Fabius Bile, the "Spider," swore that the Great Horned Rat was the most black-hearted overseer in existence. Though Bile had sold his genius to countless Chaos warbands to fund his research, none had ever ground a scientist down quite like this.
Bile styled himself a man of science, yet his mastery extended even into the labyrinthine depths of the soul. It was through his relentless toil within the Realm of Ruin that a host of Aeldari warriors, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, had been wrought.
These Aeldari warriors were the result of a crude mimicry of Lileath's form, fashioned by Bile and Erda. Because many of their souls had languished within the gullet of Slaanesh for eons, they were prone to frequent and erratic mutations.
Bile was the one tasked with correcting these flaws. As the "Old Surgeon" of Chaos, the treatment of warp-born mutation was a path he had walked for millennia.
A dozen versions of Bile stood before the vats; indeed, to expedite the labor, he had cloned himself twelve times over. Lucius watched with a flicker of grim amusement; the man cloned himself without reservation, each specimen a perfect one-to-one replica of the Phoenician's former Chief Apothecary in his prime. In truth, the "original" Bile likely no longer existed; instead, every surviving iteration was the "true" Fabius.
The Surgeon cared for nothing but his work. If he fell, there would always be another to carry on the Great Work of the Imperial Truth. In a sense, had Fabius Bile not been so doggedly wedded to his atheism, effectively elbowing his own burgeoning Warp-shadow into unconsciousness, he would have been one of the most fitting candidates to claim the power of Malevolent Artifice.
This was precisely why Lucius kept Bile on a short leash. Between the Emperor and the temporarily suppressed Vashtorr, there were quite enough masters of the forge. A fourth contender for the throne of Malevolent Artifice was an unnecessary complication.
Heaps of experimental reports, enough to fill a cathedral, piled up before the Biles. Within were the data points of a thousand anatomical and spiritual deviations.
"Thank you for your hard work, Uncle Fabius~"
Lileath entered the laboratory with a light, rhythmic step, addressing the balding surgeon in a tone dripping with saccharine affectation.
Bile looked up, his twisted, stitched-together visage scanning Lileath's perfect form with a look of pure, clinical greed.
"Ha... it matters not. You will have plenty of opportunities to repay me."
There was no lust in his gaze, only the hunger of a collector beholding a priceless specimen. He had spent a lifetime dissecting the corpse of Horus, but he had never possessed a living Primarch for study. He could sense that the vital essence of the fallen Primarchs had long since fled their husks, leaving behind incomplete samples. Yet, refusing to acknowledge the divine nature of that essence, he remained trapped in his own intellectual paradox.
Lileath blinked at him, genuinely surprised that her charms held no sway over the man. It was clear that he possessed a dream so singular and all-consuming that he could only see its fulfillment reflected in her, rather than her own innate allure.
Finding her wiles ineffective, Lileath felt no anger. She simply wished to flaunt herself, to bask in the adoration she felt was her birthright. At her core, Lileath's desire to descend to the mortal plane was driven not by duty, but by a craving for worship.
Like a radiant princess, she stepped before the hundreds of thousands of Aeldari salvaged from Slaanesh's belly.
"My dear brothers and sisters! I am the Firstborn! Our Father brought us into being for His Great Ambition. Follow me now, and let us liberate our kin who still wander in darkness!"
"Lileath—!!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the ranks of the Aeldari. Among them were former Drukhari, Craftworlders, and Exodites, some even being ancient scientists and warriors from the height of the original Empire. These "old souls" would be the bedrock of the New Aeldari Empire.
Even now, with Isha and Ynnead manifest in the mortal realm and the Great Enemy staggered, the spirit of the Aeldari remained fractured. Aside from a few Imperial loyalists, most had simply taken up the worship of the Mother Goddess or the God of the Dead and returned to their aimless wandering.
Some returned to piracy; others continued to play "Wandering Earth" aboard their Craftworlds. This would not suffice. If the Aeldari did not become a flamboyant, undeniable force, if they did not present a threat so immense that Roboute Guilliman was forced to deal with them, how could the Imperium ever be moved to set aside its pride and recognize their return? How could the humans ever abandon their hatred and extreme xenophobia?
It was, ultimately, a question of raw power.
When the Imperium realized it could not "process" the Aeldari Empire while simultaneously facing the crushing weight of Chaos, Guilliman would make the "wise" decision.
The Primarch Lileath, leading her warriors, boarded ancient Ark-vessels restored by the scientists of old. They departed the Realm of Ruin, sliding seamlessly into the void of the mortal galaxy.
…
Isha sat perched upon Lucius's lap. She was far taller than he, yet her soft, voluptuous form felt weightless, possessing the ethereal touch of a cloud.
"Is it truly possible?" Isha asked, her eyes filled with maternal concern as she watched her daughter vanish into the stars. "Can the sundered Aeldari truly be reunited?"
Lucius shot her a glance. "Say something sweet, and I might tell you."
Isha's face flushed crimson. Though they had shared every intimacy, she remained remarkably proper in her speech.
"You Aeldari are a strange lot," Lucius remarked, his patience thinning as he watched her hesitate. "There isn't a part of you I haven't mastered, yet you keep your words so tightly guarded."
He reached out, his large hand sweeping across her slender, powerful waist before coming to rest firmly upon the soft, mountainous curves of her chest. The Mother Goddess let out a startled cry as she collapsed against him.
"Nn... ah~" A soft moan escaped her lips, and she looked up at him with eyes like liquid silk. "My love~"
"That's more like it." Satisfied by her burgeoning affection and the way her perfect curves molded to his frame like water, Lucius nodded.
"The current Aeldari are nothing but scattered dust on the brink of death. Even with Cegorach and Ynnead among them, they are but two slightly larger pebbles. They will either submit to my Pantheon, to my Order, or they will vanish into ash," Lucius declared. "I am not Slaanesh. Ynnead holds no terrors for me."
Isha nodded. As the Mother Goddess, she could feel the burgeoning power of Ynnead. Though the God of the Dead had grown mighty through the mass extinction of her race, second perhaps only to Khaine or Asuryan, he was still incomplete. Only the total extinction of the Aeldari would bring him to his full, terrible potential.
"Rest easy. Our daughter will achieve the unification of her people."
Lucius leaned in, pressing a brief, light kiss to Isha's pink lips. But Isha arched her back, pressing upward to deepen the connection, refusing to let him pull away.
"Heh... very well. Let the Lord of Distortion show you how we play!"
With a wicked grin, Lucius took full command of the goddess's trembling form.
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