Chapter 16 Isha and Grandpa Nurgul

The Death of a Dark God: Is It a Lot or a Little?

A good question, and one not easily answered, given the rarity of such events. 

After Slaanesh was "born," the galaxy was flooded with endless warp storms, which became the final straw that broke the back of the Federation, the strongest human state of all time. 

Any attempts at space travel were doomed to fail due to the warp's increased instability. Countless worlds were cut off from the greater whole for thousands of years, forced to forge their own destinies as best they could. 

Those with both industry and agriculture were lucky—they could sustain themselves. But not everyone was so fortunate. Many systems were highly specialized, producing only machinery, for example, but no food. 

With the disappearance of supply lines, famine broke out on these worlds, followed by anarchy. 

On worlds where only food was grown, a different process unfolded—one of absolute and total degradation. Complex machinery was broken down and melted in primitive forges to obtain metal. Precious STCs, seen as nothing more than a source of metal, were destroyed due to the lack of imported fuel. 

Such were the consequences of the birth of a Dark God. 

So how terrible would its death be? 

When the black obelisk pierced Tzeentch's essence, a process of destruction began within his energy structure, generating an enormous amount of destructive energy. 

And when the collapsing shell of the Dark God could no longer contain the pressure, all that energy was released in a single, unstoppable burst, spreading in all directions through the warp. 

The first to face the apocalypse was Tzeentch's Crystal Labyrinth, his primary domain. Here resided his strongest and most loyal demons, sorcerers, and servants. 

The Impossible Fortress, located at the center of the Labyrinth, was vaporized in an instant. The same fate befell all the Lords of Change unfortunate enough to be inside at the time. 

Mighty demons burned in the power of their master, not even having time to realize the irony of their deaths. 

The expanding wave of death reached the very walls of the Labyrinth, and those who were there finally sensed the threat. 

Magnus the Red, a fallen primarch working on something, suddenly raised his head, staring in the direction of the Impossible Fortress. His single eye widened in horror as he realized the danger they were all in. 

Something within him twisted in agony, forcing him to his knees, but the fallen primarch refused to give in, allowing the pain to envelop his mind. 

Magnus immediately guessed what had happened, though the very thought filled him with dread. The missing piece of his soul, forever lost due to the cursed Sigillite, had been replaced by the power of the Architect of Fate. And now, with Tzeentch gone... 

"My sons!" Magnus' amplified, monstrous cry tore through the warp, instantly drawing the attention of all his sons nearby. Forcing himself to stand, ignoring the suffering of his soul, he roared, "To me!" 

In the same instant, the primarch tore a hole in the fabric of the warp, and dozens of sorcerers and their accompanying brothers began to appear beside him. 

Many of them staggered, while others were dragged by their monstrous servants, but those who managed to withstand the severing of their connection arrived at their primarch's call. 

"Go!" Magnus ordered, and the sorcerers began to flow into the portal he had created. 

Meanwhile, the primarch's sweat-drenched eye remained fixed on the approaching wave of destruction. 

The impact! 

Magnus fell to his knees as the apocalypse reached him. His white-and-gold armor began to melt as he held a spherical barrier with the last of his strength, allowing his people to escape the dying realm. 

At one point, his smoldering armor flared and melted, dripping onto his bare flesh and leaving terrible wounds, but the fallen primarch continued to hold the barrier, allowing his sons to flee. 

As the sorcerers passed by, those old enough to have fought in the Emperor's Great Crusades briefly bowed their heads in respect to their father. 

Magnus smiled through the pain. Despite the passing years, he still cared for his Legion, though with each century, there was less and less left to care for. 

Unfortunately, his bond with Tzeentch had been a mistake that could only be corrected by death. The Architect had taken perverse pleasure in corrupting every idea Magnus had tried to bring to life. That was why the primarch had long since stopped trying to rebuild his Legion, knowing Tzeentch would never allow him to succeed. 

He had become a mockery. A useless figure, stripped of his own spirit. 

His entire life had been one folly after another, and where had it led him? 

Fortunately, he now had a choice. After thousands of years, he could decide his own fate. 

When the last remnants of the fallen primarch's body flared brightly, not all the sorcerers had passed through, but most had. With Magnus' death, the already unstable portal collapsed completely, as did the surrounding barrier. The last stable island in a sea of flame was swept away and scattered across the immaterium. 

One thing was certain—Magnus the Red had protected his Legion to the last. Or rather, what remained of it. 

***** 

Somewhere, on one of the countless planets of the material world. 

Ahriman collapsed to his knees, his body and mind writhing from the severing of the connection. But no physical pain could compare to what he felt in his mind. 

"Was it all for nothing?!" he asked himself, the one who had doomed his own Legion with his actions. "Is the only cure truly lost?!" 

In the distant past, Ahriman had devised a way to save his suffering Legion. Thousands of his brothers were rapidly degenerating and dying due to their flesh's critical vulnerability to mutation. 

Ahriman had found what he thought was a solution. And he performed the ritual. 

But it had not turned out as he had hoped. Yes, his brothers were no longer threatened by death—if one could call existing as mindless souls within empty armor "life." 

For thousands of years, Ahriman had sought a way to undo his mistake and save his brothers, though those who had survived the ritual had forever branded him the greatest of traitors. 

But now, with Tzeentch's death and the loss of his library, what next? 

Yes, Tzeentch would eventually be reborn, as the emotions that fed him still flowed, but would he be the same Tzeentch? Would he possess all the knowledge of his predecessor? 

And if not... 

Had everything Ahriman had done been for nothing? 

And the most important question, one he was afraid to even think about—was there anyone left to save? 

***** 

While Tzeentch's followers and servants writhed across the galaxy, events in the warp continued to unfold. 

The expanding wave of energy did not stop at the borders of Tzeentch's realm but continued its destructive path, moving toward the domains of the other Dark Gods. 

And no matter how vile the Dark Gods were, they were forced to act to prevent the shockwave from destroying their holdings. 

Nurgle, Slaanesh, and Khorne unleashed their own forces, striking back to suppress and weaken the crushing front. However, it would be a mistake to think of them as benefactors concerned for their followers. 

By suppressing the explosion's aftermath, the remaining Dark Gods sought to be the first to seize the liberated territories of their fallen brother. 

Yes, some of the energy would be ignored due to the differences in their "domains," but they could still claim some of the contested power, making themselves even stronger. 

At the same time, the Dark Gods did not forget to snarl at each other, delivering underhanded blows and exposing entire sections of their rivals to the dangerous energy. 

In their greed, they clashed with each other and the explosion's aftermath, inadvertently weakening their pressure on many other things. 

***** 

Isha finally sensed the opportunity she had long awaited. For thousands of years, she had been imprisoned by Nurgle, and though she had tried to escape countless times, the Plague God had merely laughed at her attempts, feeding her more and more diseases and poisons. 

But now things were different. 

Isha felt that Nurgle's attention was far away, and even if he sensed her rebellion, he would not be able to react in time. 

Now or never! 

The rotten but incredibly strong bars of her cage shuddered as the imprisoned goddess struck. 

"It didn't work!" Isha realized in horror. The cursed steel held, and Nurgle now knew of her escape attempt. 

"Again!" Another strike, and again, failure. 

Isha saw hordes of demons converging on her cage from all sides. Yes, for now, they were mere pests, but she could feel the approach of true monsters. Their strength would be enough to reinforce her prison and continue her endless suffering. 

The goddess focused. This time, she gathered everything she had—all her hope, her desire for freedom, and her will to win. If she failed now, she would surrender completely, allowing the rotting will of another god to consume her entire being. 

But Isha was willing to take that risk. 

All or nothing! 

"Strike!" The bars finally broke, their shards cutting a swath through the bodies of the screeching Nurglings. 

Bending down, Isha stepped through the opening and raised her head. 

Above her loomed an oncoming tide of demons. The rotting creatures were so tightly packed that they resembled an oceanic wave, ready to crash down and devastate the shoreline. 

But there was no fear in the goddess's eyes. 

The very essence of Nurgle's realm hissed and screamed as the poisoned ground cracked, and grass began to grow, along with beautiful, otherworldly flowers. The fragrant aroma of the latter was so strong that it overpowered the stench of the surrounding air. 

"Die." One word, and a green explosion erupted from the small figure, obliterating most of the demons. Roots burst through their pale, greenish skin, literally tearing the demons apart. Others were simply vaporized by the flash of power. 

Nurgle, battling other demons, stopped smiling and sadly flapped his thick lips. He was saddened by Isha's defiance. Could she not understand his kindness? What awaited her outside his cage? That cruel world again? 

Unfortunately, the Great Unclean One could not break away from the battle, as the destructive energy from Tzeentch's death was subsiding, and now was the time to grab the freed pieces before the other two claimed the best parts. 

However, Nurgle sent most of his strongest servants in pursuit. 

Yes, they could not kill or capture Isha, but they could delay her until he arrived. 

And Nurgle's plan was quite successful. 

Thousands of demons were torn apart by the divine strikes of the goddess of life. Though she was still weak, she was a goddess, and that included incredible psychic power. 

As one who had fought in the War in Heaven, Isha was more than proficient in all things related to war. 

But no matter how hard she fought, there were too many demons. 

The greater demons sent by Nurgle, though weaker than their "father," were his exact copies—incredibly difficult to destroy. 

Every time Isha dealt serious damage to one, they would switch places, and fresh troops would take their place. 

With each such replacement, Isha grew more and more panicked. 

She had to escape. She could not fail. 

In her desperation, the goddess was ready to grasp at even the faintest hope. Her searching mind recalled a recent encounter. That young man with such strange and unusual energy within him. Could meeting him have meant something? Did that power have a will of its own? 

"Please!" Isha's desperate cry echoed into the void as she herself did not understand what she was doing, only trying to connect with that incomprehensible force. "Help me! I don't want to go back to the cage!" 

"Boom!" The world before the stunned Isha blossomed with dozens of bright flowers as a familiar portal appeared a few meters away. 

"Quickly, inside! I can't hold it for long!" The thought that came to her was filled with sparkling mirth, despite the tension of the situation. 

"Thank you, brother," Isha said quickly, diving into the portal like a fish. 

"We'll settle up later, sister," came the laughing reply. 

The demons howled in fury as the suddenly opened portal quickly closed. 

Isha stood up, taking a deep breath, feeling the absence of the cursed stench. The goddess smiled, feeling the familiar sensation of the Eldar webway, the secret network of tunnels that spanned the galaxy. 

However, Isha did not allow herself to enjoy her freedom for long. 

The goddess of life smiled joyfully at the figure standing before her. How long had it been since she had seen her brother gods? 

A black coat, its inner lining adorned with dozens of colorful diamonds, clownish, tight-fitting pants, upturned shoes, and, of course, a ridiculous jester's cap with three bells. 

"I'm glad to see you haven't changed a bit, Cegorach," Isha said with a smile, bowing slightly. "And thank you for saving me." 

"Don't worry about it, dear sister!" Isha didn't even notice as the god of harlequins took her arm and led her in a direction only he knew. "Let me show you the local sights. It's so boring talking to my followers—they just hang on my every word. How can I create a true theatrical masterpiece under such conditions?!" 

"Cegorach hasn't changed a bit over the eons," Isha thought warmly. But right now, that was exactly what she needed. 

Something unchanging from the old world, to help her recover from thousands of years of torment. 

***** 

The fact that the Dark Gods were distracted by carving up their dead brother's realm gave many of their enemies a chance. 

Especially the one who had been fighting against the ruinous powers for over ten thousand years, preventing them from finally devouring humanity. 

He is the deity seated upon the Golden Throne of Terra. He is the guide, the ruler, the supreme power to whom quadrillions of humans across the galaxy pray for salvation. The Cult Mechanicus worships Him as the "Omnissiah," the physical embodiment of the Machine God. 

And if the Emperor's body is a rotting husk, kept alive only by the mechanisms of the Golden Throne, His spirit wages an endless war in the warp. 

And in this moment, when the claws of the Dark Gods finally withdrew from the golden barrier, the Emperor was able to breathe a sigh of relief, allowing Himself a moment of respite. 

But He could not afford to rest for long. 

The Emperor's burning gaze saw the explosions in the immaterium and the warp storm spreading in all directions. 

Yes, most of it had been contained by the energy leeches who called themselves gods, but even what remained was more than enough to plunge humanity back into the Age of Strife. 

The remnants of the explosion would sweep across His Imperium like a deadly wave, sparing no one. 

And once again, the Emperor faced a choice, as heavy as ever. 

The Emperor could use all His freed strength to restore Himself. While the now-trio was distracted, He might have enough time to recover sufficiently to rise from the cursed throne, while keeping the warp rift closed. 

Or... 

Or the Emperor could use all His strength to once again protect the Imperium. To deflect another terrible blow against humanity. To direct all His energy against the warp storm, redirecting it away from the worlds of the Imperium. 

The Emperor's shadowy lips twitched, and His tired eyes burned with determination. 

Involuntarily, the old man recalled His last conversation with that amusing individual. 

He had believed that the Emperor was needed by humanity, that He was its protector. 

Well, then the old man had to live up to those expectations. 

The Custodians in the palace watched in awe as the Emperor's glowing, golden remains seemed to grow slightly healthier, but the process stopped almost immediately. At the same time, every psyker in the Imperium saw a golden wave envelop entire sectors of the Imperium, dissipating the worst of the warp storm's impact. 

Yes, some of the fringe worlds were irrevocably destroyed or lost, but most were saved. 

When the trio's forces struck the Emperor's protective barrier again, the old man smiled grimly. 

Though His enemies had grown stronger by consuming parts of Tzeentch's realm, they had not absorbed all of his power. That meant they were now pressing far less heavily than before. 

And that opened up interesting possibilities. 

"You think I cannot outplay you, that I cannot destroy you?" The Emperor's will-filled voice made the attacking demons pause, though it was not directed at them. The ruler of the Imperium felt the sinister attention of the three entities. "But I will destroy you. Once, four of you challenged me. Now, only three stand before me. This is the beginning." 

In response, there was only the laughter of the Dark Gods, but the Emperor knew they were wary. They did not understand what had happened. How one of them, the most paranoid, had died. They were worried. They were making mistakes. 

This was good. 

The Emperor felt the irony in giving His enemies a clue about their adversary by using a phrase from the mind of a man from another world. But they would never understand it, though they would search. 

Once, the parasites had played a good joke, showing Horus a vision of the future that he himself had created by trying to prevent it. 

The Emperor liked to repay His debts. 

Thanks Nathan for the $5.00. I'm 50 dollars away from $115.00 and Patreon will let me take it out and I can fix the laptop. 

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