Warhammer 40k: Rise of the Great Horned Rat

Chapter 176 176: The Assault on the Palace of Slaanesh

The Realm of Chaos is both formless and manifest, an ontological extension of the Dark Gods' own essence. Thus, should a Ruinous Power so desire, their domain can manifest anywhere within the Warp.

Such was the case now, as a jagged splinter of reality forced its way into the territory of another. Kritislik shrieked sibilant profanities, reciting the unholy testaments of the Horned Rat with manic fervor. From the Realm of Ruin, an endless, roiling tide of vermin began to pour forth, a chittering carpet of filth swarming into the borders of Slaanesh's domain.

To a rat, the exquisite depravities of the Prince of Pleasure held no allure. The heady, addictive perfumes, the vintage amasec that could enslave a mortal soul, the aesthetic arrangements of sewn-together captives screaming in a harmonious fusion of agony and ecstasy, none of it mattered.

The swarm left only filth in its wake. Their rusted claws defaced peerless works of art; their yellowed incisors gnawed jagged ruins into perfection. Addiction was a non-factor; the Skaven were already eternally enslaved to the toxic thrall of warpstone.

Like a tsunami of black and grey, the rat-tide erupted from every crevice and gutter of the Realm of Ruin. The Daemons of Slaanesh, who had been amidst the cruel sport of tormenting Aeldari souls, froze in momentary confusion before erupting into a multifaceted, melodic rage.

"Dared you defile these precious treasures with your filth-stained claws!"

Though depraved beyond mortal comprehension, the scions of the Dark Prince possessed an obsessive artistic drive. They could not endure the sight of vermin despoiling their masterpieces. With elegant, slender limbs and chitinous pincer-blades, they lunged into the sea of fur.

The Daemons reaped the rats like wheat before a scythe, but the true terror of the Skaven lay in their inexhaustible numbers. These pests carried the condensed misery of the mortal realms and a low, malign intellect within their glowing red eyes. With filth-encrusted claws and gnashing teeth, they tore at the Daemons' loathsomely smooth, pastel skin.

Soon, the first wave of Slaaneshi wardens was submerged by the swarm, their essences devoured and their physical manifestations gnawed to nothingness. The tide rolled onward, surging toward the Six Circles of Slaanesh.

Lucius raised a fist, parrying a razor-sharp claw with a thunderous impact, while Sneek blurred through the chaos in a flickering shadow-stride. In an instant, the Nightlord snatched Isha from the desperate protection of the surrounding Aeldari spirits.

"Isha—!"

"My Lord, your will is done-achieved." Sneek ignored the despairing wails of the Aeldari, kneeling before the Great Horned Rat to present the captive goddess.

The Great Horned Rat, a colossal, shifting manifestation of a horned skeletal visage, loomed over the tiny form of Isha within its palm.

"I heard your cries of despair, Isha. And despair... despair is my strength. Beseech me... pray to me, and the Horned Rat shall answer."

Isha looked upon her dwindling children, then closed her eyes in a final, agonizing surrender. "I will submit to you... only save my children..."

Immediately, a surge of nascent power coursed through Lucius. Though it was faint compared to his own Formless Distortion, it was a fundamental, primal energy he had never tasted before.

"Perfect..." Lucius chuckled, his stride lengthening as he pressed forward.

With a snap of his fingers, the remaining Aeldari vanished. As a traveler who always ensured at least one city remained to preserve a species' diversity, Lucius had no intention of letting them perish here. He granted Isha's wish, casting them back into the materium, keeping the goddess by his side only to witness his "glory," and perhaps to provide a necessary measure of terror.

Hsssss—! The shadow of Slaanesh recoiled, retreating toward the heart of the Palace.

The Great Horned Rat, much like the Emperor of Mankind, cared nothing for "martial honor" or "fair play." Had the Emperor himself not recently manifested within the Garden of Nurgle to host a planetary-scale pyre? And that was before His formal ascension to godhood.

The infinite swarm engulfed the outskirts of the Palace, devouring the obscene, phallic flora and the very soil itself. Upon reaching the outer walls, the Great Cannons of Slaanesh began to roar. These weapons were twisted masterpieces, a horrific synthesis of baroque metal and living meat.

As the rats scrambled up the ramparts, the supernatural stone sprouted jagged barbs, disemboweling the vermin and pinning them to the masonry. Within moments, the violet-pink walls were obscured by a literal "meat-shield" of bleeding Skaven.

"Ahahaha~!" The Daemons atop the walls jeered, mocking the futile desperation of the rat-kin.

Flesh-shells launched from the cannons impacted the swarm, liquefying vast swathes into a slurry of interconnected gore. The scent was a cloying, saccharine sweetness that could drive a mortal to madness, compelling them to run toward the cannons in search of a blissful death.

"Faster-faster! Go—Attack!"

Kritislik shrieked, the Grand Grey Seer waving his triangular staff and chattering incessantly. He dreaded nothing more than the Great Horned Rat witnessing his incompetence. In Skaven society, such a perception was the herald of execution.

Behind the initial wave of common Skaven souls came the Verminheaders, tall, lithe figures twisted by the traits of their respective Great Clans.

Led by several Verminlords, the Clan Mors Verminherders charged forward. Clad in crimson power armor and hefting storm shields, these rats were masters of the art of ruin. Having evolved through their defeats against the surface world, their martial prowess had grown exponentially.

"Let the Skryre-things break-shatter the wall!"

At the Verminlord's command, a contingent of Skryre Verminherders pushed their war-engines forward, creations of riveted iron, hissing with filth-slicked pipes and erratic wiring.

"Warp-Death Rockets! Give-give the Slaanesh-things a lesson!" A Skryre Verminherder, looking like a rusted mockery of a Tech-Priest, stood atop a ramshackle iron chariot. He shrieked orders at the lesser spirits who had been his slaves in life and remained his chattel in death.

Green rockets were loaded and ignited. Like a hellish festival of fireworks, the warp-projectiles streaked into the Palace of Slaanesh, detonating in a series of roiling, emerald mushroom clouds.

Simultaneously, the monstrosities of Clan Moulder, creatures far more deranged than anything seen in the mortal realms, were unleashed. A Hell-Pit Abomination, built with the bulk of a rhinoceros and a massive warp-drill where its horn should be, went berserk as the Packmasters' whips cracked. It slammed into the supernatural walls with world-shaking force.

The relentless, suicidal assault caused the Palace walls to shudder and crack. The swarm began forming living ladders, allowing the Mors Verminherders to scale the heights with bloodthirsty howls.

In an instant, the Realm of Pleasure was transformed into a chaotic slaughterhouse. Beneath the cacophony, the Clan Eshin Verminherders vanished into the fray, slipping past the defenses unseen.

Shortly after, the Daemons realized their Soul Grinders were being stripped of essential components mid-battle. Heralds were assassinated before they could reach the front lines, and the Great Menageries, housing the rarest beasts of the Warp and the Materium, were sabotaged, releasing half-mad predators to wreak havoc within the Palace interior.

Watching the unfolding devastation, the Great Horned Rat let out a booming, raspy laugh. Addressing the persona of Slaanesh deep within the Palace, he hissed:

"I played by the rules... but if you force me to stand before you, I shall show you a different kind of 'pleasure' entirely."

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