Mortarion had escaped.
Fulgrim, battered and bloodied, still forced himself to remain standing. Despite his severe injuries, he refused to falter, knowing his posture could inspire his troops and bolster their morale.
However, as Fulgrim looked around to assess the battlefield, he realized that the tide had decisively turned.
The opportunist Luthor Harkon, ever the calculating pirate, had no intention of squandering the forces he had painstakingly amassed over the years. When he saw the arrival of the Yncarne, Visarch, and Yvraine—the Aeldari Death God Triumvirate—an overwhelming sense of dread crept into his soul. Without hesitation, he ordered his undead army to retreat.
But the Golden Wizard and Carona were not about to let Harkon escape so easily. The Golden Wizard summoned a Djinn Lord, whose fiery whirlwinds and raging storms decimated half of Harkon's forces. Meanwhile, Carona led the armies of the Golden Horn Bay, unleashing volleys of arrows that tore through the undead ranks. Despite heavy losses, Harkon managed to flee with a small portion of his troops. As a Sanctified-level powerhouse, his determination to escape made it nearly impossible to kill him outright without a decisive commitment to battle—something neither the Golden Wizard nor Carona were willing to risk.
The Skaven, as always, retreated even faster. Clan Pestilens' Arch-Plaguelord Skreek had made up his mind to flee the moment he saw Fulgrim battling Ka'bandha. By the time Fulgrim defeated Mortarion, the ratmen had completely vanished from the field.
But Skreek's retreat was far more disastrous than Harkon's. Just as he tried to pull his forces away from the battlefield, they were intercepted by Tetto'eko, the Prophecy-Seer of the Serpent God, leading his Serpent Army. Swarms of lizardmen warriors, Red-Crested Skinks, behemoth legions, and fire salamanders tore through the Skaven's rear guard. Cornered and desperate, Skreek was forced to summon a Verminlord of Calamity to carve a bloody path for himself and his remaining retinue to escape.
When the Dark Elf warlord Vashnar the World-Ender realized the battlefield was collapsing around him, he too tried to flee—only to find himself completely surrounded.
"I'll haunt you to the grave, you filthy animals!" Vashnar roared, his venomous hatred spilling out in a final desperate outburst.
"You won't even get the chance to become a ghost," Fulgrim said, his voice weary but firm. Despite his injuries, the Primarch managed a faint smile as he glanced at the Death God Triumvirate. "You've traveled a long way to aid us. Consider this offering a token of our gratitude."
The Yncarne, the Avatar of Ynnead, nodded in acknowledgment. Vashnar, a peak-level Sanctified warrior, was not only a fitting sacrifice but also came with the added bonus of thousands of Dark Elf souls freshly reaped in the battle. For the Yncarne, it was an irresistible feast.
The Visarch stood silently at Yvraine's side, ever the loyal protector. Yvraine, meanwhile, was already plotting her next steps. She intended to assimilate the surviving Dark Elf soldiers into the fold and guide them toward the "Seventh Path." Unfortunately, the lizardmen, indifferent to her orders, continued their merciless slaughter.
As twilight descended upon the ruins of Constantinople, the World-Ender's army was utterly annihilated. None escaped. The barbarian and Chaos forces were either executed or cast into the pits of ravenous carnosaurs. The Dark Elf soldiers fared little better—most were slain, and the few survivors were absorbed into the Death God's army.
Vashnar, despite his formidable power, could not break free. After a desperate struggle, the Last Defender, Kroq-Gar, decapitated him, claiming his head as a trophy to hang from his belt. Vashnar's soul suffered an even grimmer fate—it was dragged into the Yncarne's domain, where it became sustenance for the Avatar. A Sanctified-level soul would keep the Yncarne satiated for many days to come.
Mazdamundi, the Great Slann Mage-Priest, surveyed the battlefield with satisfaction. This victory was monumental. The forces of Chaos and the Dark Elves had suffered catastrophic losses. Even Ka'bandha and the corrupted son of the Old Ones, Mortarion, had been defeated. The Great Plan was moving forward. Meanwhile, the undead pirates and Skaven had been severely weakened, granting Lustria's defenders a sliver of hope in the looming End Times.
Kroq-Gar, ever eager to flaunt his martial prowess, wanted to press the attack further. But at Mazdamundi's command, the lizardmen army regrouped and prepared to return to the City of the Sun.
This left the humans and the Death God's army to survey the ruins of their nearly obliterated city.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Fulgrim dropped both the Blade of the Phoenix and Sotek's Fang. He silently approached the remains of the halfling Habi, whose small body had been severed in two by Mortarion's plague scythe. With great care, the Primarch knelt and gently reassembled Habi's broken body, cradling him like a fragile newborn.
The golden rays of the setting sun cast a long shadow behind Fulgrim, stretching across the ruins of Constantinople. He gazed at Habi's face, still wearing a faint, serene smile, and found himself unable to speak.
"Some things," Fulgrim murmured at last, his voice heavy with emotion, "are worth sacrificing for. Some things are worth protecting."
A new energy seemed to radiate from Fulgrim. It was unlike anything he had known before—something deeper, purer. The fire of the phoenix burned brighter within him, but it was no longer the same flame of his past. This was not the fire of vanity or the pursuit of perfection. This was the fire of purpose.
The purple and gold of Fulgrim's armor seemed to shine with a renewed brilliance, as if purified by this transformation.
"The Phoenix rises," Yvraine said quietly, her expression complicated as she observed the change in Fulgrim. She had seen something similar once before—when Guilliman had been revived and stood before the reborn Emperor. At that time, Guilliman had emerged from his audience with the Emperor as a changed man. Now, Yvraine saw that same light in Fulgrim, and it left her conflicted.
The Death God Triumvirate had intentionally allowed Mortarion to escape. Though they could have pursued him through the Warp, the cost would have been far too high. Moreover, Yncarne was merely a fragment of Ynnead's true power. The Death God's followers sought to ally with the Imperium while maintaining a careful distance, lest humanity grow too powerful. They believed that once Ynnead reached full strength and achieved the "Seventh Path," the Aeldari Death God would surpass the Emperor and ultimately destroy Slaanesh.
But the problem remained—the key to Ynnead's ascension lay in the fifth Cronesword, hidden deep within Slaanesh's palace at the heart of Chaos. Not even the Emperor or the Laughing God dared enter that realm. To defeat Slaanesh, Ynnead needed to be whole. To make Ynnead whole, the fifth sword was essential.
It was a perfect, maddening cycle of futility.
The Triumvirate had been trapped in this loop for years—attempting to retrieve the sword, failing, suffering heavy losses, rallying more Aeldari to their cause, and trying again. It was only the Emperor's recent revelation that broke the cycle: he informed them of a critical piece of information—a surviving shard of Asuryan, the Phoenix King, still existed in the mortal realm. This shard, he claimed, could aid their cause. Ecstatic at the news, the Triumvirate agreed to assist in the battle for Constantinople.
And why had Guilliman begged Yvraine for aid? Simple—Guilliman had no idea the Emperor had already struck a deal with the Triumvirate. Upon learning of Fulgrim and Sanguinius' dire situation, the Imperial Regent had grown desperate and personally pleaded for the Death God's intervention. Yvraine, for reasons she herself did not fully understand, relished the sight of Guilliman—normally so composed and authoritative—groveling before her. She savored the moment before "reluctantly" agreeing to help.
As Fulgrim buried Habi's remains, Yvraine's thoughts drifted. She realized she had been smiling, only to quickly hide her expression behind her fan when Fulgrim glanced her way.
Fulgrim said nothing, merely calling for his officers to assess the damage and organize the survivors.
The next day, the cost of the battle was tallied.
Of the 80,000 defenders who had stood against the forces of Chaos, fewer than 24,000 remained fit for duty. Another 18,000 were lightly wounded and would recover, but nearly 40,000 were dead or missing. Thousands more were permanently disabled, condemned to live out their days in military hospitals.
Among the dead were 49 officers, including 12 generals. Notable losses included Pedro, General Weidenfeller, Felix of the Chikav, Commissar Harland Sanders, Scout Captain Habi, and many others. The Ashen Legion had been decimated; Fulgrim estimated it would take
three to five years to rebuild.
Yet despite the staggering losses, Fulgrim saw hope. His soldiers had been tempered by the battle, and many who had long been stagnant had achieved breakthroughs. Humanity's strength, as always, lay in its resilience—the ability to rise from the ashes stronger than before.
More importantly, the battle had transformed the bond between Fulgrim and his troops. No longer was he simply their commander; many now swore personal oaths of loyalty to him.
Later, in the reception hall of the Saint Sophia, Fulgrim met with Yvraine and the Visarch for a final discussion.
"So, you plan to infiltrate Ulthuan to meet Asuryan?" Fulgrim asked, seated in his luxurious chair. He nodded thoughtfully. "I have a bit of advice that might help."
"We don't need your advice," Yvraine said coolly. "The power of the Seventh Path will guide us directly to the Phoenix King's divine realm. But let me remind you, Primarch—you cannot always rely on us to save you."
Fulgrim smirked faintly. "Your aid will not be forgotten, I assure you. But I hope you find what you're looking for."
As the Aeldari departed, Fulgrim watched them leave, his smile growing sly. "What a pity. After all that effort, they'll achieve nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?" Carona asked, entering with a tray of coffee and pastries.
"Nothing," Fulgrim replied cryptically. He changed the subject. "How did it go with Mazdamundi?"
"The venerable one agreed to erase the soul markers left by those strange relatives of yours."
"Excellent," Fulgrim said, just as Carona shut the door to the room behind her. Seeing the glint in her eye, he quickly stood and shook his head. "No, Carona! Not now!"
In Ulthuan, on the Isle of Flame, within the Platinum Phoenix Pyramid, Asuryan's divine realm received three visitors.
"O Phoenix King, our people face extinction. Please, grant us salvation and guide us to a future!"
"..."
"Great one, the tragedy of our race has repeated time and again. Our numbers dwindle, and the specter of annihilation looms ever closer. We beg you for change!"
"..."
"Lord Asuryan, have you truly abandoned us? Will you simply watch as we fall into despair? You once mastered the stars, defeated the ancient C'tan, and extinguished suns. Can you not offer us even the smallest glimpse of hope?"
"..."
There was no response. The Platinum Phoenix Fire burned even fiercer, but no voice came. Instead, a door appeared, leading back to the void—an unspoken command for the visitors to leave.
In the end, the three left in bitter disappointment.
Elsewhere, Weeks Earlier...
In the dark, frigid depths of the Norscan Underdark, a group of travelers navigated the shadowy waters of the Doom River. Their destination: the ancient, long-isolated dwarven hold of Zharr-Naggrund.
Among them was the Knight-King, Ryan, who had risen early despite the perpetual darkness of their subterranean journey. Above them loomed the carved stone ceilings of the underground river, no sun to greet the dawn.
"It feels like something terrible is happening out there," Ryan mused, stretching his arms. "Something like…"
"This Asuryan being ridiculously powerful but overly cautious?"
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