45. Broken King

Atop a magnificent throne of solidified flame from the hottest stars was a massive armored figure; his skin was of fire-made flesh, and his eyes were composed of pure white suns. This being in the form vaguely reminiscent of a male Aeldari was one the most powerful to have ever existed, and yet his visage didn't show the serenity and confidence such a being of his stature, dignity, and authority should have.

The Aeldari God of Wisdom, Authority, and Fire, Asuryan, was not currently in a pleasant state of mind. It wasn't new or recent. Since the sacrifice that later was discovered to be the well-crafted of Hoopa, their youngest members, had led to the violent and cruel annihilation of the Old Ones, nothing went the way it should have.

It turned the absolute triumph of the War in Heaven into one that was only so on a surface level, for their foes of past eons had lost, but so did they. Plans and ingenious schemes built for the betterment of the Milky Ways by the blood, sweat, and tears of the greatest minds of the Great Old Ones of the Great Council were shattered beyond any shred of possibility to become a reality one day.

The first should have been the purge and order of the Sea of Souls of its corruptive, chaotic psychic filth born from ceaseless battles, bloodshed, and destruction of the Star Gods and their endless tides of soulless metallic abomination against all that was.

And the second should have been the process of healing the grievous wounds brought upon Realspace and the assistance of the mortal victims of the clash between powers beyond their comprehension to be replaced where it all should belong: their proper place and position for the future to be bright and clear, void of pointless destruction.

All of this now was dust and an illusion of the past, all stemming from the irrational action of an arrogant, selfish, treacherous child unable to fathom the future beyond that of his own self. Asuryan wouldn't claim to have ever been on good terms with the Fallen God. It was by the design of Mother Cthylla that their personality and divinities were heterogeneous and, through it, would have generated clashes and rivalry. It had been for higher motivation in the war and a variation of thought processes.

A hive mind would not have been the adequate choice. It was predictable and unable to adapt its protocol swiftly while also weak to aliasing and the like. The prototypes and simulation of the Old Ones had proven their unworthiness to serve the grand cause.

It was a wise, if risky, decision to avoid this type of like-mindedness, and it had worked. It even managed to calm down Khaine and diminish his innate aggressiveness and abrasiveness, preventing further incidents like Vaul's near demise by the Bloody-Handed God's god-slaying blade.

Then Mother was murdered, and the connection she had with Asuryan as a whiplash exploded in his soul, causing immense grief… How did it happen? The Phoenix King wasn't sure; a third-party invasion by portals most likely would be Daemons, Necrons, or others but resilient to psychic powers. The result was the same: death. Who was the culprit from this was evident: the Archdjinni of the Rings.

His death and the time frame to the genocide of their creators weren't a mere coincidence, considering his extreme disapproval of the Old Ones and Cthylla in particular. An ample reason why he was a source of friction in the Pantheon was that he was vocal about it.

An emotion that Asuryan had foolishly believed to have quieted down with time. How wrong was he, how much he regretted his past blindness to have thought for one instant his 'brother' held a spark of reason. It had been false from the beginning.

Hoopa had the task of maintaining the shields around Yuggoth, even in case of his possible defeat. As the Godking of the Aeldari Pantheon, Asuryan was aware of this less-known piece of information, and he was given the authority to open a portion of the upper shields if the worst came to pass to serve as a last line of defense.

An authority that had been overruled, rendering it impossible to assist the Old Ones in their times of need, leading to the extinction of the greatest race, Gods above Gods. Wielder of knowledge above that of any other and wisdom of every last star in the Infinite cosmos. A tragedy and travesty of the highest order.

It had broken a little of what could be called sanity within Khaine, beginning the first catastrophe of the coming eon. The First Divine Purge, it had been called, Hoopa had spread his dark influences far, wide, and deep, and the Aeldari God of War had culled them thoroughly.

It shattered their children's souls and the Young Races' cohesiveness, forcing Asuryan to use his authority and isolate the Pantheon from Realspace unless the destruction of mortals was what he desired.

What followed was the birth of the Aeldari Empire and where the shunning of all non-Aeldar began, unacceptable in many aspects but accurate all the same. It resulted in the devolution of the brave and honorable Krork into malformed, scarcely sentient creatures, the scattering of the Jokaero, and much more. An asinine and horrific social upheaval of never-seen proportion, be it in scale or impact.

Then, later came the Second Divine Purge under Khaine's will after his Consort's mortifying revelation of their grim fate brought by their children's degeneracy. The Bloody-Handed God took matters personally and decided to eliminate the Aeldari. He nearly succeeded a second time to be stopped again, thanks to Isha.

She had pushed Asuryan through pleas to stop this senseless hail of death, blood, and viscera to wait. He agreed and as well didn't want further bloodshed. He acquiesced to her desperate imploration for mercy, to his twin brother's extreme disapproval, and knowing the latter would have disobeyed, he took equal measure.

He used the Zenith Dominion to create a realm above the Labyrinthine Dimension to separate the majority of Realspace from the Sea of Souls. A veil entirely limiting any of the Aeldari Pantheon to move out of its bounds physically, but also the Neverborn and Daemons of the Warp. It was heavily restricting the influence of everyone.

It should be noted that it was a temporary measure within the plan. Plans sadly were not known to survive practice.

Asuryan had been lacking in his understanding of the Zenith Dominion. The golden ziggurat required the dark energy of the Archdjinni of the Rings to be fully operational. It was key to opening the prison he had built and using its other functions without exploding with the user sitting on it.

But it was only the beginning of the horrific realization of what he had done. His power had diminished from the lack of worship, and so tearing the psychic filter was an impossibility. Though unknown to him, even at the height of his pinnacle, destroying it would have been quite strenuous and lengthy.

After all, the Phoenix King only used a bastardized version of the shields that had sheltered the Celestian Enclave during Armageddon, the last battle of the War in Heaven, a series of defenses that were able to survive the combined might of the Infinite Empire and a hellish dimension were nothingness didn't exist.

He had sealed the fate of whom he was chosen to rule and protect. Soon after came the rising debauchery, insanity, and fall of the Aeldari Empire ablaze with not only contempt but visceral hate for them, two emotions the Godking could hardly be shocked about. He understood, but that didn't change the fact that he was displeased with this development.

Still, the consequences were extremely grave, and the Aeldari Gods could only play spectators, aiding the little remaining of their followers from getting dragged into the sordid machinations of this new society.

'Hoopa…' Asuryan thought, clutching the handle of his throne, bending and melting them. It was the point of origin of all, the first and last to have begun this endless spiral of madness. Hate would not begin to describe his sentiment toward his 'brother,' and it was second only to Khaine's.

It was passionate, fiery, hot, and potent, but it wasn't explosive. It was focused, controlled, and measured. It was enough not to be blinding; it wouldn't make him act like a rampaging beast bred for berserking, unable to see friends from foes.

There was no rage, which remained unchanged even after the recent revelation of the Fallen God's rebirth.

It wasn't particularly shocking news the Crone revealed. Hoopa's ability to reform after destruction had been a known fact by all; however, it had taken far longer than it should have, and the hope that his end was final was destroyed.

His absence was strange. However, modesty wasn't one of his traits, but no conclusion could be drawn aside that, like them, his power had waned, and his condition was tied to this. It was a small victory, if of little worth in the Phoenix King's opinion.

"They think I do not see." He mumbled, clenching his hands harder while his hardened gaze, as if cutting through matter, focused on the layer of the Great Harlequin, then on the Merciful Mother, followed by her Consort and daughter.

A schism was present and growing—another involvement of the Archdjinni of the Rings, but this time, it was through the machinations of Cegorach. The two had always been close, too close for comfort, and if not for the hundreds of interrogations he had done, Asuryan would have claimed the divine clown as a traitor.

But King he might be, such claims weren't lightly placed, and he wouldn't proceed with this method. Still, it was clear why these four started to act in unusual ways. It was discreet and well hidden, yet not enough to avoid his eyes and ears. He wasn't omniscient, not even when on his throne at the heart of the Celestian Enclave, and so they could act away from his senses.

What couldn't be hidden was the shift in their presence. It was camouflaged adequately, enough to trick him, the Phoenix King, if he were more arrogant and cocksure of his abilities, but he wasn't. If he had been so, a C'tan would have claimed his soul long ago. Intuition and a healthy dose of paranoia were always welcomed friends.

They were growing in power; oh, it was noticeable if minute and barely of importance in normal time. Worshipers would come and go, wavering the might of the Gods and Goddesses to different degrees, but it had never been this… smooth and equal.

Without Hoopa returning, he might have given them the benefit of the doubt. But Cegorach was straightforward for once, in his support of the six-armed djinn, that is.

Contradictorily, one might think Asuryan was against it, but that would be erroneous. Personal feelings were to be put down. Punishing the four wouldn't end in any way he wished, and their goal wasn't malicious. Losing was impossible if a civil war was to come, but it would be costly, exceptionally so, and of immeasurable length. His decrees weren't absolute, even less after the withering time brought them, and simply ordering peace wouldn't work.

Regardless, pure firepower wasn't one of the quartet's strengths; it was, in fact, their greatest weakness, but the ability to shatter stars was only a factor among many in a battle of this scale. The real problem would be Isha. Despite her demeanor and appearance, she was powerful, only below Khaine, him… and Hoopa.

Healing was an ability that, while not exclusive to her, was at its pinnacle and beyond in her hands. It would be enough to avoid any potential conflict. Adding that such an event would transform her, she was a mother first, and the few times her wrath bloomed was when her title never became so deceptive.

Regardless, the goal was to escape, or act of the same flavor, and Asuryan agreed. Death was not a fate he envisioned himself.

But he couldn't endorse them either. His dislike of the situation aside, Khaine was unstable. Usually, he would have hardly listened, order or not, for the present… if his twin had learned of the four and Hoopa communion. The less said, the better.

The result would be the war from above, and Asuryan was unsure where to place himself. He knew better than anyone how deep his emotions would affect his rational ability for choice. His last showing was proof enough that his control of his anger could slip.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" He repeatedly swore, flame leaking from his form as he slammed his right hand on the already damaged throne again and again, the force behind each progressively diminishing, but the result was a molten slag all the same, "Fuck…"

Anger, grief, confusion, guilt, fear and despair. A display none would expect from him.

The Godking of the Aeldari Pantheon was lost, unable to find a way out. Now only did he understand it, and this realization let the cracks that had formed deep in his psyche grow and grow deeper. Hope was all but an ember ready to be snuffed out. What was the point of it all? Was survival even possible? Or even worth it? Would it start another eternal war?

All of these countless questions lacked satisfactory answers.

What was certain was their future. Death would befall them all if nothing were done.

The Fall will come and reap what he sowed. Thus was his legacy, his failure, his crime, the validity of them not being unwarranted, and the circumstances of no assistance. Blaming anyone else wouldn't reduce the gravity of his error. He might not be the only factor at play, but the fault still was on him.

As for escaping? A nightmarish trap masquerading as a hopeful dream by the clown and djinn machinations if the former was even aware of how sinister the latter was in reality. Hoopa's goals were elusive, but his actions spoke loud enough to glimpse at their frightful nature.

The three abominations in the distorted Sea of Souls, soon to become four, were no better. Any diplomatic interaction was the incarnation of insanity with a gleeful need for self-destruction and sabotage. How incredibly strong was his desire to burn them all in his righteous fire.

The only option was to be patient, observe, and keep the status quo by focusing on Morai-Heg, the only one with the power to start what he feared.

Passivity and indecisiveness. Two flaws he was aware of but couldn't fight back as they struck again. If only his biology, or lack thereof, would let him forget for one moment this torture that had gone on since the betrayal. The cracks only grew.

*

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