On Dakora-7 – The Governor's Palace
Julius stood amidst the smoldering ruins of the palace, receiving reports from his Ghosts and Crisis teams.
"Message: The Governor has descended into madness. He is preparing a daemonic ritual to resurrect his son. He is in contact with an entity known as 'MOTHER', believed to be in the service of Slaanesh. The Dark Master, Be'lakor, is manipulating him to force open a portal."
Julius clenched his fist. "Damn it. Give these daemons a single chance and they seize it. Open a channel to the Star Walker. Thrawn."
The Grand Admiral's calm voice replied. "I read you, Lord Commander."
"Have the Sisters of Silence arrived?"
"Not yet, my Lord. Their cruiser will arrive shortly."
"The moment they are here, teleport them directly to my location."
"Of course, my Lord. I must warn you: our instruments are detecting significant warp anomalies forming around the planet."
"I know, Thrawn. We see it too."
Above them, the sky of Dakora-7 began to change. Clouds tinged with a sickly purple and pink twisted into impossible spirals. The very air vibrated with corrupting energy. The influence of the Warp was spreading.
In the Underhive
Governor Garnus was finally beginning to understand. Hearing his son's head converse with Mother, the reality of the manipulation crashed down upon him.
"You manipulated me!" he screamed, a trembling finger pointing at Mother. "You witch!"
Mother looked at him, and her smile held no divinity, only icy cruelty. "Ohoh, my poor darling. You who wanted a child so desperately, a son no less... I gave him to you. Unfortunately, things did not proceed as you wished. Now that the conqueror has arrived, instead of giving your world to my beloved master... I will give him a being as powerful as the Anathema! Ahahaha!"
The Governor's body began to mutate. The warp energies emanating from the unholy symbols he had drawn on the floor consumed him, dragging him deeper into insanity. Then he heard the voice of the Dark Master again, a venomous whisper in his mind:
"That whore has humiliated you and looks down on you. You, the Governor of Dakora-7! You who sacrificed your wife, your concubines, and your lords for the future of your world! Everything you did, you did for your world! You cannot let her say that!"
Be'lakor, the silver-tongued, played on his shattered pride and despair.
The Governor's mind, completely broken, fell into the Darkness. His eyes became pitch black, devoid of pupils. Misshapen horns erupted from his back and skull with a crack of bone. His shadow warped, taking on the appearance of a winged creature, wreathed in shifting shadows.
Mother felt the change in the air and realized too late that she had been outmaneuvered by Be'lakor. Her hold over the Governor had been swept away, replaced by an older, more violent corruption.
The Governor – or what remained of him – began to frantically scrawl on the floor, completing the ritual with a daemonic precision. A voice that was no longer his, hoarse and diabolical, growled in the chamber.
Mother tried to stop him, but it was too late.
In the center of the room, a rift tore open in reality. A vortex of impossible colors and cacophonous sounds appeared. Misshapen forms, shrieking daemons, began to pour forth from it.
And somewhere, in the depths of the Warp, Be'lakor rejoiced.