Eden, with the help of the Master of Blood Mimes, disguised himself as an unremarkable minor Archon.
He no longer bore that noble, lofty appearance.
Yet his bearing still outshone that of ordinary Archons.
According to his Lhamean secretary, the mark of noble blood was something that could never be truly concealed.
Afterward, he brought the similarly disguised Ilyss and several of his most elite Incubi bodyguards aboard a raider that was transporting prisoners of war.
Their destination was the Dark City of Commorragh.
They would enter the core districts of Commorragh under the pretense of slave trading, in order to survey the area firsthand and refine future plans.
The raider passed through several tangled Webway gates before arriving at Commorragh's Redblood Port.
There, they offloaded and sold Ork prisoners.
Then Eden, just like any other Archon visiting Commorragh, disembarked to step into the dark city.
Everyone did so—
Some to seek fortune.
Others to behold the grand arena and savor the feasts of souls.
If fortunate enough, one might even catch sight of Commorragh's most precious treasure—the Queen of the Arenas, Lelith Hesperax.
Eden followed the port passage into the city.
Everywhere, spires stabbed upward, piercing the ashen sky, joined by countless flying buttresses and arches, weaving a complex aerial web.
The structures' smooth, cold surfaces reflected the dying sun's crimson light, steeping the city in gloom.
The whole place resembled a vast, freezing labyrinth.
"What a wretched place…"
Eden sighed as he gazed upon it all.
He did not voice the rest of his thoughts, but without doubt, this was also a nightmarish battlefield—an impregnable fortress.
Such an immense and complex three-dimensional city would turn any invasion into brutal street-fighting.
How many troops would it take to fill this city?
If his Savior Dominion were to attack Commorragh…
His advantage in heavy units would be worthless. Not only would Knights and Titans find no space to maneuver, even super-heavy tanks would be useless here.
It would all come down to flesh and blood, wave after wave of warriors to fill the streets, with staggering casualties.
Moreover, the remnants of the ancient Aeldari Empire's defenses still lingered here. Light infantry could never breach them, and even Space Marines would struggle.
Throwing them into the endless districts—vaster in total than many planets combined—would barely raise a ripple.
Unless he were willing to grind forward year by year, decade by decade…
Given a steady supply of troops and sacrifices, perhaps after centuries, even millennia, Commorragh could be taken.
Assuming, of course, that Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect did not wield some artifact capable of upending the war.
Yet such a city also bore flaws.
Its rulers could not possibly control every sector, much less centralize power completely.
That was why Commorragh had grown into what it was now: not a unified government, but an alliance of countless Kabals locked in constant blood-feud.
Among them, Vect's Kabal of the Black Heart was the most powerful, bending the majority of Archons to his will.
Not that all bowed to him.
The recent Great Schism of Commorragh had been sparked by several noble Archons. Unfortunately, they failed.
Dead or fled, the rebels were now no more than embers.
Even so, Vect's forces could not fully purge dissenters in such a labyrinthine city.
"Perhaps I could rally some of the dissenters…"
Eden looked up at the inverted towers hanging in the night sky.
That was the Supreme Overlord's palace, nearly a light-year away from his current sector.
In this star-sized city, without special conduits one could never reach such places.
"My dear, this place is far worse than our Redem… over there,"
Ilyss pressed herself against Eden's thick arm, her pale bosom squashed in her playful cling.
This time, she had secured the role of a courtesan in their cover, and she relished it—acting with all her heart.
The Lhamean secretary had resolved to seize this chance, to use every wile to spark something with her Archon.
Something like the Succubi did.
It was also Ilyss's first time in Commorragh.
She swept her gaze about uneasily.
"Goddess of Life, this city feels dreadful… as though something terrible is watching me."
"You all feel it too?"
Eden asked his Incubi. They gave the same answer.
He frowned slightly, a prickling sense of danger stirring.
"Could it be that we were marked the moment we entered this city?"
If Vect's spies had already fixed on them, then trouble brewed.
It would mean his every move lay under the enemy's gaze, and more of the Redemption Kabal's secrets were exposed.
Perhaps plots were already brewing to destroy or plunder his satellite district.
Yet his psychic senses detected no surveillance.
After careful probing, Eden exhaled in relief.
It was a false alarm.
The unease Ilyss and the Incubi felt did not stem from the streets, but from their souls—an instinctive terror.
The Thirsting Goddess of the Warp was watching this city, watching every Drukhari, hungering for their souls.
Why had they not felt this in the Redemption satellites? Likely the subtle protection of the Goddess of Life, Isha.
Now that statues of Isha rose across the satellites, her worship had already formed and was growing.
Though Isha could not defeat the Dark Prince, within her statues' domains she could at least veil her followers from that ravenous gaze.
That might explain why so many Archons and nobles, once visiting the Redemption satellites, longed to return again and again.
Why they poured fortunes into estates there.
It was not only the fine environment and diversions, but also the subconscious survival instinct of their souls.
Eden pondered.
Perhaps this was the true advantage of the Redemption satellites.
Perhaps this was the very key by which he might one day unseat Vect and claim Commorragh.
"Come along, sweetheart, let's enjoy ourselves in this city!"
Eden stayed in character, roughly squeezing the beauty at his side.
The Lhamean secretary moaned softly, her heart burning hotter. Perhaps the day she had long dreamed of was finally near.
For this moment, she had prepared in secret for so long—she would not lose to those detestable Succubi!
Eden followed winding streets, sampling the many sordid amusements of the Drukhari.
Novel, to say the least.
But to Ilyss and the Incubi, all of it paled next to the Redemption satellites, and the soul-harvests here seemed pitifully thin.
Commorragh was more bustling than most Imperial hive-cities.
Within a short span, Eden saw fashions and art from dozens of civilizations—some old, some freshly looted.
Brilliant iridescence mingled with lifeless black.
He even saw xenos mercenaries hawking trophies: exotic beasts, curiosities.
Brain-eater cats, multidimensional silver serpents, humanoid scorpions…
The Drukhari nobility adored such pets.
One bird-loving Archon had even built an aviary whose cages were like skyscrapers, housing winged creatures from countless worlds.
Billions of birds shrieked and beat their wings endlessly, their cries carrying for great distances.
Yet the most coveted indulgence of the city remained the same: souls.
Eden led Ilyss into a "luxurious" soul-tavern.
The décor was made of tortured bodies.
Every screaming form was feathered and gem-inlaid, displayed wherever eyes might fall.
Only Archons and the wealthy could partake here.
Eden strode straight into the VIP section; no servant dared block an Archon's way.
He ordered the most expensive soul-liquor.
Soon a Drukhari waitress brought skull-cups filled with amber soul-wine, faint wails echoing within.
Its scent was like scorched honey.
Eden did not drink—he recognized the souls were human.
Though he had come to investigate, he could not bring himself to swallow tortured human souls.
Ilyss, however, did.
After tasting, her face did not glow with pleasure. Perhaps her palate had grown too accustomed to pure souls.
She shook her head.
"These souls are nothing. A crude imitation of Kiss of Venom."
Such harsh judgment made the waitress blanch.
This tavern was the finest in this district for soul-wine.
Ilyss lifted her chin:
"Do you not have anything better?"
The waitress studied the Archon and his consort, and seemed to decide something.
With respect, she whispered:
"There is soul-wine not listed on the menu. Rare spirits, just obtained. They are costly… but perhaps the true vintage you seek."
Soon she returned with a new draught, its fragrance turning heads across the room.
Eden drank it.
It was no ordinary wine, but a soul-elixir diluted with beast blood—likely a grade-six Ecstatic Dream.
So… his own soul-elixirs had already spread into Commorragh's core districts.
This was a good thing.
Eden was confident that these alluring products would soon sweep across the Dark City, unstoppable.
Just like this tavern.
Nearly every Archon or noble patron here gladly paid handsomely for a cup of soul-liquor brewed from true elixirs.
It was a delight none had ever tasted before.
The same thing was happening throughout Commorragh. Batch after batch of soul-elixirs were being traded in secret.
They were then crafted into all manner of soul-products.
Eden even overheard talk of the Redemption satellites here in the tavern.
An Archon who had once visited painted vivid, fevered tales of that maddening, extravagant paradise of souls.
Yet no one really believed him.
They could not fathom a mere satellite district rivaling the Dark Eldar's own most opulent metropolis.
A bumpkin Archon, fresh off the shuttle, who had yet to sample Commorragh's true delights—of course he would spout nonsense.
The nobles of the Dark City looked down upon the satellites with their own pride.
They rarely spared a thought for the barren outskirts. What worth had such backwaters?
Any Archon with ambition would eventually make their way into Commorragh's heart.
Eden did not linger in the tavern. He had already gathered the information he wanted.
The Redemption satellites had not yet drawn much attention.
But as more stories spread, and more products flowed in, they would.
Then they would become the very focus of envy and strife.
From there, Eden and his party wound their way through the labyrinthine streets toward the most majestic arena in the galaxy—Crucibael.
Along the way, he saw endless skirmishes and assassinations. Many lay dead in the streets.
Even the corpses of Archons vanished without a trace.
Fortunately, his Incubi were strengthened by consuming vast pure soul-essence, powerful enough to dispatch any who dared make a move.
He gleaned further intelligence.
Most startling was a new, eerie rumor circulating among the Drukhari:
A human wraith-warrior, astride a fearsome mechanical steed, was said to haunt the Webway routes.
Any who encountered him were slaughtered mercilessly.
Not even Incubi bodyguards could avail them. Several Kabals had reportedly perished this way.
And every soul taken was seized by the Thirsting Goddess herself.
"My dear… I… I saw the Ghost Warrior too!"
Ilyss whispered in fear, recalling her glimpse of the phantom rider in the Webway void.
She feared this terrifying figure might one day threaten the Redemption satellites.
"Hiss~"
Eden went numb listening to her detailed description.
A long-bearded brute, riding a roaring machine-bike through the Webway, carving down aliens?
Was that not Jaghatai Khan?
The Primarch of the White Scars, the Great Khan, the Emperor's Warhawk, the galaxy's greatest rider.
The White Scars Legion was among the Imperium's fastest and fiercest forces, their warships overhauled into engines of pure speed and power.
Though when the Emperor first found them, they were still steppe horsemen.
The Khan and his sons mastered lightning war—striking fast, dodging faster, killing faster still. Like the wind, they came and went.
And Jaghatai himself… his might was legendary.
He had beaten Daemon-Primarch Mortarion into the dirt with his own fists, whereas Guilliman, even with the Emperor's Sword, only fought the Plague Lord to a stalemate.
Truth be told, "Old G"'s combat power was floor-level compared to his brothers—far better suited for governance and building.
According to the Imperium's last records, Jaghatai continued to fight after the Horus Heresy.
But he grew weary, allowing himself to be drawn into the Drukhari Webway.
He was never seen again.
Yet the White Scars steadfastly believed their Primarch still lived, racing the endless hidden roads.
That one day he would return on his void-bike—perhaps with Leman Russ riding pillion—both bearing the severed heads of alien lords.
The Khan's reported reappearance in the Webway thrilled Eden.
This was momentous for the Imperium—another mighty Primarch returned.
He had to find a way to reach him.
But worry gnawed as well.
What if the Khan rampaged through the Redemption satellites? The Khan despised aliens above all, and lived for cutting them down.
Not only that—Eden had to be wary himself.
If this Drukhari-clone body ever crossed paths with the Khan in the Webway, there was no doubt—he'd be hacked apart before he could even flee.
"This is… troublesome…"
Eden sighed.
The Khan's presence could easily disrupt his plans—unless he could somehow win the Primarch's cooperation.
But that was near impossible.
Neither Horus nor the loyalists had ever swayed the wild Khan. Even the Emperor himself had struggled.
Now, Eden could only hope that until he seized Commorragh, the Khan would not cross his path.
And, Emperor forbid, not be used by Vect.
The Supreme Overlord excelled at turning others' blades to his will.
If the Khan truly came to cut down this "xenos," Eden doubted even Titus could stand against him.
Still, he did not dwell too long on the matter.
The Webway was vast. The wild rider came and went like smoke.
Chances of meeting were slim.
When the time came, he would face it. Soldiers to block soldiers, water to cover water.
They passed through several more Webway gates, spending a hefty sum before finally securing seats at the arena.
These were noble's seats.
As for the coveted boxes reserved for viewing Lelith Hesperax herself, they were near-impossible to obtain.
Her appearances were unpredictable, and tickets were always sold out.
As a mere "minor Archon," Eden could hardly hope to secure one.
Ilyss nestled into her master's arms, pouting that the prices were outrageous.
Her role as "consort" was sinking in deep.
Eden almost reminded her not to overact.
But she was only obeying orders, playing her role with zeal—he could not scold that.
Soon they entered Crucibael.
The arena was so massive that flightcraft were required just to enter.
Its outer walls bristled with spires, while waves of gladiators, captives, and slaves poured through countless passages into the central pit.
Each day, uncounted warriors perished there in displays of flamboyance, cruelty, and torment.
Today's spectacle: Succubus versus Succubus.
Lithe, lethal bodies and dazzling skills sent the crowds into rapture.
Eden reclined in his open-air box, unimpressed.
He knew Succubi all too well.
Three at once, in mid-combat games—he had already experienced such things, without restraint.
He was here merely to sample a rival's service, to see if his own arenas needed refinement.
From what he saw, they did not. His arenas already surpassed Commorragh's.
Before long, his gaze shifted from the pit to the neighboring balconies, observing the Drukhari nobility—
Especially the refined ladies and maidens with their alluring forms.
"My lord, what are you looking at?"
Ilyss teased, growing bold, her hand wandering where it shouldn't.
"Not here… not in public," Eden murmured, refusing her service, mind on his true task.
"Perhaps one of them might yield useful intelligence."
It was time to exploit his gifts as a favored of the Dark Prince—time to penetrate the enemy's inner circles.
Meanwhile, in another box, Archon Marlac was doing the same.
A wealthy, powerful figure with a licentious past.
But centuries of age and the Thirsting Goddess's slow drain had long withered his passions.
Only extremes of blood and slaughter could stir him now.
Until recently, when he found himself falling in love—because of a woman.
Marlac stared at the noble box to his left.
There sat a solitary woman, flanked only by two massive Incubi guards.
He had never seen such beauty.
She was languid, sensual. Her black hair coiled high, her skin pale and flawless, her lips painted obsidian.
And more than her looks, it was the aura—desire radiating endlessly, yet mingled with a sovereign aloofness.
Untouchable.
Clearly, such a woman was not one just anyone could approach.
She was likely the possession of some powerful figure.
But Marlac believed himself capable of claiming her.
He would make her his cherished, private treasure.
All who stood in the way—Archons, nobles, whoever they might be—would die.
He already knew her name: Lady Beda.
And he was not alone.
Marlac's eyes slid toward another box, where a tall Archon from the satellites sat—a bumpkin, by his look, fresh from some backwater.
Worthless.
Yet even he dared gaze at Marlac's chosen prize!
(End of Chapter)
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