"Yvraine! You still dare show your face before me?"
The moment Asdrubael Vect saw the leader of the Reaper Army—the woman who had caused such an uproar in Commorragh that he'd spent some time as a "bunker boy"—he flew into a rage.
Nothing burned hotter than hatred for an old enemy.
If he had to name the person he hated most in his life of more than ten thousand years, it would be Yvraine.
She alone had truly threatened his power, his prestige, and his rule over the Dark Eldar.
As the saying went, cutting off someone's livelihood was as bad as killing their parents.
If people felt that strongly about mere wealth, how much more fiercely would they cling to power? Countless people were obsessed with it, willing to stake their lives and their families' lives on it, even to the point of madness.
So although Asdrubael Vect knew the Reaper Army might be the only hope of threatening Slaanesh and saving all Eldar, he had never stopped trying to kill Yvraine.
Otherwise, the Dark Eldar would never forget that an organization existed that could free them from the torment of having Slaanesh constantly drain their souls.
They would no longer need to ease that suffering through endless slaughter, plunder, enslavement, and torture, sinking deeper into depravity just as the Eldar Empire had once collapsed amid its own extravagance and excess.
Asdrubael Vect had been an insignificant slave in the days of the Eldar Empire, nearly sacrificed with his throat slit, destined to die unnoticed. Yet deep down, he had always yearned for the nobles' unrestrained luxury and their pursuit of every extreme sensation.
That was why he had preserved the Dark Eldar's ancient traditions after taking power.
The Haemonculi in particular—dark artists and technology-obsessed madmen—held even higher status