"Ah, Malcador… I have glimpsed something most unsettling once more."
The Emperor, having withdrawn from the frontlines of the Great Crusade, was currently sequestered within the secret laboratories of the Imperial Palace, obsessing over the Webway Project. It was evident from his toil that he did not fully possess the power of Malevolent Artifice; had he wielded such essence, deciphering and replicating the Webway's ancient mechanisms would have been a triviality, rather than this grueling labor.
The Emperor, who had not closed his eyes for countless cycles, rubbed his brow, his voice low and laden with exhaustion.
"You are overtaxed, Enosh. You know as well as I that psychic prophecy is never an unchangeable destiny. However, you might as well tell me what you saw," said the robed figure of Malcador the Sigillite, his heart aching at his old friend's weary state.
The Emperor closed his eyes, recalling the visions. "I do not entirely comprehend it. I saw... rats. Countless rats."
"Rats?" Malcador asked, perplexed. He could not fathom how a prophecy of cosmic significance could involve common vermin.
"Yes. Scurrying through the sewers, chattering in the tunnels of the hives... rats that stood upright like men, sprouted horns, and chanted in a feverish tongue," the Emperor recounted, shaking his head.
"Heh, this sounds less like a prophecy and more like a horror story from Old Terra, Enosh. Perhaps you truly have seen something... do you require anything of me? A rat extermination operation, perhaps?" Malcador tilted his head, his tone light as if jesting, though the Emperor knew that should he give the word, his friend would carry out the task with ruthless efficiency.
Ultimately, the Emperor shook his head. "No, Malcador. Since the dawn of civilization, mankind has never been able to fully eradicate rodents. The plague and the pestilence are woven into the very marrow of human history."
"Furthermore, it may not be entirely an ill omen. If things truly reach the desperate state I have foreseen, perhaps this represents a final, desperate gambit... though I confess I have no idea where to even begin addressing it."
Malcador remained entirely confused. He knew well that the Emperor's gift of foresight was notoriously fickle, granting glimpses of fragments while obscuring the whole.
For instance, the Emperor had once told him of a vision where the Imperium became a feudal, backward, superstitious, and cruel empire of decay. He had been grieved by the sight but remained ignorant of the catalyst for such a fall. Thus, he could only push harder for the Imperial Truth, destroying all superstition and religion, which included the harsh chastisement of Lorgar and the razing of Monarchia.
"If the need arises, tell me, old friend."
"Thank you, Malcador." The Emperor offered a genuine smile to his oldest companion, nodding in silent gratitude.
…
Meanwhile, the vessel laden with the glory of the Great Horned Rat and the corrupted Tech-Priests transitioned smoothly through the Warp, arriving at the starports of Holy Terra with unnatural speed.
News from the VI Legion reached the Council of Terra, but it failed to garner any significant attention. After all, Leman Russ's reports of encountering "unknown, psychically-resonant rats" seemed trivial compared to the myriad of bizarre Xenos encountered during the Great Crusade.
Furthermore, when the fragmented reports hinted at unknown entities within the Warp, the Emperor immediately issued a gag order. Thus, the information was buried and forgotten.
The rats that disembarked from the ship, however, were not so easily dismissed.
Holy Terra, the throneworld of humanity, held infinite secrets, places men could not tread, but vermin could. Possessing the malevolent cunning of the Great Horned Rat, the vermin scurried into the sewers, chattering in tongues incomprehensible to man, spreading the sacred inverted triangle and the word of their god.
Across the cradle-world of humanity, countless indigenous rats were swiftly infected, converted to the worship of the Great Horned Rat. In the darkness of the under-strata, they scratched the triangular sigil into the walls, and the mindless vermin began to bow, stealing treasures they deemed valuable to offer as tribute to the unknown God of Ruin.
While the faith of such mindless pests was far less potent than that of sentient beings, it began to coalesce within the Warp, carving a path for the Great Horned Rat's manifestation.
As this faith spread, the Emperor's Primarch laboratories and even the hiding place of Erda could not escape the vermin's lidless gaze.
…
Within the ancient ruins of the Eye of the Sahara in Mauritania, Erda remained in hiding.
The Mother of Primarchs, a Perpetual whose power was second only to the Emperor himself, lived a somber, solitary life in a dwelling as humble as a desert nomad's. She entered her cellar to fetch supplies, only to find a dozen rats scuttling over the crates.
"Rats here as well?" Erda frowned, reaching for a staff to drive them away.
But the rats did not flee. They stared at her with glowing, crimson eyes.
In an instant, Erda felt a chill as cold as the void. She saw within the eyes of these pests a power she had long dreaded.
The woman, who moments ago looked like an ordinary desert tribeswoman, transformed. Her eyes erupted with terrifying electrical discharge, and a colossal surge of psychic power exploded outward.
"What manner of creatures are you?!"
"Hehehe~ no need to alarm-scare, man-thing, Perpetual-thing!"
The dozen rats melted like wax candles, merging into a massive, glowing inverted triangle from which a terrifying surge of Warp energy erupted. From the rift stepped a gargantuan mechanical monstrosity, clad in robes stained with oil and scorched by forge-fire.
"I am Chrot, yes-yes! Messenger of the Great Horned Rat!"
"The Dark Gods...!" Erda immediately sensed the horrific power emanating from the depths of the Warp, though this scent did not belong to any of the Four she knew.
"Daemon, what do you want?!"
"Oh~~ do not be angry. The Great Horned Rat requests your presence, YES, requests~ My Lord wishes to invite-ask you to be a guest, to fulfill-perform the same labor for Him." Chrot chuckled, his mechanical mechadendrites and limbs expanding like a metallic cage, slowly enveloping the small room.
"And I... I also wish to exchange-trade ideas with you~ Yes, great and mad-insane thoughts are always shared-shared! No invention is more mad-insane than stuffing a God of Chaos into a mortal husk!"
Chrot's voice grew manic, ending in a frenzied shriek.
Erda attempted to incinerate the daemon with her psychic might, but her foresight whispered that it would be futile.
"Dream on, daemon. I will never craft another Primarch for anyone, man or god. The one who calls himself Emperor could not hold me, and neither shall your foul master!"
"Oh~~ no one defies the will of the Great Horned Rat. Not even you, Perpetual-thing!"
Erda unleashed a cataclysmic psychic blast, intending to crush every inch of metal on Chrot's body in a single heartbeat!
But a gargantuan, hollow eye materialized in the air, instantly severing Erda's connection to the Warp. Then, the Mother of Primarchs heard a voice like the chittering of a billion rats:
"Foolish endeavor."
A skeletal, clawed hand of titanic proportions reached out from the rift, seizing Erda and dragging her screaming into the ruinous Realm of Ruin.
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