=== The Father ===
The courtyard of the Temple of Mortis was quiet, broken only by thunder in the distance. The Father stood in the center, eyes closed, hands folded behind him, waiting.
When he opened his eyes, the Son was standing before him.
Neither spoke at first. The Father already knew why his son was here. He could feel the corrupted dagger hidden away, its presence like a wound in the Force.
The Son looked conflicted. "I wish it hadn't come to this," he said. "But I'm tired of living by your rules."
The Father shook his head. "One day, when you're bound to the chaos god you've made a deal with, you'll understand. The guidelines I set were never to chain you, but to keep you and the galaxy safe."
The Son looked away briefly, then back. "I can't be what you want anymore. Whatever I was, I'm something different now."
The Father's expression softened. "You are still my son."
"No," the Son replied. "I'm not. I've changed."
A long silence hung between them as thunder rolled across the sky.
"I'm sorry, Father." The Son said finally.
The Father looked his child over, remembering the years they have spent together. He closed his eyes once more, letting the moment stretch on before opening them.
"So am I, my Son."
The Son moved first. No words, no warning, just a sudden surge of power, a burst of the Force like a hurricane slamming into the Father. Dust and shattered stone exploded across the courtyard, columns cracked under the pressure. The Father slid back a step, robes rippling, but his stance remained solid, as if he were the mountain itself, standing against the howling wind.
The Son was on him. A sweeping arc of his arm brought a wave of kinetic energy that hurled debris like shrapnel. The Father raised a hand, the stones freezing mid-air before scattering harmlessly aside.
"Still predictable," the Father muttered, then struck. A single, open-palmed thrust sent a shockwave that cracked the marble floor and hurled the Son back across the courtyard.
But the Son twisted mid-flight, feet planting against a column before springing forward again, momentum spinning into a vicious kick aimed at the Father's chest. The older being caught the leg with ease, twisting it aside, throwing the Son off-balance and into a brutal backhand strike that sent him sprawling.
Red lightning tore from the Son's fingers in a forked cascade, searing across the temple walls, striking where the Father had been a heartbeat earlier. The elder had moved, faster than eyes could follow, appearing at the Son's flank. A sharp jab to the ribs sent a shock through the younger one's body, disrupting his concentration and scattering the lightning into harmless sparks.
The Son gritted his teeth, rolling with the blow, then slammed both hands into the ground. The Force erupted like a geyser, the entire courtyard buckling upward as if the stone itself had turned fluid. Jagged spires shot toward the Father like spears.
The Father exhaled slowly, one hand sweeping out in a calm but devastating gesture. The rising spires shattered mid-ascent, fragments reduced to dust. He stepped through the chaos like it was nothing, and with a flick of his wrist, invisible tendrils wrapped around the Son's arms and legs, holding him suspended.
But the Son screamed. The air vibrated, the courtyard shook, and the bindings shattered with a pulse that staggered even the Father. The Son hit the ground on his feet and charged.
They met at the center, blows exchanged faster than sound, fists and palms clashing, knees, elbows, Force-augmented strikes shaking the very temple. Each impact sent ripples through the courtyard like echoes of thunder. The Father struck his Son, every movement economical, every attack deliberate. The Son was wild and unpredictable, rage and skill woven into a tempest.
A hook from the Father cracked against the Son's jaw, staggering him. The Father followed, a spinning strike that lifted the Son and slammed him into a pillar hard enough to break it in half. Before the rubble could fall, the Son kicked it outward, shards spinning toward the Father like blades.
He caught them mid-air and hurled them back, driving the Son into a desperate leap, barely avoiding being impaled by his own attack.
The Force pulsed between them, invisible currents slamming together like tidal waves. One pushed, the other resisted, invisible energy tearing through the courtyard, splitting stones, shaking the temple foundations.
The Father stepped forward through the storm his offspring had summoned, forcing the Son back, step by step, until the younger staggered, dropping to one knee, breath ragged.
"You've grown strong," the Father said, voice low over the roaring air, "but strength alone will not decide this."
The Son snarled, wiping blood from his lip, and surged again. Blades of compressed air, arcs of Force lightning, stones hurled like meteors, all at once, a chaotic barrage meant to overwhelm even the Father's perfect defense.
For a moment, it almost worked, a strike grazed the Father's side, tearing fabric and drawing a shallow line of blood. The Son's eyes widened at the sight, at the proof he could hurt him.
But the Father's eyes narrowed, and then he moved.
In a blur, the elder closed the distance, parried the next attack with one hand, seized the Son by the throat with the other, and slammed him into the courtyard floor with the power of a falling star. The impact cratered the stone, the shockwave leveling what few standing columns remained.
The Son coughed, air ripped from his lungs, but still he fought, a desperate push of the Force throwing both of them apart, sending them skidding across the courtyard, debris and smoke filling the space between.
A laugh filled the air, but not from either of the two.
The courtyard trembled again but not from the Father or the Son this time. A low, alien hum filled the air, like a thousand voices whispering in a language not meant for mortal minds. The Son froze mid-breath. The Father's gaze shifted, his brow furrowing.
From the far archway, a silhouette emerged. The torchlight flickered strangely as the figure stepped into view, his armor draped in corrupted sigils that bled light and shadow all at once.
Kharath.
The Chaos Sorcerer walked calmly across the shattered courtyard, the very air seeming to warp and ripple around him. In his left hand, the corrupted Dagger of Mortis gleamed faintly, its edge almost dripping molten ruin, as if the weapon itself was alive and in pain. In his right, his sinister black blade pulsed with veins of deep violet light, a weapon that seemed to hum in resonance with the warp bleeding off him.
He tilted his helmeted head slightly, eyeing father and son like a predator studying prey. "Have you two started without me?" he asked, voice carrying a mocking lilt, distorted by the warping echo of the Immaterium bleeding into his words.
The Son smiled as he looked at his Father, but he said nothing.
The Father straightened, shoulders squaring, a weary sigh passing through his lips. "You bring ruin wherever you tread, Sorcerer," he said, calm even now.
"Ruin?" Kharath chuckled, a sound that cracked and distorted unnaturally. "I bring evolution."
And then he stopped walking. He planted both feet, and began to chant.
The power of the warp filled the temple. The air turned thick, heavy, like gravity itself had deepened. Symbols crawled across his armor like living things, glowing with shifting, unnatural colors. The sigils of Tzeentch flared bright as power poured into him.
His body began to convulse. Bones cracked, armor groaned, and he began to grow. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the mortal frame could no longer contain what he was becoming. The courtyard's remaining pillars shook, tiles cracked and floated from the sheer psychic pressure radiating off him as his armor became his skin.
Kharath laughed with mad exhilaration, his helmet's mouth opening as his voice echoing with something else speaking through him, layered and wrong. His once-human silhouette stretched upward, passing nine feet, then ten. His armor shifted and reformed, horns curving outward like the crown, trailing warp-fire that burned but left no ash.
The black blade in his right hand liquefied and reformed, metal folding and twisting like a living serpent until what he held was a long, bladed staff, a weapon of sword and sorcery in one, crackling with warp-lightning. The corrupted Dagger of Mortis pulsed, eager, like it knew what it was about to drink.
"Behold!" he roared, voice booming across Mortis like thunder across a broken sky. "I stand at the threshold!" His eyes blazed with shifting fire, no longer fixed on any one color, but constantly changing, like looking into the heart of madness itself.
He spun the staff once, the motion a perfect marriage of martial mastery and psychic dominance, sending a ripple through the air that cracked stone and bent pillars outward like reeds.
"One kill," he hissed, eyes locking onto the Father as he raised the dagger. "One godly death, and the Changer of Ways shall grant me the gift I have long craved!"
His grin widened, wicked and wild. "Daemon Prince Kharath!" he bellowed, drunk on his own rising power. "Ascension is at hand!"
The Son glanced sideways at the towering figure beside him, the realization of just how far they had stepped past the point of no return.
And the Father, still calm and resolute, shifted his stance. His voice was quiet, but it carried through the screaming warpstorm now raging above the temple.
"My death will not achieve what you seek." he said evenly.
Kharath only laughed harder, warp-flames licking across the courtyard, curling around him. "Oh, you poor old fool. It will!"
The storm above Mortis roared louder as Kharath stepped forward, thunder shaking the temple's ancient bones. For a heartbeat, the three figures stood locked in that tense stillness, the Father, calm yet grim, the Son burning with rebellion, and Kharath, swelling with dark promise.
And then, a fourth voice cut through the fury.
"Brother."
All three turned as light blossomed at the far edge of the courtyard, soft but unyielding, moonlight piercing the storm clouds above. From it stepped the Daughter, robes flowing, her presence cooling the heat of the moment by sheer contrast.
Her eyes were fixed on her brother.
"Please," she said, her voice pleading. "Stop this. You must see what's happening. You're not acting freely, you're being used."
The Son stiffened. For just a moment, a flicker of doubt passed over his face, a shadow beneath the fire.
"You think I don't know?" he said, the words sharp and unsteady. "You think I don't see the bargain I've struck? But I've had nothing but chains, Sister. Rules. Balance. Stagnation. Father's will choking me of breath. No more!"
"Father's death won't free you," she said, stepping closer, her eyes glimmering with sorrow. "It will only trade one leash for another. You'll bow to the Chaos God you've bargained with, and in time you won't even remember what freedom felt like."
His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing as the Force coiled around him like a storm. "It's too late," he said. "I can feel it. I can taste it. The walls are already crumbling. One more push, and I walk through, untethered. I have only to kill him."
Her voice hardened, cutting through the swirl of wind and thunder. "Then you'll have to kill me as well."
For the first time, true pain crossed the Son's face. "Don't," he warned, a note of hesitation in the threat.
"I will not stand aside," she said, stepping between him and the Father, her power quietly flaring. "If you mean to spill Father's blood, you'll have to spill mine first."
The Son's gaze fell, then rose again, harder, colder, heart hardening like stone. "Then so be it," he said quietly. "I will do what I must."
Kharath grinned wide, almost giddy. "Finally," he murmured.
And then all hell broke loose.
The Son lunged, power exploding outward like a tidal wave. The Daughter met him mid-stride, her own surge of Force clashing against his, light against shadow, their wills slamming together hard enough to split stone beneath their feet.
At the same instant, Kharath struck, the corrupted Dagger in his left hand flashing in a swift arc toward the Father's chest. The Father turned it aside with a gesture, the Force itself redirecting the blade wide as he stepped in and met Kharath's staff with his bare palm, catching the weapon mid-swing and shoving it upward.
Brother and sister became a blur of strikes, parries, and shoves, their martial skill matching their Force power in a lethal dance. He fought with aggression honed by violence, a storm of fists, sweeps, and choking currents of raw energy. She countered with precision, every deflection tight, every strike aimed to disable rather than destroy.
Nearby, Father and Sorcerer collided like gods. Kharath's new size gave him reach, and with it came warp-fire, every swing of his staff leaving trails of screaming color in the air, every thrust of the dagger pulling at reality like a hook through flesh. The Father fought, his control of the Force bending the battlefield against Kharath's warp powers. Stone rose as shields, broken pillars hurled like spears, the very air turning solid in places to catch and redirect warp-forged blasts.
Kharath laughed even as he was forced back. "Yes!" he shouted. "Yes! Fight harder! Let the Changer see you! Let Him judge you worthy!"
The Daughter caught her brother's wrist mid-strike, spun, and used his own momentum to send him skidding back across the courtyard, only for him to roll, spring off one shattered column, and launch himself back at her with a scream that cracked the sky.
The Father caught the dagger wrist mid-thrust and, with a twist, sent Kharath crashing through a temple wall, but the Sorcerer rose, laughter echoing through the debris, armor knitting itself together as warp-flames licked his wounds shut.
It was chaos, raw and pure. Balance fighting to hold its ground against corruption, loyalty breaking under the weight of betrayal, and over all of it, a pair of mad eyes watched her family tear itself apart, waiting for the right moment to make her move.
===
150 PS = 1 extra chapter
250 PS = 2 extra chapters
discord.gg/vDrfkXnDe2
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)