Rushing into Each Other's Arms

If Nurgle's invasion was a gentle corrosion, then Tzeentch's strike was a precise and deadly betrayal.

The agents of the Eye of Change had long since infiltrated every critical node on Viridia. When the call to uprising sounded, they struck simultaneously. The planet's communications systems were severed in an instant, and every signal requesting outside assistance was altered into a looping hymn praising the Lord of Change. A series of unexplained "accidental explosions" tore through the Planetary Defence Force's (PDF) armories. Half its Leman Russ Tanks became heaps of scrap before they even left their garages. More devastating still, the agents had turned some of the Adeptus Mechanicus's Tech-Priests-heretics who had long grown weary of the Omnissiah's unchanging dogma and yearned to embrace "change."

At the uprising's most critical moment, the automated defense turrets guarding the governor's palace suddenly swung their barrels around and poured devastating fire into their own positions. In the palace command center, the Planetary Defence Force general stared, dumbstruck, 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 the general's heart.

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

And as 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, awe-inspiring piece of performance art.

They hacked every broadcast and holographic projection system in the city. In an instant, the images proclaiming the Imperium's greatness on every screen became twisted, psychedelic music videos filled with an uncanny beauty. In them, an androgynous, four-armed "deity" danced gracefully to deafening industrial noise rock. Each movement made the world more dazzling-and more insane.

They installed enormous loudspeakers in every corner of the city. These no longer played the Ecclesiarchy's hymns, but infrasonic music that directly stimulated the central nervous systems of intelligent beings. At times, the music sounded like a lover's whisper; at others, like the roar of the heavens collapsing and the earth splitting apart. Ordinary people heard it and suffered splitting headaches and delirium. But to those whose hearts were already filled with desire and repression, the music was a revelation, unleashing their deepest longings.

Countless civilians joined the revelry under the music's spell. They rushed out of their homes, smashed up shops, donned their most splendid clothes, and danced with abandon in the streets, turning the entire city into one enormous open-air party on the eve of the apocalypse.

The Planetary Governor, Baltha von Court, watched through an independent observation window in the palace's innermost safe room, despairing as his world fell completely in just three days.

His armies collapsed before the berserkers' charges. His people laughed in the embrace of plague. His defense systems betrayed him, and his city became an enormous disco.

He could not understand it. The pleas for help he sent to the Inquisition were filled with incoherent, near-insane descriptions.

"...They aren't rebels... they're... lunatics! Lunatics with blood painted on their faces, mushrooms growing out of their bodies, and poetry on their lips! They charge while... singing! Emperor preserve us, they're singing!!!"

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

Without warning, the sky darkened.

It was not cloud cover, but a chilling darkness, as though all the color had been drained from the universe. Then a cold, immense shriek beyond the power of words to describe rang through everyone's mind.

-Hunger.

That was the first and only thought of the Broodlord's will as it crossed the endless void and descended upon the planet.

Countless landing pods resembling spores of rotting flesh tore through the atmosphere, trailing long wakes behind them, and smashed into the ground like a dense meteor shower. The earth trembled. The revelers were instantly pulped by the biological projectiles raining from the sky.

The enormous landing pods split open, and hundreds of millions of Tyranids surged out like a tide. Swift Termagants shredded every living thing they saw like a sea of scythes; enormous Genestealers and Warriors swung claws and bone whips, harvesting lives with precision. Behind them, biological artillery roared dully, raining shells filled with corrosive acid into every corner of the city.

"The Day of Ascension... has come..."

A follower of Slaanesh who had been dancing wildly in the street stared blankly at the hellish scene before him. A Termagant lunged in front of him in an instant, stabbing its sharp claws toward his chest without hesitation.

Yet the expected scream never came.

As the follower gazed at the hideous Tyranid mere inches away, an expression of entranced ecstasy suddenly spread across his face.

"Ah... such... exquisite pain! Such... perfect design!"

He spread his arms and willingly met the deadly claws, as though embracing a lover he had not seen in years.

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

Faced with these "divine emissaries" descending from the sky, the entire Genestealer Cult showed no fear. Instead, it plunged into an even more frenzied religious rapture.

Liu Zhipeng had long since laid the groundwork for this moment.

"Look, brothers and sisters!" His voice spread across the planet through the Broodmind network and the surviving broadcast equipment. "Our god, the Four-Armed Emperor, has sent his vanguard! His heavenly host!"

"They are not monsters! They are a trial! They are purification!"

"Only the bravest warriors are worthy to follow in Khorne's footsteps and fight alongside them!" "Only the most steadfast faithful can receive Nurgle's rebirth through their 'baptism'!" "Only the wisest minds can comprehend Tzeentch's grand design behind this 'change'!" "Only the most sensitive souls can savor Slaanesh's bliss in this ultimate destruction and creation!"

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

That incendiary speech, a brazen inversion of truth, burned away the last of the faithful's reason.

Cheering and shouting, they charged willingly into the tide of death made of chitin and claws.

The berserkers of the Fury Chapter roared with excitement and engaged Tyranid Warriors several times their size in the most primal hand-to-hand combat. With their own flesh and blood, they sought to prove who truly was Khorne's most beloved child.

The followers of the Hand of the Plague Father walked smiling toward the acid-spewing biological artillery. They made their bodies, already ravaged by plague and viruses, into their final weapons. As the acid dissolved them, countless deadly spores spread into the air, infecting the surrounding Tyranids with Nurgle's "gifts."

The technicians of the Eye of Change attempted to "communicate" with the Hive Mind. They activated every communications device and transmitted the most complex logic bombs and encrypted messages they could devise into the sky, hoping to leave their own unique "variable" in that vast ocean of intellect that embodied "Tzeentch."

The artists of the Perfect Voice rushed to the front lines. They set up enormous sound systems and spent the last moments of their lives performing that apocalyptic symphony. Beneath the swarm's claws, they arranged their bodies into all manner of artistic poses, turning death into the most magnificent stage production.

All of Viridia became one enormous, incomprehensible battlefield.

Invaders and welcomers, killers and pilgrims enacted the universe's most absurd spectacle of "rushing into each other's arms" upon that land.