A round hand reached in from the outside, grabbing Lileath by the head. Terror seized her; a hollow hunger swept through her entire being, and strange, distorted inspirations sprouted within her will, rendering her incapable of any resistance.
Caught. The thought flashed through Lileath's mind, but it was quickly drowned out by a cacophony of chaotic inspirations. She wanted to flee, to struggle, to beg for mercy, but every impulse was smothered by the noise. Clutched by the head, she was stuffed into the pocket on the entity's belly—as if being shoved into a pitch-black maw.
Consumed... Lileath had been consumed.
The remaining Aeldari gods were paralyzed with horror. Kurnous, the God of the Hunt, looked toward Cegorach in the distance, his eyes demanding an explanation: Was this not meant to be our rescue?
Cegorach, however, only laughed—a mocking, indulgent, and cynical laugh, seemingly indifferent to Kurnous's silent interrogation. Kurnous cursed the Jester, the Phoenix King proclaimed it a betrayal, and Vaul pleaded for mercy while the Crone Goddess trembled. Only the legless Hoec sat cross-legged, watching Cegorach's laughter, and eventually found himself laughing along.
The round hand reached back into Slaanesh's entrails. As the Prince of Pleasure shrieked in agony, the hand snatched Kurnous the Hunter, who was still mid-curse.
Cegorach no longer paid any mind to the Aeldari gods. With Slaanesh suppressed by Alexander , the Jester of the Gods could seize this fleeting moment to leave the Black Library and complete His long-awaited vengeance.
Within the Webway, the Aeldari pirates gathered around Commorragh let out screams of terror. Pale blood rained from the shifting, linear paths of the Webway, drifting past the dying sun that illuminated the Dark City.
The Laughing God of the Aeldari had left His sanctuary. He descended directly upon the dagger-like spires of Commorragh, His crescent-moon face hanging in the sky, scanning the surroundings as if searching for something specific.
The Drukhari issued warnings, demanding Cegorach stay away. He was an Aeldari god, but He was not worshipped in Commorragh. The Dark Aeldari still possessed ancient technologies—they believed they could kill even the Pantheon's Jester.
The Kabals controlling the city mobilized, gathering power to repel Him, but Cegorach ignored them. The Kabals were not the true masters of this city, nor were they its deepest sin. Gazing down at the city, which resembled a tumorous sore, He found them.
Beneath the spires, hidden in unrepentant evil, were the Haemonculi. From beneath Cegorach's robes, spikes formed of blood lunged out, piercing into the heart of the city and the depths of the spires. Gravity reversed; spires were torn apart instantly, and many Drukhari were crushed into paste before they could flee.
Cegorach felt no pity, only wild laughter. He had found the Haemonculi Covens. These desecrated masters of flesh were the true masters of Commorragh, and they had ruled the Aeldari longer than the Dark City had even existed.
These twisted monsters were the rulers of the ancient Aeldari Empire before its Fall. They had once held near-infinite power—extinguishing stars and deciding the life and death of all things at a whim. In the long history of the galaxy since the War in Heaven, only the Golden Men of humanity could match them in authority and might.
Yet, possessing such power, they never considered the survival of their race. When no other species could threaten them, they used their power only to satisfy their own desires. They brought the Pleasure Cults to the Aeldari, spreading them from Commorragh.
They reshaped their bodies until they were unrecognizable to their kin, eventually viewing themselves as a separate race. They indulged in pleasure at any cost, abandoning the gods for the embrace of the Dark Muses. Even after their crimes birthed Slaanesh and caused the Fall, they felt no remorse.
They hid in Commorragh and survived to the present day. They were the true culprits of the Fall; Slaanesh was born from their excess. Every day spent in the Black Library, Cegorach had craved this moment to bring them retribution.
The Drukhari finally understood His intent. Many Kabals and Haemonculi, however, showed no fear. They mocked Cegorach's audacity. To them, He was merely the Pantheon's Jester, the most insignificant member of the gods, now severely wounded. How could He punish them?
"A clown is just a clown," the oldest Haemonculi sneered, already imagining capturing and torturing a god.
But Cegorach's smile turned even more derisive. "Who do you think you are?"
"Worms. I am Cegorach. When I mocked the C'tan and deceived the Outsider, you were not even born. I am the King of Jesters, the God of Laughter, the greatest playwright in the galaxy. How could I not have written the script and arranged the cast?"
His laughter echoed through the Webway, guiding a God of the Hunt who had long been wandering the paths. The stars shifted, and the sound of hooves thundered from the distant end. A cold wind blew through the grass, and a winged eagle soared across a blue sky.
The Webway groaned as if carrying a weight too heavy to bear. Blizzards raged through the streets of Commorragh, snow and rain drowning the Drukhari. The wind was like silver sabers flashing in the dark, decapitating them. The snow was like shrieking arrows piercing their chests. The rain was like stampeding hooves crushing their skulls.
In the moment that presence approached, countless Drukhari were killed by the war cries coming from afar. Amidst the howling frost, a figure emerged from the edge of Commorragh: Jaghatai Khan.
The Great Khan's cloak swirled like a cyclone. His blade, the White Tiger, shone like the first light of dawn tearing through the night. His eyes seemed to hold the cycle of sun and moon. A bloody finger traced a line across his face—a fierce red lightning bolt.
The Eagle of Chogoris stood there, and the Drukhari trembled in terror. Wychs and Incubi lunged at him, but before they could get close, their bodies shattered into a thousand pieces. It was as if a domain surrounded the Primarch; to step into it was to invite instant death.
Within the Haemonculi Covens, panicked wails erupted. These monsters were cruel and unrepentant, but they possessed extraordinary knowledge. In an instant, they realized Jaghatai Khan had realized his true nature and merged completely with his essence. He was both a god and divinity itself.
His divinity was no longer hidden beneath flesh; it was exposed to the Warp. He was the Wind—a wind blowing from ancient times, an echo of the era when the Warp and reality were in balance. He symbolized the desire for that balance to return.
Because the Warp currently overwhelmed reality, the symbol of balance was both a god of the Warp and the spokesperson for Reality. The stronger the Warp became, the more power He drew from it, and the more gifts Reality bestowed upon Him, until balance was restored.
The Haemonculi felt the rage—the rage of Reality itself. Their past actions had led to the birth of the Eye of Terror and the loss of reality-space to the Warp. Reality held a deep hatred for them. As the breaker of that balance, Jaghatai Khan's divinity held a fierce killing intent toward the Haemonculi.
Jaghatai Khan exhaled a cold breath and remained silent, feeling the power flowing within him. He knew how strong he had become; Reality itself was blessing him. If the Mortarion of old stood before him now, the Khan could take his head within ten strikes.
But this was not what he wanted. Since his time on Chogoris, he had suspected what he was. After the Horus Heresy, he knew for certain. That was why he entered the Webway—to resist the instinct of ascension. He did not want to be a god, especially since his divinity was essence-bound to stay outside of all conflicts. Once he fully accepted it, he would be forced to act only for balance, losing his freedom to hunt.
"But..." He thought. "If the pastures wither, the streams dry up, and the flocks and my people starve, what choice do I have?"
"Then I shall take all my people, drive the herds, and like a wind, find the next pasture."
The Khan laughed heartily. Indeed, the men of Chogoris come and go like the wind. If one place becomes uninhabitable, move like the wind to the next.
"But if the whole world withers in the cold wind, if every river flows with poisoned water, and neither sheep nor people can survive... what choice do I have?"
"Then I shall hunt. I shall go to war. I shall resist the darkness until the final end."
A bloodthirsty smile flashed across his face. Raging winds swept through Commorragh as the White Scars, who had followed him into the Webway, rode their bikes alongside the Harlequins to invade the City of Sin.
The Khan's silhouette transformed into thousands of eagles tearing at reality and the Warp, a storm surging toward the Haemonculi. In the blink of an eye, He was a rider on a stallion, a wolf with blood on its muzzle, a stag with massive antlers, and the formless wind and snow.
The Haemonculi wailed and wept as the eagle's claws tore them apart, the stallion's hooves crushed their heads, and the wind sliced their flesh. All of Commorragh was burning; the City of Sin was screaming in agony.
Back in the Warp, Asuryan was dragged screaming from Slaanesh's belly. The Phoenix King still possessed great power and struggled in Alexander 's round hand, but it was futile. With a single thought, Alexander suppressed Asuryan's divine power. This was not through Alexander 's own strength, but...
"The Pantheon?!" Asuryan gasped in disbelief. He realized that Alexander was currently seated at the apex of the Aeldari Pantheon, in the position of the Aeldari God of Death—the seat that once belonged to Asuryan himself.
Alexander was the Master of the Aeldari Pantheon.
"CEGORACH!!!" Asuryan roared, unable to believe the Jester had handed the throne to a human god.
At the edge of Commorragh, watching the Khan's massacre with interest, Cegorach chuckled: "Who are you? Are we acquainted? What Aeldari Pantheon?"
"I am the god of the Human Psyker-Specialized Sub-species! Why are you loitering in the Pantheon of us Human Psyker-Specialized Sub-species? Have you paid rent?"
"It's fine. Our venerable God-King Saint Doraemon is kind-hearted. He'll just let you pay with your bodies."
With a final wail, Asuryan was stuffed into the four-dimensional pocket on Alexander 's belly, vanishing into the void.
Slaanesh's belly was nearly hollowed out, and She hung limply before Alexander . Yet, Her power was actually rising; the extreme experience of the event had stimulated Her domain. Alexander noted that even the weakest of the Four Gods was incredibly difficult to kill.
Meanwhile, Tzeentch and Khorne were beginning to stir...
Alexander slightly loosened his grip, and Slaanesh gave a sharp cry, fleeing in panic. Alexander did not stop Her. He glanced into the 4D pocket, looking at the Future Department Store. Between the sold-off Tyranids, the Aeldari gods, and now Commorragh... he was still a little short of the price for that item.