Chapter 71: First Glimpse of Commorragh
The Imperial fleet emerged from the void with predatory grace, arriving at the coordinates the Eldar Rakarth had provided.
A lonely, icy world loomed before them, far from any star's warmth. From the decks of the warships, the captains watched the planet's surface extend endlessly in white, devoid of all life.
Fully armed gunship formations descended through the dense atmospheric cover, their engines roaring loudly as they touched down on the frozen wasteland with a thunderous impact.
The superheated exhaust from their engines gouged deep crevasses in the ice, while steam erupted in towering, swirling columns.
Yet the planet's merciless cold reclaimed everything. The vapor froze instantly, rising only two meters before crystallizing into shimmering cascades.
The gunships' adamantium hulls creaked under the harsh grip of freezing temperatures. A delicate web of frost spread across their surfaces like shimmering silver lace.
When the boarding ramps lowered, icicles had already formed along the craft's wing edges, resembling frozen fangs.
The raven, resting on the emperor's grand pauldron, gazed across the expansive icy field and took a deep, sharp breath.
"What a pleasant world. When we capture some Dark Eldar in Commorragh, we shall have them cultivate potatoes here".
"Do you possess no other ambitions?" Valdor inquired, his voice carrying the measured tone of the Captain-General.
"All you ever contemplate is agricultural endeavours."
"Of course not, I also desire you to return to Terra and stand watch over a pond."
"I believe you should keep pursuing your horticultural goals here."
"..."
The Emperor paid no heed to the familiar exchange between Raven and Valdor.
He led His Custodian Guard and the Primarchs onto the solid ice. Their boots crunched upon the frozen surface with the weight of demigods in mortal flesh.
"Father, there is nothing here."
Horus spoke the words that hung in the frigid air. The Primarchs' breath misted before his battle-scarred features.
"No, my son. There is something."
The Emperor raised one massive gauntlet toward a towering wall of ice. "I sense fluctuations from the Empyrean."
His golden eyes fixed upon the barrier with terrible certainty.
"Bring forward the melta charges. We'll burn through the ice to create a path for us."
The accompanying Custodians carried out their Emperor's will without hesitation or doubt.
Massive clouds of superheated steam shot upward under the glowing fury of the melta beams. The ancient ice shrieked as it was dissolved.
But even this violence could not withstand the world's relentless cold for long.
The vapor froze before reaching the upper atmosphere.
Within moments, the Custodians' auramite armor was coated with thick layers of frost.
"My Lord, it's the Wraithbone!"
A Custodian's vox crackled from within the carved tunnel. His voice carried the excitement of discovery.
They had breached into a passage of alien construction.
Walls of Wraithbone gleamed with unnatural luminescence, leading deep into the planet's frozen heart.
"Within it lies the altar that opens the Webway portal," Rakarth said.
His voice held the careful deference of one who had learned the price of Imperial interrogation. "You just need to activate the altar, and your fleet can enter the Webway."
All Webway entrances possessed elaborate permission protocols.
Eldar warships carried integral authorization systems, allowing them to manifest portal access at will.
The Imperium of Man currently had no such vessels in its possession.
As such, they needed anchor points to breach the dimensional barriers.
Only through these focal points could the Webway entrances be activated for Imperial passage.
Proceeding deeper into the alien construct, the Emperor and His retinue entered what had once been an Eldar city.
Grand temples lay frozen or collapsed beneath the weight of ages. Their xenos architecture spoke of vanished glories.
Lonely statues stood sentinel beneath layers of accumulated frost. Their alien features gazed sightlessly across ruined plazas.
The bones of the dead lay scattered like broken ceramite.
As Imperial forces passed through these bones, they crunched beneath ceramite boots, echoing in these hollow halls.
Lifeless Eldar wraith constructs stood or lay among the organic detritus and crystalline dust lining the thoroughfares.
Their spirit stones flickered weakly in the gloom.
Twisted undead creatures roamed within the city's skeletal remains. They had once been Eldar, caught in the psychic maelstrom at the time of their species' Fall.
The Prince of Pleasure had claimed their souls. Now they walked as animated corpses, forever denied rest.
The Custodians activated their gene-locks without wasting any time.
Their guardian spears carved through the abominations with remarkable efficiency.
Finally, the Emperor and his retinue reached the city's deepest sanctum.
There in the middle stood a magnificent altar made from pure Wraithbone. Its alien geometries are too harsh for mortal eyes to perceive.
Faint Empyrean fluctuations emanated from its crystalline structure.
Power flowed through conduits, which were older than human civilization.
This was the anchor point of the Webway entrance.
The Emperor gestured with one massive gauntlet.
The Custodians dragged Rakarth and his fellow Dark Eldar forward without any gentleness.
"Open it."
The Emperor's voice carried the weight of absolute authority. His golden gaze fixed upon Rakarth with divine intensity.
"Of course, of course."
Rakarth nodded with desperate enthusiasm. His former arrogance had been thoroughly excised.
Under Raven's constant threats of sacrifice to the Prince of Pleasure, the Archon had accepted pragmatic servitude.
He has chosen to serve as the Imperium's guide rather than face damnation.
Rakarth had lived for many millennia. Long enough to lose all empathy for his own species.
Long enough to fear actual death above all else.
Especially the prospect of his soul being consumed by She Who Thirsts.
Whether Commorragh survived or burned held no meaning for him; the Dark City was a realm of cruel indifference.
No one would remember those who sacrificed themselves for its protection.
His cold-blooded kindred would only mock the fallen as weaklings.
Rakarth and several other Dark Eldar began their ritual around the altar. They chanted ancient incantations in their flowing tongue.
They guided energies from the ruined city to charge the Wraithbone focus.
Power flowed through channels; the runes surrounding the altar ignited one by one.
They moved through the air as if possessed of malevolent life.
The atmosphere erupted with surging psychic energies. Reality itself began to buckle and strain.
Dark purple illumination mixed with fire and lightning.
It converged above the altar, forming a pillar of eldritch light that pierced the heavens.
The beam tore through fragments of reality itself.
It pried open the barrier between the material realm and the Immaterium.
The Imperial fleet observed from orbit as a massive rift manifested in the void.
The phenomenon was so complex that its true nature could not be easily defined.
The edges of the rift glowed with a brilliant golden hue, while its core pulsated with swirling purple paradox light and delicate white ethereal arcs.
That was the Webway entrance.
It looked like a daemon's eye embedded deep within the fabric of spacetime, its unsettling gaze sending shivers through even the transhuman observers.
The portal was large enough to hold an entire battlefleet. Ships of the line could pass through its dimensional opening.
After triggering the ancient device, the Emperor and his retinue expertly exited the ruins.
Hovering swiftly, gunships carried them back to the flagship.
The Grand Design and her escorts charted a course toward the rift, entering the Webway through the gaping portal.
The Webway stretched before them in all its alien majesty.
Peculiar mists swirled through passages older than most civilizations.
The Emperor observed the Webway intently through the flagship's observation portals.
His golden eyes were studying every detail.
This was the technology he had once sought to claim for humanity's benefit; it was once the key to mankind's liberation from Warp dependence.
Once the Webway was mastered, humanity would possess efficient, faster-than-light travel.
They would be freed from reliance upon the treacherous Immaterium.
Now, Webway technology was no longer humanity's sole salvation.
The Emperor possessed other means of ensuring mankind's ascendancy.
Although the Webway was no longer essential for human survival, the Emperor had not abandoned his grand plan.
It still remained a valuable goal.
After all, it represented an investment for lasting gain. The infrastructure would benefit humanity in the future.
Moreover, the Webway's existence could filter the ethereal energies flowing into realspace.
It would serve as a bulwark against Chaos.
Commorragh's location remained utterly secret. No ordinary being could hope to navigate these ancient, labyrinthine passages.
Fortunately, the Imperium had captured Rakarth as their makeshift guide.
The Archon's knowledge would serve Imperial purposes.
Under his direction, the fleet passed through the intricate Webway passages.
They emerged at the outer boundaries of Commorragh.
Although Commorragh was merely a city within the Webway, its immense size was beyond the realm of scientific understanding.
It spread across dimensional space like a spreading cancer.
Countless ports, ramps, and hidden conduits connected massive space habitats.
Satellite structures orbited the primary metroplex in complex patterns.
The city's periphery was home to numerous vassal kingdoms.
These smaller realms served the Dark Eldar's vile purposes.
This was the place where the Eldar conducted their abhorrent rituals, where they formulated their wicked schemes against each other.
The kingdoms originated from the chaotic era before the Eldar Fall.
When the Cult of Pleasure first gained prominence among their species.
Nobles had constructed private domains within the depths of the Webway.
They served as venues for dark rituals and hedonistic entertainment.
Two enormous black suns loomed over Commorragh, resembling watchful, baleful eyes.
Surrounding them were countless Webway entrances, forming a protective perimeter.
Towering spires of magnificent architecture encased spheres of captured fire, gleaming orbs representing dying stars, each telling a silent story of destruction and decay.
The Dark Eldar had stolen these artifacts from realspace through forbidden technology, and they became the city's primary energy source.
The Human Imperial fleet's appearance instantly triggered alarms across the outer defenses.
Weapon systems sprang to life with aggressive speed.
Defensive void shields were powered to full strength as energy signatures appeared across the sensor arrays.
Dozens of Eldar bone ships advanced, their spiked sails unfurled and their weapon ports emitting a menacing glow of barely restrained violence.
Just as tensions reached their zenith, Rakarth's voice transmitted to the lead xenos vessel.
Would you like to experience the Haemonculi's cruel mercy? You Fool.
His voice carried all the authority of Commorragh's most feared torturer.
"Open your eyes and observe who addresses you. I am Rakarth, Commorragh's most terrifying Haemonculus."
"Lower your alert status and grant me passage immediately. Or you can cut your own throat. That might reduce the agony!!"
On the deck of the imperial space fleet, Rakarth shouted his demands at Commorragh's guards, while the custodian spear hummed close to his neck.
Upon hearing Rakarth's name, the guards were instantly struck with terror.
Just hearing his name was enough to freeze even the most seasoned Dark Eldar in their tracks.
Facing the wrath of the most feared Haemonculus Master meant that death was the greatest mercy imaginable.
"Shut down all weapon systems and lower the shields. Grant Master Rakarth immediate access to the port!!"
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