A Mutual Charge

If Nurgle's invasion had been a gentle corrosion, then Tzeentch's blow was a precise, fatal betrayal.

The agents of the Eye of Change had long since infiltrated every critical node on Viridia. When the call to revolt sounded, they struck simultaneously. The planet's communications system was cut off in an instant, and every distress signal sent beyond the planet was altered into a looping hymn praising the Lord of Change. A series of unexplained "accidental explosions" erupted in the Planetary Defense Force's armories; half the Leman Russ tanks became heaps of scrap before they could even leave their garages. More fatally, they had turned some of the Adeptus Mechanicus's tech-priests—heretics who had long grown weary of the unchanging dogma of the "Omnissiah" and yearned to embrace "change."

At the most critical moment of the uprising, the automated defense turrets guarding the governor's mansion suddenly swung their barrels around and poured devastating fire into their own positions. In the mansion's command center, the general of the Planetary Defense Force stared in stunned disbelief as the tech-priest reporting that "everything is normal" extended a third arm covered in purple chitin from beneath his robes and drove a poisoned dagger into his heart.

"Change is the universe's only truth," the heretical priest murmured.

While the entire planet descended into the chaos of blood and fire, conspiracy and plague, the artists of the Perfect Voice transformed the uprising into a grand, soul-shaking piece of performance art.

They hacked every broadcast and holographic projection system in the city. In an instant, every screen showing propaganda glorifying the Imperium became a twisted, psychedelic music video filled with an uncanny beauty. In the videos, an androgynous "deity" with four arms danced gracefully to deafening industrial noise rock. With every movement, the world became more dazzling—and more insane.

They installed massive loudspeakers in every corner of the city. No longer did they play the Ecclesiarchy's hymns, but infrasonic music capable of directly stimulating the neural centers of intelligent beings. At times, it was like a lover's whisper; at others, like the roar of heaven and earth collapsing. Ordinary people who heard it felt their heads splitting apart and their minds unraveling. But to those whose hearts had long been filled with desire and repression, the music was an apocalypse that unleashed their deepest cravings.

Drawn by the music, countless civilians joined the revelry. They rushed from their homes, smashed storefronts, put on their most extravagant clothes, and danced wildly through the streets, turning the entire city into one vast open-air party before the end of the world.

Planetary Governor Balthasar von Kaut watched in despair through an independent observation window in the final safe room of the governor's mansion as his world fell completely within just three days.

His army had collapsed beneath the berserkers' charge. His people laughed in the embrace of plague. His defense systems had betrayed him, and his cities had become enormous discos.

He could not understand. The plea for aid he sent to the Inquisition was filled with incoherent, near-mad descriptions.

"...They aren't rebels... they're... a pack of lunatics! Lunatics with blood painted on their faces, mushrooms growing from their bodies, and poems spilling from their mouths! They charge while... singing! Emperor above, they're singing!!!"

Just as Viridia's "carnival" reached its crescendo, the true "guests" arrived.

Without warning, the sky darkened.

Not with storm clouds, but with a terrifying darkness as though all color had been drained from the universe itself. Then, within everyone's minds, there came a cold, vast shriek beyond description.

—Hunger.

It was the Hive Mind's first and only thought, crossing endless void to descend upon this planet.

Countless drop pods like rotting-flesh spores tore through the atmosphere, trailing long tails behind them as they crashed down like a dense meteor shower. The earth trembled, and the crowds that had been reveling only moments ago were instantly smashed into pulp by the biological missiles falling from the sky.

The enormous drop pods split open, and hundreds of millions of Tyranids surged forth like a tidal wave. Swift Hormagaunts formed an ocean of scythes, tearing apart every living thing they encountered; massive Genestealers and Warriors wielded claws and bone whips, harvesting lives with precision; while behind them, bio-artillery gave muted roars and rained shells filled with corrosive acid upon every corner of the city.

"The day of ascension... has come..."

A Slaanesh cultist dancing madly in the street stared blankly at the hellish sight before him. A Hormagaunt sprang before him in an instant, its sharp claws stabbing without hesitation toward his chest.

Yet the expected scream never came.

The cultist looked at the hideous Tyranid looming before him, and an intoxicated, ecstatic expression suddenly appeared on his face.

"Ah... what... exquisite pain! What... perfect design!"

He spread his arms and willingly welcomed those fatal claws, as if embracing a lover he had not seen for years.

The same scene played out in every corner of the city.

Faced with these "divine envoys" descending from the heavens, the entire Genestealer cult showed no fear. Instead, it fell into an even more fanatical, religious frenzy.

Liu Zhipeng had prepared for this moment long ago.

"Look! Brothers and sisters!" His voice spread across the entire planet through the hive-mind network and the few remaining broadcasting devices. "Our god, the Four-Armed Emperor, has sent his vanguard! His heavenly host!"

"They are not monsters! They are trials! They are purification!"

"Only the bravest warriors are worthy to follow in Khorne's footsteps and fight alongside them! Only the most steadfast believers can be reborn through Nurgle beneath their 'baptism'! Only the wisest minds can comprehend Tzeentch's grand plan behind this 'change'! Only the most sensitive souls can savor Slaanesh's ecstasy within this ultimate destruction and creation!"

"Do not resist! Do not fear! Open your arms and welcome the descent of divine grace! Become one with them! This is our final, and greatest, 'ascension'!!!"

This inflammatory speech, so utterly black turned white, completely ignited the last remnants of reason in every believer.

They cheered and shouted as they rushed willingly toward the tide of death made of chitin and claws.

The berserkers of the Fury Warband roared with excitement as they engaged Tyranid Warriors several times their size in the most primitive close combat. With flesh and blood, they sought to prove who was Khorne's most beloved child.

The followers of the Hand of the Father smiled as they walked toward the acid-spewing bio-artillery. They turned bodies already ravaged by plague and disease into their final weapons. As acid dissolved their flesh, countless deadly spores spread through the air, infecting the surrounding Tyranids with Nurgle's "gifts."

The artificers of the Eye of Change attempted to "communicate" with the Hive Mind. They activated every communication device and transmitted into the sky the most complex logic bombs and encrypted messages they could conceive, hoping to leave their own unique "variable" within that vast ocean of intelligence representing Tzeentch.

The artists of the Perfect Voice charged to the very front of the battlefield. They set up enormous sound systems and used the last of their lives to perform that symphony of doom. Beneath the claws of the swarm, they posed with their bodies in all manner of artful forms, turning death into the most magnificent stage play.

All of Viridia had become one enormous battlefield beyond comprehension.

Invaders and welcomers, killers and pilgrims, staged the universe's most absurd "mutual charge" upon this land.