Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

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Hunger.

Pain.

These were the most visceral sensations, and the most destructive instincts. Even a nascent Primarch could not perpetually withstand such a maddening, immense force. She felt it: hunger. And pain, a searing ache originating from deep within her brain, flickering, persistent, and utterly vexing.

The soul, named Erebus—filthy yet incomparably delicious—had failed to soothe the hollow void in the depths of her being. Instead, it had unleashed the frozen ice-flood, like the first rain of early spring. Hunger, this most primal instinct, continuously roared in her mind, demanding satisfaction. Morgan frowned.

Amidst this roaring, she distinctly heard the distant intermingling of laughter. It was neither male nor female, suffused with an indelible allure and a ravenous yearning, like a wicked sycophant mocking the king it had poisoned.

Within that frenzied laughter, she could faintly discern soft whispers, like a false mother sighing over her sacrifices and toil, and rightfully demanding her obedience and joy. And with each passing second of this laughter, her hunger expanded, relentlessly eroding her sanity, yearning to transform her into something unspeakable, a beast.

She had to resolve it, or at least find a way to temporarily suppress it.

[Souls.]

She could hear that voice craving something. This craving, at present, became the most potent impetus, urging her to stumble from her original position and ultimately walk towards the ruined battlefield, a scene of utter devastation.

——————

Under the blood-red sunset of the savage world, Morgan walked.

Even the most deranged and aberrant artist in the galaxy would likely struggle to imagine such a scene: an infant walking in the still, cold wind, strolling through an ancient battlefield, a fervent, newborn heart advancing amidst countless white bones, like a priest surveying her sacred temple. And before this priest of bone were countless oddly shaped snowflakes, seemingly drifting in the air with the mournful wind, unwilling to melt for a long time.

But a closer observation would reveal that etched upon these so-called [snowflakes] was not a pristine white, but countless screaming, twisted faces, each representing a soul unjustly perished on the battlefield.

Some were pure white, like innocent guardians, while others were of an extreme, chilling black, emanating an unnerving, tyrannical aura. Most, however, were a mottled mix of black and white—regardless, they were all now but impotent and resentful specters.

Thousands of twisted souls thus drifted before Morgan. They spun, they wailed, cursing and reviling this infant, born of extraordinary circumstances, in an unrecognizable tongue, for they had died precisely because of her.

This truly was a grand feast.

So, she extended an unseen hand, easily grasping one, and meticulously examined its sharp exterior and ferocious visage. Though her memories remained shattered and blurred, as if some irresistible force prevented her from pursuing her past experiences, her innate knowledge reserves readily opened to her: with a glance at the feast she was about to enjoy, her mind automatically identified the owners of these souls: they belonged to some kind of [Xenos].

At the thought of [Xenos], a surge of bloodlust and destructive impulse rippled within her, and with this impulse, the throbbing pain in her mind intensified, making her wince. Suppressing these chaotic thoughts, and temporarily blocking out the distant laughter, Morgan closed her eyes and quietly tossed the Xenos soul into her mouth.

The taste was, at best, barely tolerable, far inferior to the delicious Erebus, but it was enough to sate her hunger, and the pain in her mind seemed to have lessened slightly.

Then, this was the [1st].

——————

[The 14th.]

[The 15th.]

[The 16th.]

Morgan licked the corner of her mouth.

She sat in the very center of the ancient battlefield, clutching the delicious sustenance named "souls" in her hands. At first, she merely devoured them voraciously. Once slightly sated, she slowed down, beginning to meticulously savor the taste between her lips and teeth. The Primarch's superhuman cognitive abilities gradually unlocked and flowed with the continuous influx of energy. She spent some time reviewing and organizing the thousands of memory fragments and chaotic knowledge within her brain.

As her will grew clearer, the Primarch's soul could even briefly float away from her body, ascending high into the sky. From this excellent vantage point, Morgan began to observe the world she inhabited, and quickly understood everything before her. She gazed out and saw only ruins, desolation, and barrenness. What was once civilization had turned into corpses and smoke, scattered across the vast, burning landscapes and forests.

This world had once teemed with life, until the weapons and malice of war utterly destroyed it. She strained to look further, only to discern the Vague outline of a village on the horizon, already swallowed by thick smoke.

But that was not her concern. What she needed now were clothes to cover her body, means to protect herself, and souls—more souls. She needed to consume as many as possible to alleviate the throbbing in her brain, to fill her endless hunger, and to acquire more knowledge and power.

Those figures in strange armor, who called themselves Word Bearers, sought to harm her, and their numbers were unknown. She had to use every method to protect herself.

[The 67th.]

[The 68th.]

[The 69th.]

These Xenos souls were fragile and delicious. As she chewed them mouthful by mouthful, she could extract a hint of sweetness. And such delectable morsels were now everywhere in the sky, drifting above layers of white bones, emitting final wails and screams.

After swallowing another soul, Morgan moved her limbs, finding that they could now withstand running and throwing. So, she picked up a dagger from the shattered remains, swung it twice, and began to advance towards the densest pile of bones.

A moment later, she was clad in a roughly cut garment and a few scattered trinkets. Having satisfied her most basic sense of modesty, she continued her feast.

[The 251st.]

[The 252nd.]

[The 253rd.]

Driven by instinct and hunger, she continuously devoured the wailing souls, until she herself could no longer count how many she had consumed.

Until the ocean of her consciousness faintly emitted a temporary sigh of contentment, until her spirit finally replenished its energy, allowing her to discern the true gems among these souls.

Peeling back the wall formed by thousands of wailing bodies, Morgan discovered three intriguing things. They were three particularly colossal souls, and unlike their pathetic counterparts who resembled lumps of mud, these had clearly maintained their pre-death forms. The two relatively pure ones glared at her furiously, while the more wicked one could barely conceal its terror.

"We can talk." The dark Xenos, like a slaver, had barely uttered its plea for mercy when Morgan's fingertips unhesitatingly pierced it. She tossed the wailing creature into her mouth, feeling that its taste was closest to that of Erebus.

"You monstrous beast of sin!" Witnessing this, the impeccably dressed, pure-white Xenos finally unleashed a venomous curse. "The Seer Council knew of your coming long ago. The greatest Supreme Seers trembled at your shadowed future. We mobilized all our Guardians and Rangers, Fire Dragons and Howling Banshees, even mighty Wraith Constructs!"

"This should have killed you, should have ended your lowly and filthy life, utterly crushing your fate at the edge of these savage stars! If not for these ignorant fools, these unwitting brethren, and these damned, debased Scourges of Commorragh! We would have succeeded long ago!"

"You, the hound of a Chaos God, the puppet of tyranny, the contemptible beast! I know what you rely on. You, like those pathetic, self-destructive races, have become His servant and slave, doing anything for even a moment of your master's pleasure!"

"Our vanguard was but a step away from you, until your master intervened. He saved you, turning our souls into your sustenance!"

"Do you know His true nature? Do you know your pathetic and laughable future? You..."

Its curse had perhaps only just begun, but Morgan's patience had already been worn thin by these vague and hypocritical pronouncements. Her consciousness, like a sharp blade, unfurled and danced, instantly piercing through the Xenos' body.

The Xenos' companion or guardian attempted to sacrifice itself to block her, but the result was merely two screaming souls simultaneously vanishing into Morgan's sea of souls, utterly silent.

Hmm... It was sour.

Compared to the sweet deliciousness of Erebus and other murky souls, these purer, peculiar souls were either bland as water or astringently unpalatable. But they were indeed effective.

As the last sounds of these powerful Xenos faded from Morgan's consciousness, she felt that unbearable hunger likewise dissipate into thin air, and the excruciating pain in her mind gradually lessened, finally reaching a point where it was entirely negligible.

Subsequently, the Primarch felt weary. She looked up, finding the sky now heavily overcast. Soon, accompanied by a furious hurricane unlike anything seen earlier in the day, raindrops the size of walnuts and hail fell from the clouds, mercilessly pounding the ground, destroying large areas of corpses and jungle. Evidently, this savage world indeed lived up to its name.

But before that, the Primarch had returned to her own small sanctuary. This circular stronghold, constructed of metal and branches, remained a reliable barrier, capable of protecting her body temperature from the night's severe cold. So, after a final check of the safety of her surroundings, Morgan quickly fell asleep. This time, no one should disturb her again.