Chapter Text
The only sounds aboard the Asuryani vessel were silence punctuated by the sharp cracks of gunshots and the sound of bodies striking the floor. Wraithbone hitting metal made a hollow sound that the warlocks striding down the halls were all too familiar with. Staves on metal accompanied by the sounds of boot soles echoed through the halls as they cleared each room along the way one by one.
Stranded... Defiled...
Lives that should be saved but cannot be...
Hidden in the soul, tainted and waiting...
Predators in the guise of prey...
D a e m o n s... A l l o f t h e m...
A warning whispered in the mind of a Farseer whose vision was so pure that not a single one of the Aspect Warriors accompanying him would ever question him. That was why, when they aimed and fired their shuriken rifles, not a single one batted an eye that their targets were not humans, mutants, or abominations, but Aeldari instead. Under normal circumstances, this would be the highest of sins, but all who flew aboard the Elegy with Farseer Bahad knew that their purpose was a grim one.
When other Asuryani fell to the influence of the Chaos Gods, it fell upon the shoulders of Nuadan Bahad of Craftworld Ulthwé to see them eradicated before their taint could spread. It wasn't something that happened often, but a handful of the few Aspect Warriors that Ulthwé had were handed over to the ancient Farseer for the task of seeing it done when it did happen. They knew better than to question him. His vision was clearer than many, and as they dutifully cleared the way for their Farseer, the chill that often accompanied him followed at their backs.
The ship belonged to Iyanden, and considering that the Craftworld was more Wraiths than Eldar, Nuadan felt no joy at the brutal task at hand. One of his Scorpions ventured ahead, turning to him as they neared the door to the bridge. He gave one shallow nod of his helmeted head, the lenses of his Ghost Helm glowing dimly in the darkness of the halls. They opened the doors with a press of the control panel's button, and kneeling half-hidden behind several crates was a terrified Eldar. He leaped out with a shout, shuriken pistol firing off a single round that was deflected effortlessly by a psychic barrier that Nuadan barely had to think about.
"You... You are a Farseer..." The Eldar slowly lowered his weapon and stared at the approaching black-clad figures. His helmet cocked slightly, eyes going to the runes on their armor as his shoulders sagged in blind relief. "Ulthwé... You're from Ulthwé! Thank the spirits you live! Come, we must..."
"Farseer Bahad," one of his warlocks turned to him, "what do we do with the Iyanden?"
"What?" The warrior seemed confused, his helmeted head turning frantically between the warlocks and the Farseer, "I... Come! There are daemons about! Together, we can-!"
"Is he possessed?" One of the Striking Scorpions asked, turning to the Farseer, who stood staring at the Iyanden. The other Eldar froze, turning his head back and forth to look between the contingent standing before him, weapons held loose, but ready. "He's the only one here still alive."
The words shot through his chest like a cold needle, and he shook his head "N-no! No, I'm not! I swear!"
Bahad watched him, the green lenses of his dark helmet glowing faintly in the dim light of the darkened, groaning hall. They suddenly flashed green before he looked to the warlock, "The Craftworlds thank you for your sacrifice, Urayen of Iyanden, but we cannot allow you to come with us. Consider this a mercy."
"Wh-why? I'm not possessed-!"
"Yes, you are," Bahad raised his hand. "You just don't see it yet."
There was a brief crackle and the sharp flash of lightning arcs that erupted from his palm like the tendrils of a spider. They slammed into the Asuryani and killed him before a scream could escape his lips. The body cloaked in yellow and bright blue collapsed to the dark floor of the craft. It brought Bahad no joy to kill a fellow Asuryani that way. Each life he took to curb Chaos' tides, especially those of his fellow Eldar, was a wound that he knew would never heal. One thousand years of living wasn't long enough to make it hurt less.
"What now?"
"Collect their Spirit Stones to send back to Iyanden," Bahad glanced over his shoulder as the others in his retinue all walked past him and began removing the stones from the motionless bodies. "This patrol was killed by Chaos forces. Is that understood?" It wasn't inherently a lie. Not really. A half truth, more or less.
The entirety of the group nodded as they returned to that grim work, and Bahad simply stood and watched. Far too many of his own people had fallen to the abominations that crawled forth from the Warp, and when another Craftworld that was unprepared for the Eye of Terror decided to try and send scouts out, this was usually the result. He never doubted the strength of his people, but they had grown used to fighting mon-keigh, Orks, and Tyranids while Ulthwé stood alone by choice against the forces of Chaos at the heart of their nests. Better to grant them a second chance within their stones than allow them to feed the ranks of the Princes. His hand went to his own stone set at the base of his neck, between his collarbones.
"May we hold for another day, and another, again and again, until our people are free of her ," he whispered the words as he watched the stones get pulled from the bodies one by one.