I will die! I cannot block this! I must evade!
These three thoughts cascaded through Miriael's mind in rapid succession.
Drawing upon the terrifyingly augnted perception and reflexes bestowed upon her by the Prince of Pleasure, the exact microsecond Rowan plunged his hand into the raw plasma, Miriael recognized the catastrophic anomaly.
Yet she never anticipated that the ensuing attack would be executed with such blistering velocity, nor that it would be so... apocalyptic in scale.
The raging plasma had literally ford a towering tidal wave that rushed forward with catastrophic fury. Everywhere it passed, the ultra-dense ceramite deck plating was instantaneously vaporized, flashing into gas and fusing with the ambient air.
Countless spheres of plasma spattered outward, each detonating with the kinetic force of an artillery shell, yet scattering like shrapnel. The sheer area of effect was so imnse it had already engulfed more than half the bridge's volu.
How can I possibly evade this?
Given the colossal area of effect, any conventional thod of evasion was entirely futile. If she remained grounded, she would unequivocally suffer damage severe enough to violently unmake her physical vessel.
I must go airborne!
Miriael formulated the tactical decision instantly, stomping her hoof violently against the deck without a sliver of hesitation.
In that microscopic fraction of a second, her silhouette vanished from its position like a phantom. Launching upward like a macro-cannon shell aid directly at the heavens, she forced her trajectory higher and higher, violently clearing the apocalyptic tidal wave of plasma raging below.
Naturally, this was rely drinking poison to quench a thirst.
Suspended in mid-air, Miriael stared blankly downward.
Filling her vision was the ever-expanding, violently raging ocean of plasma that was reducing all matter to absolute nothingness. Yet one specific thing was conspicuously absent from her sight.
—Her legs.
The precise instant the Slaaneshi Daemon Prince had launched herself upward, Rowan had flexed his will. Utilizing his dominion over reality, he temporarily altered the trajectory of a concentrated column of plasma, whipping it upward to intercept her ascent.
Though it had not been a flawless, dead-center hit, it was more than enough. Both of her grotesquely mutated thighs, heavily armored in the plate of Ecstasy, had been instantly reduced to charred slag, the vast majority of their mass entirely vaporized.
It is over.
This was the singular thought that surfaced within Miriael's corrupted heart, a definitive answer delivered by an inexplicable, esoteric intuition.
She perceived a scent she had not experienced since her ascension, an odor that had beco entirely alien to her existence:
—It was the stench of true death.
Inexplicably, it felt as though a suffocating fog had descended upon her consciousness. Having suffered such catastrophic trauma, her cognitive processes began to violently unravel.
Am I going to die?
It would not be like all the previous tis. She would not suffer catastrophic trauma, only to have her physical vessel shatter while her consciousness was safely yanked back to the immaterium, where she would simply wait for the next opportunity to manifest and indulge in fresh raptures.
Earlier, Miriael had perceived it clearly: whether it was the Neverborn of the warp or the Chaos Astartes bound to her covenant, their souls had all been reduced to absolute nothingness. They had not returned to the Six Circles of the Prince of Pleasure.
Miriael had initially assud this was the divine work of the Living Saint.
Only now did she suddenly, horrifyingly realize that it was the entity standing before her... this "human."
This being—whether he was a minor deity of the warp or so entirely incomprehensible cosmic anomaly!
No. I must save myself.
In a window of less than 0.01 seconds, Miriael executed a final, desperate maneuver.
Before the artificial gravity plating could arrest her montum and drag her back down into the boiling ocean of plasma, she violently swung the Blade of Agony.
Yet this ti, the venomous edge was not aid at the enemies despised by the Lord of Excess. It was aid directly at her own neck.
Correct. Miriael intended to commit suicide.
All that grand rhetoric about "experiencing the rapture of true death" and "savoring a never-before-felt ecstasy"—it had all been hollow, arrogant bluster.
The very instant she was confronted with the absolute certainty that her consciousness was about to be reduced to nothingness, that her eternal existence was genuinely about to end, the Slaaneshi Daemon Prince's bravado shattered entirely.
I cannot die!
I must return to the Six Circles of Slaanesh!
Yes, exactly. I must relay the intelligence that a new, apocalyptic threat has manifested within realspace. I must ensure the other entities of the immaterium know that the Anathema has acquired a terrifying new ally!
However, despite her absolute desperation, she failed.
The Blade of Agony abruptly froze mid-swing, as if entombed within invisible amber, violently restrained by an imperceptible, overwhelming force.
Who is doing this?!
Tracing the source of the psychic fluctuation, Miriael slowly turned her head. She saw a figure who had silently materialized directly behind Rowan.
It was Inquisitor Cybia, having just executed the Chaos Lord and executed a warp-jump to reinforce the primary engagent.
The exact instant she materialized, she received Rowan's telepathic directive. Comprehending his intent flawlessly, she violently ignited her psychic reserves.
Cybia unleashed the absolute totality of her Alpha-class psychic might. A colossal, invisible hand of telekinetic force seized the Blade of Agony in a death grip, completely paralyzing the weapon's montum.
Naturally, given the imnse psychic resistance inherent to a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh, this telekinetic restraint could not hold her for more than a fraction of a second. But if the objective was rely a montary delay, it was absolutely sufficient.
"Excellent work."
Rowan offered a brief note of praise. He imdiately raised his hand, pointing a single finger toward Miriael's suspended form.
And then, for the first ti, he unleashed the absolute, unmitigated totality of his newly evolved dominion over reality.
"What is that?!"
Miriael's pupils dilated to their absolute limit. A profound, abyssal blackness violently blossod within her field of vision. It was as if a bottomless void had been violently torn open upon the canvas of the cosmos, or the cyclopean eye of so primordial demon god had suddenly opened, dominating reality as it violently devoured all matter and light within its vicinity.
Which naturally included her physical vessel!
Within the bridge, the raging kinetic shockwaves ceased their outward expansion, instead violently reversing course, violently sucked inward. The boiling ocean of plasma and every other trace of matter were frantically dragged into the abyssal void, entirely consud until nothing remained.
Subsequently, the microscopic singularity began to violently destabilize, seemingly on the verge of catastrophically erupting and spewing forth the hyper-compressed matter trapped within its gravity well.
Rowan casually snapped his fingers.
Along with all the matter trapped within, the destabilizing singularity was soundlessly, instantaneously erased from existence the very mont the snap echoed through the chamber.
"What... what in the Emperor's na was that?"
Custodian Leonardo's transhuman physiology had been severely compromised by the terrifying Slaaneshi venom. He currently knelt upon the deck, swaying unsteadily, yet relying on his ironclad willpower to forcibly keep himself from collapsing entirely. He asked the question with a faint tremor in his voice.
"Oh, just a minor parlor trick. You can comprehend it as a physical manifestation of a localized singularity drawn from my imagination."
Rowan replied casually.
Given the encyclopedic, pan-disciplinary knowledge ingrained within every Custodian, Leonardo clearly harbored a vast multitude of questions, but ultimately suppressed them through sheer discipline.
He rely asked what appeared to be an exceedingly obvious question.
"Is the daemon dead?"
"Of course she is dead."
Rowan cast a rather peculiar glance at the Custodian, seemingly bewildered as to why he would ask such a redundant question.
"This is rely the beginning. For the millions of blood debts that Fallen Sister has accrued, and for the profound dishonor she has inflicted upon the Sisters of Battle, we must continue to hunt her down and extract a far heavier toll."
The Living Saint was evidently in vastly superior condition compared to Leonardo. She stood tall, her gaze locked upon the empty space where Miriael had vanished, her voice solemn and heavy.
"No, I believe you are under the misconception that she was rely banished back to the immaterium. That is factually incorrect."
Sensing that Lucia had catastrophically misunderstood the situation, Rowan calmly reiterated the reality of the event:
"The Daemon Prince is dead. She has been permanently and absolutely terminated. Furthermore, you are entirely correct—this is rely the beginning."
"The era of the Neverborn treating realspace as their personal playground... those days of rampant, consequence-free malice are very rapidly coming to an end."
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