Autumn's Last Voyage

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: Starbreaker is a property owned by DC Comics and "Warhammer 40K" is a property belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own any of these titles nor these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Prologue: The Drukhari

"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."

- Aristotle

Solar winds danced and twisted from the sun as the latter illuminated the ominous shape of the Drukhari Torture-class Cruiser as it silently drifted past asteroids, its dark form sleek, rusted and copperish like dried blood.

Bedecked with various blades, spurs, hooks and spikes on its 1.4 kilometer long frame, the vessel soared through cold vacuum, the many grotesque bodies of its past victims mounted on its exterior in obscene poses, swaying on hooks with expressions of perpetual terror.

Inside his vessel known as the Autumn, Khanzyth Mazroruin, Archon of the Kabal of The Stained Glass, stood by the window of his private quarters, observing the various planetoids and passing nebulas in silent and thoughtful though grim contemplation, his mood dark and bitter.

Like all Dark Eldar, his form was tall, regal and whipcord thin with pale skin, clad in dark green armor, his hair long, thin and black, reaching elegantly down to his shoulders past the collarbone, framing his deceptively youthful yet strongly sharp and angular facial features.

Outside his window, he saw innumerable star constellations glitter brightly from the darkness, their forms scattered, infinite, small and still.

Narrowing his black cruel almond-shaped eyes in displeasure, the Archon's mouth clenched as he found himself idly reflecting on his kind's current state.

'How far we Aeldari have fallen,' came the bitter thought.

For sixty-five million years their empire had once reigned, spanning across entire galaxies, his people once in the trillions.

Now, they were nothing more than mere shadows of their former selves, splintered and divided amongst themselves following the Fall.

All of their gods dead, save for three - one shattered to tiny remnants, the other in the clutches of a damned Chaos Plague God, and the Laughing God.

The Archon shuddered.

It was of little comfort to him that, of the gods to have survived She-Who-Thirsts, it was the one god whose capricious nature made him unknowable, even to his own followers, the Harlequins, whose unquestioning loyalty was nothing short of alarming.

While in many ways Cegorach embodied the Aeldari art of cunning, ingenuity and trickery when the occasion called for it, the fact was, he was always working behind the scenes to ends unknown, and for that reason, Khanzyth was always wary whenever he spotted a Harlequin within Commorragh.

And the less said about the Ynnari cult, the better.

Standing by the dark window, Khanzyth felt his mood drop even more the more he reflected on his people's standing.

All of their population were now dying by the droves, all of them fated to be devoured and tortured for all of eternity by the Abomination known as She-Who-Thirsts.

Sickened, the Archon's mouth clenched.

To think that their own appetites had led to the birth of such a being, it made him nauseated to think about.

He recalled the various family members and friends he had lost over the ages, and shuddered as he refrained from thinking about what was happening to them in the hereafter.

Once, the Mazroruin family had been a prestigious and respected name within the gruesome halls of Commorragh, even before the Fall.

Where there had once been many, now only he remained of his bloodline, one of the very, very few souls who had been around to have witnessed the Fall firsthand, something very few Drukhari were able to claim, outside of one Asdrubael Vect.

Once, his mansion had been glorious, his wealth immense, but following a string of disasters, now the only thing he had left was his vessel, the Autumn, his most prized possession...and even that was falling apart.

Staring at the ship's rusted frame, Khanzyth placed a hand on it, exhaling in shame.

His father and grandfather would have flayed him several times over for the sorry state that the Autumn was in were they alive; the Mazroruins had long prided themselves on keeping their properties immaculate.

Of course, if it hadn't been for the fact that both had made the fatal error of antagonizing the Supreme Overlord, perhaps Vect wouldn't have claimed much of the Mazroruin properties for himself and left Khanzyth with nothing else.

It was only for the fact that Khanzyth had been out in his vessel at the time with his raiding parties that had spared him from sharing his family's grim fate.

Running a hand on the rust, the Archon's jaw shifted, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

To go from one of the wealthiest families to a pauper living precariously on a ship - how demeaning.

Hearing a knock at the door, he gave a grunt, feeling a little irritated by the distraction.

"Come in," he ordered, his voice deep and raspy.

Automated doors whirred open, revealing his twin Incubi bodyguards, Yrazyth and Yravyn, their intimidating horned helmets with featureless faceplates and red eyes still on. From the rumors that Khanzyth had heard about them, the twins had been raised on the streets of Commorragh, and together the two of them had a rather violent and colorful history, their stories one of perseverance and survival.

Together, the two of them had fought tooth and claw before eventually earning their places in the Shrine of Cursed Night, where they had made a decent name for themselves before eventually serving with Khanzyth for many years after.

"My lord," the former bowed, "we bring news."

"Go on," Khanzyth urged, not looking away from the window.

"We have detected a number of worlds that appear ripe for the taking," Yrazyth spoke. "We should be arriving at the nearest one in just a few minutes."

The Archon wrinkled his nose, humming.

"I see." He then turned around to face them, giving them a measured look. "How are the two of you handling things?"

The twins shifted, both of them looking uncomfortable.

"To be honest, my lord," Yrazyth said slowly, "we're still trying to adjust, but...it is hard. The Thirst has been with us for so long, but to feel its absence...is it strange that we...I...somehow...miss it?"

Khanzyth thoughtfully nodded. "It is a lot to process. How are the others handling it?"

Yravyn exhaled. "Not well, my lord. Some of them seem...scared."

Humming, the Archon stroked his chin.

"I see." Letting out an impatient growl, he turned back to the window. "Then let us prepare for this upcoming hunt. I need a throat to cut and a scalp to flay - my blade is in need of blood, and the sooner we get this over with the better."

"Yes, Archon," the twins bowed.

As the automated doors shut behind their departing forms, Khanzyth looked over to his table, studying his assortment of weapons and blades.

Picking one up, he scrutinized it carefully.

There had been a time when he had once relished the hunt with the same level of zeal as his fellow Drukhari; like many, he had tortured and murdered countless beings in hideous ways for millennia in order to replenish his soul and keep She-Who-Thirsts from claiming his.

That was...before he had heard the rumors.

One of the Kabals, more specifically the Kabal of The Bloody Root, it had been told, had decided to enter a section of the Webway that had never been explored, and it was in that section that they had supposedly managed to uncover a new universe filled with many marvels.

But even more fascinatingly, this same universe, it had been rumored, was also said to be one where not even She-Who-Thirsts was able to reach, thereby freeing every Drukhari of the inevitable soul-drain that every Aeldari was fated to experience without a Spirit Stone.

For a time, Khanzyth had doubted the claims; as an Archon, he had never taken anything at face-value, especially from his fellow Drukhari, for Commorragh was a ruthless place to live in, built on lies and deception, a society based around survival of the fittest and the word of Asdrubael Vect.

It had been Khanzyth's centuries of survival instincts that had kept him alive for thousands of years, and he was never one to even consider entertaining such childish fancies.

And yet, he had to admit, it had been an enticing prospect if true; anything was better than becoming the Abomination's toy.

He had taken a gamble coming to this realm, and to his pleasant surprise, it had paid off; for the first time in centuries, he no longer felt hollow.

No longer did he feel the dreaded tug on his soul by She-Who-Thirsts.

Many within his crew had been completely unprepared for the revelation, overwhelmed by this discovery.

A few had shouted in jubilation.

A few had cried.

Others such as himself only stood in silence, unsure of what it all meant, terrified even; ever since the Fall, the threat of She-Who-Thirsts hung over every Aeldari's head like a guillotine.

Once an Aeldari died, all were fated to be consumed without reprieve, and because of that, the Drukhari had to fend off in the inevitable soul-drain by torturing the lesser races.

Every Drukhari knew the sensation all-too well, Khanzyth especially.

For too long, he had felt as if a part of him was missing something, as if he were nothing more than a hollow corpse, a constant feeling of something sapping from his body.

No matter how much he indulged, no matter how many people he hurt, it felt as if it were never enough, and though there were moments where the torture alleviated that, if not restored at least some portion of himself, the feeling remained regardless.

The terror and confusion on the bridge that everyone felt on the crew deck was such that if it hadn't been for Khanzyth reigning them all in by having them focus their attentions on their own respective duties, it would have turned to chaos.

They had all needed something to distract themselves with, and what better way to distract themselves by focusing elsewhere?

Of course, it was a temporary fix at best, for this change brought no shortage of issues that have yet to be dealt with - with this newfound freedom, would the torture even mean anything?

Was it even needed anymore?

Standing over the table, Khanzyth stared down at the assortment of tools and blades, for the first time conflicted.

Things had been so much simpler before, but now, he and his crew have found themselves at a crossroads.

For the first time in centuries, Khanzyth and his crew were...free.

At least, so it seemed.

Part of Khanzyth felt wary, distrustful even, for whenever something seemed to be too good to be true, it would usually turn out to be so.

And yet...here it was.

It had been hard to believe - even now, Khanzyth was still struggling with the realization.

The impossible had occurred, and now everyone on this ship had the chance to walk away from this life after long last.

That being said, was it possible for them to move on from what they once were after all that they had done in order to survive?

Did they have the courage and will to walk a new path?

As Khanzyth stared out into the valley of stars, a single word unpleasantly answered from the corner of his mind.

'No,' came his inner voice.

As much as he wanted it to believe that it were so, even Khanzyth knew that some things were too good to be true, that there was never any hope of an escape for them.

Even if he decided to stay in this universe, what of his crew? Would they allow themselves to finally give up their ways, or were they all too far gone to do anything but continue as they had for centuries, unable to know anything else but pain?

He couldn't forget their reactions the moment their vessel entered this universe; the moment the Autumn emerged from the Webway, the effect was instantaneous.

Everyone had trouble realizing what was even happening, for the lingering touch of She-Who-Thirsts had been present the moment they were conceived.

And now, with that threat, even Khanzyth himself was scared, for what was stopping his conscience from confronting him for the endless horrors that he had committed?

While filled with many wonders, the universe was dark, cruel and pitiless, and in order to survive their environments, each other and themselves, the Drukhari had to be even crueler than most.

Because of that, galaxies full of species, families and communities were torn apart.

Whole species obliterated and tortured to death, all because the Drukhari were afraid.

For the first time in centuries, a feeling of melancholy and remorse filled Khanzyth's shriveled black soul.

Staring at his reflection, the Archon shook his head in disgust at the wretch that he had become.

'How could have I let myself become this thing?' he wondered.

Fear and pain had become a part of the Commorrite for so long, it was all that they have ever known.

While the thought of being free from the grip of She-Who-Thirsts provided some comfort, in other ways, it seemed, it was torture in its own way, for how else would one be able to free themselves of their conscience?

How could they possibly move on when they in turn had ruined the lives of so many?

Even if he decided to stay, what would stop the crew from getting ideas into their heads about possibly betraying him and taking over his position as Archon?

What would stop them from reporting to Vect directly, assuming that none of them were potential spies?

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and darkly ironic to the Archon.

Even in a scenario where he himself was free, he was never truly free, a prisoner regardless of his decisions.

Closing his eyes, Khanzyth let out an incredulous laugh, scoffing.

How pathetic.

Looking up at his reflection once more, Khanzyth stared for a long time, then exhaled in bitter resignation.

Regardless of his decision, he was damned all the same.

Letting out a rumbling growl, the Archon shook his head in dismay.

Damn it all.

Averting eyes from the glass, his dark orbs looking down at the weapons on the table.

Perhaps it was better to not change the status quo.

Hardening his heart once more, the Archon started to load up on his weapons, sheathing his knife before placing on his lightweight Ghostplate Armor.

Once he finished, he picked up the last item on the table, a helmet with a smooth, featureless faceplate at the front with a pair of glowing green lenses. Protruding from the top of the helmet were a pair of long, regally curling ibis horns, their length ivory a stark white.

Staring at the helmet in his gauntlet-clad hand, Khanzyth silently deliberated with himself over his decision.

Closing his eyes, the Archon despondently relented, slipping the helmet on once more.

* * * * *

The crew deck was silent as Khanzyth stepped into the room with his twin Incubi by his sides, their massive klaives armed and crackling with dark energy.

Upon seeing him, everyone onboard straightened in alert, his Dracon, Bhumar, stepping forward. A True-born individual with long blonde hair, his left eye covered with a red glyph, Bhumar's family had been friends with Khanzyth's for many years.

As such, Khanzyth was tasked with taking the youth under his wing, and though at first he had gotten under his skin, the youth had made up for it with his cunning and resourcefulness.

On many occasions the two of themhad butted heads with one another, but over time a mutual respect and understanding was formed between them following the various scrapes they had found themselves in over the years.

As pathetic as it was, Bhumar was probably the only person Khanzyth had ever come to see as his friend, if not the closest thing he ever had to a son, and for that reason, Bhumar ended up earning his position as Dracon, a privilege he hardly ever granted to anyone.

Upon seeing the youthful figure, Khanzyth folded his arms behind him. "Report."

Bhumar stepped forward, straightening. "Lord Archon, we have intercepted transmissions coming from a nearby planet calling for aid."

Looking up with interest, the Archon glanced over his spiked shoulder. "Is there now?"

"Yes, Lord Archon," came the reply as Bhumar brought up a hologram showing some alien text. "According to our translations, the natives refer to their world as "Almerac"."

Almerac?

Tilting his head, Khanzyth silently tested the word. It didn't sound like an Aeldari word.

He didn't think it likely to be Necron either.

'Perhaps a human colony?' he wondered.

Whatever the species, he was admittedly curious, and Khanzyth was determined to get something out of this.

"Tell me more about these transmissions," he gestured, urging Bhumar to elaborate.

"According to the messages, they are under attack by an unknown hostile force and are desperately calling for any form of aid."

"Are any of our forces involved with this?"

"Negative, my lord," Bhumar replied. "Without knowing what the potential threat is, we will be going blind. Our munitions are good, but the fact that we do not have a Haemonculi of our own is concerning. Should we respond to their distress calls?"

Pursing his lips, Khanzyth drummed his fingers together, humming thoughtfully in silence.

"Hm. Yes, it is unfortunate that our Haemonculi was stripped away from us," he murmured. "The Supreme Overlord is not being subtle in his wanting us to fail."

"You believe he wants us dead?"

Khanzyth scoffed. "Hardly. No, he is merely making a point; the reality is, we don't even register to him. He views us with so much contempt for us that he doesn't even see us as a legitimate threat. At best, this is his idea of a practical joke."

After a moment of deliberation, he responded, instructing, "Take us to Almerac. I want to see with my own eyes what's happening so that I can properly assess the situation. We'll need to salvage something from this." A cold smirk formed underneath his helmet as he added, "Perhaps we can use this to our advantage and earn the natives' trust. Their despair will taste all the sweeter when we give them hope."

All around him, the other Drukhari darkly chuckled, some of them nodding in agreement.

"Acknowledged," a pilot nodded. "Setting course."