Appearing as Prey

Incubi were mercenary warriors of the Dark Eldar, closely resembling the Aspect Warriors of the craftworlds.

They had mastered the klaive, a weapon consisting of a single, exceptionally sharp broad blade. They wielded it with lethal precision, severing limbs and shattering weapons, terrifying their enemies through consummate skill. These fearsome killers sought the perfect kill and relished the sensation of a blade passing through an enemy's body. Their flexible combat suits, Incubus armor, offered protection comparable to Space Marine power armor without hindering their movement. Their creed was to kill as quickly as possible, by any means and at any cost.

They had waited patiently for Kaleb's party to enter striking distance. The moment their targets relaxed, they launched a sudden, vicious assault with a speed that would alarm any living creature. The eyes beneath their helmets already pronounced a death sentence upon the humans trespassing in this forbidden place. Nothing escaped a Dark Eldar attack at such close range. Even humanity's mightiest guardians could only perish bitterly when ambushed this way.

But surprises always came without warning. Before their minds had even reacted, the Primaris Marines' bodies were already moving. They were as swift as streaks of light, power surging through every cell in an instant. The first Dark Eldar to charge was caught in a Primaris warrior's hand.

“How can this be?” The Dark Eldar stared in disbelief. The humans' speed utterly astounded them. Their necks were crushed effortlessly in the Primaris Marines' grip. Their formidable Incubus armor offered no protection at all.

Even the Talos Pain Engine, that embodiment of despair, was easily pinned to the ground. Its enormous metal scorpion tail tried to strike, only to be shot off in a shower of sparks. Before the great war engine could accomplish anything, it had been dismantled.

Realizing that the human squad possessed strength they could not match, the few remaining Dark Eldar tried to retreat into the shadows. A flash of spectral blue light left them in dismembered pieces.

The Primaris Marines' speed was astonishing. The sole survivor was hurled out of the sanctuary. His dark-armored body smashed an abandoned Aeldari wraithbone tower into rubble. Using his klaive for support, he struggled upright, his eyes full of disbelief. How could humans possess such terrifying strength and speed?

“Take him alive. He may have what we need,” Kaleb said. But they were too late. Realizing he could not win, the last Dark Eldar killed himself.

Kaleb regretted the loss. They could obtain some information from the corpses' flesh, but it would not be complete.

By the time Celestine arrived, every enemy was dead. Fighters roared overhead, searching for others hidden in the darkness. Concern showed in her eyes. Their already dreadful circumstances kept deteriorating. There truly seemed to be no hope.

Meanwhile, Guilliman, who had recently announced that the fleet would head for the designated coordinates to rescue Celestine, was receiving an important visitor: a Harlequin. In the war council chamber, he studied the two prominent Aeldari before him.

One was Yvraine, prophet of the Ynnari, the designated future Mrs. Regent, and someone who had done a great deal to save his life. She had brought her Ynnari to join the Imperial expedition into the Warp. But Guilliman was mainly training his soldiers and kept glassing planets, so they had seen little action. They stayed quietly aboard their own ships and witnessed one human victory after another. The rest of the fleet instinctively ignored them. Relations between humans and Aeldari were hardly friendly. Their presence was tolerated only because they had played such a large part in saving Guilliman.

The other was a recent arrival from the Harlequins, worshippers of the Laughing God: Sylandri Veilwalker. When the Aeldari gods fell, Cegorach had hidden in the Webway. Perhaps drawing his power from laughter had enabled him to evade Slaanesh's pursuit and corruption. Other Aeldari later fled into the Webway and found his protection; thus the Harlequins arose. Cegorach had been the first Harlequin, and under his guidance the others donned their clown masks.

When Dark Eldar died, Slaanesh took their souls. Craftworld Aeldari stored theirs in wraithbone and had created infinity circuits to keep them from the god's grasp. The souls of dead Harlequins were entrusted to Cegorach. Only the Solitaires, cursed by portraying Slaanesh in their performances, were destined to lose their souls to it. The Laughing God tried to save them whenever he could, but seldom succeeded.

The Harlequins guarded the Black Library, a repository coveted even by Tzeentch. It contained knowledge from across the universe, astonishing technologies, and terrible secrets. There were said to be books about the future as well. One account claimed that the Emperor had entered the Library and read them.

Using the advantage of foreknowledge, he had successfully tricked the four gods and made a pact with them, obtaining the power and knowledge needed to create twenty Primarchs. Later, however, they had turned the trick back on him, leaving him half-dead and forced to remain upon the Golden Throne.

That alone showed how powerful the four gods were. Put a man like that into any of those countless orphanage worlds: wisdom, strategy, martial strength, calls for democracy, reason, and science instead of superstition, ignorance, and gods, plus the advantage of knowing the future. He was the very template of a protagonist. Denying such a noble, radiant hero a happy ending would have readers cursing the author all the way back through his ancestors.

Instead, the Emperor, who could casually slaughter greater daemons, had been crippled by the oh-so-filial son he had personally nurtured for thirty years and pinned to the Golden Throne. When the Webway Project failed, even the man who had dared deceive the four gods admitted that he could no longer see a clear future for humanity. Against Chaos, one might gain a temporary advantage, but destruction waited at the end.

Veilwalker introduced herself with exquisite grace. Her voice was rich, beautiful, and a pleasure to hear. One could easily imagine an exceptionally lovely Aeldari woman beneath the clown mask.

Guilliman felt an immediate urge to complain. Why weren't humans and Aeldari the same species? Wasn't building a harem one of the fundamental rights of a transmigrator? Why had that supposedly infallible rule stopped working for him? Was there a department in charge of transmigrators? He wanted to file a complaint. This was discrimination! Why couldn't he have a harem? Other people could turn enormous battleships into shipgirls, yet he was supposed to accept that these petite, lovely Aeldari women were a different species?

He kept every one of those complaints well hidden. “We have come to offer the Regent our assistance,” Veilwalker said with a slight bow. “Go on.” Guilliman's voice carried unmistakable authority, betraying none of his private calculations.

After all, who would imagine that the Lord Regent was currently wondering whom to make his empress once he had evicted the Emperor from the Golden Throne? It was outrageous treason—practically daemonic.

“Your subordinates are now surrounded by enemies from the Warp. They are extraordinarily brazen and make no attempt to conceal themselves. Gathered together, they radiate disturbances that can be sensed from a great distance.”

“Against such powerful enemies, sheer obstinacy will only place you in greater danger. The Harlequins can guide you through a Webway route. You could rescue your people with ease, without confronting the enemy,” Veilwalker said.

Guilliman, however, had noticed something else. “Can you approach my people without being detected?”

“We benefit from a great work bequeathed to us by our ancestors. It allows us to disregard Warp storms and travel freely throughout the universe. That work is the Webway, the culmination of our forebears' wisdom.” A note of pride entered Veilwalker's voice. The great network let her people move swiftly from place to place without struggling through Warp storms as humans did.

Guilliman kept his retort to himself. Your Webway belonged to the Old Ones. At most, you've repaired it a few times. Was it really all right to patch up someone else's work, use it, and then shamelessly claim it as your own? He did not say so aloud. Exposing that embarrassing history would certainly make these bean sprouts turn hostile.

“If you can approach the enemy undetected, could you do something for me? The finest hunters often make their entrance disguised as prey.”

“Since those traitors believe they have everything under control, why don't we send them one more gift?”