The Ruins District.
Engines roared.
The anti-gravity sails of the Tantalus super-heavy tanks rippled faintly, adjusting their heading.
These creations—like floating warships plated with scythe-blades—were the most powerful ground vehicles of the Drukhari.
More than twenty Tantalus super-heavy tanks moved side by side, halting at the designated site.
A dim black glow flickered as their weapons finished charging.
Boom—
Multiple giant pulse disintegrators fired in unison, obliterating ruins hundreds of meters high, filling the air with stone and dust.
Immediately after, titanic tunneling machines—ten meters tall, with savage drills—were deployed, biting into the shattered rock and walls.
The ground quaked violently.
"Pfft, should've asked those black-oil cogboys to bring a few Chaos Titans over to do this excavation work."
Eden waved his hand in front of his face as if swatting away dust, then turned to his Lhamean secretary:
"How long until we reach the target site?"
Ilyss answered without hesitation, as though she had prepared this long ago:
"My lord, according to the calculations of the Dark Mechanicum magos, we should reach the relic within 48 hours."
Years of service had only deepened her awe of the descendant of Asurmen.
This Archon's network was so vast, his wealth so boundless, that he could command and hire some of the most renowned forces in the galaxy—
Even enslaving the most loyal of the Adeptus Astartes.
That was something even the Supreme Overlords of Commorragh could not accomplish.
To Ilyss, it seemed there was nothing her Archon could not achieve.
Perhaps he truly was the greatest Archon of the Drukhari.
Now, nourished by pure soul essence, the Lhamean's beauty only grew sharper. Her only goal was to serve her Archon.
If she could crawl into his bed, that would be the ultimate triumph.
Especially after watching the "games" her master played with his Succubi, she had to slip away to her chambers and pleasure herself afterward.
"He's too strong… stronger than any Drukhari male…"
The thought made her silk-wrapped legs instinctively squeeze together. She shifted slightly, fearful that the Archon's keen senses might notice her unrest.
But Eden's focus was no longer on his secretary. He was conversing with the Salamanders warrior, Sa'kan:
"Once we find the artifact, I'll contact the Primarch of Hope and have it returned to Nocturne."
Although he coveted relics, this was a treasure of Vulkan, the Salamanders' gene-sire. Keeping it would be dishonorable.
Sa'kan nodded without a word. He had little interest in speaking with an alien puppet.
If thanks were owed, it was to the Primarch of Hope. That figure had given the Salamanders far more aid than they could ever repay.
Two days later, the tunneling machines finally broke through the ruins, exposing a massive subterranean complex more than ten kilometers deep.
What came next was simple.
Eden deployed his Incubi to annihilate the remnant defenses and banish the warp-spawn haunting the ruins.
With the threats cleared, the troops withdrew, leaving Eden, Sa'kan, and the Dark Mechanicum magos to descend by lift into the relic's core.
It was a great hall cobbled together from countless ruins, buildings of many ages fused as if by some mysterious power.
At its center loomed an enormous construct—an ancient mechanical ring of black iron and stone, radiating with age-old power.
Eden frowned.
"So this is the Song of Entropy?"
He had imagined it to be some weapon harnessing entropic energy. What he saw looked more like a machine.
But then he noticed the change in Sa'kan's and the magos' expressions.
"This is not our gene-father's relic," Sa'kan said regretfully. "It's another artifact. Our instruments only detect similar energy signatures, and they sometimes give false readings."
In searching for Vulkan's artifacts, the Salamanders often stumbled upon other relics.
Thus, their vaults brimmed with forbidden archeotech, rarely touched.
Of course, they did not know that the Primarch of Hope coveted every such treasure.
"Then what is this?"
Eden's eyes gleamed, rubbing his hands together.
If it wasn't the Song of Entropy, then it was his.
Commorragh and its satellites were built atop the ruins of the Aeldari empire, even the battlefields of the War in Heaven.
Any artifact from that age was priceless.
He had scoured the ruins himself and found nothing. Without Salamanders' specialized instruments, he would never have uncovered this relic, buried so deep.
The Drukhari, obsessed only with pain and souls, had no interest in such things.
"Perhaps some device channeling entropic energy," Sa'kan offered.
The Salamanders were adept at finding relics, not deciphering them.
"By the Omnissiah!"
The Dark Mechanicum magos nearly fell upon the device in ecstasy.
Scanning and comparing with forbidden archives, he gasped:
"This is the Breath of the Gods—a Necron device of immeasurable power!"
According to proscribed Mechanicus records, an explorator named Tius once uncovered such a device.
He went mad, seeking to "purge" Terra and Mars of all life and set himself as their ruler.
But when he tried to activate the Breath of the Gods, Aeldari Craftworlders struck.
The half-activated device lost control and tore itself apart in a cataclysm of energy, reduced to useless wreckage.
The fragments described it thus:
A perfect machine with temporal properties, able to draw power from stars across past, present, and future—providing the Necron Star Gods with infinite energy.
"So… it's the Star Gods' cooking pot?"
Eden digested the explanation in his own words.
After all, all life needs sustenance—even gods of reality.
The C'tan were stellar vampires. Their meals were suns themselves. Crunch, bite, swallow.
No wonder the War in Heaven had been so catastrophic, annihilating civilizations and setting the galaxy aflame. The C'tan's appetite was too great.
Devices like this "pot" must have been plentiful then.
Now, they were treasures beyond price—sources of limitless energy.
Eden's grin nearly split his face. No wonder the Mechanicus loved tomb-raiding so much. The galaxy's graves held irresistible prizes.
He immediately summoned more Dark Mechanicum adepts to study it.
They would link with the data-forums of the Mechanicus, uniting with both the Dark Mechanicum and the Urth Mechanicus to research this relic.
Fortunately, there was precedent.
Though they had failed to unlock its temporal secrets, the Mechanicus had learned how to activate the Breath of the Gods, channeling power from stars ensnared in the Webway.
Countless dying suns were trapped there. This very satellite sector held two.
Commorragh's core contained many more.
The Aeldari empire had likely used such devices to power the Webway's vast cities, feeding their wraithbone foundations with stellar energy.
Perhaps this machine itself was a captured spoil of the Necrons.
The magi could not fathom its true workings, but starting it up was straightforward.
Like humanity's STCs, the most advanced civilizations favored "idiot-proof" designs.
In Eden's own era, even auto-pilots had begun replacing drivers. Why wouldn't the ancients build simple, self-operating machines?
The only regret: this device was bound to the bedrock, part of an even vaster machine-complex buried below. It could not be moved.
Otherwise, Eden would already have claimed it for his dominion.
Still, it was a boon to the Redemption Satellite. The Breath of the Gods channeled stellar energy into the substructure's wraithbone, causing it to grow again.
Slowly, the satellite extended, absorbing matter from other dimensions, expanding its landmass.
"What magnificent technology…"
Eden stood at the edge of the Redemption Satellite. Beyond lay endless Webway void, littered with planetary fragments, Craftworld ruins, and shattered cities.
Each fragment was the size of a continent.
The devastation of that ancient war was laid bare.
Thick wraithbone stretched into the void, replicating, fusing with debris—planets, cities, warships, jade monoliths, marble pillars, broken platinum engines, tiles inlaid with silver.
All were seized and woven together into solid structure.
Eden suspected Commorragh's core concealed a similar relic, explaining its constant expansion—absorbing alien matter, fusing countless cities into a single sprawling monstrosity.
Such chaotic city-structure should have collapsed long ago. Only the Breath of the Gods kept it alive.
Perhaps the ancient Aeldari Empire had once done the same.
But the Drukhari of today clearly lacked such interest, and even less the patience to shape their cities.
They no longer possessed the endless lifespans and resources of their ancestors—luxuries once spent in pursuit of perfect artistry and sensation.
The Drukhari now were more like rats in the sewers, hiding within the Webway to escape the predations of She Who Thirsts upon their souls.
The sins of their forebears had strangled the destiny of all their descendants.
They no longer dreamed of regaining dominion.
Only of survival.
Ilyss stood silently behind her Archon, awaiting his orders.
She had drifted a little too close.
"By the Goddess of Life~"
Suddenly, the Lhamean covered her mouth with a gasp.
Eden turned curiously.
"What is it?"
Ilyss glanced once more into the void, then shook her head.
"Nothing, my lord… perhaps a hallucination."
"Restrain yourself when using soul-drugs. Especially the hallucinogenic blends."
Eden dismissed it lightly. Hallucinations were practically routine for Drukhari.
As long as Slaanesh did not drag them screaming into Her clutches, it was tolerable.
More likely it was the harsher additives in the narcotics.
Perhaps he ought to supply his subordinates with healthier concoctions—after all, they had work to do, and must remain effective.
He gave the void one more glance, then turned back toward the Archon's Spire with Ilyss at his side.
The Lhamean looked back once more.
The vision still haunted her.
She had glimpsed, upon a drifting wreck, a long-bearded human warrior astride some mechanical steed—only for him to vanish into the void of the Webway in a blink.
——
With the Redemption Satellite expanding, construction projects became far easier.
Eden raised larger ports capable of handling unending streams of travelers.
District by district, new structures rose.
New residential zones were planned upon the freshly gained land, meant to draw in ever more Drukhari.
——
Two and a half years later.
He formalized and regulated this system into a multi-tier distribution network.
Great Kabals received cheap supplies of soul-drugs, reselling them with a markup to the middle Kabals, who in turn raised prices again when passing them down to the lesser Kabals.
At last, the final product reached Drukhari society at the expected price.
Strong Kabals secured exclusive lines, premium blends available only through them.
This hierarchy bound every player in the chain of profit to Eden's chariot.
Anyone who broke the rules, hoarded spoils, or tried to eat alone would be crushed by all.
Those who played by the rules, and recruited enough subordinates into the chain, were rewarded with greater resources—even free estates and entire districts in the Redemption Satellite.
The more they invested in Eden's domain, the safer it became. No one wanted to see their own wealth destroyed.
In every civilization, generosity forged loyalty.
Asdrubael Vect ruled through terror.
The Primarch of Hope, the Savior, descendant of Asurmen, ruled through lavish wealth and shared prosperity.
All who cooperated would gain.
At the very least, they would be better off than before.
Eden's goal was clear: before Commorragh's rulers could react, he would bind enough Kabals to his cause to resist Vect's inevitable strike.
"This peace won't last long…"
Eden closed the dataslate, rubbing his brow.
The Redemption Satellite's influence now reached into Commorragh proper.
When the ruling elite finally awoke to this and turned their eyes upon him, the storm would come.
And Commorragh would drown in blood.
Asdrubael Vect. A slave of the ancient Aeldari, now ruler of the Dark City, feared across the galaxy.
A master who never hesitated to wield the foulest of stratagems:
Guiding the Imperium's armies into Commorragh, using Astartes to slay remnants of the Aeldari nobility that might have opposed him.
Seducing an enemy's daughter, having her betray her father, then flaying the man alive while forcing him to watch Vect defile her.
Driving a Daemon-infested space hulk into a rival's fortress, delivering them a gift box containing a captive micro-black hole.
Allowing his own followers to slay him, watching who resisted and who submitted—then returning from "death" to obliterate the traitors with an artificial sun.
His record of infamy stretched endless.
That was the adversary Eden faced.
A monster who had slain countless rivals—yet no one knew how to slay him.
"Perhaps that festering wretch is already plotting how to deal with me…"
Eden thought grimly.
The Savior's domain and Commorragh had already clashed. His Webway gates had been attacked. Worse was sure to come.
But Vect would never suspect Eden had already infiltrated his city.
No one knew how this war would end. Would the Redemption Satellite be annihilated by some unknown weapon?
Whatever the outcome, Eden knew only one truth: he must prevail.
He had not forgotten why he came—
to seize all of Commorragh.
Not only to win, but to drive every Drukhari from the Dark City—whether by exile or extermination.
That would be the hardest task of all.
He sighed deeply.
The way forward was unclear. Perhaps his wisest advisors would provide the key.
"My lord, it is time for your meeting with Master Kronnie."
Ilyss approached, announcing the arrival of the Bloodbride Master.
Kronnie's Tyranid-flesh modification project had proven a success.
Eden regarded him steadily.
"I need your services. Give me a full flesh-masking, a disguise none may pierce."
For this descendant of Asurmen, Archon of the Redemption Kabal, Savior of many—
was going to Commorragh itself.
And risk would follow.
(End of Chapter)
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