Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

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[Morgan, my daughter.]

[You are a failure.]

——————

A voice echoed in her mind, like ocean waves crashing against cliffs.

The infant in the chamber frowned, submerged in a dream, a real dream. She could feel that, at first, she was in an empty container, surrounded by cold nutrient fluid and intravenous tubes. Needle points pierced the back of her hand, casually kneading her flesh and spirit, transforming her into a form that pleased her creator.

"Morgan..." Someone was calling her.

"Failure." The voice delivered its merciless conclusion, followed by the most intense pain. Thousands of sharp edges tore at her heart; she curled up, able only to struggle helplessly.

Then came the storm. She could hear its ever-changing mad laughter and that furious cry. She felt herself swept away by the storm, drifting in a void day after day, year after year, until finally falling somewhere.

She didn't know how much longer passed after that, but the sounds of war and slaughter came with abnormal clarity at some point. It was a frenzied fratricide; she could hear entire Legions warring and destroying each other around her, until no sound remained.

So, she closed her eyes and continued to sleep.

Until the most contemptible one visited from the stars.

——————

"Are you certain it is here, Chief Chaplain?"

The Vanguard cautiously stepped onto the cracked earth. By the Emperor, he was likely the first human in millennia to set foot in such a remote, savage land. His Mark II power armor's temperature regulation system whirred loudly with the gusts between the clouds.

The Vanguard looked up, realizing the next downpour was imminent. "It seems we must hurry. Who knows what the weather is like in this cursed place."

"It won't be too bad." The Lexicanum was the second to disembark. He adjusted his weapon, his gaze lingering for a moment on the distant horizon before returning to the ground, searching for any potential paths or dangers. Behind him followed two Legion Recruits, who looked left and right, maintaining the most standard state of alertness.

"According to the Rogue Trader's exploration log, there are likely traces of minor xenos civilizations here. More than the weather, we should be concerned about potential attackers." As the Lexicanum finished speaking, a Recruit tilted his head towards him.

"Sir, then why don't we assemble an exploration force? According to Legion doctrines, exploring a xenos world of unknown intelligence level requires at least..."

"At least 50 soldiers, a warship, and written permission from two high-ranking officers. I know, Recruit, I'm the one responsible for teaching these regulations." The Lexicanum intimately patted a Recruit's shoulder pauldron, then smiled at the other. "Trust me, desperate times call for desperate measures. This is permitted."

Such perfunctory words clearly failed to convince anyone, but it was at that very moment that the Chaplain descended. The Chaplain was a tall and dangerous figure; his broad jaw, deep-set eyes, and face etched with scripture were chilling.

With just a glance, the Recruits bowed their heads in awe. The Chaplain narrowed his eyes, like a wild fox that had just fed, first smugly enjoying this awe for a moment before slowly walking into the depths of the dense forest.

"Be careful, Recruits." Behind him, the Lexicanum smiled, reassuring these two excellent consumables beside him. "Chaplain Erebus's temper isn't exactly good."

——————

This was the age of ascendance.

With the final whimper of the old empire, the tides of chaos and madness had surged throughout the galaxy for too long. And now, accompanied by undeniable commands, new power, new will, new Legions would crush them one by one.

Another majestic giant was forging its own glorious chapter with steel and flame. This was the revival of a miracle, the phoenix's nirvana, an enduring monument built with countless efforts and sacrifices. Every victory and conquest added splendor to this legendary tale.

The Great Crusade had begun. The Emperor's will descended from Holy Terra, transforming into boundless Legions and fleets, interrogating every corner of the galaxy. Lost territories were reclaimed, resistance was crushed, and the conqueror's banner spread like a plague.

Opportunists, ambitious individuals, and the contemptible ones all teared up at this magnificent sight. They were delighted to discover that amidst the waves of war, countless opportunities and treasures could be found...

"They can be plundered..." Erebus whispered, xenos skeletons and lost souls piled into mounds beneath his feet.

"By the Emperor, what happened here?" Behind him, the Recruit marveled at the scene before them. It was a court built of white bones, staining the muddy ground into a snowfield. The fragments of bones resembled human ones, but their skulls mercilessly revealed their xenos identity.

"These are Aeldari bones, perhaps thousands of them." The Lexicanum sorted through pendants and ornaments, meticulously identifying them. "This is Aeldari... Ys... Ys-something... Craftworld."

"This barbed whip looks more like an instrument of torture."

"What's this? ...Is it a mask for acting?"

The Lexicanum continued his exploration with keen interest, even straying somewhat from the group. His eyes soon spotted the skeletons of even larger beasts, intermingled with some Aeldari remains.

Clearly, in their last moments, these xenos had either battled fearsome colossal beasts, or fought alongside them. Eventually, he found something interesting: a communication device. After fiddling with it for a while, a final voice message emanated from it:

[Illyriel, I truly don't understand why we must fight here. This is not defending the Craftworld. Our kin in the galaxy are already so scarce, yet we are intent on self-destruction here.]

[Mind your tone, Yossi. The Seers have received a prophecy: that thing on this world will destroy us, so we must preemptively destroy it.]

[Our feral kin will not agree. That thing has already merged with their world-soul, and the Harlequins too; they intend to take it.]

[So, we fight for this... Be careful! The Scourges of Commorragh are coming...]

The voice abruptly ceased, followed by chaotic gunshots and battle cries, and then, wailing. It was the intertwining wailing of thousands, chaotic and terrifying, as if the souls of thousands were being torn from their bodies by some power.

The Lexicanum frowned. He tossed the device away, clapped his hands, and quickly caught up with the squad, returning to his position at the rear. He lowered his head under the dissatisfied gaze of Chaplain Erebus, and then continued his duty: adjusting his weapon and watching the two naive Recruits.

The squad advanced, Erebus with closed eyes, murmuring incantations, letting the eight-pointed star sigil clutched in his palm lead him to the deepest part of the battlefield. There stood a towering ancient tree, immensely tall and majestic, yet it was dying, much like this world itself.

[The folly of prophecy.]

[The fratricide of kin.]

[The shriek of souls.]

Almost there... almost.

An ominous glow manifested in his palm. Erebus smiled contentedly. He stepped into the ancient tree, and in the shadows, he saw the precious artifact, layered and wrapped in withered vines.

The final step... The vague whispers of the gods flashed through his mind, making Erebus even more certain that his piety had been rewarded.

[The blood of betrayal.]

Erebus turned his head. With his gaze, the Lexicanum mercilessly pulled the trigger.

With two gunshots, the Recruits' eyes widened, and they fell, one after another. They would, of course, die, for only their muzzles were not aimed at their comrades. The Vanguard likewise raised his weapon, aiming at the Recruits' heads, one shot per man, ensuring no lingering issues. Even in Erebus's mind, witnessing this scene prompted thought: What kind of reason must I concoct this time?

After a brief moment of distress, excitement once again consumed the contemptible one. He drew his short blade and smeared the flowing blood onto the withered vines. Behind him, the Vanguard surveyed the two gradually cooling bodies, then suddenly turned to look at the Lexicanum.

"You say... does the Emperor truly know what we're doing?"

"If He really knew, we'd have died countless times already." The Lexicanum simply yawned lazily.

——————

[Awaken.]

This was the first time.

In the Chief Chaplain's excited gaze, the final layers of protection fractured. The world let out an irrecoverable wail, and then, in the ocean of souls, came the sound of a monumental collapse.

He saw it: a private paradise where metal and wooden vines intertwined, a tough fortress protecting a precious relic, and a blessing from the gods. Through the subtle metal cracks, he saw those pale brows, perhaps belonging to an infant.

It seemed he needed a knife and fork, preferably ones that could slice through soft flesh and sinews, so that he might enjoy the blessing without grinding his teeth.

[Awaken!]

This was the second time.

Erebus continued his shrieking, a sound like the grating of blades against each other, making the ocean of souls boil, echoing again and again in the sleeper's ear. He saw those brows slowly furrow, as if a quiet, pleasant dream had been shattered, and new branches, enjoying the morning's faint light, shivered from an impolite cold wind.

Erebus smiled. He continued.

[Awaken!!]

This was the third time.

Even the birds in the sky plummeted due to this hoarse roar. The Sea of Souls surged violently. The Vanguard and the Lexicanum tightly covered their ears; their heads felt as if they were crashing left and right inside their helmets. The faint brows were now tightly knitted, their owner still resisting, still fruitlessly trying to remain in the beautiful illusion, rejecting the cold reality.

Erebus quieted. He no longer roared. He waited patiently until the waves of souls subsided from their frenzy, until the entire world seemed to grow calm because of it. He waited until the pale brows in his sight slowly unfurled from their tight contortion, finally flattening completely. Evidently, the dream had descended once more.

The Chief Chaplain's lips curled. He felt genuine joy for the coming act. He transformed his voice into a pure shriek, a spear of sound waves capable of piercing any brain. This was the last time.

[Awaken!!!]

——————

Finally, the thing opened its eyes.

She had awakened.

——————

The slaughter began.

——————

The first to fall was the Vanguard.

This old soldier had just recovered from his dizzy spell, and was carefully admiring the astonished expressions of the two dead men with a look of extreme mockery. This was his bad habit. But then, the Astartes' superhuman senses made him realize something.

"Chaplain!" he shrieked, but before his plea for help was complete, an invisible force struck from the void. First the head, then the chest, arms, and legs. This heavy warrior was dragged into mid-air, crushed inch by inch, as if a can of milk had been exploded, blood gushing onto the ground.

The Lexicanum watched all of this in horror, but soon felt a cold wind pass through his body. He difficultly lowered his head, only to see blood flowing from his knees, followed by an excruciating pain.

Erebus's gun smoked. He glanced at his confidant, whose knee he had personally shot through, and who was now being pulled and torn apart by an invisible hand, then he turned and ran wildly. He ran faster and faster, more and more frantically. He dashed desperately through the dense forest and over bones; the tearing sound of the wind echoed in his ears. His speed, like a bird's flight, even surprised himself.

Faster and faster, further and further, faster and faster, higher and higher, faster and faster, and faster...

Wait? He finally realized.

Erebus looked down, only to see a shattered corpse lying in the most inconspicuous corner. From head to abdomen, from arms to toes, every inch had been pulverized by some violent, immense force. He even thought the corpse looked a little familiar.

Then, he realized, that was himself.

Erebus's soul couldn't help but look around blankly. Then, he felt pain—not physical pain, but spiritual. His soul was being torn by an angry, violent force, like a hurricane devouring clouds. Before he could scream, this contemptible little thing was casually crushed, like a stink bug accidentally stepped on, utterly unremarkable.

In his final moment, he only realized that vague sounds in the void were becoming clear. He realized it was boundless mockery. He only realized that this was not a blessing, not even a gaze.

It was just mockery.

——————

Morgan awoke.

She had been awakened by the noise.

Thus, she was very annoyed, and a little bewildered.

Memories flooded in like a seasonal tide, washing over her orderly brain and scattering it. She vaguely recalled some intense sounds, the screams and roars of thousands of lives, and then her own displeased shriek, and those sounds vanished.

She began to move her limbs, but found them frail and stubby. After a brief attempt, she barely managed to stand. She felt empty, curious, and hungry. She was hungry; she needed to eat something.

The dream-like memories appeared intermittently, guiding her to extend her consciousness. A few ethereal forms wandering in mid-air were easily grasped by her. These are souls. Her brain immediately told her.

She had eaten them before; while she was still sleeping, she had consumed hundreds of thousands of similar things, though they didn't seem to be exactly like the one in front of her. She looked closely, only to find that among these five ethereal foods, one soul seemed exceptionally filthy and ugly, yet very appealing.

Driven by hunger, she still opened her mouth.

Hmm... An unexpectedly delicious taste.