Within that deep and enigmatic Warp-rift, the Void Sword had only just exited its translation path before instantly assuming a lethal combat posture. The weapon systems lining the vessel's spine cycled into immediate activation.
However, the Void Sword's primary target for this engagement was not the standard Chaos warships cluttering the void.
Below, Wyrmwood radiated a chilling luminescence of Warp energy, a series of eerie, concentric halos circling the planet like a beckoning call from the abyss. This world was the true objective of the Void Sword.
Deep within the titan-ship, the massive, grey-black Psychic Crystal were slowly stimulated. As energy flooded into them, psionic conduits within the crystals began to pulse and crawl with light, flickering like living organisms.
A titanic surge of psychic force, akin to a raging tide, culminated in a blinding lance of radiance erupting from the prow of the Void Sword. That grey-black beam contained an inexhaustible, crushing power; its brilliance was so intense that none present could dare look upon it directly.
Even Archmagos Cawl, a veteran of a thousand wars who had witnessed the galaxy's most singular horrors, felt a faint, cold blossom of despair in his soul the moment the beam registered on the Fortress of Enlightenment's visual sensors.
The unique, soul-affecting properties of psychic energy were laid bare in that instant. It acted as an invisible blade, thrusting directly into the spiritual core of every observer, attempting to dismantle all will to resist on a metaphysical level.
But Cawl was Cawl. He tore himself free from the brief emotional turbulence and broadcast a series of urgent, optimal commands.
In response, every vessel of the Imperial and Mechanicus fleets acted in unison. Heavy armored shutters groaned as they slid over observation ports. These plates were originally designed to prevent madness by shielding crews from the warping vistas of the Immaterium during transit; now, they served as the primary line of defense against the grey-black radiance of absolute despair.
Even with his vision shielded, Cawl did not lower his guard. Well aware of the horror of this psychic magnitude, he ordered all ships to activate their Geller Fields. Only when the flickering, ethereal blue energy of the fields enveloped the hulls did the sensation of drowning despair begin to recede from the hearts of the crews.
Furthermore, as every vessel operating within the Pariah Nexus was mandated to carry a psychic choir, the melodious strains of the Emperor's Sainted Hymns began to chime. The holy notes acted as a purifying light, swiftly dispersing the lingering spiritual malaise.
Yet, compared to the ordered response of the Imperial forces, the condition of the Chaos fleet was nothing short of catastrophic. The Warp already acted as an amplifier for their twisted emotions; when this wave of despair, forged from the soul-shards of millions of psykers, hit them, it instantly overwhelmed every daemon and traitor present.
In that surging tide of hopelessness, numerous daemons descended into total psychosis. Their minds shattered. Some turned their own blades upon themselves in the cramped corridors of their ships, desperately committing ritual suicide simply to banish themselves back to the Warp and escape the stalking shadow of despair. In that moment, the joy of slaughter and the pursuit of desire were forgotten; blood and death became irrelevant. Their only remaining impulse was to flee the psychic storm.
On the surface of Wyrmwood, directly struck by the gargantuan psychic beam, Vashtorr's inner world was suffering an unprecedented assault.
The Dissonance Engine remained untouched deep within the planet's crust. However, the lakes of promethium and the various daemon-forges upon the surface were extensions of his very essence. As the psychic light dismantled these malefic constructs, it simultaneously scorched Vashtorr's Warp-nature like a branding iron.
A deathly, hollow sense of hopelessness rushed over him like a flood, drowning him in an endless dark. For one staggering moment, the Daemon Demigod felt a flicker of vacant listlessness, a delusion that perhaps it would be better to simply let the beam vaporize him entirely.
But his obsessive ambition, a sliver of light in the darkness, surged back into his heart. He roared inwardly; he could not abandon this chance for godhood. This was the prize he had coveted for eons, how could he let it slip away now?
As an Iron Man, Axion did not fully comprehend the total psychological toll of the Psychic Crystal. During the previous test against the T'au, the weapons had only shown a strong influence on biological emotions, but the specific mechanism of action remained a black box to him. He could hardly interrogate the T'au survivors on their feelings; from his orbital perspective, every living thing on the T'au world had simply descended into a state of catatonic mania. Even with a forced mind-read, Axion doubted he would find any coherent data.
However, the combat damage assessment for this engagement was proceeding flawlessly. Within the zone struck by the psychic beam, all daemonic constructs and manifested warp-entities were dissipating like shadows cast out by the sun.
Driven once more by his singular obsession, the Daemon Demigod clawed his way back from the brink of despondency. He immediately re-engaged the Dissonance Engine. Huge currents of energy began to flow beneath the surface of Wyrmwood, and the surrounding space began to buckle and splinter. The calm of the void shattered like fragile glass.
Planetary debris swirled like the fragments of a ruined puzzle around the world. Chaos ships that had drifted too close were instantly pulverized by the spatial distortion, reduced to nothingness like paper toys before a hurricane.
A massive burst of cosmic radiation erupted from Wyrmwood, carrying the familiar energy signatures of Chaos and jamming all communications. The Mechanicus fleet, utilizing advanced detection arrays, immediately read the signs: the desecrated planet was warping space in preparation for a transit escape.
Axion's machine fleet naturally detected the intent to flee. It was clear: the psychic weaponry was extraordinarily effective against these Warp-entities.
Simultaneously, the Thousand Sons sorcerers lurking at the periphery of the battlefield saw their opening. Though they did not understand the exact nature of the weapon used, they recognized a golden opportunity. They had no desire to see Vashtorr escape unscathed; the Changer of Ways does not like unexpected disruptions to the fate he has woven.
Sorcerous heresy was woven in the hands of the lead Sorcerer, malefic energy coiling in his palm like a black vortex. A massive Chaos spell manifested from the void, lancing out like a bolt of black lightning to strike Vashtorr's daemonic form directly.
The Daemon Demigod, caught between the despair of the psychic beam and his own desperate focus, was struck full-force. The blow sent a violent shudder through his frame, and his soul was momentarily convulsed by the trauma.
Fortunately for him, the Dissonance Engine had already completed its cycle. Wyrmwood was rapidly swallowed by the Webway, vanishing entirely from realspace.
Axion did not know his attack had nearly unmade a daemon prince; he only saw his test subject escaping. Unwilling to let such a perfect specimen for weapons-testing slip away, the Void Sword followed without hesitation, plunging into the Webway in pursuit of Wyrmwood.