"Even a mighty species that once dominated the galaxy has been driven to the brink of extinction…"
Eden looked out over the collapsed towers and shattered habitation districts within Craftworld Alaitoc, a little wistful.
The Aeldari were in even worse shape than before. Even the Craftworld Aeldari who had inherited the legacy of the ancient Aeldari Empire were living hard lives.
But humanity hadn't been doing much better either. Everyone was doing a butterfly stroke in a cesspit, all on the edge of suffocating.
Fortunately, over the past century and more, Eden had effectively extended humanity's lifespan in one massive surge, and revival finally looked possible.
No matter how one looked at it, the Aeldari's complete collapse was not good news for humanity. If, at the edge of extinction, they truly went mad, they would very likely inflict serious trauma on mankind.
What was more, humanity and the Aeldari shared common enemies.
Whether it was the Dark Prince or the C'tan, neither was something a single species could handle alone. The more allies one had, the better.
That was precisely why the Aeldari had once taken the initiative to approach and ally with Guilliman, who looked, at least on the surface, a bit honest.
Eden had already had "in-depth exchanges" and gained mastery over the Aeldari goddess. If he could turn the Aeldari to his own use and make them controllable, that would be the best outcome.
"Trouble. The Chaos Gods and the Imperium's enemies really don't want me to get my hands on such rich blackstone deposits."
Suddenly, Eden's communicator chimed. An urgent message from Tarko came through, and Eden's brow tightened.
A sense of urgency rose within him.
Based on the data obtained by the reconnaissance fleets, conditions in the Vigilus war zone were even worse than expected. More forces were converging.
And the Dark Mechanicum seemed to be constructing some kind of high-risk machine.
The Departmento Munitorum's assessment was clear: the enemy was very likely trying to destroy the blackstone deposits here.
If that happened, this entire region would be annihilated. All life would be dragged into an unprecedented, catastrophic Warp storm.
"How many more reinforcements can we send?!" Eden drew a deep breath and asked over the channel.
"There's a temporal flow discrepancy between this region and the Imperium. The latest intelligence indicates that major nodes across the Imperium have erupted into chaos and incursions.
"Meanwhile, the Silent King within the Pariah Nexus appears to be mobilizing for war. More Necron xenos are awakening. Stasis zones are pushing into Imperial territory, and vast numbers of Imperial citizens have fallen into a blank, catatonic stupor.
"Lord Leon is organizing additional armies to build defensive lines. He asked me to pass on a message: he will delay the enemy as much as he can, until you win the campaign in the Vigilus region."
Tarko calmly delivered the Munitorum's conclusion.
"With the situation as it stands, it may be very difficult to divert additional armies as reinforcements.
"What we can still supply in quantity is stockpiled weapons and ammunition. Those can be shipped in continuously through the logistics fleets."
"So the Imperium is firefighting everywhere. No troops to spare, but weapons and ammo are basically unlimited?
"Sigh. That's… a Savior specialty, I suppose."
After hearing Tarko's analysis, Eden wasn't especially anxious.
That had been one of the predicted possibilities from the start. The only difference was that it had now truly happened.
Times were different now. With the Imperium's current "HP bar," it could withstand these problems.
Especially given that Eden had spent more than a century building a hyper-scale logistics system, the Imperium was far tougher than it once was.
The health bar was very long indeed.
Take the present situation. Even if more armies could not be pulled in, supplies and munitions could still flow without end.
If things truly reached a critical point, even the logistics fleets could be thrown into the fight. The headcount in Eden's logistics apparatus was, in fact, even larger than the Imperium's formal armies.
But unless absolutely necessary, Eden did not want to commit the logistics fleets. A complete transportation system was far more expensive than an army.
They were the Imperium's lifeblood arteries. If they could remain untouched, they should remain untouched.
That was Eden's confidence. Compared with the Imperium of old, he had more cards to play now. It would not be driven into a corner, depleted, and broken.
"It's not as if this can't be solved. There are enough armies in this region already.
"And they're battle-hardened, too. Their equipment is just a bit… shabby.
"If I can subdue these armies and then arm them to the teeth, that becomes another terrifying host."
Eden watched the Craftworld Alaitoc warriors below, and a clearer plan gradually took shape in his mind.
He held to a single principle: the more frantic the enemy became, the more it proved he was doing something right.
The Chaos Gods were frantic and afraid. They had realized that Chaos was gradually falling into a disadvantage across the galaxy.
They feared the Imperium's newest technologies. They feared the birth of Warp-blockade arrays and broadcast arrays.
That was proof enough that the Imperium had reached a critical node where counterattack could begin.
Whatever designs or conspiracies the Chaos Gods or Erebus had in the Vigilus region, Eden would simply dismantle them one by one.
He had to seize the Vigilus region and secure the desperately needed blackstone resources.
The immediate priority was to secure this Aeldari craftworld, subdue this batch of battle-hardened Aeldari warriors, and establish a model case.
After that, subduing other Aeldari forces, and even forming broader coalitions with additional species, would become much simpler.
But ideals and reality were not the same. Taking advantage of their situation and subduing this Aeldari host would not be easy.
With his superhuman vision, Eden could tell that the Aeldari warriors' gaze toward his sailcraft flotilla carried a faint, unmistakable loathing.
The Drukhari were infamous. The Craftworld Aeldari were intensely averse to indulgence. Winning their trust would not be easy.
There would likely be complications.
"Looks like I'll have to move faster, and hit harder."
That was Eden's conclusion.
Below his gaze, Redemption Elysium and the human coalition forces arrived on Alaitoc's surface in sequence, surging toward the Chaos warriors and the swarm.
These armies would, at the fastest possible speed, drive the enemy out from within the craftworld.
Boom, boom, boom—
The killing only intensified. Alaitoc's rust-streaked Warp Spiders and Falcon grav-tanks surged forward into the hedonite Chaos warriors and the Tyranid swarm.
Beams and lances shrieked across the battlefield.
Guardians rode Windrider jetbikes in high-speed passes, raking the enemy with blistering laser fire.
They resisted with stubborn resolve.
Yet the Guardians inevitably fell into a disadvantage.
Years of high-intensity war had left Alaitoc's defensive infrastructure old and decaying, with no time even for proper repairs.
It could not stop the enemy's ferocious assault. The swarm overturned Falcon after Falcon, and Chaos blades punched into the Guardians' hearts.
Even their last Warlock Titan was destroyed by a Hive Tyrant.
The line was wobbling on the verge of collapse.
"We must hold! Reinforcements are about to arrive!"
Guardian Commander Fahsimir's fair face was smeared with blood, her voice sharp and low.
She moved with agile leaps, her perfectly curved form like a dancer's—graceful even in slaughter.
Fahsimir loosed a volley of shuriken discs. A storm of monomolecular blades tore apart the Dark Prince's Chaos warriors before her.
Beauty and death interwove into something strangely pleasing to the eye.
A cluster of Aeldari—Alaitoc's sons and daughters—gathered around her, holding the line with desperate focus.
Fahsimir, the beautiful warrior, felt her heart hammering.
She could sense the evil radiating from the Chaos warriors' pink tentacles. Somewhere in the void, the Dark Prince lolled out a long tongue—greedy, ravenous.
So much so that she could feel no support, no refuge, anywhere.
Fahsimir wore no spirit stone. She had given that precious talisman to Guardians who needed it more.
Her soul was fully exposed within the Dark Prince's sight.
Soul and spirit were steadily draining away.
In that moment, she longed—desperately—for her soul to be sheltered, rather than endlessly starved.
Fahsimir clutched several spirit stones tight against her chest.
She could not use those talismans. Within them slept the souls of Alaitoc's children, and they had to be delivered safely into the Infinity Circuit.
Yet the situation before her was so hopeless.
Fahsimir knew there were no more Guardians to call upon. They were already fighting at every breach-node, resisting the Dark Prince's minions and the detestable daemons forcing their way in.
She could only pin her hopes on the reinforcements that were coming—those greedy "distant kin," and the humans who inspired such caution.
"Can they really hold back the Chaos warriors and the swarm?"
Resisting the omnipresent darkness, Fahsimir found the question rising unbidden in her mind.
Before long, her doubts were answered.
A dense swarm of Drukhari sailcraft and human landing ships arrived, aggressive and unstoppable.
In the distance, Fahsimir saw human assault craft weaving in and out, and towering Titans pouring wrath into the enemy.
The Drukhari sailcraft angled toward her sector.
More than ten jet-black Warlock Titans descended. In their chests were set enormous, dazzling spirit stones of a kind she had never seen before, and they scythed through the enemy with pulse cannons and psychic shockwaves.
She could even make out a World Tree sigil and statues of the Goddess of Life Isha upon them.
The warriors in their ornate black armor were stronger than strong.
They feared neither the Dark Prince's tentacles nor his minions. They slaughtered the hedonite Chaos warriors so thoroughly that the enemy broke and fled in disgrace.
Redemption Elysium's forging arts had developed a new aesthetic. No longer obsessed with flesh, they now favored more ornate, heavier armor and more powerful weapons.
Those warriors of the Aeldari savior Asurmen were proud beyond measure, solving problems their distant kin could not handle.
They worshiped the Goddess of Life and were protected. Long ago, they had ceased to fear the Dark Prince and his minions.
"This place is unbearable. The stench is everywhere. How can they endure living on a world like this?"
The former Kabal Archon—famed for his "luck"—Fuke, wore an elegant robe and pressed a silk handkerchief lightly to his nose and mouth.
He looked down at his distant kin with a hint of pity, like a wealthy relative observing poor relations.
The souls of these Craftworld kin were so barren, and the stink of Chaos clung to them. Their equipment was decrepit, scarred, and old beyond reason.
They could not compare to his own troops.
"Our master truly is merciful, to grant these people gifts and lead them back to civilization."
That was Fuke's private thought.
He had long known that this Redemption Elysium force deployed to the Vigilus region had come to help those backward, savage Aeldari kin.
It was, essentially, a poverty-alleviation trip.
If it had been him, he would never have been so merciful. This filthy place, reeking everywhere of the Dark Prince's foulness—he would not want it even if someone handed it to him for free.
Staying here too long would only taint his soul.
In the eyes of Fuke and the other Drukhari high-ranking members, Redemption Elysium was the true Aeldari orthodoxy. All other distant kin were impoverished barbarians beyond the pale.
Hiss—
A piercing scream rang out.
A Hive Tyrant, five or six meters tall, vaulted over the line of Warlock Titans under the swarm's cover and lunged toward them.
Its gaze carried a hint of intelligence. It had clearly judged this to be the command node, and it meant to decapitate Fuke.
The presence of a high-tier Tyranid was suffocating. It triggered alarm in Fuke—and deep dread even in Fahsimir nearby.
They were facing the tyrant tide head-on.
"Defensive formation!"
Fahsimir barked a warning and immediately reached out through psychic link to have the remaining Guardians form up.
Yet she discovered that her distant kin showed little concern.
ROAR!!!
In the next instant, an even more terrifying bellow thundered out.
Fahsimir looked up and saw a mutated Hive Tyrant—over ten meters long—swooping in like a flying wyrm.
Its dreadful might made everything tremble.
They had never seen such a terrifying high-tier Tyranid organism. It was nearly one of the strongest nodal creatures within the hive hierarchy.
"We're finished…"
That was the thought that rose in Fahsimir and the other children of Alaitoc.
But before the Guardians could throw themselves into a suicidal stand, the mutated Hive Tyrant—under their stunned gazes—pounced on the other Hive Tyrant instead.
It ripped the creature apart amid its screams, then swept through the swarm, sending the lesser beasts scattering in fear.
The mutated Hive Tyrant then dove toward this sector, battering aside the remaining bugs here.
After that, it could not fully halt its momentum. It surged toward Fahsimir and the others, and their shuriken discs could not penetrate its thick carapace of living armor.
Facing the oncoming maw, Fahsimir's body nearly locked under the pressure, plunging into utter despair.
She could already smell the rank stench within that savage mouth, as though the jaws would close in the next heartbeat and crush Alaitoc's children here—along with the spirit stones that held their comrades' souls.
Fahsimir did not fear death.
She feared only that she would fail her vow, and that her people would not reach the Infinity Circuit.
Yet the expected bite never came. The mutated Hive Tyrant stopped. Its huge, bulging eye fixed on them, and it began to back away.
Then it trotted off, almost cheerfully.
"It doesn't feel hostile."
The thought was bizarre, yet undeniable.
Fahsimir even sensed some ancient, intelligent presence, watching her through the monster's dreadful eyes.
Only after that horrific maw moved away did Fahsimir finally exhale. Already weak, she nearly lost all strength.
She slumped down into a duck-sitting posture, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
It carried an oddly suggestive look—like some animated elven knight forced to the ground at the edge of coercion.
Fahsimir slowly stood, pressed a hand to her chest, and felt a flicker of relief at having survived. Even her ears were stained with a faint blush.
She had not lost her comrades' spirit stones.
To Alaitoc, every single spirit stone was priceless—worth protecting with one's life.
"Distant kin of Alaitoc, there is no need to fear. That was merely a pet of our master, the great and noble descendant of Asurmen."
Fuke watched the mutated Hive Tyrant's retreating form, envy he could not suppress in his eyes.
To the high-ranking figures of Redemption Elysium, the ability to cultivate Tyranid combat units was a symbol of status.
He himself kept a single Trygon, and it had cost him nearly half his fortune. Most of the time it was stored in his dueling arena.
He could not bear to bring it out.
"Commander, we'll take over the fighting here."
Fuke turned to Fahsimir. His attitude was proud, yet he maintained the basic courtesies.
Since the great Asurmen wanted this band of Aeldari kin to join Redemption Elysium, Fuke had to follow closely, and his manner naturally had to be a bit better.
His tone allowed no argument.
"Once the battle is over, bring your people with me to welcome our master's arrival."
Fahsimir and her Guardians were pushed out of the fighting.
They felt a trace of humiliation, but far more surprise and curiosity.
These distant kin from Commorragh were completely different from any they had encountered before. They were strong, and their equipment was so refined.
More importantly, there was no warped flesh upon them at all. They were even cleaner and purer than Alaitoc's children, their souls brimming with fullness.
There was, faintly, a noble air to them.
"What kind of existence is this Lord Asurmen, really?!"
Fahsimir's small, pointed ears twitched as her fair face tightened slightly.
An intense curiosity rose within her.
Not long after, the coalition forces finished sweeping the invaders, who had lost any further support.
Fahsimir led the Guardians and followed the Archon called Fuke to welcome the Aeldari savior Asurmen.
Meanwhile—
"By the Veil of Fate… we cannot allow those greedy distant kin to linger within Alaitoc…"
An old Farseer led the most elite warlock detachment he could assemble, hurrying toward the sector where Asurmen was located.
This was the last elite force they could scrape together at all—meant to serve as a show of face and a deterrent.
The human forces had already withdrawn of their own accord, but Commorragh's distant kin showed no intention of leaving.
Even as allies, having so many troops remain inside the craftworld for so long was an affront, and it was never a good sign.
Especially under current circumstances.
High Farseer Eilarai was straining to maintain the Infinity Circuit's operation. Guardian forces across the craftworld were resisting the Dark Prince's minions as they tried to break in.
Alaitoc was weaker than it had ever been.
The old Farseer's clouded eyes were full of worry.
"Those greedy distant kin have likely realized something. They're like leeches. Once they latch on, they're not easily shaken off."
He decided that no matter what, he had to make Commorragh's distant kin leave, even if it meant paying a price.
So their posture had to be hard. They could not expose weakness.
(End of Chapter)
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