Chapter 18: 18. Blessing of the Gods
"-preclude you from enforcing your most holy duty!", not even had the words finished ranging in the minds of every member of the Young Races that five massive golden rings manifested at precise locations within the outer layer of the Celestian Enclave.
From the first ring flew with her majestic feathery wings of pearly white, the Maiden, Lileath. In her left hand was a short bow that appeared to be made of living constellations. In her right one was an arrow that seemed to be confectioned from the brightest stars, and without any ceremony or words she blessed the mortals. Their true dreams and hopes of all began to be granted, bending reality and unreality to turn mere thought into tangible aspects of their life.
The second was her father, the Lord of the Beasts, Kurnous. Druidic carvings glowed a vibrant green over his heavily muscled bare torso and similarly no words but a deep growl escaped his throat. At this moment, primordial yet controlled instincts flowed through the systems of all pushing and breaking limits not even known, turning the less gifted of them into creatures working as one with their very nature unburdened by mortal constraints on their potential.
The third was the Laughing God, Cegorach, his insane cackles resonating far and wide, his cloak body moving in non-existent winds as with a snap of his finger and small tapdance another miracle happened. A frigid sensation flowed through the mind of every mortal sharpening their wits, though too complex for them before now flowing in abandon at gaits they never knew was feasible.
The fourth to step out was the Merciful Mother, Isha, her presence brought serenity and mended all wounds of both physical and metaphysical nature. Her tears were not flowing, replaced by wrath only a mother would have at imminent danger to her children's well-being and life itself. And so with a flick of her staff, the soft rings of bells echoed, and boundless vitality and life force flowed bringing the most aged to their prime and beyond.
The fifth was the Crone, Morai-Heg. All of of her three heads exhibited a visage of severity yet confidence as the threads of Fate at the tips of her fingers were weaved under her ministration forming a complex tapestry of golden thread gifting each mortal the limited sight of glimpses at their past, present and future the latter of which most prominent.
The sixth was the last one's Consort, the Bloody-Handed God, Khaine. His body of bronze armor covered in crimson red flame, his god-killing blade Widowmaker in hand he roared in murderous wrath like a maddened animal freed from its chain. His wordless intonation bathed all in the blood of war granting strength beyond physically feasible and infusing them with the true essence of war in both martial arts, tactics, and purpose. Turning young and inexperienced into hardened veterans of the most violent and gruesome and promoting warriors into demi-gods of violence and war.
The last to enter the scene out was the owner of the golden portals, the Archdjinni of the Rings, Hoopa. On his face was a snarling smile revealing all of his pure white fangs, his presence caused reality to quake and fold under his gaze as refined psychic energy mesmerizingly flowed out of his six hands.
With a silent snap of fingers his boons befell the mortals, first was the secret of the arcane, spells beyond reason and power with the knowledge and experience of using them anchored themselves in their minds. But it was only half of his blessing, the second part of it was a weightless cloak of all-encompassing darkness warping around them in the shapes of robes and armor granting both immense defense, agility, and the ability to travel in the shadow.
His appearance signaled the end of the Phoenix King's sermon, and as it did the Thrones Room below was put ablaze in a blinding inferno of the purest psychic might. Geysers of white flame burst everywhere from crevices shifting into trillions of threads that connected to all soul-bearing creatures.
As the bunting thread mingled with ones of darkness, the power of the Sea of Souls was given to those weak in it and to those who already had promoted it to an unthinkable level. Turning the weakest of psyker equal to a candlelight in darkness to a burning bonfire.
But it was only one fraction of it, as with it also came a sense of immense yet measured pride, of unbreakable duty to serve beyond the claws of death, and of ever-burning loyalty to the Aeldari Gods. These blessings were not forbidden from those of non-Aeldari nature, there was no discrimination. Even if they were not as receptive as the true people of the Aeldari Pantheon.
As the burning psychic power of the Godking settled in the souls of the mortals with the previous blessings his image manifested in all its regalty, like his twin brother his body was fused to his armor and radiated power beyond the realm of reality. Though unlike the former his aura was ruled yet not restrained rolling out in constant waves demanding absolute devotion to all that gaze upon his godly form.
He was sitting on a massive golden throne at the summit of a ziggurat made of similar material, markings burning with his eternal flame amplifying his power to a point he overshadowed all. He was a beacon, a conflagration of smoldering righteous fire ready to lash out and destroy all that was deemed unworthy of existing in his presence. The stars that made his burning eyes impassively observed his subjects with majesty and the absolute authority of a supreme sovereign.
If not for the blessing of the Aeldari God of Darkness the subjects' very essence would have been erased by this pure presence and flame licking their souls and bodies for it was one enough to light the Sea of Souls alight and purify it of its malevolent denizen and the nascent reality tumors. Alas, it was not to be used in such a way today.
It was a delicate balance between conflicting powers, each blessing was the piece of a puzzle connected forming a solid foundation. They played a major role in the receptacle's ability to sustain such a vast amount of power being funneled through them without turning to kaleidoscopic ash or becoming moaning and mindless abominations oh so frequently found in the Sea of Souls.
"Show of…", and said Aeldari God of Darkness scoffed under his breath at the sight, not enraptured or even impressed even to the tiniest extent unlike ones below him by this little play and even some of his brethren.
Hoopa knew the truth behind this mighty show of force, and it wasn't as pretty as it looked. This was not the Phoenix King's power, this was not only artificially augmented by using the throne he was on but also borrowed from an external source. It was a cheat at best, a very outstanding one but a cheat nonetheless.
It was using the power of the Labyrinth Dimensions as an energy source and even beyond, it purified it into pure psychic essence that was then meddled with the user's own, it then went by countless other processes to be ultimately channeled back to the user as a hyper condensed psychic energy. And this was only one of the throne functions for it was at the heart of the Celestian Enclave both in location and purpose.
It was the project Vaul had been working on, the Zenith Dominion. A masterpiece of creation that Hoopa and a select few Old Ones and Great Old Ones had worked on as well even if more as an assistant than master artisan.
The revelation of the rapidly approaching calamity led to pressure demanding the project to be finished fast. This prompted them to participate but also to do some work the Aeldari God of Smiths couldn't do alone. Such as using the anomalous and inimical energy the Archdjinni was the sole generator to be used as a kind of isolant.
But there was one important nugget of information, there was no small percentile of Necron technology used in it. It would ruffle more than a few feathers even if Asuryan was the Godking.
Though technically it was of the technology of the Old Ones too, even then it used principles found only in the designs of the soulless automatons, or more accurately their insidious masters.
The haste to which it was finished meant it wasn't up to Vaul's standard and why he wasn't here aside from the fact he was far from the best of fighters. He wasn't the worst at least in martial art in the Pantheon but he had far better uses not on the battlefield.
It was why the Forgebound was not here but it was the same all around the Celestian Enclave for most of the support units of his variety, their presence on a battlefield would be counterproductive in the vast majority. Their roles varied from controlling gestalt turrets to repairing the stress ongoing thanks to strain put by outside interference on the shields and many more.
'Anyway, it does not matter since after this I likely won't see him for a looooonnng time.', Hoopa shook his head in dismissal, the battle had already begun in ample strides, bridges of ethereal light had grown from the ground, and shot in every conceivable direction yet did not impede spaceships, it was a similar situation for all the projectile shot, psychically inclined or not.
To put it into simple words, collision, and friendly fire could be put on hold and shifted smartly for each individual. A spellcraft Hoopa was particularly proud of, it was running at the back of his mind while being fueled by the Phoenix King's virtually unlimited psychic might. An over-prideful battery, the Archdjinni might add. To say it was one of his most complex ones would be true but it was limited to the Celestian Enclave and the registered entities of the spell.
It was an inspiration taken from 'video games' and how their physics lacked realism, most of the little knowledge he kept was of direct little use like the resemblance to the incandescent throne and the throne of a super psychic human from the future. But it gave something invaluable, ideas a plethora of ideas he would have never considered otherwise, and as a spell caster of his caliber, this made an immense difference.
What followed was the essence of pandemonium itself in its purest form.
It made the entire battlefield which was already a cluster of absolute chaos and bright light with enough psychic power in the air to rival and surpass most of the Sea of Souls into something beyond words in sounds, shapes, and colors.
This without the priors gifts would have been counterproductive but it wasn't the case and so all knew how to take full advantage of this potent spell, and their full firepower without pauses rained onto the hated enemy past the barriers.
Each and every attack was phasing through the barriers unimpeded while also being coated in colorless darkness protecting them against the influence of the nullification fields but also the silent howls of Ghostwind. A variable that hadn't been accounted for but that for the moment seemed to change little.
Yet it was still a worry in the heart of many but not to Hoopa, oh it was a great surprise but from what he could garner its effect on the anomalous energy he was the source of didn't truly differ from all others he had met before. And as most things were in this Universe that mattered was not exclusively the type of energy alone, the trifecta of purity, concentration, and quantity was equally if not more important.
The only variation was that this realm of nothingness was far, far more aggressive in attacking his 'darkness' than Reality and the Sea of Souls in addition to attacking those last two as well. It was akin to a primordial beast of all-consuming hunger with only goals of consuming and assimilating all that was not itself.
An obvious parallel could be drawn however it was not the place nor the time for that. A C'tan was attacking the barriers above him, a deathly pale and thin creature. It had a completely featureless Necrontir body, from crotch to faceless visage, and hundreds of faces could be seen silently screaming, squirming, and shifting under its obscenely expendable skin.
"Kalugura the Silent Cry huh? Faces not even a mother would dare to look at.", Hoopa said, recognizing what that was with mild disgust, it was a foul twisted creature in both appearance and purpose whatever that was likely some kind of extreme form of schizophrenia, or body dysmorphia, or both and more.
Necron Gods from all he saw represented the worst facets of mortality, all horrific to varying degrees and Kalugura was quite high on the ladder. If there were that represented positive things he didn't know but that would be a revelation of unparalleled shock.
"Begone tortured abomination.", were the only words that left his mouth before warping right in front of the first outer layer of shielding, his six hands moved hypnotically in the psychically rich air drawing the shape of a pentacle made of pure darkness and potent psychic energy weaved to perfection together.
Five of his wide-open hands were on each of the five points of the star while the last one was in the middle. Then from his hand, six sharpened chains shot outward digging into the wrinkled skin, one penetrated the forehead, two respectively the right and left hands while two others did the same for the two feet, the last one perforated the chest to explode out of the back.
The rain of death from the two sides did not stop as this event unfolded, Necron, Aeldari, Krork, and beyond were solely focused on the destruction of their hated enemy. The incoming true death of a C'tan was too small of a matter to be noticed in this bedlam beyond any reasonable metrics that had become the battlefield.
It did not stop as Kalugura's hundreds of bulging skin visages froze before screaming more powerfully than ever in their eternal silence. This time however it was with true emotion born from seering agony, horror at the incoming fate, and existential at the realization of its implication. Emotions only being of lesser status should be condemned to undergo.
It did not stop as the chains of darkness and arcane flooded the Necrodermis flesh with their corrosive paradoxical essence in endless yet meticulous torrents overpowering all Kalugura's flimsy unprepared defense, imprisoning the C'tan in its fake body it used to tarnish Realspace as its godly powers were neutered to near uselessness.
It did not stop as the chains were railed in with one mighty inward yank leading to the hooked tip at the end of the chain to dig thereby locking themselves in the star parasite and stopping all potential attempts of escape.
It did not stop as the circle of the pentacle morphed into a golden loop, the space within rippling as a portal manifested. A gate leading to the Star God's ultimate doom, a gate to the lowest Abyss of Hell itself, the beginning and end of all, the Well of Eternity.
However, this fate was not to be.
"nO, MinE!", a distorted voice akin to hard stones being ground reverberated from everywhere and nowhere. Simultaneously space rippled, cracked, and was torn asunder by a gargantuan maw of spinning serrated teeth covered in dried blood, putrefied flesh, and tattered skin, leading to a gaping bottomless throat of equally monstrous fangs.
Then without Hoopa having the time to do anything the jaws snapped shut, his chains resisting for what appeared to be an eternity until one shattered and the entire spell broke apart, the exposed psychic energy immediately whipped away by the combined might of countless Null Obelisk and the Ghostwind.
The last action of the C'tan was a pathetic and silent wail of the most primal and mindless emotion of fear and pain as it was devoured, its essence purified from its corruption and absorbed. A demented chuckle soon followed from the devourer before it spoke.
"YOu ArE nEXt KillEr-aNOmALy-DEfiLer fOR i'M HuNGeR InCArnATE, aND I CrAVe FoR YOur fLeSh, BLoOd, aNd SoUl.", Llandu'gor the Flayer declared before his presence utterly vanished into the winds yet Hoopa knew the C'tan was still here, waiting and ready to pounce.
*
My P@treon is up to chap 26 if you are interested.
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CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
The_Bip_Boop2003
The_Bip_Boop2003 Hello, the final battle truly begins now! The throne is tied to something far into the future.
Bye-bye!
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