Aboard the Star Walker
The operators watched their screens, the planet's surface now a patchwork of psychedelic and sickly colors, dominated by a rapidly growing stain of sinister black.
"Admiral Thrawn!" a soldier called out, eyes glued to his monitors. "Scanners are detecting a major anomaly in the upper hive! An unknown energy signature is rising exponentially!"
Thrawn observed the multiple flashing alerts. His face, usually impassive, was grave. "The barrier is breached."
That simple statement chilled the atmosphere on the bridge.
"Alert Lord Julius immediately," he ordered. "And I am to be informed personally the moment the Sisters of Silence cruiser arrives. Also, relay to Captain Guerra, still on the ground, the order to immediately fall back to her ship with all her troops."
On Dakora-7
Julius felt the change in the air even before the alarms in his helmet triggered. An immaterial pressure, crushing and corrupting.
"Damn it, the breach is open!" he exclaimed.
On his helmet's heads-up display, alert messages scrolled at a frantic pace.
"All stations! Immediate evacuation! This is not a drill! A Warp rift is open! Repeat, general evacuation!"
A pang of bitterness struck Julius. He regretted the fate of this world's inhabitants, but his first duty was to protect his people, his soldiers. The heresy had to be contained, even if it meant sacrificing Dakora-7.
Beneath the Underhive
The Warp portal pulsed like a monstrous heart, spewing a continuous stream of horrors. Though not yet at its full size, a tide of daemons was already pouring forth: the blood-soaked berserkers of Khorne, the putrid plague-bearers of Nurgle, the perverse seducers of Slaanesh, and the illusory change-sorcerers of Tzeentch.
Mother watched the scene with growing fury. She was the one meant to offer the conqueror to her master, not this rabble! A powerful, pure and perverted warp energy invaded her. Her body transformed, revealing her true nature: a Daemonette of Slaanesh, a creature of grotesque and deadly beauty. Her "children" around her screamed in turn, mutating into a horde of daemonic servants that rushed upon everything living in the Underhive.
Panic became absolute. The local cultists, seeing them as deities, joined the daemonic tide. The innocents tried to flee, but it was a futile effort in this nascent hell.
Within the Warp, Be'lakor rejoiced. The path was open. Cautious, he did not send his entire essence, but projected a double of himself, a shadow endowed with a significant portion of his power. This form crossed the portal.
Be'lakor's clone materialized and met the gaze of Mother, now in her daemonic form.
"So, there is your true face," he sneered.
"I am here to tell you to turn back, Fallen Shadow. This world is mine."
"Mmmmh... No, I don't think so," retorted Be'lakor's clone. "I already have plans for this world. And I like it."
"Nonsense! You care nothing for this world! You want the conqueror that I want to offer to my master! Through him, I can attain the rank of Daemon Prince!"
Be'lakor's clone gave a mocking smile. "Why not make a wager, then? The first one to capture him, keeps him."
Mother was surprised. Why did he agree so easily? Was he hiding something? She thought quickly. I will send my cultists and my children first. They can test the waters and weaken him.
She looked at him, her face a mask of perverse determination. "I accept the wager."
Be'lakor's clone smiled, a sinister glint in his eyes. "Good."
The die was cast. The hunt for Julius Braveheart, now the object of a rivalry between Chaos powers, had begun.