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The Sea of Souls churned in turmoil.
What should have been a realm of dreams, a vibrant infinity of countless pantheons, brimming with light and endless possibility was no longer such.
Now poison flowed through the waters of the Aethyr, tainting everything it touched. Storms crackling with infernal lightning raged across the Sea, feasting on the dreams and souls of the innocent.
Upon gods.
From the proud deities of empires that spanned stars to the humble spirits of cultures sheltered under the trees, they all died. Whether they stood against the storm and fought to their dying breath or fled in terror, none survived.
A handful disappeared into the deepest depths of the Immaterium, deeming that they had a better chance against the risks of the Deep Warp than against the slaves of darkness.
Isha wished them the best of luck. She hoped they survived, that something, anything, would survive the nightmare to come.
For she knew that she would not. For now, she was safe here, on the Isle of Flames. Amidst the darkness, the Isle still stood, ringed by flames of purest white, pushing back the darkness that dared to encroach upon the last bastion of the Gods of the Eldar.
At the heart of the Isle of Flames, amid the rolling green field and blue rivers, was a vast, gleaming pyramid of gleaming black stone, every second level decorated with gold and a matching golden cap at the peak of the pyramid, where Asuryan’s white flame burning at the peak, pushing back the darkness. The power of the entire Pantheon flowed through the pyramid, through the Isle, shielding it from the horrors beyond.
If just barely.
Isha sat on the massive steps of the pyramid, watching the darkness brew below the surface of the Sea of Souls, and knew it was only a temporary illusion of safety.
She would die soon.
Isha had no doubt of as she looked upon the great shadow that her children had cast in the Immaterium, the reflection of their madness and their atrocities, the creature gestating beneath the waters beyond.
The shadow was great and oppressive, stretching across thousands of stars. It was a terrible thing of roiling darkness, of the kind which Isha had not seen since the War in Heaven.
And within that terrible darkness, Isha could see the oceans of blood her children had spilt, the mangled skeletons of ten thousand butchered worlds. She could hear the screams of a million million dying children, echoing in her ears.
And worst of all were the teeth dripping with blood, the lips stretched in a cruel smile, laughing and hungry.
This was what her children had become. This was what they had chosen: cruelty over kindness, greed over compassion, monstrosity instead of heroism.
This was where Isha’s failures had led them.
What mother failed her children so? What healer could not stop the rot from settling into the hearts and minds of her people? What queen would let her realm fall so far?
Anger and despair battled in Isha’s heart for a brief moment, before being drowned by sorrowful resignation.
It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered.
The end had come and there was no preventing it.
Isha only wished…
A hand settled on her shoulder, and Isha turned to look at her husband.
Broad-shouldered, with a thick mane and beard of white hair contrasting with pale green skin, war-paints on his face and clad in furs that left his chest exposed, Kurnous resembled more the god of some barbarian hunter-gatherer culture than the Divine Father of the most advanced and refined race in the galaxy.
But that would have been better, would it not? The Eldar had brought such shame to their names, and in the depths of their evil, they had proven decisively that power and technology was no mark of nobility. Kurnous would have been better honoured by primitive hunters than the monsters their children had become.
“Beloved,” Kurnous said in his deep voice, squeezing her shoulder gently with hands that could rend mountains and strangle dragons. Her Lord of the Hunt, her Savage King who had slaughtered armies and feasted on the flesh and blood of beasts that could shatter worlds could be far gentler than those unfamiliar with him might have expected.
(Except he was not, of course. He was not gentle, he was not squeezing her shoulder, they were not on the steps of a pyramid at all. All these were mortal concepts and mortal ideas, and they were gods in the Immaterium. They did not have limbs and they did not speak words as one might have thought.
But at the same time, what were gods other than mortal ideas and concepts? What were they, if not the dreams of mortals come to life, swirling through a great infinity?)
“Beloved,” Isha said softly. They did not exchange words of comfort. There was no comfort to be had as damnation approached.
Around them, the rest of their family prepared.
On the same level of the pyramid as them, but further away, sat Isha’s mother, the Crone. Withered and grey in ways that no Eldar could or should be, the power of Morai-heg was nonetheless undeniable. Nobody who saw her would have underestimated her, if for nothing else than the fact that while all the gods were giants, Morai-heg was the largest of them all, actually able to sit on the enormous steps of the pyramid as if it was an actual staircase even though each level was large enough to accommodate a small army.
The Crone spun the wheel of fate with her good hand, the other one concealed within her shawl.
But would the wheel be useful here, Isha wondered? The wheel of fate spun, as it always did, and not even her mother could stop it. By her very nature, Morai-heg was not a breaker of fate, nor a defier of destiny.
As Daughter of Fate, as Life, Isha understood all too well that all things must grow, change and live, or stagnate, wither and die.
Not even the gods could defy that.
Next to Morai-hey, in her shadow, was Isha’s brother, Vaul. Isha’s heart broke a little more at the sight of him. The Lord of the Forge was still blind, a white strip of cloth tied around his forever bleeding eyes. His wrists were still scarred from the shackles that had been removed.
Isha longed to approach him, to heal her twin’s wounds, but the one time she had tried, he had simply looked at her with those sightless eyes, with such bitterness and sorrow and anger that she had run away.
(It was all she was good at.)
And then there was him. Isha’s eyes drifted to the base of the pyramid, at the lowest step, where another one of them sat.
The god she hated most, the darkest and cruellest of them all. The butcher of a thousand worlds, a heartless monster, a nightmare made manifest.
Her father.
Kaelsa Mensa Khaine sat at the very lowest step of the pyramid, a giant clad from head to toe in his black and crimson armour. He ran a whetstone across his blade, the infamous Widowmaker, once known as Anaris, Vaul’s greatest creation. He ignored them all, and none dared approach him.
Isha would have expected him to come up to them, to mock her and sneer, but instead, her father was unusually quiet and pensive.
Almost…afraid.
Cegorach - Hoeth - was nowhere to be seen. For all his madness, he might still be the wisest of them all for that.
Beyond the pyramid, the armies of the Eldar prepared. These long-dead souls, those who had chosen not to reincarnate and instead serve the Pantheon directly or simply to rest, had now girded themselves for war. There were the Phoenix Guard, crackling with the fires of their lord, Khaine’s warriors girded in black armour, Vaul’s worshippers manning a fleet of flying silver vessels and watchtowers bristling with cannons, divine beasts of Kurnous, Isha’s own Handmaidens with their bows…
Asuryan blazed above them all, in the form of the great white flame at the pyramid’s peak, brighter and fiercer than the stars, a beacon of flame to burn away the darkness.
Yet, even the Phoenix King’s light faltered in the face of that monstrous shadow cast by the Dominion, receding in the face of the coming darkness.
And as for Isha’s daughter…
Next to Asuryan gleamed a glittering silver moon, a shimmering gem more beautiful than any in the galaxy. And as Isha’s attention focused on it, the moon descended, dropping towards them, twisting and changing in shape, ignoring the way Asuryan’s flames flickered and shifted in disapproval.
When it landed, the moon had become a woman in robes woven from starlight, with long silver hair and green eyes, eyes that mirrored Isha’s own.
“Mother,” Lileath whispered. “Mother, I never-“
Isha embraced her daughter, tucking her head under her chin as she had done long ago. “I know, dear one,” She whispered. “I know.”
Kurnous embraced them both, his broad arms encircling his wife and daughter in the very last moment as a family they would have ever have.
Isha could feel Asuryan’s displeasure above, that his wife would abandon him in this moment, but she could not bring herself to care.
Not when this was the last time she would ever hold her daughter.
Finally, reluctantly, Isha pulled back. She pressed a kiss to the forehead of her dearest daughter, her beloved Hope.
“I love you both,” Isha whispered softly.
Kurnous and Lileath did not answer, but they did not need to. Isha knew it, had always known it.
Finally, they broke the embrace, and Lileath returned to her husband’s side, only casting one backwards glance at her parents.
The shadow was pulsating harder now, flames of darkness flickering below the waters.
Isha breathed in, and readied herself, her grip tightening around her bow. She was not ready for this, she knew. The Huntress within her lay slumbering still, having been put away and suppressed for too long. Isha was wearing ironwood armour, with her hair braided for battle and a crystalline bow at her side, but her old instincts failed to come. The war goddess who had once warred with the C’tan failed to stir, and no matter what she did, Isha could not awaken her.
And the galaxy would not wait for her to find a way.
So as Kurnous remained where he was, spear ready for battle, Isha withdrew to the side of her mother and twin.
Morai-heg merely offered a nod, while Vaul ignored Isha outright. That hurt, but Isha knew she deserved it, so she just stood in her mother’s shadow.
A moment passed. Or was it a moment? It might have been a thousand years. Or merely a minute.
But it passed all the same, and the gods and their servants waited with baited breath.
Then the shadow erupted.
A supernova of purple-black flames burned its way through the Immaterium, the death screams of an empire, of an entire race. Isha reeled from the agonizing howl of her children as they were devoured, struggling to maintain her footing as the entire Isle of Flames shook from the force of the explosion.
But the others were already on the move.
Above, Asuryan’s flames shifted and flickered, taking the shape of a great bird of snowy-white flame, one whose wings could cover the galaxy, and whose talons could hold stars.
Asuryan dove into the inferno, a beacon light in stark contrast to the dark flames opposing him. Weakened, faded, a shadow of what he once was, he was still the Phoenix King and all the dark and evil things of the galaxy feared his might.
Asuryan flew through the darkness, leaving a blazing trail of white fire behind him. Lileath aided her husband, as bolts of spellfire fell from the sky like meteors. From simple but potent blasts that pierce planets to conjuring shining chains constraining the shadow to enchantments that distorted gravity and bent time, the Goddess of Magic unleashed her full might upon the abomination.
Isha’s Handmaidens launched waves upon waves of arrows, bolts of blue light blazing from their bows towards the darkness. The vessels and towers of Vaul added their strength to the fight, cannons firing dense, focused beams of energy to punch holes into the darkness.
But the shadow was not so easily quelled. It shrieked in a million voices, and the darkness took the form of a thousand arms wielding maces and chains, flails and hooks, reaching and grasping, it tried to snuff out the ring of flames protecting the Isle, seeking to smother the flames below.
Asuryan’s strength was not so easily overcome but even so, the flames flickered and faded in places, and an infinite horde of newborn daemons crawled out from the sea to deface the Isle, followed by enormous tendrils of pure dark energy, trying to pull the isle apart into pieces.
But now Kurnous stepped forth, roaring as he transformed into a titanic white stag, sprinting forward to ram and slaughter the daemons. Then he was a white lion with a magnificent mane and beard, swiping his claws at the arms, forcing the beast to recoil.
The armies of Isha’s dead children joined him, clashing with the hordes of daemons, trying to push them back from the Isle’s shores.
Morai-heg said nothing, even now.
No, she simply screamed.
And the howl of a banshee spread through the Immaterium, drowning out even Asuryan’s screech and Kurnous’s roars. It was a ghastly sound of pure grief and pain, a sound that could have rent the souls of a billion mortals from their bodies and shattered worlds like glass.
A million daemons died instantly from the force of the scream, true death and oblivion inflicted on them and even the shadow (or was it a shadow? Was it a supernova? A monster? A black star?) recoiled from the pain, and Asuryan, Kurnous and Lileath seized the advantage. Kurnous leapt towards the great tendrils of darkness that had crawled onto the isle, sinking his teeth and fangs into them.
Lileath’s light grew even more painfully bright and Asuryan’s flames threatened to drown the shadowy thing entirely.
And that was Vaul’s cue.
The smith god’s arm shifted and rippled into the form of a massive silver cannon, pulsing with the heat of a planet’s molten core. Around him, a thousand identical cannons materialized, each one glowing just as brightly.
Then Vaul opened fire. A barrage of blasts that could each have punched straight the core of a planet shot through the air, right into the heart of darkness.
And even though he was blind, the Smith God’s aim was impeccable. Blasts of burning orange light struck where they were needed most, blowing off the shadowy thing’s limbs just before they could strangle Kurnous or clip Asuryan’s wings.
And Isha did what she did best: she healed. Opening her mouth, she began to sing, a sweet resonant melody in stark contrast to her mother’s wail.
With the song, Isha replenished the strength of her family, adding her power to their own, ensuring any wound was no more than a momentary inconvenience. The armies of her children below, which had begun to falter in the face of the invasion, struck with renewed vigour, their lines tightening.
Not even a scratch survived on Kurnous, nor did Asuryan lose a single feather of flame. Vaul and Lileath did not falter, able to keep up their barrage no matter how much power they expended. The Eldar spirits found new reserves of strength, not tiring even as the daemons outnumbered them a thousand to one.
Once, she could have done this and joined them in battle at the same time. She had done so many times against the C’tan. Now, no longer.
Yet, despite her anger at her own weakness, Isha felt an unexpected surge of hope as her family pushed back the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, they could win this.
Then the shadowy thing screamed again.
There were no words to describe it. It was like nails scraping over chalkboard. It was the sound of metal grinding mortal flesh and bones to pulp. It was the dying scream of a sun as it collapsed into singularity.
It was all of those things and more, utterly demented and twisted.
The Isle shook and tidal waves of sin and horror fell over it, flooding the island and snuffing out the ring of flames protecting it, toppling the watchtowers, smashing the silver ships to the ground and drowning countless Eldar spirits beneath the waves.
Morai-heg’s wail and Isha’s song, were silenced, sending them and Vaul hurtling against the walls of the pyramid. The stone and crystal of the pyramid cracked from the force of the scream, the structure beginning to break apart.
With the ring of fire gone, more daemons crawled onto the shores. The armies of Eldar spirits, already scattered and decimated by the tidal waves, broke completely under the new horde as the daemons tore them apart and began feasting on these bright souls, ancient and blessed with divine power.
On the pyramid, Isha groaned in pain, bleeding from her ears, nose and mouth. She halted it with ease, but there was no time to clean the blood.
Instead, she forced herself to her feet despite the pain and looked around for her mother. Fortunately, Morai-heg had landed only a short distance away. Isha covered the distance in a single step, hands wrapped around her mother’s wrist, seeking to heal her, even as Isha’s power flowed outwards again, this time to shield the two of them from Slaanesh. If the banshee’s scream could begin again…
Yet, even as Isha sought to heal her mother, the shadow coalesced and solidified into a great serpent, the scales of its enormous head dripping with the sins of the Eldar as it rose from the Sea of Souls to loom over the dying Isle. It was long enough to wrap around worlds, with scales glittering like amethyst and enormous golden eyes with slitted pupils. A forked tongue flickered out from between enormous teeth that could swallow a world whole, and the shadow - the serpent - laughed.
The serpent’s single head became a thousand heads, and each one dove for one of the Eldar Gods, seeking to rip the pyramid apart. The serpent’s wounds had healed as if nothing had ever happened to it, rendering all the Pantheon’s efforts for naught.
Asuryan dove for the primary head, seeking to tear it asunder with his talons-
And then he was caught.
For all she had resented and feared the Phoenix King, Isha felt a surge of dread and horror as Asuryan writhed in the serpent’s mouth, shifting between bird and king as its fangs sank into him.
And then, with one great gulp, the serpent swallowed Asuryan. At that moment, the serpent swelled, becoming even more hideous and bloated, its power and size growing.
The world turned to darkness as the light of the Phoenix was snuffed out, and for a single solitary moment, there was a horrified silence.
Then Lileath screamed a sound of pure sorrow and rage, enraged by the murder of her husband. A storm of magic erupted outwards towards the serpent, but the serpent simply laughed once more.
It opened its many mouths whole, devouring Lileath’s magic as if it was nothing, the heads surging towards Lileath, slitted eyes burning with the light of Asuryan’s Flame in mockery.
Isha opened her mouth to shout, to tell her daughter to run, to lend some of her own strength to Lileath.
But she was too late as the light of the moon fared no better than the light of the sun, and the thousand-headed serpent devoured Lileath as well, growing even larger and more hideous, streaks of moonlight silver appearing along its dark purple scales.
Kurnous howled , no longer the roar of the king of beasts, but the agony of a grieving father. The great white lion rushed forward, disregarding all daemons to strike at the darkness itself.
And with Isha, the Huntress awoke from her slumber at last with a cry of rage, as Isha’s nails became claws and her teeth became fangs. Wrath burning at the loss of her daughter, she moved to join Kurnous, only to be stopped by the withered hand suddenly holding her arm in an iron grip.
“No,” Morai-heg breathed, her voice weak and raspy. “Your fate is not to die here, daughter.”
“Let me go!” Isha snarled, trying to pull away. “My daughter is dead!”
But Morai-heg’s grip did not budge. “Watch,” She hissed.
And to Isha’s helpless rage, she could only watch as Kurnous, her brave, valiant Kurnous, tried to tend the serpent apart. But the serpent was larger and more powerful, and Kurnous’s claws could no longer penetrate its scales.
The thousand heads descended, and tore Kurnous apart, biting off chunks of him in a shower of blood and gore, devouring her husband whole.
And to make things worse, many of the monster’s heads shifted and warped into different beasts. And among them were the heads of the lion and stag that Kurnous had just taken the forms, but now they laughed and sneered with the malice of the serpent.
Isha wanted to scream, to weep, to throw herself at the monster and try to kill it but there was no time as the pyramid shook and trembled, the cracks spreading like a massive spiderweb, just before it fell apart.
Isha and Morai-heg fell through the collapsing structure, crashing to the ground amid the ruins of the shrine, covered in dust and blood. Somehow, Morai-heg had still not lost her grip on Isha, which she used to toss the Goddess of Life backwards just as one of the monster’s serpentine heads descended.
Isha didn’t even have time to scream before her mother was swallowed in a single gulp.
Now, the serpent’s head turned to her, slitted eyes full of greed.
Isha summoned a spear and hurled it at the head, but the spear just bounced off the scales. The serpent hissed with laughter, clearly amused by her efforts as its head extended towards her.
Isha scrambled backwards, searching for some way, any way, to escape. But she was too slow, and the serpent’s head loomed over her, clearly enjoying her fear, deciding to toy with its prey.
Its indulgence cost it.
An enormous beam of light slammed into the serpent’s head, setting it ablaze and forcing it backwards.
Vaul!
Isha’s heart leapt in her throat as she saw her brother, kneeling on the ground, one hand on an enormous piece of rock to prop himself up and the other still in cannon form, blasting at the serpent.
Isha ran towards him, intending to heal him and then flee, though she knew not where. She opened her mouth to call out her thanks…but she was too late.
One of the monster’s other heads appeared above them, this one a blackened twisted phoenix, a mockery of Asuryan. It opened its beak and spat a stream of violet flame at Vaul, who was engulfed by it.
Choking back a wail of despair, Isha turned and ran, hoping to get far away from both monstrosities as Vaul, charred and burning, was consumed as well.
She knew it was hopeless, that she stood no chance. But just as she turned her head backwards, expecting the serpentine head to be chasing after her-
She saw instead that it had been beheaded, black blood dripping to the ground below.
Kaelsa Mensha Khaine had joined the battle at last.
The god of murder stood in front of the beast amid the crumbling ruins, staring up at its many heads. Widowmaker dripped with the monster’s blood as Khaine raised it to point at the creature.
“Slaanesh,” He sneered. “That is your name, isn’t it? So you are my prophecized doom. I have to say, I’m not impressed.”
The serpent - Slaanesh - roared in rage, and then, battle was joined.
Isha dove behind one of the surviving pillars of the pyramids, watching the battle. She knew better than to think her father would protect her.
Yet, she couldn’t help but be reluctantly impressed as she watched the fight. Khaine leapt between the monster’s attacks, practically dancing out of the way, and the few that hit barely seemed to faze him. Widowmaker whirled through the air, each strike causing the serpent to scream and hiss.
But Isha couldn’t afford to stay to watch. She had to take advantage of their distraction and escape. Even if her father won, the idea of being at his mercy was unthinkable.
Never again.
But even as she tried to look for a way to escape, it was difficult to find any. The Isle had been utterly overrun, and all the spirits of her children were lost, being devoured by Slaanesh’s servants. The wreckage of the silver fleet and the ghostly bones of her children littered the Isle.
And then they came.
Isha felt despair sink into her bones as she saw them, bringing their own vile power that was no lesser than Slaanesh’s.
The Three were here.
First came the Liesmith. Isha felt a surge of anger as she saw the form he had taken, that of an aged Eldar whose body had turned almost entirely to crystal, with long white hair. Clad in blue robes, with his staff clutched in hand and a sword strapped to his waist Tzentech had clearly adopted a guise in mockery of Cegorach, of Hoeth. On his shoulder was a white raven with red eyes, one that turned to look at Isha.
Next came Khorne, in the form of a red horseman. He was clad from head to toe in gleaming bronze and crimson armour, white skulls decorating the shoulders, an axe strapped to his back and a scarlet cloak that shrouded his face in darkness, revealing only eyes that burned like coals. His mount (which was really part of him, part of this manifestation) was a great warhorse, its coat soaked and matted with blood so that it seemed entirely crimson, with a mane of flame.
Then there was the one Isha feared most.
A gigantic carrion crow, so thin and unhealthy that its skeleton was visible through its rotting skin. What remained of its feathers were an ugly, toxic green and the skin of its stomach was torn open to reveal the maggots writhing in its belly. The stench of despair and decay followed it everywhere, for that was the crow’s truest essence.
Nurgle.
Isha swallowed as Nurgle landed on the rubble, leering her at her.
“Beloved,” The crow crooned. “Come with me. Let us go away from here. I will keep you safe in my garden.”
“I would rather die.” Isha spat.
“You will die if you don’t come with me, beloved” Nurgle answered in what would have been a patient way if his voice wasn’t like acid pouring into her veins. “I-“
“NO !”
For the first time the serpent spoke, all its heads roaring as one.
“SHE IS MINE!”
The crow cawed back, displeased. “Quiet, brat. I’ve had a claim on my beloved since before you were the echo of an idea.”
Slaanesh would have responded, if not for Khaine seizing the moment of distraction to chop off another head.
“Don’t you dare turn your attention away from me,” Khaine snarled, brandishing his blade.
But even as Slaanesh hissed, Khorne rode forward, his horse stamping its foot, drawing his axe and bringing it down on Khaine.
Widowmaker blocked the strike, but Slaanesh howled again.
“YOU DARE TOUCH WHAT IS MINE?”
“I dare,” Khorne said with a wolf’s snarl, even as he swung his axe again. “All aspects of war belong to me. ”
“I belong to neither of you,” Khaine thundered, clearly enraged. But it was obvious he was having trouble fending off both Chaos Gods, trying to keep up with them both.
This time, it was Slaanesh who used the distraction to his advantage, fangs sinking into Khaine’s arms and holding tight. The Bloody-Handed One roared in pain, even as Khorne’s horse caught Khaine’s other arm in its mouth, biting deep with jagged, blood-soaked teeth.
“MINE!” Slaanesh screeched.
“Mine,” Khorne growled.
The two of them pulled Khaine in both directions, and Isha watched with horror as cracks of white light spread across her father’s form and then-
Khaine shattered in an explosion that sent even the Chaos Gods reeling, his fragments hurtling across the galaxy.
“Now look what you did, fool,” Khorne thundered as the light of the explosion faded.
Slaanesh shifted, the great monster coalescing into a single great violet-scaled serpent with slitted eyes. “If I can’t have him, none will.” It hissed. “Now, where is Mother?”
Isha, who had been trying to use the distraction to slip away, froze as the attention of all four Chaos Gods turned to her, even as a shudder of revulsion and rage went through her at the abomination referring to her as mother .
Nurgle made a noise of disappointment. “Beloved, please. Come with me, it’s for your good. I can protect you from this foolish child of yours.”
Slaanesh hissed. “Be quiet, old man.”
“You know,” Tzentech spoke for the first time. “Maybe I’ll take her. I think I would have far more fun with her than either of you.”
Even as Nurgle and Slaanesh turned to Tzentech with looks of rage, Khorne’s gaze drifted to Isha, turning thoughtful.
“No,” He rumbled after a moment. “She’s mine. If I can’t have Khaine, I will have his daughter. There’s blood and war inside her, deep down. I can feel it.”
Isha swallowed as the Four descended into squabbling. They were distracted for now, but how long would that last? She needed to escape, and soon.
But where could she go? There was nowhere in the Sea of Souls where she could hide. There were depths where even Chaos dared not venture, yes, but those were not safe.
The Webway would be ideal, but it would have been badly hit by Slaanesh’s birth. But she wouldn’t be able to get to an entrance without revealing it to these four. Did she dare expose one of the gates to Chaos in the hopes that the Webway’s protections were still strong enough to repel them? That she could shut the gate behind her quickly enough?
No, that was too risky. If she failed, she would be dooming whatever remained of her children.
There was one option.
It was insane, dangerous and risky. It was only possible because Asuryan was gone, and his Edict had fallen.
He would most likely kill her. Perhaps imprison her.
But there was a chance, the smallest chance, that he might listen to her, that she might be able to make a deal with him.
And what did Isha have to lose?
Isha tensed, preparing herself carefully, making sure none of the Four were watching. Slowly, carefully, she wove an illusion, a perfect replica of herself. Lileath would have done this better, but Isha had picked up more than a few tricks from her daughter.
Once the illusion was in place, Isha’s form shrank and twisted, until she was a small bee. She quietly slipped away, flying as fast as she could, knowing she did not have long before the Four realized her trick.
It didn’t take long.
Isha heard their howls behind her as she fled, leaving the Isle of Flames behind, covering interstellar distances with every beat of her wings. They chased behind her as she flew through the darkness, a flood of daemons and monsters nipping at her heels.
Isha dared not stop or turn back to look.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she saw what she was looking for.
A golden sun, its light harsh and bright, but pure. The last untainted light in the Sea of Souls.
Morphing back into her Aeldari form, Isha sprinted towards the sun, Isha let the remnants of her power flow out behind her, creating a massive forest with each step, wild and massive and fey, full of dangers that might halt the horde chasing after her for just a moment.
And then, just as her strength was almost gone, Isha dove through the Veil, compressing her power into a physical avatar for the first time in aeons.
Tumbling into reality, Isha appeared in the planet’s atmosphere, blacking out almost immediately from the pain and exhaustion as she fell through the air.
And as she hurtled to earth, the Dark Gods howled in rage at being denied their prize.