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Aniyuë Drial stood on the deck of her raider, the visor of her mask lowered as she looked up toward the night sky. It was not a true night sky, but rather, an elaborate illusion crafted for this arena to ensure that the spectators were left unknown to those fighting below. Her entourage of sycophants and kabalites waved high toward the sky, knowing they were being watched and reveling in the fame and notoriety they would earn this day – Yet Aniyuë could not join them, not be so carefree – Her mind was already on building a plan to win them this day as her eyes lowered to look across the field, a hand reaching toward the side railing of her ship as she looked unerringly into the ever-shifting rift that had been opened to allow the daemonic incursion to enter this derelict part of the webway.
She could already see daemons pouring out in their multitudes, great avian creatures along with ever-shifting monstrosities which spewed warpflame from every orifice before they would dissolve and reform into new mouths. Even the night sky across the field was distorted, not due to a malfunction in the technology – But rather, there was a cloud of roiling blue energy emanating from the warp breach, spreading outward and toward her, sparks of flickering lightning shooting through the blue clouds and sending ill omens through Aniyuë’s spine. Looking back to her sybarite as he made a final check of his kabalite’s weapons, his venom sitting just next to her raider, she reached out and grabbed his shoulder as she spoke.

“Remember, we are not just here to slay. Ensure all know that the main objective here – What will cause the most anguish in these neverborn, will be keeping their ever coveted knowledge from them.”

Slyvax, her most senior sybarite and one of her children gave a bow of his head, his face of brown features and violet eyes hidden from view. He served her well, and knew both the stringent military organization of being a craftworlder, as well as the hedonistic pleasures that came with living amongst the drukhari. In many ways, he was much like her – his mother – yet in so many others he was different. Even now, she could see his sneer under his helmet, his balking at the order that he knew he must commit to if they were to ensure those in the stands drank in the greatest amount of suffering. Yet simply being reminded of this by someone who was his superior set the man on edge… Good, he would need that fervor to tear out upon the neverborn which seemed to be already making for the first stack of tomes – The closest bait to the warp rift.

“Of course, my mistress – We shall ensure that these daemons will be left wanting even as we cut them down.”

Then, without another word, he jumped from the raider and onto his venom which began to speed away silently on it’s anti-grav lifts. Watching him leave, she felt a pang of fear for him – He hadn’t the resources or closest thing to loyalty that could be considered in commoraught society with a haemonculus… While admitting it, even to her closest confidant, would leave her ridiculed and her reputation in shatters… She feared for him as his venom banked and began toward the eastern edge of the arena. Yet unable to do anything for him now, she instead reached up and clicked at the side of her helmet, her visor sliding silently into place and covering her vision in a sheen of silver while heads up displays began coming online, along with the build in audio transponder.

“My lady, it is good that you are well… My wracks stand… Ever ready to perform my bidding.”

“I stand ready high above, we have already begun the bloodletting amongst the crowd – They are ferocious tonight, we must give them a show they shall not forget.”

“Very good. Thank you for coming personally, Lord Dramar, and to you Sir Lazamar, be certain to leave the crowds to their own bloodletting – I needn’t have them complain that the Kabal of the Bleeding Heart cannot control the Wyches of the Thorn.”

There was silence for a moment from the two, Dramar being the haemonculus lord – Or closest thing those maddened scientists and fleshsculptors had to a lord – Of the Coven of the Black Talon. Meanwhile, Sir Lazamar was the reigning succubus of the Cult of the Slit Veins – A bloodthirsty warrior who had slain at least one of every known creature to dwell inside commoragh and out. She knew it risky to speak to him so ill, yet knew it was even riskier to her reputation still if she let him slate his bloodthirst early by killing those who had paid her kabal to be here, making her seem weak and unable to control others while she had come in full force to the arena.

“Yes, Lady Drial, I shall hold my blade to be brought against these daemons… Oh how I wish these were borne of the god of blood, that I would have my blades sing against my enemies… Yet these bibliophiles shall have to do.”

With that, his feed cut off as he clearly showed disdain to Aniyuë for having spoken to him so – Yet so be it, she would prefer to have him acting the petulant child and festering in his own rage. It would make him fight all the harder, imagining her face upon every daemon he carved away at – Perhaps even giving him the drive to outdo himself, and cut down enemies faster than he had ever before. Should the need arise… Her soul was safely stored in three separate containers, so there was no fear of reprisal or permanent death for her even should he turn against here now.
Pressing at the side of her helmet once more, she tuned out her audio transponder – Instead opening her helmet’s audio to hear what was around her as well as to send the activation rune to the displays of all kabalite forces. Suddenly, her vehicle lurched into motion, taking but a few seconds to enter a breakneck speed toward the shattered webway gate that had been used as the equivalent of a flare to bring the attention of these daemons toward this part of the webway. Beneath it’s arches stood a massive pile of tomes, some floating of their own volition and held in place only by chains to keep them from straying too far. These tomes were countless spells and forbidden knowledge that would send any cultist of the great changer into a frenzy to have the slightest glimpse of.
They had set hundreds of these types of tomes to bare, of little use to herself she had made a collection simply out of habit from her time as a craftworlder… Yet now, there was no reason – Her psychic powers had long since withered away from disuse, and so she had no potential to even learn such knowledge with practical application. No – Instead they were using them like bait on a hook, and the daemons of the changer had come like sharks to chum in the waters. Already her son had secured one stack of books to the east, and circled high to try and send the crowd wild, with her kabalites moving up the flanks toward the daemons – The battle had begun.
Without warning, one of the greater daemons had made it’s way forward alongside a horde of monstrous daemons which spat flames, pointing it’s staff toward Aniyuë’s craft as if to unleash a spell. This was suddenly interrupted as flared of its shielding erupted in blue and black, her ravagers unleashing fusillade one after another directly into the greater daemon. It wasn’t long before it’s shielding erupted in blue flame, and even more dark matter shots shuttered through it’s corporeal form, the creature letting out a howling screech as it’s form began to dissipate into pure magic, causing a roar of cheers to manage to break even through the illusory ceiling above them.
The sudden sound caused confusion for only a moment – Which Aniyuë made use of as her craft came to a sliding halt, her entourage already disembarking as they stood near the pile of books well before any of the neverborn could make it close to them. Raising their guns, they took aim and fired a hail of shards into the flying monsters which spat flames, two falling to the ground with a crash into the dirt before the rest began unleashing warpflame into them. Her sslyth bodyguard rushed in front of her – Even with her shadowfield, such an assault might have killed her – Yet this loyal snakeform would lay down his life for the coin he was paid.
Her kabalites were gone as the daemons pressed their advance, gibbering fiends flinging fire toward her as the remainder of her court returned fire where they could – The sslyth grabbing hold of the Ur-Ghul which cowered at the back and sniffed at the air, and using it as a human shield while he returned fire and killed a pink horror, tossing the burning corpse toward the pile of books. Already, the battle was at it’s thickest around her as she stood and took aim with her pistol, firing it off – yet her aim was useless at this range, her blast pistol made only for the closest of targets.
With a strike of multihued lightning, there stood another greater daemon of the changer of ways, his wings unfurling as he let out a screech which nearly broke Aniyuë’s will, yet she managed to stand her ground and pointed toward the creature with her pistol. While she had no way of speaking directly to her ravager crews, she could instead point targets she wished for them to slay. This one, just as the last was sent reeling from the blows to it’s arcane wards, before they shattered in a spectrum of light which dissipated to the darkness of the dark lances, antimatter literally ripping the daemon’s temporary physical form apart.
Turning her gaze west, she could see the arena champions who had been flying above just before the battle in order to hype up the crowd, already meeting their match as they dodge through hails of warpflame only to be met by a dual headed Lord of Change. Roaring as it pointed it’s staff at them, in a heartbeat the three bikes seemed to shift into animals which landed on the ground and shattered their legs, sending their riders sprawling across the sands with broken bones, only to be set aflame by the rest of the daemonic horde.
This sent a pang of fear through Aniyuë, who very well should be focused on taking cover and holding this central hoard of tomes. Yet instead her gaze went to the east, where she could see the raider of Lazamar descending on a plume of black jetfire – Landing with the wyches sommersaulting from the edges of it, sliding down the hull and using the momentum to already be sprinting behind cover and toward the nearest unit of pink and gibbering horrors. Yet for a moment, she couldn’t see Slyvax’s venom, until it was clear that it was high above in the sky, having been moving alongside the raider and now descended to fire a hail of shards into the nearest flaming monstrosities. A sigh of relief was quickly broken as her sslyth bodyguard went down to another gout of flame, Aniyuë barely having time to turn toward the attacker.
Another hoard of the flamespawn had come down upon a bolt of lightning as she began to back away from the books instinctively, not wishing to remain close to these daemons that rushed forward on gouts of multicoloured flames. Yet these ones had little interest in the tomes it seemed, and instead leveled their arms which sprouted a dozen mouths from their ends. Even as the shadows of her shadowfield began to envelop her, she shut her eyes, the multihued flames pouring from these monsters almost instantaneously overwhelming the generator to her shadowfield, and bathing her in warpflame. There was pain, yet, but also an ecstasy that she would never grow used to – The feeling of her own death, the excessive agony quickly followed by a relief unlike any other.