The shattered spirit stones were ground into a fine powder, which drifted down from the platform and dispersed throughout the vast hall. In the ancient accords, these gems were not categorized as Aeldari.
Axion cared nothing for the act of breaking spirit stones. Observing the horror etched upon the faces of the Aeldari captives, he knew his thod was effective.
On the platform, the Sapient Machine Automatons began a process that was, by design, agonizingly inefficient. A lone automaton stood beside each mound of spirit stones, reaching down to grab a handful at a ti before dropping them into the grinding maws.
The psychic wails of tortured souls began to resonate across the hovering platform in a rhythmic, harrowing cycle. Below, the Aeldari captives were unable to flee; they could only endure the relentless ntal devastation. Their fury and roars of defiance were hollow. Their psychic might was suppressed, their bodies restrained, and their minds flayed by the harrowing screams of their own kin.
The spirit stone dust falling from the platform's edges hung in the air like a mist, shimring with a dreamlike luster under the overhead floodlights. It was a scene of ethereal beauty, yet the continuous, soul-level shrieks transford the shimring veil into sothing macabre and terrifying.
To any organic race, this would appear as an act of ultimate cruelty. To the Iron n, however, such emotion did not exist.
Imperial data indicated that spirit stones were regarded by the Aeldari as family and compatriots. Technical guidance suggested that destroying these stones would result in their souls being claid and tortured by daemons of the Warp. Yet, the ancient Protocols of Peace made no ntion of these stones. In the eyes of the ancient accords, they were a loophole, Aeldari who were not "persons."
Axion felt no satisfaction or joy in tornting these captives. His sole objective was to compel the Aeldari Wayseekers to cooperate. Locating the Craftworld was rely a ans to secure greater leverage. Machines do not derive pleasure from the suffering of others; slaughter is a tool, and every action is a ans to an end. The Iron n simply chose the most efficient path to their objective.
Axion was certain that Wayseekers would be present on the bridges of the captured Aeldari vessels. As the expressions of the captives below grew increasingly distorted, he calculated that their breaking point was imminent.
The automatons increased their pace. Instead of handfuls, they began using chanical claws to scoop up entire piles of stones and cast them into the grinders.
However, this shift in efficiency triggered a significant anomaly.
The number of souls being cast into the Warp simultaneously spiked. Where previously dozens had been released, the number suddenly surged into the hundreds. This operation, akin to an angler "chumming the water," successfully baited sothing unexpected.
BOOM!
A surge of raw Warp energy erupted at the center of the anti-gravity platform. While Axion detected the spike in readings, he initially gave it no special priority; every shattered spirit stone produced a minor Warp signature as souls were dragged from the materium by predatory forces.
But with hundreds of stones breaking at once, the Warp readings doubled instantaneously. As the automatons cast a third massive scoop of stones into the grinders, a rift tore open in the center of the platform.
Eerie energy, saturated in shades of pink and purple, began to spill out.
Clang. Clang.
The sound of tal striking tal echoed from the rift. The Aeldari captives below, long flayed by the psychic screams, suddenly realized the wailing had stopped. They looked up in terror at the floating platform.
What they saw was their ultimate nightmare: a Warp portal.
For Slaanesh, the ntal tornt of hundreds of thousands and the steady stream of Aeldari souls being cast into the void was nothing less than a grand sacrifice. The only anomaly was that the architects of the torture possessed no emotions, neither joy nor malice.
Nonetheless, the power of She-Who-Thirsts was drawn to the site. Profane energies lashed out, attempting to etch the Daemonic Runes of Slaanesh into the anti-gravity platform, but silver nanite swarms surged across the surface, instantly repairing every microscopic blemish or corruption.
Unable to anchor its runes, the profane energy instead tore through the veil between reality and the Warp. A warband of Noise Marines from the Emperor's Children and a host of Slaaneshi daemons, led by a massive figure astride a twisted bike, roared out of the rift.
"I feel the tornt! I feel the exquisite pain spreading!"
"Aeldari scum, look upon ! I am the Doomrider! I bring the gifts of Slaanesh to trample your sanctuary. Your fragile souls and delicate treasures shall shatter before !"
The towering figure radiated mockery and dark elation. The requisite daemonic horns and wings betrayed his ascension. His thick, midnight-black armor was encrusted with spikes and blasphemous runes. With one hand he gripped the handlebars of his bike; with the other, he brandished a massive Daemonsword.
"The Herald of Terror!" one of the Aeldari below gasped, recognizing the horror.
This was the Daemon Prince of Slaanesh known as the Doomrider. His true origins were shrouded in shadow; so claid he was once a biker of the Emperor's Children, others that he hailed from a different Legion before falling to depravity during the Siege of Terra. Empowered by Slaanesh, he flickered between the Materium and the Immaterium, obsessed with delivering painful deaths and the pursuit of ultimate speed.
His mount was a daemon-possessed bike adorned with scything blades. He himself wielded a cruel blade, using Warp-born power to defy gravity, leaping over obstacles or hovering high above the ground.
This Daemon Prince, his daemonic host, and the traitor Astartes were the unintended byproducts of Axion's efficiency, a school of Warp-predators drawn to the "bait."
Aside from the panicked and defenseless Aeldari, the Emperor's Children and the Daemon Prince were also montarily taken aback. They had not expected to erge into such a clinical, alien environnt. Below them, hundreds of thousands of Aeldari knelt in agony and terror.
Beside them stood unrecognized chanical entities, stationed next to mountains of spirit stones. The buzzing machinery and the mist of soul-dust in the air made it imdiately clear why they had been summoned.
"Are you the ones tornting these xenos?! Do you seek madness and ecstasy for the Great Lord of Pleasure?"
The Doomrider looked with satisfaction at the strange automatons. He dismounted his daemonic bike and reached out, grabbing a handful of spirit stones to cast them into the still-running grinders.
The surrounding Emperor's Children and daemons raised a cacophony of expectant howls, eager to feast on the resulting screams.
CLANG!
"The spoils of the Iron n shall not be desecrated. Purge the contaminants."
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