Hiring Gods

Warhammer 40K Universe

The warp stirs as an outside presence enters this metaphysical plane. Within its churning, turbulent depths, an angel appears. Armored in white and gold, twelve pairs of shining dove wings protruded from its back.

A golden halo floated over its helmet, like the crown of a king, or in this case, a god. Its appearance silenced the immediate vicinity, the chaos of emotions was calmed and serenity consumed the warp. A wave of power erupted from the pure being, alerting the dominant powers of the sea of souls of its presence.

A blue tint swelled in the horizon, an impossible formation coming into existence. A trillion eyes were locked upon the angel as the Architect of Fate emerged from the growing corruption. It had an amused grin, like a demon finding it new toy and its hands could not stop moving, exhilarated at the prospect of a new variable in its endless web of schemes.

Tzeentch observed the mysterious entity, intrigued at its inability to discover the entity's secrets or identify it. A million schemes went through his ever changing mind, a way to add this unknown into its incomprehensible web of schemes. A cacophony of chuckles thundered within the warp as Tzeentch began enacting his plan.

"A new variable, what are you? A God like us, but not exactly. I couldn't sense your presence or your power, an anomaly? Or a greater force? Tell me, I must know." Said the Changer of Ways.

The entity did not answer, it seemed to be frozen in time, but time did not exist here. Tzeentch frowned, its curiosity over this being intensifying. It reached out, trying to disturb the angel into reacting.

A trillion minds surged forth with maddening questions, questions designed to drive even the most sane of mortals into the dark depths of insanity. Before it could travel far, the touch was negated, the insane questions answered with simple solutions. Faith, the anathema of chaos itself.

If Tzeentch was worried about a second, more powerful anathema, the God of Change was good at masking it. However, all of its attention was focused upon the armored seraph's static form. Before it could send anymore of its power to attack, the God of Change sensed the arrival of its siblings.

A fiery aura blazed into reality, the embers of wrath burning with its arrival. The tides of the warp are charred by the heat of rage as the Blood God arrives to seek battle.

A warrior of hell clad in black armor, his eyes are hidden behind his horned helmet, but that doesn't stop one from feeling the blazing stare of his bloodthirsty eyes. The Lord of Skulls drags a large blade with him, enveloped in a bloody aura formed by the sacrifice of a quintillion souls. The warp around him solidifies and cracks as a fiery battlefield manifests.

Looking around, he saw his rival sibling, the Lord of Sorcery. Under his helmet, he made a look of contempt and he venomously spat in greeting, "Vile sorcerer." Tzeentch mutually regarded him with contempt, silence being his greeting to the God of Murder.

Before Khorne could hack the Changer of Ways with his blood drenched blade, a swamp of rot and pestilence came into existence. The oldest of Chaos Gods has arrived. However, an old presence accompanied the God of Decay, a presence that replaces the death and decay with lush and vibrant growths.

Grandfather Nurgle arrived, a morbidly obese mockery of a plague ridden human with many symptoms of disease throughout its body. A massive bloated tongue stretches out from the Chaos God's stomach maw, like a turtle's head emerging from its shell. On its bloated right hand, an iron cage of despair hung from a rusted but unbreakable chain.

The lithe figure of the Everqueen stood there, teardrops staining her pure dress. The Eldar Goddess of Life and Healing was a beautiful elf with long brown hair and verdant green eyes. She wore an ornate white dress decorated with golden tapestries depicting the birth of all life and that of the eldar.

She wore a golden crown upon her head and a pair of golden bracelets, crafted by her deceased brother Vaul, the God of Smithing, long before the fall of the eldar that killed and devoured all of her relatives. She had little hope for this new anathema, its existence seemed to be a prolonged illusion as she could not feel its power at all. But if this is a hope for escape, she will try her best to gain freedom.

"My my, I smell an Eldar soul free from my clutches." Mused a seductive voice. A pink drop appeared in the horizon and in an instant, Isha's face paled to an impossible degree of white. She felt the presence of She Who Thirsts, the Chaos Goddess of Lust and Excess, the Devourer of Gods, the murderer of her siblings and untold trillions of her children.

The Eldar Goddess squirmed in her cage, banging at its locked door with indescribable fear. She could feel her closing in, her lustful humming gradually rising in volume. She kept banging and started shouting for Nurgle's attention, hoping that the Plague God isn't offering her to her doom.

Her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as the Chaos God focused all of his attention upon the angelic anathema. She couldn't fathom her captor's reason of looking at this realistic illusion, such a powerful being would have been sensed by her, even within the deepest depths of Nurgle's garden of pestilence. Since her attempts are for nought, she decided to look into whatever's interesting the Chaos Gods.

Then, a loud bang thundered and a piercing cry of unpleasurable pain and anger from the Prince of Excess echoed throughout the warp. The three Chaos Gods laughed at the hermaphrodite's agony, snickering at its idiocy. Isha found herself joining them in their laughter, it's been a while since that horrid wench suffered.

In realspace, the Slaaneshi traitor legions heard the cries of their mistress and were aroused by it. Sexual hormones were secreted throughout their bodies, circulating and driving them into sexual madness. Sudden raids upon hive worlds were launched, the Chaos followers of Slaanesh feeling more aroused than ever.

A killing and raping spree ensued in a thousand worlds beset by Slaaneshi cultists, leaving trillions dead and several times more souls sacrificed to the Dark Prince. And yet, the souls never arrived to heal the injured goddess, these souls instead sent to the human Emperor, alleviating the burden of powering the astronomicon for 3 years and letting him recover some of his fleeting life.

Seeing the entity casually repelling their youngest sibling gave more intrigue to the chaos gods. Even the emperor, their current anathema was incapable of such a feat. At most, he could only push them back or drive them away with much of his remaining power.

While Slaanesh retaliated in vain against the barrier, the entity began to move. Its twenty four wings shone brighter, like twenty four suns in the sky. The radiance from these wings did not harm the chaos gods or Isha but instead separated this section of the warp via a nullification barrier. Nothing could come in or out and nothing could see or hear from the outside.

Then, the wings dimmed and the angel spoke, "Gods of this world, I have an offer to make in exchange for certain things." The angel's form then shifted into that of a 15 year old boy, with brown eyes and black hair. His face was vague, even the Architect of Fate could not comprehend his face.

He wore a black t shirt with the Swarm's purple insignia, jeans and a pair of black sandal shoes. A snap of his finger and he sat on a golden throne while all the attending gods were immediately seated on silver thrones, including Isha and an unexpected guest. An extra throne appeared, bringing a total of five gods present in this sealed section of the warp.

Giggles erupt from one of the fifth throne, a God of infinite masks laughed with endless glee. The bells of his red, blue and white jester outift chimed in rythm with his mirthful laughter. All the beings within this space turned their attention to the giggling clown God, most with expressions of shock.

"It's been a while hasn't it, I believe that this is an unannounced performance." Said the grinning god.

"I believe it is Cegorach, you didn't expect me to be able to pull you from the webway right?" Said the creator with a slight smile. The Harlequin God stopped his laughter and smiled, "Well, I can't say that I took count of it."

He looked around and saw his elder sister, Isha the Everqueen. He waved at her and spoke, "Hello, It's been a while Isha, how is your marriage with the Lord of Plagues?" Isha's eyes were bloodshot at her brother's jest, he couldn't fathom the fucking life as a prisoner to the personification of disease for ten thousand years. The only thing she could be ever grateful for is the fact that Nurgle can't rape her soul for all eternity.

She gritted her teeth and replied, "It was quite.… interesting. Except for the simple fact that my food keeps trying to eat me and the water there looks too green to be safe." Cegorach laughed at her barely masked anger and Isha was fuming because of it. Steam seemed to blow out of her nostrils and for once, Isha reminded the Lord of Jests of their battle crazy brother Khaine.

Nurgle heard their conversation and turned his gaze at them. The grandfather of disease seemed to be laughing, his baritone and gurgling voice seemed to be raising and lowering in pitch uncontrollably. Isha was somewhat afraid with the Plague God putting all his attention at them, but the presence of his tricky brother and the mysterious mon-keigh could save her from his pestilent power should he be enraged.

The Chaos God peered into her surface thoughts, gently corroding his way into her soul without her knowledge. He read her thoughts and bellowed heartily, his orifices secreting more slimes than usual and all of his children in real space laughing with him. The enemies of chaos were confused at first, but more than half of them did not stop their attacks and managed to repel them from their bastions.

The unlucky few who stopped to investigate found themselves overrun and suppressed, their superiors complaining about their idiocy at giving mercy to chaos.

In the sealed region of the warp, Nurgle's thunderous laughter ended after he noticed the questioning gazes of the two Eldar Gods. He looked at Isha with a smile, a sincere but mocking smile. But for the Eldar Goddess, she saw that smile as a horrible omen of her end and prepared for the worst.

However, Nurgle only asked, "Isha, why didn't you tell me all this? I am not a cruel God. I grew many beautiful plagues and pestilent growths for you, I even made rot roses for you to behold." Isha was skeptical about this statement, Nurgle is not Tzeentch, but a Chaos God needs at least some planning abilities to survive. Her disbelief was apparent to the Lord of Death, Eldar were so expressive in everything they did.

"I swear on my power that you are an important piece of my world. You are my contrast and your presence glorifies my garden. If I had known I was hurting you, I would have never done so." Isha was silent and Cegorach grinned at his words. Soon, Cegorach pointed his gloved finger at her bewildered face and laughed, "Hahahahaha, Isha's a stuck up after all! Kurnous was right!"

Being mocked by her younger brother, Isha gritten her teeth and banged at her iron cage. With a face that even made the God of Death flinch, Isha demanded, "Nurgle, let me out! I need to teach this clusterfuck jester a lesson in insulting me!"

"Like mother like son." Giggled Cegorach. Isha's face started releasing steam and barbed vines emerge from her hands. These living barbs coiled around the cage and attempted to break it, her wrath manifested in the warp.

Around the galaxy, millions of craftworlders found themselves suddenly fuming with anger. At the same time, Harlequins suddenly burst into laughter if they were in the presence of Craftworlders or their Dark cousins.

The vines began bending the cage, the high pitched screech of deforming metal ringing throughout the warp. Before Isha could break the iron cage and strangle the Clown God until his alabaster skin matched the his colorful outfit, the creator clapped his hands once. A booming thunderclap attracted their attention, and Isha murmuring her threat before facing the creator's true form.

"Gods of the 41st millennium, I have a proposal to make for you." The creator looked at their stoic or blank faces (except for Tzeentch whose expression can never stay the same), expecting a reaction and inwardly frowning with the lack of it. The creator changed the background into a reflection of his universe, showing the innumerable galaxies contained within.

Then, he spoke, "As you all know, your world is about to come to an end." Flashing images of tyranid hive fleets destroying all in their path, the thirteenth black crusade and the subsequent destruction of Cadia, the incomplete birth of Ynnead and the rise of the Ynnari movement, the appearance of the Great Rift that split the Imperium into two, the complete awakening of the Necron dynasties and a vision of the future, the death of Slaanesh, the birth of the unholy fusion of the Tyranids and the Orks and finally, the arrival of extragalactic C'tan that spells doom to the Immaterium.

Tzeentch was visibly disturbed by this future, his form shifting faster than usual. The God of Fate was for once, unprepared. He called upon every shred of knowledge within him to find any leads to this event, and unexpectedly, the God of Fate and Knowledge is rendered clueless.

Khorne barely understood these events but pieced together his future death. He stood up and roared, "These puny insects will fall beneath my blade!" He grabbed his sword and forcefully struck the 'ground', causing a chasm of flames to rip from the 'ground' and shouts for war to echo.

Nurgle was caught between acceptance to his inevitable end and his will to live on amongst his cherished spawn and Isha. As a God of Plagues, Rot and Death, he wanted to accept his death as a part of the natural cycle that he represents. But as a grandfather to innumerable spirits and mortals, he could not accept his death.

Isha expected such an outcome, she knew that her pantheon and her children will come to an end once their society has begun to decline into pleasurable madness. She thought of many ways to prevent this fate but found it utterly hopeless when her older sister Morai-Heg spoke her last words, "Pride leads to downfall, even Gods are no exception."

Cegorach's grin flickered, but this enlightenment brought hope to him instead. This means that his plans could be refined with this knowledge. The Eldar could avoid this fate and the galaxy will not fall into eternal silence.

The creator let a smile creep up to his incomprehensible face, their reactions are as expected. "However, this fate can be escaped." They turned their attention to him once more, hearing the sweet words of escape. Seeing the shifting thoughts of Tzeentch and Cegorach, the creator shook his head, "It could not be prevented, only escaped."

The two scheming gods arched their equivalent of eyebrows, silently demanding for the answer. "I have a world of my own, one with many gods and infinite galaxies filled with life. The warp there is much more complex and superior, gods could not starve in my world." Stated the creator.

He continued, "When gods are not fed with thoughts and souls, they will decline to a minimum state of power. The minimum state varies with each god but generally, they are the equivalent of an average greater daemon in this world. The greater the god's power at his or her peak, the minimum state's power would be much higher."

"Will gods be able to perish?" Asked the blue God of Sorcery. "Yes, they can perish by the hand of another god or by my hand. However, if you decide to move to my world, you will be protected from death and gifted with minimum power equivalent to the average Daemon Primarch of this world."

His time, Isha spoke up, "But how about the eldar, my children, and the other lives of this world. Surely we can't just abandon them?" She got a nod from Cegorach and Nurgle, who agree that leaving them to their impending demise is not the best idea.

"If you're worried for your spawn Isha, I already have a solution. I have selected three minor craftworlds and seven maiden worlds to be transported to my universe, they will settle in a lush but empty galaxy. The eldar will restart their civilization in another world." No further questions came from the three, seeing that their plans are not too different with the creator's.

Send a few million to another world, hoping that they will live and reestablish the aeldari empire in a faraway land. However, their plans are too risky and most scenarios will lead to either death or terrible failure. Not to mention that the amount of power required to set it in motion will be enormous.

But here's a 'mon-keigh' offering them a guaranteed plan to survival. Who knows if this is a trap set by the Chaos Gods or a greater but malevolent power? The Eldar Gods and Nurgle gave it a long thought while the other two chaos gods already decide to agree.

A world with no starvation is one of their main goals anyways. Else than that, Tzeentch could finally make his long awaited army of bird women without Slaanesh to corrupt them and Khorne could finally keep his cherished weapons cleaned of whatever fluids Slaanesh decides to polish them with.

After waiting for half an hour for the responses of the remaining three, the creator voiced a solution to them, "If you're having the 'what if this is a trap' thought in your minds, you can just send half of yourselves over to my world. It's only half of yourselves anyways, you can regenerate that in a few centuries."

After an hour of discussing the further details with the remaining gods but Khorne, who is just swinging his blade and ripping apart reality due to boredom, the creator had finally reached an agreement with them. Tzeentch, Kairos Fateweaver (Tzeentch's fortune telling bird creature who cannot see the present but only the past and the future, apparently is autistic.) and Khorne will be transported into the creator's world in week.

The craftworlds and maiden worlds will be transported a month later. After a decade, the three remaining gods will be transported alongside their chosen. The barrier phases into nothingness as the creator leaves.

Cegorach immediately jumped into the webway, Tzeentch returned to his labyrinth, Khorne returned to his fortress of blood and the pair of Isha and Nurgle entered their homes. Slaanesh immediately arrived after their departure, he/she/it sniffed the air seductively and detected a faint trace of eldar. Laughing erotically, the Prince of Excess strived to search for her lost property.

Words of Sarkis Cemitus, the first Chaos Worshipper, in a poem about his gods.

"O Lords of Chaos

Great is your art,

The tides of change forever churns

In rhythm to the Blue One's thoughts,

An endless web of schemes,

The plagues, the rot and the death,

All are expressions of the grandfather's love,

The war, the blood and the sword

Sings praises to the Blood God,

The souls of the slain are glorified in his

Throne of skulls,

Praise Chaos Undivided,

Praise Them in their Divine Glory,

The Gods will rise and fall

But Chaos will withstand it all,

All I ask is to serve them in their eternity

Written circa. 200 EO, most handwritten copies have been believed to be destroyed by the believers of the local faiths.