Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 209 Their Game

The Dark Eldar's Gamor began to crumble.

The sphere emerged from the depths of the throne tower's ruins. It grew from the proliferation of sacred bones, which spread upwards along the surface of the skeletal complex, covering the tower's base, filling the gaps in the domed plaza, and engulfing the anchor points of the suspended corridors. A boundary membrane gradually spread from the sphere's surface.

Looking from the bridge of the Starfire, the central cavity of Gamor was being covered by a layer of pale white. The outlines of the skeletal structures gradually disappeared into the whiteness. The base of the spire was swallowed first, followed by the middle layers of the tower, the edge of the domed plaza, and the anchor points of the suspended corridors. That layer of pale white climbed upwards along the city structure, and wherever it passed, the psionic energy channels extinguished in sections, and the outlines of the buildings disappeared from view layer by layer.

The instant the sphere closed, a shockwave expanded outward from its surface. Space itself shifted within that shockwave. The vibration spread along Gamor's skeleton throughout the city's structure, reaching the portal bases connecting the various sub-domains, then traversing tens of thousands of kilometers of suspended corridors, finally arriving at the spire of Gamor's outermost city. Cohen sensed the vibration traveling along the sacred bone guiding patterns on the network wall, passing through the fault lines of the spiritual bone structure, crossing Gamor's remaining foundation, and reaching the metal platform beneath his feet.

The sphere was over a thousand kilometers in diameter. On Gamor's scale, it was merely a marble, but a thousand kilometers was enough to encompass the Throne Tower and the core city of the Crown Family, enough for Victor to take away Gamor's oldest and most vital parts. The membrane on the surface of the sacred sphere shimmered with a stable, pale golden light, completely isolating the sphere's interior from the outside, making it impenetrable and untouchable. The Ark was complete.

The instant the sacred bone proliferation was complete and the sphere closed, Vickers Kiraz's communication frequency was cut off. He was crouching behind a low wall of spirit bones at the base of a spire in the West District; the energy pack of his poison crystal weapon still had enough to sustain two more salvos. Just a second earlier, intermittent commands had been transmitting a chaotic, contradictory, and fragmented sound, torn apart by artillery fire. Then the channel fell completely silent. He switched frequencies twice, but received no response. He stood up and looked towards the center of the city. The pale golden sphere was suspended deep within, slowly rotating among the spire clusters.

The Eternal King and Supreme Overlord of the Dark Eldar, the Crown Family, abandoned them.

The entire Kama was collapsing at the same moment.

Ships spun rapidly in the air. The bows of Torture-class cruisers traced blinding arcs as they turned, their attitude thrusters leaving streaks of white light in the vacuum. Hundreds of ships simultaneously changed course, rushing toward the nearest subdomain portal. Hulls collided violently as they spun, armor plates colliding and splintering metal fragments, creating brief bursts of orange light in the darkness.

The ground crumbled simultaneously. The Dark Eldar warriors, who had been fighting the Imperial Guard just moments before, ceased firing at the same instant. Some threw down their weapons and ran, others pushed aside their comrades blocking their path and rushed towards the nearest spire entrance, while still standing still for a couple of seconds before being knocked down by those behind them. The gunners of the Marauder tanks peered out of their hatches, then retracted one of their hover engines, restarted it, and the vehicle turned, carrying its crew who hadn't yet disembarked, beginning its turn. The heavy Dark Spear artillery arrays deployed between the spires were being abandoned; the gunners tumbled from their firing positions, falling onto the suspended corridors below, and merging into the surging torrents that were flowing in all directions.

Imperial artillery fire swept in, exploding amidst the fleeing crowd. Between the rout and the pursuit, between explosives and hidden spears, death occurred in rapid succession, almost imperceptible. Fear, and the craving for fear, reached their peak simultaneously.

Vickers Kiraz stood behind the low wall of skeletal remains at the base of a spire in the West End and looked up.

The view extends upwards—a throng of people surges through the corridors above, layer upon layer, stretching from the base of the towers to the middle of the spire complex. The view expands to the left and right: crowds are also pouring out of the lower exits of adjacent spires, and further out from the base of the towers, continuing to the horizon. The view shifts downwards—the crowds in the lower corridors are so dense that individuals are indistinguishable, the grey-green armor blending into a moving expanse. The entirety of Gamor—tens of thousands of spires, tens of thousands of kilometers of suspended corridors, and hundreds of portal nodes—is in motion from top to bottom.

He was swept up in the crowd, his direction obscured, his path lost. The elite armored warriors of the conspiracy mingled with the tattered armor of their servants, who had been firing side-by-side at the same defensive line just moments before, now jostled each other in front of the same doorway. Some were trampled and disappeared into the gray-green armor; others, at the corner of the corridor, raised their guns and opened fire on those blocking their way, clearing the path before continuing onward.

No battle line was still holding in his field of vision. Those lines that had held out for hours under Imperial fire were now all abandoned. The Guardians rose from their bunkers, turned and ran at the targets they had been firing at just moments before. The rate of fire from the grenades dropped. Someone asked on the channel, "What happened?", someone continued firing at the fleeing soldiers still in sight, and someone lowered their weapons.

Vickers locked onto a still-flickering portal in the distance and began to run. Behind him and to his sides, tens of thousands of figures were surging in the same direction.

The portal glowed at the base of a spire in the western district. Countless dark Eldar warriors surged toward it; some pulled triggers at those who blocked their path, others fell, and the portal's glow began to flicker. More people surged forward, pushing and trampling, crowding into the ever-narrowing rift. The psionic energy channels faded, then went out. The portal frame darkened.

To protect themselves, the sub-domain families had begun destroying the sacred bone nodes of the doorframes one by one. These nodes were part of the network's skeleton; their destruction meant an irreversible severance. Vickers was pushed forward by the crowd, watching the rift narrow into a thin line before disappearing. He turned in another direction, but the remaining doors were also going out one by one—the sub-domain's doors, the backup doors, and all the still-functioning teleportation nodes dimmed.

At that moment, at the base of the spire, hundreds of thousands of Dark Eldar, like Vickers, were locked to the main nexus. Billions of Dark Eldar survivors—families, conspiracies, and others not included in the evacuation plan—were also caught in the crossfire.

The scattered soldiers—at this moment, all had become discarded pawns. They were scattered throughout this vast urban structure: hiding in the lower-level utility tunnels, setting ambushes in the ruins of spires, organizing resistance among the broken walls, trying to survive for even one more second—they could sacrifice themselves fearlessly, or they could cowardly cling to life. In Gamor's scale, there was no difference between death and life.

On the bridge of the Starfire, Cohen stood before the main display screen. The pale golden sphere was already suspended in the middle of the central cavity of Gamor, slowly rising. Its bottom edge had completely detached from the network wall, and broken spirit bone pipes hung from the cross-section of the city's foundation.

His consciousness stretched outwards along the walls of the net. The tributary of psionic energy being drawn from the net's skeleton was thickening, its flow rate steadily increasing. The Ark was storing the net's psionic energy as fuel; the entire net was being drained to power this escape vessel. The Dark Eldar were destroying the net in their own way.

Van Flick's voice came through: "Lord Marcus reports that the spherical object, suspected to be a spaceship, has been tested with fire. Neither the light lance nor the macro cannon could penetrate the defense layer. Structural scanning shows that its energy field has a structural similarity to that of the Eternal Bulwark-class."

Cohen's gaze remained fixed on the main display screen. The spherical ark continued its ascent, its surface gleaming with a steady, pale golden sheen.

"Tell Marcus," he said, "to direct fire on the remaining Eldar fleet and ground strongholds. This is Ark and the others' last means of escape. Let them run."

In the direction of Karasta, the outermost defensive line was the first to feel the disruption of the psionic energy in the network. The defensive arrays that relied on the flow patterns on the network walls began to fail segment by segment, and the aura of the psionic barrier went from stable to flickering, and then went out. The technical priests of the Apostolic Guard watched the curves on their terminal screens plummet simultaneously—the psionic return flow of the flow patterns had fallen below the maintenance threshold.

The creeping filth of Nurgle began to multiply again at the very moment the psychic energy of the web was interrupted. Decaying tentacles surged from the fissures, covering the walls of the sacred bones faster than ever before. Nurgle spirits tumbled from the fissures, burrowed into cracks in the walls, and secreted acid at the broken ends of the sacred bones.

The aura of the Slaanesh Rift burned a piercing purple once more. Forgrim was the first to cross the rift after the psionic energy of the Webpath was severed, leading three Archdemons across the outer perimeter of the Imperial lines and thrusting into the weakest point in the middle. The last order issued by a company of Blood Angels before communications were cut off was "Contract the lines, tighten the left flank," before the signal was severed. Within hours, the crimson sediment of Khorne resurfaced over the area the Imperial Guard had just cleared. Trajan stood before the rift, Warden's Axe held horizontally, covering the Imperial Guard's retreat in sections. Each section of the retreat left behind several suits of gleaming gold armor on the bone-strewn ground.

In a passageway outside the Garros Network Port that had long been sealed off, the navigation ship detected a large amount of heat signals emanating from cracks in the wall. The number jumped from a few to hundreds in a short time, moving at a speed far exceeding the normal mobility of standard demon units.

The Legions of the Four Gods assaulted the defenses, wild entities eroding the structure. Karata was simultaneously waging two wars. The Ark's suction did not cease; it was stripping away the remaining psionic energy of the Web layer by layer. Those sections that had been repaired, those walls of sacred bones that had once regenerated, were crumbling inch by inch from their ends. Chaotic energy advanced along the vacuum path left by the receding psionic energy, faster than any assessment model predicted.

Tzeentch's main force has intervened.

Carlos the Weaver's two heads hovered at the edge of the Tzeentch Rift. The left head, bowed, perused the records of the past—the repaired psionic pathways, the once-healed sacred bone walls—confirming they were being eroded anew. The right head, raised, gazed into the future. It saw the psionic energy of the Web of Light steadily diminishing, saw the rift that had once healed everything shrinking.

"Now," Carlos's two heads spoke simultaneously.

Tzeentch's army poured into Karasta. Pink dreadlords poured out of the rift, followed closely by blue ones.

The Shapeshifter emerged from the depths of the rift, its shapeshifting spirits simultaneously multiplying and attaching themselves to the shadows of the Imperial soldiers. As they passed through the dimming rift, the psionic energy of the Web continued to decay—the membranes that had once protected against warp invasion were becoming fragile. The infiltration of chaotic energy was no longer filtered; it surged into the cavities of Karasta in a near-primitive state.

In the Imperial command headquarters at the heart of Karasta, red markers on the holographic projection platform continued to multiply. Guilliman stood before the main seat, his right hand resting on the edge of the platform. He saw the spreading red markers expanding faster than any previous Chaos offensive. At the edges of those markers, large amounts of dark purple noise were gathering, and wild entities were converging along the path of the receding psionic energy.

"Contract the defensive lines." Guilliman's order was relayed, drowning out all the alarms and data streams pouring into the hall. "Ground forces retreat towards the Mechanicus core bunker. Abandon outer positions to buy time, and the fleet will re-establish a defensive perimeter in the airspace surrounding Karasta."

In the corner of the holographic projection behind him, a golden psychic pulse pulsed continuously on the wall. The Emperor had intervened in the direction of Karata. He was using his own psychic energy to fill the void left by the drained psychic energy from the network. The Emperor's psychic pathways had already spread into the wall here. The entire known network area of ​​the Garros network fleet was largely inactive; Karata was the only place still lit—the Emperor was using his immense psychic energy to maintain that sliver of light.

In the direction of the Golden Throne, psionic energy was burning. The throne's psionic output continued to rise, and the psionic energy drained from the Web was being replenished to Karata by the Emperor's own power. His human consciousness had been suppressed to the extreme, but it still remained.

At the edge of Cohen's consciousness, a fragment of the Emperor briefly lit up. His will was compressed to its limit, but the manifestation still pierced through the decay and arrived: "...Quickly."

In the deep network hall of Garros Wangshu, the void ripples of the gate were waning and dimming. Then they went out completely. Several psionicists rose from their focusing pedestals, and some attempted to reactivate it, but the spirit bone frame remained unresponsive.

In the Chogris system, the psionic gate was closing. The skeletal framework of the GCN-005 Gate-class Netway ship was unfolding as a newly arrived light cruiser prepared to pass through the opened Netway gate. As the bow entered the rift, the boundary membrane began to fracture. The light cruiser's hull broke apart during the passage, the fracture running diagonally down the midsection, the break clean. The forward half disappeared into the closing rift, vanishing on the other side of the void ripples. The aft half lost power, tumbling in its tracks, flames erupting from the fracture surface as it slammed into the Netway ship's side. An explosion erupted on the Gate-class's side armor, scattering debris into space.

At every node of the Galos Network Fleet that had been explored, the ripples in the void were gradually extinguishing due to the loss of psionic power. The rifts maintained by psionic energy were narrowing and dimming. Ships that had already traversed and entered the network were trapped inside, unable to find an exit; those still traversing were being severed by closing rifts. The navigators' third eye had lost its anchor point of perception, and the Star Speakers' psionic energy could no longer find any guiding patterns to carry signals within the network walls. Almost all the cold psionic light in the known areas of the Galos Network Fleet had been extinguished, and the repair processes that had once extended along the guiding patterns had been completely halted.

Within the Gamor Nexus, the pale golden sphere had risen above the Web Nexus cavity. At its base lay fragments of Gamor's torn foundation, broken spirit bone pipes and energy conduits dangling slowly in the vacuum. The suction continued. Web Nexus psionic energy continued to pour into its core engine.

The Ark hovered within the Gamor cavity for three days. The psionic energy of the network continued to be drawn into its core, each pulsation triggering a new tremor throughout the entire network. Cohen barely left the bridge during those three days, his consciousness extending along the sacred bone's guiding lines. Van Fricker's log entries every few hours stated, "Pulsation intensity is still rising."

The psionic energy draining stopped at the end of the third Terran standard rotation cycle.

The pale golden sphere vanished in a sudden burst of intense light. The light engulfed the vast cavity of the Gamor Nexus, briefly illuminating the walls of the sacred bone, etching the outlines of every guiding pattern into darkness in that instant—and then nothing. The Ark disappeared, without acceleration, without turning, without leaving any traceable energy signature.

The Ark carried away the core city of Gamor, Victor and his Crown Family, and everything Victor could take. A massive spherical void remained in the center of Gamor, the edges of the sacred bones gleaming with the luster of something melted and then re-solidified by intense heat. The exposed spiritual bone foundation had jagged edges, the remnants of liquid psionic energy still lingering at the breaks. The Ark did not move along any known network tunnels; it departed from the structural boundaries of the network and passed through the psionic framework built by the ancient saints.

After the Ark stopped pumping, the psionic energy in the net finally began to flow back. The guiding patterns on the sacred bones, which had completely extinguished their greyish-white hue, regained a faint, cold glow, and the boundary membranes resumed functioning—they absorbed warp energy through the net walls, converting it into psionic energy and re-injecting it into the structure of the sacred bones. Cohen sensed the returning psionic energy; it first reached the decapitated passageways closest to Gamor. The cracks in the sacred bones stopped expanding, but the dark purple deposits at the edges of the cracks continued to spread inward.

After the psionic energy was restored, the previously closed portals to the netherworld were able to be reactivated.

In the following hours, the news spread to all communication nodes of the Garros Webway Fleet: Garros Webway Port, the Shattered System Relay Star, Chogris, Dagonus—all these nodes were reactivated by psionicists. The passage was reopened, and ships could once again traverse it.

As the first navigational ships traversed the outer passageway of Garros Network Port, reports immediately came back—the cracks in the sacred bone walls remained, and the peeling areas had not been mended by the psionic backflow. Some sections showed signs of being occupied by wild entities, the nodes permeated by chaotic energy were still spreading, and the collapsed hubs continued to disintegrate.

Psychic energy has returned, but the structure of the Web has not recovered. The traces of light that once slowly healed in the darkness have not rekindled, and the process of repairing the fractures segment by segment along the channeling lines has been completely halted. The membrane's ability to absorb subspace energy and convert it into psychic energy remains, but the Web's absorption capacity is no longer sufficient to counteract the erosion. The Ark's suction has stopped, but the damage to the Web has plummeted by an order of magnitude, and its self-repair speed is far from keeping pace with the rate of chaotic erosion.

In the direction of Karata, the collapse continues to accelerate. The Emperor's golden psionic energy still needs to maintain the stability of the Karata Nexus, still needs to suppress the most intense frontal invasion of Chaos. Under the watchful eyes of the Four Gods, the Emperor is once again forced back onto the Golden Throne, the wounds of the Web providing new rifts for the Stalkers. They have waited for millennia, waiting to finally acknowledge their shared origin with them. The Emperor refused, choosing to remain on the side of humanity. In the eyes of the Four Gods, this in itself is the greatest betrayal, and the game seems to have returned to its starting point.

The sacred bones began to channel psionic energy again, and the boundary membranes resumed functioning—they absorbed warp energy through the walls of the network, converting it into psionic energy and infusing it into the channeling patterns. The network was alive, but wounded—the torn segments could not be healed, and the nodes permeated by chaos could not be purified. The wounds were not immediately fatal, but continued to worsen.

Cohen can repair the Webpath. But apart from a few insiders, other observers—especially the Eldar—must believe that the Webpath's collapse is irreversible.

Cohen stood on the bridge of the Starfire, watching the direction in which the pale golden sphere had disappeared. The Empire had dealt a heavy blow to Gamor, crushed the Dark Eldar's main nexus forces, and regained control of the Webpath. The Webpath was permanently damaged, Karasta's defenses were compressed, and the Ark, carrying Viktor and the Crown Family, fled into the unknown distance.