Everqueen Reclamation - 54

Author's Note: This chapter has been updated, rewrite for the rest of the Fenris arc is incoming.

***
Isha and the Emperor teleported back down to Fenris, to the highest peak of a great mountain range.

This mountain range was not unlike the Himalazians where the Emperor had made his capital. It was just as vast and sweeping, the mountains piercing the sky.

But at the same time, it was nothing like that.

The mountains were untamed, unmarked by the advent of civilization. They had not been hollowed out to make place for hive-cities. They were not crowned with orbital cannons, nor were the sides adorned with structures and docks for ships. The valley below was covered in snow, with no civilization or settlements to be found. There were only tall, strong trees that endured despite the cold and predators roaming about.

This was nature at its most primordial, raw and dangerous. 

Isha found it refreshing. While she had enjoyed the task of restoring and healing Terra, the cradle of humanity would never be truly wild again. Any forests she could carve out would ultimately be oversized gardens, carefully shielded and curated for the sake of preserving a healthy and diverse ecosystem.

Humanity had dug its claws too deep into Terra, marked it too well. The planet would never again be like this.

Iyanden too, as much as she had enjoyed being among her children again, was ultimately an artificial construct, built and cultivated for a specific purpose. It could not replicate the this feeling, the cold air blowing in her face, the wilderness around her, the sensation of a savage world.

It was almost enough to make Isha forget about the Chaos incursion brewing underneath them.

Almost.

The warp rift was buried inside the mountain on top of which they stood, but even so, Isha could smell the corruption leaking out, tendrils trying to sink into the planet.

The World Spirit’s power pressed back against it, keep the warp rift contained as it had done for a long time. Several millennia at least. The mountain was wrapped in the Spirit’s power, keeping the rift from widening or spilling out.

But now the Spirit’s strength faltered. Not because it was weakening or no longer up to the task, but because there were not greater forces at play, seeking to actively widen the rift.

Isha could feel the malicious gaze of the Four, the Dark Gods exerting their might against the rift, trying to pry it open. It was an uncommon thing for them to do so, akin to Nurgle speaking to her on Terra. Even for the Four, trying to force their servants into reality like this is not easy.

But they are clearly willing to try. Their might pressed against reality, and it is only the World Spirit’s strength that keeps legions of Greater Daemons from manifesting upon Fenris. 

Clearly, the Emperor reclaiming more of his children so soon was not in accordance with their plans.

Well, that was just too bad.

Isha’s attention diverted to the Emperor, who had raised a hand, lightning crackling around it as he prepared to obliterate the entire mountain where it stood and seal the rift in one fell blow.

“Wait,” Isha called out. “Don’t do that!”

The Emperor frowned. “What?”

“The mountain is our ally,” Isha answered him, reaching out with her own power.

At her call and with her aid, an ethereal wolf manifested in front of her. It was as large as a tank but old, one eye missing, only ragged scars in its place. Its grey-white fur was matted and patched with blood and dirt, and one leg was missing.

But it radiated strength and power, as resolute as the mountain it inhabited.

“Greetings,” Isha said warmly, placing a hand on the Mountain Spirit’s head, letting her strength flow into it to heal some of its wound and relieve its weariness.

Over the long ages that this world had been forgotten and abandoned by her children, the World Spirit had evolved and changed, especially as it had found new people to guard and taken their souls into its keeping. Creatures such as these, what humans might call genus loci, were outgrowths of the greater World Spirit of Fenris, aspects tied to a specific place on this planet.

The Emperor scowled at it, clearly annoyed but not surprised. He must have encountered these spirits before on his previous visits to this planet. “Can these things truly help us?”

“They can,” Isha nodded. “What is your name?” This question was directed at the Mountain Spirit.

“Fang,” The wolf growled, its guttural voice echoing across the mountain range. “I am Fang.”

“It is good to meet you,” Isha said with a slight smile. “I am here to help.”

“I are honoured All-Mother, All-Father,” Fang said, bowing his head.

The Emperor started at the name, regarding it suspiciously. “Why do you call me that?” He asked suspiciously. “My…spheres do not include life. Humans are not my children.”

Fang’s tail swished, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You are the guardians of the souls of our people, even if many are currently in our stewardship,” He pointed out uncertainly. “You may not be the same as the All-Mother, but you are a parent in your own way. But if this offends you, we can use a different title.”

The Emperor’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” He said curtly.

Isha brushed this all aside. “None of this is important right now,” She said briskly, getting to the point. “Fang, have any daemons emerged from the portal as of yet?”

“Almost, All-Mother,” Fang said respectfully. “They are almost our, and I fear I cannot contain them much longer, even with your aid.”

“You don’t have to. Conserve your strength,” Isha said coolly. “Let them come. We will deal with them.”

“Yes,” The Emperor nodded. “Let’s.”

Fang bowed his gratefully once more, before the manifestation dispersed.

“Come,” Isha said. “Let us go,”

“You realize that the mountain may be severely damaged or even destroyed depending on what forces come through, don’t you? We cannot risk this world for a single mountain spirit,” The Emperor warned.

Isha nodded reluctantly. “I know. But let us at least try.”

The two of them descended through the rock, their avatars turning intangible as they passed through solid stone to reach the portal

And emerging from the portal were two monstrous creatures.

The first was a creature of Khorne and his arrival was heralded by the cries of battle, of pillage and plunder echoing through the air.

It was immediately obvious that this was no mere Bloodthirster. The Daemon Prince was as tall as any of them, a veritable giant that towered over mere mortals but that was where the similarities ended.

His skin was a deep, blood red, contrasted by a long mane of white hair and a thick beard of the same colour. A cape made from the red fur of some unknown beast was draped across his shoulders, and he was clad in gleaming bronze armor that called to mind the myths of ancient conquerors from Old Terra. Upon his head was a crown carved from bone inset with blood-red rubies the size of eggs, and upon his belt were a thousand skulls. It should have been impossible for there to be so many skulls to be carried by a single being, yet they were there, nevertheless. 

In one hand he held a massive axe that glowed an infernal crimson which was not so different from the weapons of so many servants of Khorne, but in the other he held a great staff forged from bone, with the Mark of Khorne upon its head, a mockery of the sceptre that a king would bear as a sign of their authority.

And his eyes were a glowing inferno, within which the images of a thousand thousand battles from eras bygone could be seen, of men slaughtering each other for land and wealth, of the conquests that had brought misery and death to billions of souls.

He could have been any of the monsters of Old Terra. He might have been all of them or perhaps only one. But above all was the thirst for blood, for war and wealth that resided in the soul of every human made incarnate by the will of Khorne, an act of spite and mockery towards the Anathema.

Next to Isha, the Emperor snarled, his fists clenched. “Doombreed,” He spat.

But Isha was distracted by the next creature to emerge, as rage spiked in her own heart, all other sounds drowned out by her own fury.

The other daemon was as tall and broad as Doombreed but his skin was purple, and their hair white. His only crown was a pair of antlers, and he wore nothing but a felt of lion’s fur around his waist.

Her husband’s fur, for Isha recognized it from Kurnous’s lion form. White, with green markings.

The daemon’s features were familiar too, handsome and smooth in a way that was reminiscent of her husband. There were differences, for the daemon had no beard, but the resemblance was undeniable. In his hand he gripped a spear. Not the Spear of Kurnous but obviously made in its image, with a long, curved blade attached to a wooden shaft from which purple vines and flowers sprung.

It was like looking at a horrid, twisted mockery of Kurnous. His dark shadow, a cracked mirror.

Isha understood instantly.

This creature, this Daemon of Slaanesh, had been made in her husband’s image, even from some scraps of his power that Slaanesh had been willing to vomit up.

Isha did not wait for the Emperor. Instead, the Huntress awoke, letting out a roar that shook the very foundations of the mountain and Isha lunged at her foe, with only one thought on her mind.

Kill.

An exoskeleton grew around her even as she moved, plates of white bone covering every inch of her skin. Clawed gauntlets enveloped her hands, and Isha surged forward to tear out the heart of this creature that would dare to wear her husband’s face.

But the daemon fluidly moved out of the way, laughing.

“It will be an honour to take your head, Mother,” The creature said with a savage smile, exposing its fanged teeth in an expression that was almost that of the God of the Hunt’s, yet fundamentally wrong. Every word was spoken in Eltharin, but every word was twisted by the foul voice of the Serpent’s creature. “I am the Monarch of the Hunt! And I am your doom.” 

“I am not your Mother!” Isha roared, her hair hardening into an array of thorns, which erupted in a deadly wave straight towards the self-proclaimed Monarch of the Hunt.

But impossibly fast, the Monarch deflected the projectiles with a twirl of his spear.

Snarling in frustration, Isha grew a trident of bone from her armour, ripping it off and lunging to meet the Monarch of the Hunt directly.

And to her fury, he matched her. 

It should not have been possible. Even as diminished and weakened as she was, she was still a goddess, and this was only a daemon. An Exalted one, but still only a daemon.

Yet, the false Monarch of the Hunt met every her every blow. They fought and wove, and his spear dug into her armour, cracking it and pressing against her skin, causing her blood to drip on the ground. And even as Isha sought to heal the wounds, they were frustrating slow to do so. They should have closed in moments, and yet they refused to.

Isha was stronger, that was undeniable. Even with the scraps of Kurnous’s essence that had been invested in this creature, it was no match for her.

But power wasn’t everything. 

The Monarch’s  advantage was that he was an aspect of Slaanesh. He was part of the story of the Sins of the Isha’s Children, of the Doom of the Gods.

And in the Warp, stories were what mattered above all.

In the background, Isha was distantly aware of Doombreed and the Emperor fighting her, but rage was drowning everything else out, the desire for revenge, for justice overwhelming her.

And then the Monarch’s spear pierced her chest, cutting cleanly through her armour.

The daemon laughed triumphantly, but that only infuriated Isha even more. It hurt, yes, as the poisonous essence of Slaanesh tried to worm its way into her.

But nothing could compare to the pain she had already suffered.

To seeing this accursed creature continue to make a mockery of her husband.

Isha screamed once more, but this time it was different. Streaks of white-blue erupted through her hair, and her flickered between emerald green and icy blue. Frost spread down the spear embedded in her chest, straight toward its wielder.

The Monarch’s eyes widened, and it hastily yanked the spear away, its earlier cockiness gone as it watched her warily.

The wound on Isha’s chest was sealed, not by flesh or bone but by black ice, as the cavern grew even colder and colder, vicious winds hurtling around them.

“A clever trick, Mother,” The Monarch drawled as its arrogance returned, though its eyes were still wary. “But it won’t be enough.”

Isha didn’t reply.

Nothing needed to be said.