foetus in a metal and glass sphere, floating in a sea of lightning.

Mine and Alpia’s minds return to our bodies and we are left wafting in the Warp, unmoored and adrift. 

The three Chaos Gods return.

Khorne charges at the Star Child again. This time, He is unopposed and strikes the sphere. His axe rebounds off it and He stomps off, fading with each step, His hooves leaving burning marks behind in the Warp.

Slaanesh glares at the Imperial Gods then flounces off, Her body dispersing into cherry blossoms that are whisked away by invisible currents.

Nurgle pats Isha’s back, “Go on Luv. Give it your best shot.”

Isha walks towards the Star Child, each step crossing a thousand kilometres. A greasy yellow tentacle grows from Her back, the other end wriggling in Nurgle’s fat, slippery palm.

Neither the Emperor or the Machine-God interfere.

Isha plucks a seed from Her hair and places it upon the Star Child’s artificial womb. It bursts into life, covering the sphere in thick roots. A long stem soars, its leaves rapidly unfurling. A bud forms and the lily blooms. The roots tighten around the sphere but fail to penetrate it.

“Oh? Trying to hijack the ritual and bring Ynnead into play early?” Nurgle coughs violently, then spits a car sized loogie at the Star Child. He yanks on Isha’s chain keeping Her in place. The loogie crashes into Her burning her flesh to the bone, then sprays all over the sphere behind Her, dissolving the lily. “Looks like you failed. Better luck next time, Dear.”

The putrid fluid flows of Isha and the Star Child’s sphere.

Nurgle gives us all a jolly wave, “Don’t forget to send out invitations next time. Ta ta!”

With a sickening squelch, Nurgle folds in on Himself, dragging Isha with Him, like some plug hole to hell.

The golden chains linking The Emperor and the Star Child spark with lightning that runs up the chains and into The Emperor’s severed right arm. Both the chains and arm flake away under the assault, burning up in little sparks. A moment later, both are gone.

...That is going to cause some panic back on Terra.

The Emperor’s projection and the Machine-God teleport out with a flash of green light, then the shield around my strike force fades.

I recall my shuttle remotely and have it pick up my strike-force, then Alpia and I. I pilot the shuttle back to Enlightened Self-Interest in silence, unable to muster a single word. My colleagues and daughter are no better, their emotions dull and muted as they attempt to process the shock of what we have witnessed.

I can’t stop staring at E-SIMs HUD. My pray-to-win tab is greyed out and unresponsive, though my link to The Emperor, like any other Astropath or Sanctioned Psyker, remains. I also know the spell He taught me to directly send Him souls.

I suspect that, if I provided a sacrifice on the scale of a Hive City, like Chaos Cultists so love to do, I could get The Emperor’s attention and request a miracle. Anything less would be lost in the noise of constant prayers. Most likely, I would get whatever He deems appropriate too, not whatever I want.

My oversight is gone and mine and E-SIM’s shackles are dust. I’ve been given the freedom I longed for, and left to flounder against the horrors of the galaxy on my own merit.

There is a lesson there, I think, and, with the secrets I have witnessed, many more to come.