Due to the fundamental differences between their realities, the Skaven of the Old World failed to achieve their goal of global hegemony even unto the End Times. Yet, in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium, it took the ratmen a mere thirteen days to realize that dark ambition.
Now was the hour for the Skaven clans to carve up the spoils. Without question, Clan Skryre and Clan Moulder moved first, seizing the entirety of the planet's technological and biological resources. The former Imperial proving grounds and armories were ransacked by Skryre Warlock-Engineers. Even as they hoarded the bulk of the salvage, the most potent and maddening creations of the world were siphoned away by the clan hierarchies.
The legacy of the Imperium of Man was rapidly retrofitted by the vermin. The horrific, claustrophobic conditions of the Hive World's Underhive provided the perfect warrens for the rat-kin, while the opulent spires of the Upper Hive were naturally claimed as palatial estates by the powerful Warlords and Clan Chieftains.
And beneath the shadow of the Great Bell sat Lucius.
The circular table before him symbolized the Skaven's mocking facade of equity. The Grey Seer Clan held the first seat, while Clan Skryre held the twelfth—the two most prestigious positions due to their proximity to the thirteenth seat: the throne of Lucius, the Great Horned Rat incarnate. No matter how treacherous, vile, or fickle the Skaven were in private, here, in this sanctum, even Arch-Plaguelord Nurglitch and Nightlord Sneek of Clan Eshin maintained a veneer of rat-like civility.
Lucius remained robed in black, clutching a staff of rat-skin, cold eyes surveying the vermin as they engaged in a rare display of mutual congratulation, giddy with the high of conquering an entire world.
CLANG—
The sharp strike of his staff against the floor was a mere ripple of sound in the cacophonous chamber, yet it echoed with terrifying weight within the souls of the Skaven. Instantly, the masks of treacherous pride and hypocrisy vanished, replaced by sheer terror and groveling humility as every head slammed down onto the table in supplication.
Beneath his black hood, Lucius nodded with grim satisfaction. "One world is not enough to sate our hunger," he intoned. "The tolling of the Great Horned Rat's bell shall echo across distant stars, Morskittar."
His voice was a low rasp, sounding to the Skaven like the simultaneous chattering of a million vermin.
Lord Morskittar, ruler of Clan Skryre, looked less like a Skaven and more like an Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Half of his hunched form had been replaced by cybernetic augmentations. Luminous green Warpstone fluid pulsed through the conduits between his metallic power armor and withered flesh. This raw essence of Chaos acted as the galaxy's most potent stimulant and power source, accelerating the Arch-Warlock's intellect to heights of frenzied genius.
"Yes-yes, my loathsome Master! The ships of the hairless-man-things... they will be repurposed, refitted by our Engineers! Soon we shall crawl-swarm across the entire galaxy!"
Morskittar shrieked with pride, before leaning in with a fawning, hushed tone: "My loathsome Master... we... we require more Warpstone. Yes-yes... Warpstone... the Great Horned Rat's blessing."
Warpstone was the lifeblood of the Skaven, both their ultimate fuel and a universal panacea. Yet, it was a known truth that Warpstone did not exist naturally in the 41st Millennium. Where, then, would the Skaven find the astronomical quantities required to fuel their mad industrialization of a world?
Only Lucius could provide it. In the Old World and the Mortal Realms, the energies of the Chaos Realm were known as the Eight Winds of Magic; in the 40K universe, it was the Warp, the source of psychic power. Though subtly different in metaphysical composition, they shared a common root.
As Morskittar smiled obsequiously, Lucius raised a hand. Within this Imperium Nihilus, the ubiquitous energies of the Warp began to condense like moisture in the air. The raw psychic aether crystallized rapidly into jagged, emerald shards of Warpstone.
Under the ravenous gaze of the assembled Skaven, the Warp-energy fell from the void like snow, coalescing into grains of crystalline dust. Nurglitch lunged forward, his rotting paw scooping up a handful of the Warp-sand and shoving it into his maw. As the unrestrained power of Chaos surged through his numbed brain and blighted body, he exhaled a foul, ecstatic sigh.
Lucius began to transmute the psychic resonance of the entire planet into Warpstone hail. Across the world, every clan descended into a violent scramble for the falling crystals, yet the Lords of the Council of Thirteen remained still. They watched the black-robed figure of the Great Horned Rat with a mixture of fanatical worship and bottomless greed.
"Worship me... spread the vermin-tide. Do this, and you shall have more, my children."
"YES—YES!"
Only the glowing red eyes of Nightlord Sneek remained cold and calculating, sharp as a hidden blade. He spoke in a low, raspy whisper: "This is the deadliest dagger, sharper than ten thousand blades at dawn!"
As the ruler of Clan Eshin, Sneek knew that no matter how treacherous a Skaven might be, they could never rebel against this god. Not only were their souls bound to his will, but Warpstone was their lifeline. Without it, the Skaven's malice and manic brilliance were but withered weeds without soil.
Lucius nodded, content. "Then let the Skaven Great Crusade begin. Expand the vermin-tide across the galaxy. Let every world beneath the stars be drowned out by the ceaseless gnawing of the Great Horned Rat's children!"
…
In the starports of Zavka, an Imperial lunar-class cruiser and several Sword-class frigates lay in the docks. Scars of battle and the crude, hurried repairs of Genestealer Cults suggested the Planetary Governor had tried, and failed, to flee during the uprising.
Now, these vessels belonged to the Skaven. Led by Ikit Claw, the Warlock-Engineers of Clan Skryre, accompanied by a swarming army of apprentices and slaves, crawled into the guts of the warships.
With their malevolent tools, they began a brutal retrofitting. The Imperial Warp-drives were torn out, replaced by roaring Warpstone-engines. As semi-daemonic entities themselves, the Skaven possessed a far more intuitive, and dangerous, understanding of the Empyrean than any mortal. Lances, torpedoes, and macro-batteries were dismantled and re-forged with Skryre ingenuity.
Under the full industrial might of Clan Skryre, Morskittar and Ikit Claw soon cracked the secrets of the Imperial tech-archaic. Orbital defense grids and grand cruisers were modified beyond recognition.
The Skaven's madness was now fully unleashed. Under the decree of the Great Horned Rat, the Great Crusade had begun; any world conquered would belong to the clan that took it. Driven by this avarice, countless clans commissioned Skryre to build their void-fleets. Warlock-Engineers used their own twisted logic and scavenged materials to construct vessels of terrifying capability.
The most coveted design among the clans was a gargantuan, structurally erratic vessel that resembled nothing less than a flying Hive City.
Like fleas leaping from a dying host, countless Skaven clans began to scatter into the void in all directions. Most would be utterly destroyed by the perils of the galaxy, but it mattered not. To the Skaven, casualties were the only resource they had in infinite supply.