Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

**From the Author:** I would like to thank the reader, Daniil Kaplenko. He pointed out several important details about the Dark Eldar that helped in writing this chapter. Additionally, excerpts from the *Warhammer 40,000: Dark Eldar Trilogy* were used in this chapter.

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Asdrubael Vect watched with contempt as his trusted servants panicked and glanced around, as if they were about to flee at any moment. 

One would think that over the millennia, Vect would have learned just how pathetic and talentless his fellow kin could be. Pretending to be the arbiters of fate, they were little better than those they so despised. 

But he—Asdrubael Vect—was different. The one who, with his wit, a few buckets of poison, and words alone, toppled the "Empire" of the aristocrats and placed himself on the pedestal. He was the embodiment of everything the Dark Eldar stood for. He wished the others were even remotely like him, but perhaps that was too much to ask. 

"The only one you can always rely on is yourself." 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Vect did not panic. Over the millennia, his active mind had prepared for a myriad of threats that could challenge his rule. 

Unlike those pitiful Eldar who wallowed in debauchery and hedonism, Asdrubael never forgot where he had started. 

And now, it was time to put some of his plans into action. 

After receiving the intelligence report, Vect calculated how long it would take for the mon-keigh fleet to reach even the outskirts of the Dark City. It turned out he had at least a week. 

Wanting to maintain secrecy, the cursed worshippers of the Corpse-Emperor had chosen the most remote and unused entrance to the Webway. And though their plan had succeeded, and no ambush awaited them at the entrance, this also gave Vect time to deal with most of his problems. 

"Contact the Incubi temples," Vect's sharp voice froze everyone in place, like rabbits before a snake. "Tell them I invoke the ancient pacts and unpaid debts. They will understand." 

Vect turned to the other Eldar. 

"You lot, you have a different task. Go to the Shimmerglow. Find someone for me..." Vect gave instructions for locating the Solar Cultists he needed. Once the orders were given, most of the Drukhari scattered. 

"What are you standing around for?!" Vect barked when a few unoccupied Eldar remained in the hall. 

In an instant, the hall came alive, and everyone rushed for the exit, leaving him alone. 

A cruel smirk played across the ruler of Commorragh's face. 

Soon, the Incubi contacted him. They were some of the finest warriors in the galaxy, and unlike other Dark Eldar, they knew discipline and could, in a way, be called true soldiers. 

Clad in armor and wielding massive two-handed swords, the Incubi were an order of faceless warriors who devoted themselves entirely to war and nothing else. They were fighters of the highest caliber, dedicating their lives to perfecting the art of the killing blow. Despite their monastic asceticism, there was not a shred of honor in their bloodstained souls, for though they preached the pursuit of perfection, their true goal was to kill, and as often as possible. 

The Incubi were mercenaries, and their sole purpose was killing, killing, and more killing. They pledged their loyalty to all Kabal archons, serving as their bodyguards or personal guard. 

And now, thanks to ancient obligations, Asdrubael had subjugated them all. 

Hundreds of thousands of Incubi abandoned their employers, ignoring curses, threats, or pleas, and moved as one toward the daemonic breach. 

The daemons, who inspired terror in all living things, met a force that had forgotten what fear was. The tide of daemons, which had previously spread almost unopposed through Commorragh, was halted and even pushed back toward the breach! 

However, despite the Incubi's strength, they were too few to sustain their success for long. Fortunately, they didn't need to, as they were soon joined by countless Dark Eldar from Vect's Kabal. 

Yes, they were weaker than the Incubi, but there were many of them, and they had military technology. 

One might think Vect's actions were foolish, as sending his troops against the daemons weakened his Kabal's borders, which were already under threat from conspirators. 

But control over the Incubi was only one of Vect's cards. 

Preening before himself, Vect waved his hand, and the final security codes were transmitted to hundreds of stasis vaults across the city. 

Monolithic magnetic locks, untouched for centuries, spun in their casings and opened with a sound like funeral bells. Meter-thick doors began to slowly open, emitting a low, thunderous rumble that reverberated from the peaks of the Central Spire to the depths of Lower Commorragh. 

Thousands of sleek war machines, buried in the dungeons, stirred, awakening from their slumber. Tormented and maddened ghosts inhabiting their shells awoke, seeing the dawn of a new day that promised only betrayal and horror. 

The figures had the smooth outlines characteristic of Wraithguards and Wraithlords—guardian constructs created and animated by the Eldar of the Craftworlds to house the souls of the dead. 

But these were not Craftworld Wraith constructs. They resembled them aesthetically but were undoubtedly crafted by Commorrite hands. The slender, smooth outlines typical of Craftworlds were weighed down by additional armor and weaponry. 

Many had some of their long limbs removed to remain swift and agile despite the added weight of blades and energy projectors. Their traditionally Eldar compact forms were sacrificed for greater power. These Commorrite copies seemed to take the original design and make it more aggressive and intense. 

The machines were constructed from Wraithbone and other psychoplastic materials, more commonly associated with Craftworlds. Every piece of Wraithbone used to create these machines could only have been stolen from a Craftworld or the Webway itself. 

Spirit stones were embedded in the constructs' armor. Each war machine was equipped with a dozen or more glowing gemstones set into their gleaming metal bodies around their foreheads and shoulders. Each stone contained a soul captured at the moment of death to save it from Slaanesh's grasp. This meant they had been stolen in the most heinous manner from their resting places—worse than grave robbing, it was the enslavement of the dead. 

The gleaming constructs marched out of the dungeons into the city, their long limbs moving with fluid confidence, as if alive. They were immediately met with resistance: Ur-ghuls, rebel Kabalites, and runaway slaves instinctively attacked the new threat among them. 

But even if they managed to destroy one of the "machines," it was always at a great cost. 

The defeated fighters cursed the terrible weapons wielded by the newly arrived army and its seemingly unstoppable advance. Soon, word spread that Vect had summoned the unquiet dead to serve as his army against the living. 

And as he watched the madness unfolding in his domain, Vect merely smiled. The suffering and death of his people brought him immeasurable pleasure. 

The only thing not going according to plan was the daemonic hordes pouring from the Gates of Khaine. 

The spy crystals monitoring the city had already shown Asdrubael several Greater Daemons commanding the Chaos forces. The appearance of such creatures in the real world never ended well. 

Fortunately, Vect soon activated another of his plans. 

The Eldar he had sent to capture the Solar Cultists had succeeded in their mission. This meant one of Vect's most powerful weapons of war was ready for use. And, by some miracle, Vect had so many targets for it! 

High above the gleaming metal peaks of Commorragh hung the "Ilmaea," or "Black Suns"—dying stars that burned with a poisonous light, harnessed at the height of the Eldar Empire. Though located in a separate sub-realm, the nearly infinite resources of this celestial phenomenon powered the entire Dark City. 

Long ago, before Vect's rise to power, the Cultists had attempted to seize control of the city, believing their mystical knowledge would be enough to intimidate the noble houses. They were, of course, mistaken: the aristocrats cared little for the suffering the Cultists could inflict on the city, but they were offended by the challenge. 

The Cult prepared the most terrible weapon in its arsenal—something so monstrous that it was protected by every possible security measure, ensuring only the Cult's leaders could activate it. However, when the time came for the final test, they hesitated. The aristocrats crushed the Cult but kept its leaders alive, in torment, in case they ever needed to use the weapon. After his victory over the Archons, the prisoners passed to Vect. 

The Ilmaea, usually dim and sickly, swelled in the sky above Upper Commorragh until they nearly filled it entirely. The light became unbearably bright, and the crystal panels around the stars glowed like sheets of white-hot metal. 

Under the focused beams of the Ilmaea, the air around the Chaos hordes shimmered with heat, and the temperature soared. Within seconds, daemons and cultists withered under the terrible heat, their desiccated bodies burning to ash like scraps of paper under a blowtorch. The vast, seething mass of the daemonic horde, trapped, was utterly annihilated, destroyed, and incinerated by the relentless suns. A handful of survivors scattered, howling, trying to escape the light. 

But that was far from all. 

A swirling vortex began to draw pure plasma directly from the swollen bodies of the captive stars. Solar coronas instantly merged, pouring their combined mass onto the city below. The surviving buildings were flooded with the living blood of the Ilmaea, unleashing unimaginable energies of an atomic storm. Nothing could withstand such power. 

The elemental forces consumed stone and drank metal. Organic matter—daemonic creatures—instantly ignited and turned to gas. Dozens, hundreds of levels began to vanish and melt with a deafening roar. 

Slowly but surely, the atomic beam began to cut through Commorragh, seeking to reach the rotten core hidden within. 

*"Clang!"* Only Vect's honed reflexes allowed him to deflect the blade that suddenly appeared, aimed at his neck. 

His own strike was far more successful, grazing the attacker and forcing them to leap back, finally revealing themselves. 

In the same instant, a fierce battle erupted as Vect's personal guard clashed with the assailants who had sprung from all sides. 

"Harlequin," Vect spat, looking at the colorfully clad leader of the troupe. "So, you too have decided to betray me? A foolish decision your entire troupe will soon regret. And since you missed, none of you will leave here alive." 

"How can one betray someone they never served?" the Harlequin asked cheerfully, making a mocking bow. "As for our lives, it's a small price for a good performance and..." He paused and nodded toward the Spire's window. "You, as both audience and participant, will be able to witness it in full." 

As if waiting for the troupe leader's words, the Ilmaea began to split their cyclopean gazes, and the fiery storm dissipated, leaving behind a bubbling lake of molten metal and stone that slowly seeped through the cracks in the foundational layer, raining death into Lower Commorragh. 

But the objective had clearly not been achieved. Yes, most of the daemonic hordes that had spilled forth were destroyed, but the Gates themselves and the creatures lurking below were very much alive! 

And though the cooling rock prevented either side from advancing, the battles to the death would soon resume. 

"What a pity," the Harlequin theatrically pressed his palms to his cheeks, feigning shock. "Who would have thought such a powerful weapon would suddenly stop working? And the funniest part is, no one can activate it again, as all the Cultists have conveniently died." 

Vect maintained a terrifying silence. 

"Ah, what a pleasure to see that expression on your face," the troupe leader mused dreamily, and those were his last words. "Cegorath knows I didn't wait these last three hundred years for nothing." 

"Kill them all," Vect ordered curtly, and his guards surged forward. 

***** 

Meanwhile, while one group of Harlequins distracted Vect and another slaughtered the Cultists at the superweapon's control panel, hundreds more sowed chaos among both Vect's forces and other Kabals. 

Yet another troupe visited a rather notable Kabal. 

"So, Isha and Cegorath have allied with the Imperium to destroy Vect?" Malys slowly repeated the messenger's words, thoughtfully gazing at the bowing Harlequin. "And now you're asking me to betray my own kin, my own people, to unleash even greater slaughter...?" 

"...For the death of Asdrubael Vect," the Harlequin finished pointedly. "What is your choice?" 

"I would be delighted to join such an enticing plan," Malys replied with a false smile. 

"Our God knew we could count on you," the Harlequin nodded. "Then here is what you must do..." 

***** 

By the time the fleet of Saint Stanislav approached Commorragh close enough to scan what was happening, stunned silence hung over the bridges of the void ships. 

The unimaginably vast city was ablaze. 

There was not a single passage, peak, spire, or spike where a fierce battle was not raging. 

Dark Eldar clashed with each other in one place, while elsewhere Vect's "dead robots" slaughtered indiscriminately. Below, packs of mutants and Ur-ghuls tore into their victims, and at the center, the legions of Chaos burned with unholy sigils. 

The sight before the humans was so mesmerizing that many sent prayers to the Emperor for allowing them to witness such a beautiful scene—the widespread death of some of the most vile xenos in this cursed galaxy. 

On one of the bridges stood the man responsible for it all. The one whose appearance had set in motion the events leading to this outcome. 

Saint Stas frowned as he surveyed the scene. 

When planning to arrive here, Ordyntsev had expected to find at least two hundred billion of the most despicable scum the galaxy had ever seen. And though Ordyntsev's forces numbered in the hundreds of millions, if not billions, compared to the Drukhari army, it was a drop in the ocean. 

The crew of a single battleship numbered in the millions, and considering the number of ships and the troops they carried, the total force was more than impressive—but still insufficient to attack Commorragh. 

Yet what did he see upon arrival, thanks to the Harlequins who guided them through the Webway as part of their alliance with Isha? 

The Dark Eldar, as if on purpose, were rapidly reducing their own numbers! They were killing each other, as if to spite Stas, refusing to give him what he so desired. 

What Stas had expected, and how much he had already seen, but for enemies to kill themselves before his arrival—such injustice he had never witnessed! 

At this rate, Chaos might even renounce evil and embrace pacifism! 

The conditions on the part of the readers have been fulfilled and I, on my part, have also fulfilled it.