The writhing hunger receded into His core, and the extreme inspirations retracted into His form. Around Him hovered Chestnut Manjus, symbolizing satiety, and Mini-Doraemons, representing the inspiration of kindness.
His physical shell pulsated, shifting between human form and the likeness of Doraemon. At this moment, He had grown too vast for a primitive body to contain; He could only maintain His existence by relying on props like the "Adaptation Lamp" and "Siegfried Bathing Liquid."
In the Warp, the black sun fell into a heavy silence. It hung suspended in mid-air, emitting neither light nor heat, looking as if it had truly died. Yet, no demon dared to look directly at that sun.
They could all feel that, despite its stillness, the power of that black sun was more terrifying than ever. A single glance would likely see one ensnared by the power of Erosive Destruction and dragged into death.
The conflict between the Chaos Gods came to a standstill. They gazed upon Alexander, who now embodied the dual divinity of the Omnissiah and the Eternal Dragon, and at that silent black sun. They waited to see if the Dark King would truly be born. But the sun hung unmoving, a corpse-monument at the apex of the Warp.
He—no, that man—had actually endured. He had withstood the pressure of three domains, the instinct of ascension, and the primal urge to be born into the world for revenge. He had maintained his identity as a human and rejected the mantle of the Dark King. He was, quite literally, a Superman.
Obvious admiration flickered in the eyes of the Blood God. Khorne's domain encompassed courage and honor, and the core of that honor was the weak challenging the strong—doing what must be done despite knowing it is impossible. In Khorne's view, the Emperor's actions were equivalent to a mortal defeating the Dark King. The Blood God raised His arm and struck His chest plate in a booming salute of respect to a fellow warrior.
Nurgle's eyes were also full of approval and gratitude. The Gods are contradictory beings; each simultaneously desired and feared the birth of the Dark King. While they once craved His arrival to expand the Warp, the Dark King's current power was so overwhelming that their side favoring rejection had become dominant. Among them, Nurgle—whose "mercy" made Him unable to bear the total death of all things—was the most relieved to see the birth stopped.
Even Slaanesh was struck with wonder. Her domain also included a form of "glory," and a love for such masculine displays of will. The Emperor's sacrifice and poise made Her spirit flutter, sparking a desire to collide and experience the sensation of such a being.
Even Tzeentch was momentarily shaken. Not even He had expected the Emperor to shoulder three domains without falling to the Dark King. Was there anything left in the world this man could not do? The possibilities he represented were too vast.
The Gods quickly realized that their battle no longer had a purpose. Alexander, merging the divinity of the Omnissiah and the Eternal Dragon, was too oppressive a presence. Even without counting him as two full gods, he stood at the pinnacle of the Warp. Perhaps only Khorne at his peak or Tzeentch with his crystal staff could match him. Faced with such deterrence, Tzeentch and Slaanesh lost their will to fight. Both had the same thought simultaneously: Run.
Tzeentch did not hesitate. He chanted a string of complex incantations, and His crystal staff shattered into a cascade of spells. These formed a chain that pierced through destiny into reality, wrapping around Magnus—who was currently entangled with Mortarion, the fleet, and Guilliman. With a violent tug, Tzeentch pulled Magnus back into the Warp and vanished into the Crystal Labyrinth.
Slaanesh attempted the same. Her fingers reached out from beneath a veil, swirling with obscene and chaotic imagery, reaching toward Fulgrim.
Fulgrim was bathed in blood, his face a mask of pain, resistance, rage, and pride. Most of his strength had been stripped away by Slaanesh moments ago, leaving him incredibly weak. The Daemon Princes Slaanesh had hastily created shrieked as they lunged at him, only to be cut down by Fulgrim and his loyal Phoenix Guard.
Even Marius, who had chosen loyalty to Fulgrim despite his ascension, was finally overwhelmed by the Slaaneshi corruption within his own body and dissolved into ash. The Phoenix Guard suffered heavy casualties; Arkaneth, his body pierced by six blades, refused to fall, swinging his sword to protect his Primarch. Though he had previously insisted the fallen Fulgrim was not his father, he now roared that he would fulfill his duty and never let his Primarch fall into Slaanesh's hands again.
Slaanesh smiled mockingly at their "pitiful" efforts. Had Her attention not been occupied by Alexander and Her strength spent resisting Khorne, Fulgrim—Her Daemon Primarch—would have lost the very thought of resistance in an instant. She watched his struggle with a sense of joy, especially noticing that Fulgrim's essence was becoming more "complete" and closer to its original nature. Slaanesh let out a taunting, playful laugh, believing She would be the ultimate winner...
But then, Her laughter froze. Her body locked in the Warp, unable to move a single inch.
Why? How can this be?
Slaanesh felt something growing from within Her, spreading throughout Her entire existence. It was dissolving the very emotions that constituted Her being. It was... the souls of the Aeldari. Some of the Aeldari souls She had consumed were tainted with something.
Those souls, who had suffered eternal torment within Slaanesh, now bore playful, mocking smiles—like jesters. They began to rasp out a poem in chorus, a song about the birth of the Aeldari and the gifts of the Gods.
The song told of Isha, the Mother Goddess, who gave her children a home where plants flourished and beasts bowed. Seeing the Aeldari had a home, the Pantheon offered their gifts.
Asuryan, the Phoenix King, took wisdom and pride from the eternal flame. The Aeldari ancestor, Eldanesh, said: "O King, your gift allows me to know good from evil, to discern right from wrong, and to realize my own nobility. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your fire."
Kurnous, the God of the Hunt, took an arrow from his bow and turned it into desire and ambition. Eldanesh said: "Father, your gift gives me the ability to pursue beauty and prosperity. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your bow."
Isha, the Mother of fertility, plucked a lily and turned it into love and care. Eldanesh said: "Mother, your gift teaches us the love between man and woman, so our race may thrive. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your flower."
Vaul, the Smith God, took a spark from beneath his hammer and turned it into creativity and spirituality. Eldanesh said: "Artisan, your gift allows us to turn whims into reality and reshape the world according to our desires. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your hammer."
Lileath, the Maiden, took a fragment from her beautiful dreams and turned it into joy and prophecy. Eldanesh said: "Maiden, your gift allows us to gain joy and confidence from our perception of this world. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your dreams."
Morai-Heg, the Crone, took a bone from her bag and turned it into foresight. Eldanesh said: "Crone, your gift allows us to glimpse our future glory. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your bone."
Hoec, the Wanderer, brushed a clod of earth from his boots and turned it into the spirit of adventure. Eldanesh said: "Traveler, your gift gives us the courage to go to the stars and conquer the lands that belong to us. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your boots."
Gea, the Consort of Asuryan and Khaine, gave nothing. She told the Aeldari that the protection of the gods is not eternal, and one day they must face danger alone. Eldanesh said: "Queen, you have given nothing, yet you have taught us that we can have glory even without the gods. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your crown."
Khaine, the Bloody-Handed, laughed wildly and took a spark from his rage, turning it into anger and courage. Eldanesh said: "Blood-Hand, your gift gives us the weapons to defend the glory and wealth that belong to us. I and my children shall worship you forever and sacrifice to your blade."
Only the gift of Cegorach, the Jester of the Gods and the Fool of the Pantheon, was rejected.
Cegorach cut a piece from his own pale flesh and turned it into satire, humor, and self-mockery. He said: "The gifts of the gods are so precious that they grow your pride, but excessive pride brings only destruction. I give you the ability to mock yourselves, so you may learn to dissolve pride, restrain desire, and know humility and how to please others..."
Eldanesh spat and said: "Bah! You jester, I do not want your gift. This 'gift' is clearly a mockery of me. I and my children shall not worship you. Only fools as ridiculous as you will follow you, and they shall forever remain at the fringes of my race."
Eldanesh, the ancestor of the Aeldari, had rejected Cegorach's gift. He viewed the Pantheon Jester's offering as a slight and a mockery. They were the perfect race—beautiful, wise, brave, and pure. They would not allow themselves to be laughed at, neither by others nor by themselves. Wit and humor were tools used to please others, and how could the noble Aeldari ever become jesters?
Thus, the Aeldari possessed wisdom, desire, love, creativity, the capacity for joy, foresight, ambition, adventure, rage, and courage. But they lacked the one thing that could dissolve pride: self-mockery and a sense of humor. Only the Harlequins, drifting on the fringes of the Aeldari world and dancing their absurd dances, possessed this ability.
And so, wisdom and pride soured into complacency and arrogance; desire became hunger and greed; love turned into a cycle of debauchery. Their creativity, once used to turn fantasies into reality, was bent toward satisfying extreme lust. Their capacity for joy, unrestrained, became an impulse for every extreme sensation. Foresight became blind overconfidence; ambition was discarded; adventure was used only for cheap thrills; and rage was directed only at slaves and the weak.
Then, the youngest goddess of the Pantheon let out her first moan and cry. All the corruption, arrogance, and lust of the race became the milk that nursed her.
Cegorach's Harlequins traveled between worlds, bringing his warning through drama, dance, and performance: "Children of Eldanesh, please consume the pale flesh of Cegorach. Wit is a virtue; humor will add to your brilliance; self-mockery will not damage your honor. Listen to the warning: your depravity and excess have invited a terrible consequence. The Prince of Darkness is about to be born, and you will find the protection of the gods is not eternal."
But Cegorach's warnings were met mostly with laughter. Most Aeldari ignored him. Doom fell. Slaanesh was born from the void, and Her first cry killed nearly the entire race, swallowing their souls. Asuryan's eternal fire was drowned by the flames of lust. The Lord of Hunger wrapped Her legs around the waist of the All-Father. Lileath screamed as slender fingers caught her and swallowed her whole.
Vaul swung his hammer at the Lord of Hunger, but corrupted spirituality turned into chains that bound him. The Crone Goddess was slaughtered, trembling. The Great Bow of the Hunt was snapped, its arrows turned into instruments of torture. Hoec's legs were broken; the Wanderer, so closely tied to the Webway, made a final run on shattered limbs, carrying Isha out of the Pantheon.
He used his severed legs to create a one-time Webway passage, opening the road to the Black Library for Cegorach. But in the end, even he could not escape Slaanesh's claws. Khaine roared in rage, but the clash between Khorne and Slaanesh shattered his body. Isha, crushed by the grief of the Aeldari's death, lost her chance to escape and was dragged into Nurgle's Garden.
How ironic. In the Black Library, Cegorach's fingers dug into His palms, and blood flowed from His eyes. How truly ironic.
Cegorach did not cry; the King of Jesters does not weep. Only a smile of self-mockery and bitterness played on His lips. But He would have His revenge.
The Aeldari had rejected His gift, yet Cegorach never took it back. For a god to force His blessings upon the beings who humiliated Him—how ridiculous. But Cegorach is a clown, and a clown does not care for such things. He sliced His own flesh inch by inch, turning it into satire and humor, quietly sowing it within Aeldari souls over ten thousand years.
These Aeldari would never know they were Cegorach's chosen. Their souls, guided by fate, were swallowed by Slaanesh. Slaanesh would not notice; Cegorach was a weak god, his power negligible. But He possessed one talent that surpassed all Aeldari gods—the talent for lying. His lies once deceived the Outsider, and now they deceived Slaanesh.
Slaanesh swallowed those souls containing Cegorach's flesh, and at this moment, they began to take effect. Satire and humor are poison to pride and greed—the only things in the Pantheon untainted by Slaanesh. When this flesh activated, even the mighty Slaanesh was affected. Though Cegorach was weak and the effect would only last a moment, He chose to use this "ace" now to lock Slaanesh's movements and create an opening for Alexander.
The Chestnut Manjus, shrouded in deep shadows, fell like blades from the heights of the Empyrean, gnawing at Slaanesh's divine form and piercing Her wrists. Slaanesh let out a wail of pain. Intense hunger and weakness spread through Her body. That hollow, pale, unquenchable thirst was unbearable for Her.
Many Slaaneshi demons and cultists were overwhelmed by this void of hunger. The shadow-like starvation eclipsed all other desires—lust, passion, and the craving for glory were all drowned out. Only the primal urge to eat remained. Round hands choked Slaanesh's throat, and the suffocating pressure of the shadows made Her struggle and scream.
"What are you doing?!" Slaanesh wailed, struggling.
She did not understand why Alexander would attack Her so suddenly. Was he trying to bite a piece out of Her domain? What a joke—his domain was closer to Greed and Satiety, far from the Wicked Arts. If he forcibly consumed Her domain, it would be indigestible.
Was he trying to kill Her? That was impossible. No matter how weak She seemed, or how many domains Alexander merged, he could not kill Her. Not because of a lack of strength, but because the Warp isn't just about fighting—it's about the nature of existence. Slaanesh is a scream of ecstasy and wild impulse; She exists to feel everything. Even Alexander's beating and gnawing provided Her with power through the "extreme experience" of the event.
And as long as Alexander was tied down in a struggle with Her, how could Tzeentch and Khorne resist taking a bite out of his domain? This was the Great Game; no one ever truly wins.
Alexander slowly leaned his head close to Slaanesh's ear. "Because I want to tell you..."
"...Your tits aren't as big as Nurgle's."
"...?" Slaanesh's mind, and the surging emotions of ecstasy within Her, froze for a moment.
Nurgle's tits... bigger than hers... Nurgle... bigger...
Intense pain shot from Her abdomen. Hunger turned into sharp knives, stabbing into Her divine body. Infinite thirst erupted as violet blood poured out. The crushing void tore at Slaanesh, yet this novel experience also fed Her power.
But Slaanesh realized Alexander's true goal. He wanted what was in Her belly—the Aeldari gods, or their souls?
Neither would be easy. Slaanesh's stomach was not a literal organ but a manifestation of an endless abyss of depravity. The pursuit of stimulation is limitless; the more one craves, the higher the threshold becomes, yet satisfaction is never reached. Anything swallowed by Slaanesh falls endlessly into this abyss. No matter how deep Alexander dug, he should never have been able to reach them.
Wild laughter erupted from the Black Library—mocking and playful, but no longer bitter. Cegorach's jester-face rose, His robes fluttering to reveal a bloodied, broken form. People said He was the last "complete" Aeldari god, but that was another lie. Most of His flesh had already been fed to Slaanesh. He had paid this bloody price just for this one opening.
Even if She couldn't be killed, She would be crippled, and the gods within Her dragged out. Two blood-stained bone blades were drawn from His robes—the severed legs of Hoec the Wanderer. In the universe's youth, Hoec had walked every corner of the stars. He was the God of the Webway, born from the Old Ones' navigation system.
The Aeldari gods were born of the Old Ones' Warp creations. Isha was the cloning and repair system; Kurnous was the targeting system; Vaul was the forge; Lileath and Morai-Heg were the prophecy systems. Cegorach came from an entertainment device.
In the Aeldari's perception, Hoec was granted the divinity of "being able to reach anywhere." At the brink of death, he broke his own legs for Cegorach, specifically for this moment. The two blades made from Hoec's legs were tossed to Alexander. Alexander's round hands caught them, and two "Anywhere Hoops" appeared, hovering before the tips of the blades.
Terror filled Slaanesh's face. She realized fate had shifted. Alexander really could rip open Her belly.
The two blades crossed and plunged into Slaanesh's abdomen. She let out a piercing scream. Alexander's round hands violently pulled outward, tearing Her stomach open. The tortured souls within cried out, and a wave of broken spirits surged out of the rent in Her body like a tide.
Asuryan's broken form lifted its head from the gastric juices. The Warp churned as Aeldari faith rushed back to Him. In an instant, He knew how this had happened. Cegorach... That jester, that clown... actually... He almost couldn't believe it, wondering if it was just another of Cegorach's lies.
But He had no time to ponder. Escape was right before Him. He reached out to crawl out of the acid, but a slender foot stepped squarely on His face.
The Maiden Goddess Lileath laughed maniacally. After countless tortures and humiliations within Slaanesh, She was on the verge of collapse. Now that hope appeared, She did not hesitate to use Asuryan's face as a stepping stone to lunge outward. "Heeheehee! I must live!"
Lileath screamed and laughed, reaching toward the outside world. Suddenly, an arrow pierced Her shoulder. Kurnous the Hunter pulled an arrow from his own body and threw it, impaling Lileath. A length of Kurnous's own intestines was tied to the end of the arrow; he gripped them tightly, trying to use the arrow to pull himself out of Slaanesh's belly.
Nearby, the legless Hoec watched in despair. Having sacrificed his limbs, he had no chance of escape. What filled him with true hopelessness was that even at this final moment, the Aeldari gods refused to unite for even a single second.
Lileath shrieked and pulled the arrow from her shoulder, hurling it back at Kurnous before running outward without a backward glance...
A pocket—a white, crescent-shaped pocket—opened before Lileath's eyes, revealing a dark void.