Axion spared no thought for the destination of those Astartes; the Imperium would deal with such unidentified Space Marines in its own fashion.
In realspace, only minutes had elapsed since the Void Sword had plunged into the Webway in pursuit of Wyrmwood. The Dissonance Engine had exacerbated the structural degradation of the Webway, its effects bleeding into the surrounding arterial tunnels. Furthermore, the Void Sword's violent rotation against the Webway walls, essentially grinding against the very fabric of the dinsion, had wrought catastrophic damage.
This localized trauma caused the flow of ti within that specific sector to slow several hundredfold compared to the Materium.
Shortly after the Astartes returned to reality, the massive silhouette of the Void Sword manifested at the galactic fringe, north of Segntum Obscurus. Its colossal hull was a roadmap of fractures, with countless arcs of energy flickering through the jagged fissures in its plating. Silvery nanite swarms flowed across the planetoid-sized vessel like a living tide, laboring ceaselessly to nd the structural wounds.
Simultaneously, the Titan's Spear imdiately altered course, leading a battle group toward the Void Sword's coordinates.
Just after dismissing the Astartes, the Void Sword had perford a psychic extraction of unprecedented magnitude. Tens of millions of Drukhari had been ruthlessly drained into husks, their life force and psychic essence forcibly harvested in a matter of seconds.
Multiple newly constructed psychic compression apparatuses operated in unison. Mindful of the energy variances encountered during the previous construction of a Webway Gate, Axion's sub-intelligence cores had ticulously categorized the harvested warp energy, compressing identical "hues" of psychic resonance together.
However, the sheer potency of the Warp energy defied all calculations.
The psychic potential of the Aeldari inherently dwarfs that of human psykers; the corrupted essence of ten million Drukhari was a tidal wave of raw power. Though the Drukhari famously eschew the use of psychic powers to avoid the gaze of She Who Thirsts, their twisted beliefs and predatory existence continuously sharpen their psychic essence. It is for this reason that their souls are far more delectable to Slaanesh than those of Craftworlders or human cultists.
Axion's decision to blend life force with psychic energy, intended to prevent the "material waste" typically caused by the death of a psyker during compression, ultimately triggered a catastrophic failure.
The volatile cocktail of vitality and Warp energy surged far beyond projected thresholds. This titanic force did more than just shatter the Void Sword's hull; it tore through the Webway itself. The collapsing dinsion spat the fractured vessel directly into the Warp.
Deprived of the Webway's protection and the vessel's internal shielding, the Void Sword beca a beacon in the Empyrean. Such a concentration of psychic energy caused the Warp to churn with predatory hunger, instantly drawing the gaze of countless daemons.
Sensing the distinct flavors of their own domains within the psychic slurry, Khorne, Slaanesh, and Tzeentch turned their terrible attentions toward the breach.
Realizing the situation had spiraled beyond control, Axion imdiately vented the unstable psychic masses. The release triggered a colossal shockwave within the Immaterium. Tossed by the tempestuous currents of the Warp, the Void Sword barely maintained structural integrity long enough to tear a hole in the veil and escape back into the Materium.
Behind it, the discarded essence of tens of millions of Drukhari fueled a daemonic feeding frenzy. Such a tithe was a prize none would ignore. In the Immaterium, the Four Chaos Gods, and even the twin deities Gork and Mork, descended into a celestial brawl over the spoils.
Yet, as the dark pantheon vied for dominance, the "Black Sun" hanging over Terra, the Emperor's presence in the Warp, quietly kindled its fires.
Within seconds, the small sea of uncontrolled psychic energy ignited into a terrifying conflagration of holy fire. Countless daemons that had lunged into the feast first were engulfed, their screams echoing through the void as their very essence was extinguished. Their soul-stuff did not rely shatter; it was annihilated.
The quarreling Ruinous Powers paused, turning their indignant gazes toward the distant Black Sun.
Gork took the opportunity to send Khorne reeling with a massive blow, while Mork, spotting an opening, broke one of Tzeentch's wings before the duo turned to flee. They cared little for the psychic energy itself; fighting the Four was simply a matter of "mucking about." To cause their rivals grief was satisfaction enough.
After all, they found Slaanesh beneath their notice and Nurgle altogether too revolting. Gork is brutal but cunning, and Mork is cunning but brutal; neither had ever taken kindly to the Blood God or the Changer of Ways.
Among the Dark Gods, Slaanesh's fury burned hottest. Tens of millions of Drukhari had been rendered into energy, and since psychic potential is a reflection of the soul, the extraction had effectively pulverized those souls. Axion's actions were nothing short of snatching food from the Prince of Pleasure's very maw.
Worse still, the thief hadn't even consud the prize; they had simply thrown it away! And once discarded, it had been contested by rivals, only to be burnt to ash by the Anathema's fire. This sequence of events trampled upon every one of Slaanesh's sensibilities.
Khorne, having been blindsided, glanced at the burning psychic sea and then at the retreating forms of Gork and Mork. He broke away from the central fray, his massive hands manifesting crimson axes of brass and hate, hurling them at the green-skinned deities.
"GAH!"
The towering, avian silhouette of Tzeentch let out a piercing shriek. Waving a staff of shifting geotries, the Architect of Fate whipped up a Warp-tide, dousing the fleeing Gork and Mork with the remnants of the burning psychic sea, catching the pursuing Khorne in the splash for good asure.
"Tzeentch, you craven jester! You dare strike while I hunt? Do you think Khorne so easily trifled with? I shall rend your shifting form to scraps and let your soul howl in agony!"
Buffeted by the psychic flas, Khorne swung his great axe with a roar, the strike carrying such raw, blasphemous power that it physically clove the sea of fire asunder. The blood-red shadow then lunged at Tzeentch with blinding speed.
Tzeentch spared a contemptuous glance for the goaded brute before turning his attention toward the now-distant Gork and Mork. With a series of mocking, multi-layered cackles, his form dissolved into the shifting mists.
Nearby, Nurgle remained impassive. Unmoved by the chaos, the Grandfather simply turned away. To his mind, it was far more productive to return to his Garden and converse with the captive Goddess of Life than to linger among these lunatics.
Khorne, his quarry gone, let out a muffled grunt of pure, explosive rage. His presence vanished from the imdiate vicinity; he had to cast Angron into the fray imdiately. He needed to manifest through his son and slaughter sothing, anything, to vent this fury, regardless of the cost in power.
Slaanesh watched the remnants of the psychic sea dissolve into fading sparks of holy fire, teetering on the edge of madness. But the other gods had vanished, Gork and Mork were gone, and as for that cold, distant sun in the Warp... she was not yet ready to seek her own end against its light.
Ultimately, Slaanesh retreated to the Palace of Pleasure, her resentnt simring.
As for Axion, the damage sustained by the Void Sword had forced a realization: for the first ti, he understood that psychic power was fundantally, dangerously uncontrollable.
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