A Light Not Extinguished

Chapter 28: Apostles of the End

"In conclusion, if we take in the metaphysical implications enforced by transdimensional bleed-through in Warpspace, it is more cost-efficient to use superheavy bipedal humanoid machines to fight other warmachines of the same type due to the archetypes of the 'duel' that seem to be strongly entrenched in the Warpspace. Furthermore, as evidence by the performance of Castigator units on Ullanor, mounted melee weapons can further tap into these metaphysical properties and raise the probability of victory in locations that are saturated by psychic influence.*"
-Dr. Halindas Kraal, On the Usage and Application of Titan Warforms, M23. 112.

*I understand that Dr. Kraal is a highly respected scientist in his field, however I strongly recommend that he do a psychological checkup to strengthen the credibility of his research paper.
-Commentary from Iron Mind UR-492 after evaluation of said research paper.

They couldn't stop him.

The bodies had began to pile up as he waded through the corridors of the palace. Aeldari or machine, none could hope to stand against him.

The boredom had begun to set in in earnest. No witch-kings or god-beasts to test his might against, only fragile automata and slothful people that had no strength of will. Again and again his fists lashed out, breaking wraithbone and flesh as the gore slid off his body's shields.

Lukaen Emrys sighed. Oh, of course he knew what they were up to, luring him deeper into the heart of the palace. No doubt they were trying to make him walk into a trap- and he would do so. Anything to break the monotony was welcome at this point. It had been almost a month now, and he had to conclude that so far the 'war' was a massive disappointment. He batted aside another psychomaton with the back of his palm, sending it crashing into a wall. More were spilling out from the doorways, heedless of the threat they were facing.

He smashed them aside, but they still kept coming. They came at him in a frenzy, dragging him down with the sheer weight of their bodies even as the floor below him began to glow with foreboding light.

Ah. So this was the trap. With a roar he threw off the mass of machines, leaping at the ceiling only to smash into a forcefield. There was a flash of light, and a vague sensation of falling past bone-white walls.

Then he was spat out onto cold hard ground, the Blank tucking and rolling into a standing position as he took in the new environment. Nothing but endless miles of flat black rock for miles, lit by a red sun in the sky. There was a throne in front of him, with someone sitting on it-

And then a sword the size of a Knight fell on top of him.

Nagarythe

M24. 314.

On the highest level of the tallest tower, the lady of Nagarythe sat upon a throne of perversion and ruin, and watched the world turn. Around her, exotic scents dredged from the prized memories of the dead wafted, and a thousand cacophonies of horn and zither echoed in the grand cavernous chamber.

A single muscle in Valerys Ulthach's neck shivered, and the musical procession sequestered behind holo-panels in the atrium of the throneroom immediately stopped. One of her fingernails touched the armrest, and the musicians and screamers dutifully shuffled away to another level of the tower.

A whisper of thought, and the violet flames that burnt in opulent braziers set around the room all went out at once, before flaring in a darker shade of amethyst instead. The courtiers and attendants in the room understood the signal for what it was, and disappeared in teleportation sequences.

At the feet of her throne, six seats of lesser grandeur were sung into being, as she reached into the Great Ocean with her mind and summoned the scant few that she would deign to interact in person to her side.