Chapter 23: Deus ex machina

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"In this day and age, the old saying of 'quantity is a quality of its own' no longer holds true. There are certain military assets that make sheer numbers useless- one may point to the temporal rituals of the Hrud, or the Blackstone Fortresses of the Aeldari. The need for the Federation to possess weapons that could dominate the battlefield on their own soon became apparent.

Thus, the Warspheres."
-General Horus Lupercal, on the subject of the Federation's Gigastructural Weapons Division. M23. 718.

M24. 312.

Hyadaum System, Aeldari Orbital Fortress Chalice of Sovereigns

She enjoyed the silence.

There was one aspect of the flesh-markets of the Webway that was utterly inescapable- the noise. The cacophonies of screams, the gurgling of wet blood, echoes of pleasure that had no right being that loud and were yet amplified a hundredfold in those dark cities. No matter what spells she weaved to deafen the noise, it always seeped in- and her precious ears bristled at the invasion of the senses every time.

As one of the great military commanders of her house, the quiet was a boon that many could not afford. Indeed, as a Dracon of House Lanuvyn, her words was more than law within these halls- it was fate itself, holding the power of life and death. With a single word, the legions of psychomatons that patrolled every nook and cranny of this bastion would emerge from the shadows to hunt down anyone that she desired to see dead and drag their souls to the ravenous maws of the Goddess's children, denied access to the arcane machines of resurrection. It was something that her subordinates knew well from experience even as they plotted against her. She tolerated it- it was part of the game they all played, and true loyalty was harder to find than an unspoiled body in the charnel houses anyways.

And so Orinnyr Lanuvyn brooded on her throne of glass and souls, the spirits of long-extinct species shackled to it by a hundred and one artisans from the Ivory Quarter of Commorragh, who she had then enslaved and sold to the flesh markets of the same quarter for daring to haggle the price. Were a million freshly unspoiled and slaughtered souls not enough for them?

She looked out at the black void. The Chalice of Sovereigns, one of the formidable bastions of House Lanuvyn, was a massive space station that orbited the local star, coloured a soft pearlescent blue instead of its original dull red because of a spell casted by some whim of a distant ancestor. Here, seated in the center of domain, she was linked to everything that the ancient orbital possessed- the hidden pulsar lances in the asteroid fields, the great Bastonye-Class juggernauts and their escort fleets that patrolled every route of the system, the cloaked vortex mines that would only detonate on command. This place was originally built to supply military power to the closest Webway city of Shaa-dom, capital of her House, and although the need for it had waned over the years with the Empire given to more... decadent pursuits over millennia, the guns and ships were still here as a warning to raiding fleets or a full-scale assault.

Just another day, like all the others. Time for a bath, Orinnyr thought, then perhaps a quick little rendezvous with five... no, six of her favoured consorts, followed by a feast- the shipment of new soul-infused human flesh had finally arrived after four cycles, and she would see that it was exquisitely prepared before it was served on her table. She rose up-

And warnings flashed in her mind, the station warning her through the telepathic conduits that something large had manifested on the edge of the system, unauthorised, alone and approaching the station rapidly.

The Aeldari did not hesitate; the main cannon of the Chalice of Sovereigns began charging at once, the armament designed to be comparable to one of the formidable Warp Cannons on a Talisman of Vaul. The Juggernauts left their patrol paths, every fleet in the system converging on the intruder even as the pulsar lances turned and fired.

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