After seizing every available grav-skiff in mid-air, Malys and the few hundred remaining warriors of the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue surged away, putting desperate distance between themselves and the pursuing forces of the Kabal of the Black Heart.
Anti-gravity impellers shrieked under the strain, fighting to arrest their terminal velocity. Barely ten meters above the outer hull of the Void Sword, the vehicles bucked and groaned like foundering ships resurfacing in heavy seas. With a series of tooth-gritting metal shrieks, the skiffs finally stabilized, hovering precariously.
Behind them, the heavy Talos Pain Engines, along with the Wyches and Haemonculi whose loyalty to Vect had earned them a one-way trip into the abyss, plummeted past. Their impact was a cacophony of shattering ordnance and violent detonations that left faint scorched indentations upon the starship's colossal ventral plating.
To the watching Drukhari, those shallow craters seemed to heal like living flesh, the molecular structure of the hull knitting shut until no sign of the impact remained. The debris of the explosions and the red slurry of pulverized corpses were scoured away just as swiftly.
In their place, a swarm of unfamiliar metallic aircraft rose to encircle the survivors.
Ancient protocols remained in effect: death had not been directly dealt by the Iron Men, and indirect harm held no weight in their cold logic. However, this did not mean Axion welcomed these xenos interlopers.
The shattering of the Psychic Crystals meant Axion required new warp-attuned batteries. Being stranded within the Webway made locating fresh psykers a logistical impossibility, until now. To Axion, the arrival of these Aeldari was an unexpected boon.
"Aeldari. Lower your craft. Deactivate your engines. State your intent," a voice boomed from the vox-emitters of the Heavy Combat Drones, speaking a dialect of High Aeldari so archaic it felt like a ghost from the dawn of time. "Any resistance or erratic maneuver will be met with lethal force."
Seeing an opening for dialogue, Malys felt the cold knot of dread in her chest loosen slightly. While the gift of foresight was rarely wrong, the cost of a miscalculation was invariably fatal.
Under the unwavering gaze of a thousand weapon-spindles, Malys signaled her followers. The battered skiffs drifted downward, settling onto the dark expanse of the Void Sword's hull.
A Destroyer-class Heavy Automaton stood waiting. Its seismic weaponry hummed with a low-frequency vibration; a single command would liquefy the Drukhari into a fine crimson mist.
At the machine's binary bark, the canopies hissed open. The Drukhari were herded onto the open hull, forced to congregate in a designated kill-zone. Malys stepped forward alone, isolating herself from her retinue. She dropped to her knees before the towering Destroyer-class machine, pressing her forehead low in a gesture of absolute, calculated submission. She spread her hands wide, palms upturned, the universal sign of the disarmed and defeated.
"O Exalted One," she began, her voice a silk-wrapped blade of humility. "I am the Haemonculus Malys. We are a scouting party from the Dark City of Commorragh. The instability of the Webway has unleashed a tide of daemons upon our realm. My followers and I meant no transgression against your majesty. We crave your indulgence for our intrusion."
The word "Commorragh" triggered an instantaneous data-trawl.
Deep within the ship's cogitators, files flickered to life: [Port Commorragh. Major nexus of the Aeldari Empire. Post-Fall refuge of the degenerate survivors.]
The query struck the very core of Axion's prime directives.
"You claim that Daemons are currently assaulting Commorragh?" the Destroyer's vox-grille thundered.
Malys looked up, her expression a mask of confusion. She could not fathom why this mechanical nightmare cared about the plight of the Dark City. Nevertheless, she nodded.
"This is a matter of the utmost gravity," the machine intoned. "Under the terms of the Ancient Aeldari Empire Peace Accords, I shall provide assistance to safeguard the Aeldari of Commorragh. I will dispatch a detachment to accompany your return and provide sanctuary for all Aeldari who follow."
The machine's red optical sensors flared. "If you accept this proposal, my legions deploy immediately. If you refuse, you are free to depart this sector at once."
Malys was utterly bewildered. She had only just encountered these "Iron Men," yet they spoke of ancient treaties signed by an Empire that had burned ten thousand years ago. They offered a legion to "save" a city that thrived on treachery.
As a Haemonculus, Malys possessed centuries of forbidden lore, but the political minutiae of the pre-Fall Empire were a distant myth. She hesitated. In the galaxy she knew, "altruism" was merely a mask for a more elaborate trap, especially to a Drukhari.
The whispers of the Iron Men's return had not yet reached the dark spires of Commorragh. Even the Harlequin troupes, whose performances were often the only bridge to the outside galaxy, had remained silent on the matter. To the Drukhari, the Harlequins performed the will of Cegorach, a god whose whims were as inscrutable as they were cruel. They had not seen the plays depicting the Iron Men capturing the Craftworlders. As for the pirate fleets wiped out by Axion's escorts, the survivors had simply mistaken the mechanical vessels for a new, highly efficient strain of Imperial technology.
But as tens of millions of cold, silvered combat frames began to assemble on the hull of the Void Sword, Malys's path became clear.
She wanted vengeance. Whatever the motives of this machine-mind, it offered the overwhelming force required to get it. Commorragh was already prophesied to fall; if it was to be unmade, did it truly matter whose hand held the torch?
"I accept your assistance," Malys said, rising and performing a formal Aeldari salute of old.
Axion registered a surge of logic-gate satisfaction. Everything was proceeding according to protocol. He would "save" these Aeldari, providing them with a secure habitat far from the Warp, effectively securing a vast supply of high-grade psychic batteries. Since these were "Dark" Aeldari, the enemies of the Imperium, Axion saw no reason why any other faction could claim rights to them.
Massive HG-class Giant Carriers began to swallow the legions of automata. A TR-09 Morlanad Assassin Automaton was designated as Malys's "temporary aide," its lethal presence a constant shadow at her side.
Escorted by thousands of combat drones, the Poisoned Tongue warriors boarded their skiffs, their faces pale with shock as they led the mechanical host back toward the Webway gates.
Malys knew Asdrubael Vect. She knew that the moment the tide turned, the Tyrant of Commorragh would vanish into the shadows to rebuild. She didn't care about the fate of her kin, but Vect… Vect had to burn.
Under Malys's guidance, a shimmering metal net began to spread through the arteries of the Webway, slowly closing around the throat of the dying Dark City.
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