"Oh, they've actually fought their way into the Mainframe Room," Lucius remarked with mild surprise, watching Sneek and Celestine crash into the heart of the Forge of Souls. It was clear that Saint Celestine's last gambit had been a localized eruption of faith, intended to purge the entire Hell Pit of Ironward III in a single, righteous blast.
But Sneek, ever the peerless death-dealer, remained mindful of his master's guidance. He knew the Grey Seer had led Clan Moulder to the Ultramar Sector for a specific purpose.
Thus, he had chosen to endure the full brunt of Celestine's outburst, using his own Warp energy to tether them both and drag her directly into the Empyrean.
Such unwavering loyalty drew a rare word of praise even from the Emperor. "Not bad. Setting aside the fact that it is a xenos, it is a loyal warrior indeed."
Lucius shot the Emperor a sidelong glance. "That's where you're wrong, Emperor."
"Oh? And what is the issue?" the Emperor asked, turning His gaze toward Lucius.
"If I recall correctly, 'xenos' refers to alien species, does it not? But my rats are true-blooded Terran stock. Check the genetic sequence: vertebrate, mammalia... hundreds of millions of years ago, our ancestors were scrounging for scraps under the same dinosaur feet as yours. We've only been 'civilized' for a little while, and already you're disowning your poor relations and calling them 'aliens'?" Lucius said, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.
"..."
The Emperor fell into a long silence. It seemed, perhaps, arguably, that the Great Horned Rat had a point. Yet, the Skaven were indisputably xenos. Was He truly expected to tell His Thirteenth Son that these skittering, treacherous things were no longer to be classified as such?
Finally, He spoke: "Fine. Since they are 'poor relations,' how about ceasing your hostilities within the Imperium? If you can manage that, I shall ensure your rats live undisturbed beyond the galactic frontier."
Lucius rolled his eyes immediately. What was the difference between that and surrendering only to be exiled to some frozen penal colony?
"Humans and rats have coexisted for eons; there is no need for a forced separation. Let us remain 'good neighbors,'" Lucius chuckled. The current Imperium was practically a natural habitat tailor-made for the Skaven. In the sprawling depths of human hive cities, the ratmen flourished with greater speed and density than they ever did on their own blighted worlds.
"Hmph," the Emperor snorted.
At that moment, Saint Celestine's wings flared as she regained her bearings. Seeing herself back within the Warp, her luminous eyes locked onto Sneek's shadow. "Oh? Are you picking out a suitable grave for yourself? How thoughtful, you adorable furry pet~"
With a thought, Celestine brought the Ardent Blade to full power. Within the Warp, a Living Saint's might could be manifested without restraint. Her sword shone as brilliant as a midday sun as she swept her wings back, charging straight for Sneek.
Here, Sneek had no reason to hold back. He dropped a Warp-smoke bomb at his feet, vanishing instantly.
"Don't be shy, little hamster. Come out so I can pinch that filthy little face of yours," Celestine teased, her voice light even as her focus was honed to a razor's edge.
Suddenly, a blur of green-edged shadows erupted, a literal storm of blades. Celestine parried frantically, but in a heartbeat, her golden power armor was carved with dozens of weeping gashes.
Sneek executed a graceful, spinning pass, his three Weeping Blades describing a perfect, lethal arc. He evaded the Ardent Blade by a hair's breadth and whispered with cold contempt: "Excuse-pass me."
Celestine looked down in shock. Massive rents had been torn across her midsection, legs, and back simultaneously!
"Haha! I knew it, this 'little angel' is no match for Sneek," Lucius laughed uproariously.
"My Lord." Sneek dropped to one knee before Lucius. Beneath his hood, his rat-face was sharp and expressionless, as if he had done nothing more significant than snuffing out a candle.
Celestine, meanwhile, had fallen to one knee, leaning heavily on the Ardent Blade to keep from collapsing. It seemed the "little hamster" was formidable indeed.
Clap, clap, clap~
Slaanesh, lounging with long legs crossed, chuckled. "Bravo, bravo. Tell me, is there a 'Defeat CG' for this? I've been waiting for that part."
"No!" the Emperor and Lucius barked in unison.
Slaanesh recoiled with a pout. "Oh, come on. What's the fun in winning if there isn't a CG? Hey, little rat, interested in coming over to my side? I can offer you perfection in your craft or any desire you haven't even dreamed of yet."
The Prince of Pleasure was actually attempting to poach a subordinate right in front of the Great Horned Rat; Slaanesh truly did have an eye for talent.
Naturally, Sneek remained unmoved. To expect him to betray Lucius was like asking Lucius's own finger to betray his hand. The Nightlord ignored Slaanesh entirely.
The Emperor rolled His eyes and, with a flick of His will, mended Celestine's wounds.
Then, His expression turned solemn as He addressed Lucius. "Enough. The games are over. I wish to speak of serious matters."
"The Emperor has 'serious matters'? You're not going to ask me to sit on that Golden Throne for you, are you?" Lucius asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
To his surprise, the Emperor actually rubbed His chin and pondered for a second. "Hmm... you would be more suitable than Magnus. But you would never agree, so I shall not waste My breath. I will be blunt: Ultramar. I will not allow anyone to lay a finger on it. Tell your people to cease their disturbances there."
"How tyrannical, Emperor. The Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar have been besieged and broken by Orks, Necrons, Aeldari, T'au, and the forces of Chaos more times than I can count. Why are my Skaven the only ones excluded?" Lucius challenged. "There is no sewer a rat cannot squeeze into."
He tensed, expecting a psychic blow from the Emperor, but instead, the Master of Mankind simply nodded. "I understand how long rats and men have coexisted. However, I demand this: the rats must stay in the dark... they must not crawl up from the gutters."
Lucius paused. What did that mean? The Emperor was tacitly acknowledging the Skaven's permanent residence beneath the worlds of the Imperium? This was uncharacteristic appeasement.
But then Lucius realized... wait. The old man was being crafty. Everyone knew what lived in the sub-levels of Imperial worlds: it was a convention of horrors—Genestealer Cults, heretical sects, rebels, spies, and worse.
If the Skaven moved in, those subterranean denizens would inevitably fall into a bloody turf war. By forbidding the ratmen from invading the surface, the Emperor was effectively using them to guard His own back door, ensuring that Genestealers and Chaos cults couldn't muster their strength.
Lucius let out a frustrated laugh. "Emperor, this vast galaxy belongs to those with the strength to hold it. The Skaven need living space, too. Besides, who knows who will ultimately claim the Five Hundred Worlds? If my rats seize them back from your other enemies, do you really expect them to just hand them over? That will be a hard bargain to drive."
The Emperor, however, remained composed. He raised a hand. "Of course. I will give you a trade offer you cannot refuse."
Lucius's interest was piqued. "I'm all ears."
"I can grant you the Warp-essence of Omegon," the Emperor said, His voice calm and filled with absolute confidence.