"Harlequins—looks like we found the right place!" Yvraine spoke, her stern eyes fixed on the dancers appearing in the distance.
Their expressions were unsettling, faces concealed behind masks of varying emotion. They danced with wild abandon like stage clowns, yet every beat of their performance reaped lives.
"Tiresome!" With the plan so close to completion, Lion had no desire to let xenos stand in his way. The secret to restoring the Webway lay beyond that gate; no one would stop him—not the Fallen, not the Imperium, and certainly not xenos. Save for the Emperor himself, even if his blood kin stood before him, he would carve a path through.
A sudden shift rippled through the surroundings. This time, it was no longer the lethal jungles of Catachan, but a lush, deep, and shadowy forest.
Lion took a single step, instantly appearing before one of his Angels of Absolution warriors. The warrior held his sacred shield high to block, just as the razor-sharp twin blades of a Harlequin descended upon him. Beneath the crimson surface of the shield, brilliant golden sparks cascaded off the metal.
"Stand!"
A single word from their genetic mother rallied every warrior present. Their reaction times seemed to sharpen, allowing them to narrowly dodge several incoming strikes from the Harlequin troupe.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three plasma bolts shot straight through the formation, hurtling directly toward the Primarch. Weapons capable of firing sustained plasma streams were rare—even Squat plasma tech required cooling intervals. Yet the weapon held by the figure before them suffered no such limitation.
His face was shrouded in shadow, his form entirely covered in the winged robes of the 30k Dark Angels.
Lion swept out with a single strike, cutting down every Harlequin in front of him. Their agonized shrieks fell on deaf ears. A sudden flood of memory rushed into his mind, and in less than a second, he recognized the figure's identity.
"Traitor!"
Seeing this man ignited a intense fury within the Primarch. His former foster father had always been a stain on his record—at least, that was how Lion had always viewed him.
"Is that... Lion El'Jonson? How is this possible? I remember raising a young man back then—how did he turn into a girl?"
Facing the Primarch charging toward him like a ravenous beast, the Fallen Angel dared not stay put. He knew full well what Lion was capable of; even ten thousand years ago, before his awakening, he was no match for him.
With that thought, the veteran intended to take advantage of the open Eldar Webway to make a swift escape. However, the instant the thought crossed his mind, Lion acted on a thought of his own, using his teleportation ability to flash directly in front of him.
"Holy shit!"
Seeing how fast his opponent's spellcraft was, Luther had no choice but to leap toward the entrance of the Webway. As long as he reached that mysterious labyrinth, Lion would never be able to catch him. If he could just reach that troupe, his trip might not be a total loss after all.
Thump!
Evidently, the Fallen Angel had overestimated his own speed and vastly underestimated the foster child he had taken in. Lion materialized directly before him, delivering a blunt strike with his shield.
[Caleb: Don't kill him!]
Sensing his father's intent, the Primarch held back from delivering a fatal blow. Lion merely ensured Luther was knocked unconscious; since his father ordered his life spared, there had to be more to the story.
"Dark Angels, hear me!"
"Follow me into the Webway!"
"The Emperor guides us to our ultimate duty! Redemption and glory await within!"
Lion raised the sacred sword of white flame high, shouting to all his scions. Without a moment's hesitation, the unified, six-winged Space Marines followed their Primarch into the Webway.
"Understood! For the Lioness! For the Primarch!"
Watching Lion rush in with his troops left Yvraine with no choice but to lead her Ynnari forces inside as well.
Legend held that the Black Library contained countless secrets. In theory, it housed virtually all knowledge in the realspace universe. However, those who truly understood the truth knew this was not entirely accurate. While it held secrets unknown even to Tzeentch, entering the space did not guarantee unlocking its treasure trove.
Lion entered, quickly stepping into an endless abyss reminiscent of Tzeentch's own labyrinth.
The moment Lion arrived, Caleb recognized that this labyrinth was merely a crude imitation of Tzeentch's maze. Its layout and spatial illusions were virtually identical. Yet, the overall maze board appeared far smaller than Tzeentch's. The spatial capacity inside was limited—just enough to offer Lion's legion a bit of assistance.
"Where is this?"
Faced with overlapping layers of the maze, even Lion briefly lost his bearings. He could easily use his Forest Walk to traverse the labyrinth, but random teleportation would only plummet him into deeper confusion.
"Primarch!"
"Something is wrong here!"
"Ever since we entered, all contact with the outside seems to have been cut off!"
"We can't even reach the Warp!"
Upon entering, Azrael immediately received reports from his subordinates. Numerous psyker legionnaires reported the same issue. Even the legion's strongest psyker was helpless against this anomalous space.
"Pskyer abilities are unusable here?" Lion muttered. If used as a sanctuary or refuge, this place would be quite suitable. Unfortunately, it did not belong to humanity—it remained under the domain of the Aeldari, belonging to their god, Cegorach.
"Hold your positions, everyone!"
"Ensure every single one of you keeps me in sight!"
"Circle around me, do not drift too far!"
"If you stray too far, you will never walk out of this maze!"
A hunter's instincts warned Lion that this was a dangerous place. He could feel a presence watching him intently—one far more powerful than himself. Yet, the entity chose not to strike.
[Cegorach: Intriguing... So even I cannot free you from that entity's control?]
[Our god of death, under the control of humans... Is this not a cosmic cycle, or perhaps a script left entirely unfinished?]
Above a stage filled with Harlequins, a massive clown mask floated above the crowd. The bizarre stage seemed capable of infinite transformations, the surrounding space warping unnaturally. Those who tried walking forward found themselves mysteriously moving backward. The space echoed with the laughter of Aeldari children, while a subtle, faint power shielded the cautious souls of the Aeldari.
The Ynnari watched their surroundings warily. Many had long abandoned their emotions, ready to embrace death. Yet, witnessing this sight, even they could not help but be moved. It seemed to embody the absolute pinnacle of Aeldari glory—a glory that had vanished like a drop in the ocean.
"Praise the Fool—we have performed another marvelous play!"
"I wonder if the plan was perfection this time?"
"Can we free the herald of death from those little mon-keigh?"
When Yvraine was searching for them, many Aeldari Farseers had already sensed that her actions were not of her own free will. Through unique divination techniques, numerous seers discerned the figure behind the scenes. They locked their sights onto Lion, realizing he had used some formidable method to subjugate Yvraine.
Initially, everyone assumed it was merely a trick by the mon-keigh. If worst came to worst, allowing the herald of death to die and be resurrected would break the control. But they had severely underestimated the raw power of a gag character. Consuming a Momotaro Dango was not something a simple physical death could undo.
[Cegorach: The one who tied the knot must untie it!]
[Perhaps the one behind him anticipated this long ago. We can only invite them to watch our performance!]
Faced with the words of the clown mask overhead, even the Harlequins expressed surprise. The Laughing God's plans might fail, but his knowledge stood at the absolute apex of the universe. If even a god could not resolve this, then Warp methods were likely useless.
"You knew all along that we were searching for you."
"Were those clues I followed part of your scheme as well?" Yvraine asked, her face cold as she addressed the giant mask above.
The moment her people were brought onto this stage, Yvraine realized it was all staged by the Laughing God. She had been unaware that the Laughing God still lived; had she known, she might not have ended up in such a miserable state.
[Cegorach: Of course—Ynead itself is part of the plan, as are you.]
[Our people ultimately walked the same path as humanity. In the Emperor, I saw the shadow of our race's future!]
The Laughing God's tone did not invite skepticism. Every time he spoke, it sounded like a joke, yet those jokes carried underlying truth. Because of this, every member of the Ynnari felt a sense of relief; it was an acknowledgment that their path was correct.
If they could gather all the Croneswords and have all Aeldari sacrifice their lives, they could use the blades to slay Slaanesh and restore tranquility to the ancient pantheon.
[Cegorach: Your idea is admirable, but it is a dead end.]
[We spoke with the occupant of the Golden Throne. Like him, I view that path as a last resort!]
[The Dark Prince is fully aware of your quest for the Croneswords.]
[Had the Imperial Lion not struck so decisively, our forces would likely have been overwhelmed by the demonic horde dispatched by the Dark Prince!]
Hearing this, every member of the Ynnari felt a sting of guilt. Though they possessed the courage to face death, they truly lacked the courage to die at the hands of Slaanesh. Compared to absolute death, eternal torment was far too horrifying. No Aeldari wished to fall into Slaanesh's grasp. It was a future too dreadful to contemplate, leaving even the resolute Ynnari with lingering fear.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at you all, just chatting away!"
"How is it that an event this massive doesn't include me?"
"I had no idea you xenos had a promised land like this!"
"I really don't get it—how did a massive empire like yours manage to play itself into extinction?"
The abrupt voice startled every member of the troupe. Lion's sudden appearance left the Aeldari stunned. Yet, the blue robotic cat beside him provided a bit of an answer.
Doraemon was holding a strange map, nodding in satisfaction. It was a toy map pulled from his Four-Dimensional Pocket—a device capable of warping all space and time to guide its user along the shortest route to their destination.
Even the Laughing God found this method of shattering the labyrinth baffling; the blue robotic cat seemed to transcend his understanding. He knew little about other matters, but his fate-driven instincts warned him that if this cat ever encountered a mouse, the entire galaxy would be doomed!
"What an unexpected audience!"
"I wonder if this is part of the plan, or part of the change?"
At the center of the stage, the Book of Fate—recording the destinies of countless races—manifested. The tome seemed to hold all knowledge; if decrypted, it would yield whatever answers one sought. Yet over the millennia, no matter how hard the Harlequins tried, they struggled to decipher its obscure contents.
This was not merely due to its complexity, but because unraveling its riddles required performing play after play according to the fates inscribed within. Only those who successfully entered the role could grasp its secrets; a failed actor could never unlock the knowledge.
Lion's arrival had shattered all predestined plans. Fate had descended into absolute chaos, forcing the Book of Fate to rewrite itself.
"Heh!" Lion sneered coldly, thoroughly dissatisfied with Yvraine's constant attempts to escape his grasp. Had she not held valuable secrets, he would have eliminated her long ago.
"Yvraine, what were you discussing just now? Speak up and let me hear it!"
"I suggest you answer truthfully. Otherwise—I have plenty of ways to ensure all your plans fall apart!"
Lion lowered the Emperor's Shield and raised the Cronesword, the symbol of the god of death, before the gathered Aeldari. The fact that a vital artifact of their race had fallen into human hands was a massive twist of fate. Yet, falling into human hands was far better than falling to Slaanesh.
The Book of Fate wrote a new chapter—a passage detailing how Yvraine, the tragic performer, would encounter the human prince at a pivotal moment. Together, they would establish a ray of hope for the rebirth of the Aeldari, while the book bestowed a special gift desired by both races.
Having displayed these contents, the heavy tome was bound once more in thick iron chains.
As members of the Harlequin troupe, they instantly understood the meaning of the narrative. Yet, because they understood, the looks they cast toward Yvraine turned exceedingly bizarre.
Harlequin 1: Holy shit, the next play features interspecies romance!
Harlequin 2: Can't be helped, it's in the script. Just stick to the role!
Up in the sky, the Laughing God suddenly burst into roaring laughter. For reasons unknown, he found this outcome entertaining—he had no idea why the Book of Fate would produce such an amusing plotline.
"Good, good, good!"
The sound of laughter echoed through the air. At the same time, the Laughing God proposed a plan that left even Lion stunned.
[Cegorach: What you seek, I grant!]
[However, before that, you must help us perform a stage play!]
[This performance will not require any sacrifice on your part; it merely requires a small sacrifice from your former brother—now your dear sister—Guilliman.]
"Meaning?"
Lion knew his mission well. Leading his forces into the Black Library was solely to acquire the secret to restoring the Webway. Naturally, securing the knowledge to construct a Webway would be even better. If he could obtain such a prize, no sacrifice across the Imperium would be too great.
Forget Guilliman—he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice his other brothers either. Even Sanguinius could be considered, despite the deep guilt he carried in his heart for him.
"Achoo!"
Far away on Baal, Sanguinius sneezed unexpectedly. In that instant, she felt a brief tremor in the Warp, as if her siblings were thinking of her. The feeling passed in a flash, leaving Sanguinius with nothing more than an odd chill and a sneeze.
"Primarch Mother!" Dante, who was washing his genetic mother's feet, showed a flicker of concern in his eyes. He gently cupped his mother's feet, asking in as tender a voice as possible:
"Mother Sanguinius, is the water too cold? Let me get a warm basin for you!"
"You're in a mortal body right now; you mustn't catch a chill!"
"Ah, haha!" Sanguinius offered a faint, sheepish smile. Though it served as a convenient excuse for her child, she knew he had likely seen right through her lie.