The Immaterium.
Endless tides churned within the void. Ti lost its linear aning here; fragnts of past, present, and future intertwined and burst like seafoam, only to coalesce and be reborn elsewhere.
This was no current of water as mortal minds comprehended it, but a raging tempest condensed from pure emotion, desire, and willpower.
They roared as they scoured the invisible dinsional barriers, sotis manifesting as ribbons of seductive light wrapping around the jagged edges of nothingness, other tis taking the form of howling behemoths tearing at the boundaries of chaos. Every surge carried a terrifying power capable of overturning reality itself, yet amidst the absolute anarchy, there existed a bizarre, twisted "order" belonging solely to Chaos.
Deep within this phantasmagoric expanse sat a terrifying domain, infamous even within the material universe.
No mortal tongue could describe its twisted majesty. It was a realm of concentric rings comprised of the Circles of Avidity, Gluttony, Carnality, Paramountcy, Vainglory, and Indolence—the ultimate monunt to all extres of emotion.
—The Six Circles of Slaanesh.
At the very core of this terrifying domain lay the personal sanctum of the Prince of Pleasure.
At this mont, resting in the deepest recesses of the palace, the exquisitely elegant, androgynous entity of maddening beauty finally stirred.
The Ruinous Power who held absolute dominion over ecstasy and excess slowly opened six eyes.
Each eye possessed a distinct, horrifying form: one burned with violet fla, reflecting all hidden desires; another resembled an abyssal vortex, infinitely magnifying the emotions of anything it gazed upon; yet another possessed a crystalline texture, swirling with an indescribably seductive luster.
The instant those six eyes opened in unison, the entirety of the Six Circles seemingly froze. Even the ambient euphoria drifting through the air solidified, awaiting the absolute will of its Master.
An inexplicable palpitation pierced through the obscuring mists, boring directly into Slaanesh's perception.
It was an indescribable sensation of... loss?
As if a ticulously curated piece of His collection had been utterly crushed, erased into absolute nothingness.
Registering this emotion, She finally tore Her gaze away from the grand ga currently captivating Her.
In another chamber of the palace, a theatrical display of ultimate seduction and excess was unfolding between Her chief Keeper of Secrets, Shalaxi Helbane, and the Daemon Primarch Fulgrim. It was a performance profound enough to hold Her eternal, rapturous attention.
But at this mont, that violent sense of loss overwheld all else, violently yanking Slaanesh from Her reverie.
Subsequently, the specific intelligence finally coalesced within His mind.
One of Her beloved darlings, a Daemon Prince who should have enjoyed eternal existence, had been absolutely annihilated.
This realization detonated like a thunderbolt across the immaterium.
In the next microsecond, a shriek piercing enough to tear reality asunder erupted from the sanctum at the center of the Six Circles.
This singular shriek contained exactly six hundred and sixty-six overlapping anings and emotions, interweaving into an invisible, apocalyptic shockwave that swept across the entirety of the dark domain.
Simultaneously, six hundred and sixty-six orifices violently tore open across His divine form. Each opening functioned as a microscopic maw or a peering eye, spewing forth a raging torrent of chaotic energy, a physical manifestation of the Prince of Pleasure's violently boiling emotional state.
She instantly engaged the lingering, fraying tether that bound Her to Her fallen darling, tracing the fading echo back to its source.
Finally, Her gaze pierced through a microscopic, lingering fissure in the Veil of reality, falling upon the exact coordinates where Her Chaos Champion had just t her true death.
However, an anomaly abruptly severed the probe.
A sudden, blinding eruption of golden fire flared to life. Within that incandescent blaze seed to lurk an unfathomably profound darkness, instantaneously blinding all perception. Even the Prince of Pleasure was forcefully compelled to avert His gaze.
By the ti the blinding radiance faded, the Veil between the immaterium and the material dinsion had completely fused shut, leaving not a single microscopic seam. She could no longer perceive anything of that realm.
"The Anathema..."
Slaanesh emitted a piercing, hysterical laugh within Her sanctum, the sound saturated with irrepressible, apocalyptic fury.
Riding the wake of this maddened laughter, six hundred and sixty-six Slaaneshi daemon hosts howled as they deployed from the Six Circles. Simultaneously, across sixty-six distinct Imperial worlds, deeply entrenched Slaaneshi cults suddenly felt the ecstatic blessing of their Master. Driven into a state of absolute euphoria, they surged from the shadows, launching devastating uprisings capable of drowning entire planets in fire and depravity.
Eventually, Slaanesh gradually regained Her composure.
Though She still failed to comprehend exactly how the "Unborn King" chained to the Throne had achieved this, nor did She fully grasp how Her Chaos Champion had truly perished, She ultimately cast the boiling emotions aside.
This loss, while infuriating, was relatively minor in the grand sche. The fallen darling was, at her core, rely a mortal Battle Sister who had been elevated from the ranks of Imperial traitors.
When the Great Rift finally tore open the galaxy, when this tedious, stagnant stage that had remained unchanged for ten millennia was finally ripped down to usher in a brand new epoch, He would have an eternity to dissect exactly what had transpired.
...
Realspace.
Terra, Armageddon, Macragge, Cadia, Baal...
Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong...
Across countless Imperial worlds, practically every single bell within the cathedral spires of the Ecclesiarchy began to toll autonomously.
Whether high-ranking Ministorum priests or lowly lay worshippers, regardless of their station or pedigree, the masses unanimously fell to their knees in devout reverence, entirely swept up in the absolute fanaticism brought upon by this widespread miracle.
Every single soul who heard the tolling of the bells felt a pure, unadulterated joy blossoming from the deepest recesses of their hearts. It was as if sothing so wondrous had occurred that even the God-Emperor, seated upon the Golden Throne, was moved to joyous exaltation.
Yet, not a single mortal mind possessed the knowledge of why, or by what cause, a miracle of such apocalyptic scale had suddenly manifested.
"Holy Saint Celestine, do you possess the insight as to what event has brought such joy to the God-Emperor?"
Upon a Shrine World of the Imperium.
Pure white feathers drifted down from the heavens. The Living Saint soared through the skies, her auric Ardent Blade carving arcs of holy fire as she led her Sisters of Battle in a devastating charge against a Khornate daemon host summoned by a Chaos cult.
As the bells of a half-ruined macro-abbey began to toll, a faint, holy golden luminescence ignited across the armor of every Battle Sister present. The daemonic assaults of Khorne's legions visibly faltered, their unholy strength violently suppressed by the divine light.
This overt miracle profoundly galvanized everyone present, pushing their righteous zeal to fever pitch and allowing them to entirely eradicate the surviving daemons in a matter of minutes.
As the slaughter concluded, a Canoness, mustering a lifeti's worth of courage, approached Saint Celestine and respectfully voiced her inquiry.
Hearing the question, a genuinely profound smile graced Saint Celestine's flawlessly pure features.
She answered:
"...It is hope. A hope concerning the future of all mankind... is growing."
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