"Well, back to our wonderful hero," Vect laughed, looking at Gideon with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "As the pleasure cults grew in power and pleasingly spilt the blood of their rivals in the streets, our Lord-to-be was just a child. It was then that a great many of our people were struck by sudden apprehension. Our seers began to prophesy a great doom. Many were struck by profound grief at what had become of our society and there was a great panic. They built the immense vessels you know as Craftworlds and fled into the stars. That was good also, for every doubting mind had been purged and all who were left were the purist pleasure-seekers. Such gratifications as they found, you could never know. As I was saying, our Lord was but a child, serving in one of the most powerful temples of delight. He was due to be sacrificed for the greater glory of the shrine one night, a dark night that comes but once in every millennium when the stars themselves grow dim."
Vect leant towards Gideon and dexterously plucked the crystal goblet from his grasp, taking a sip of the nectar-like drink before handing it back. His eyes were blank again for a moment and then with a visible start he brought himself back to the present.
"Luckily for our people, that sacrifice was not to be. It was that very night that the Great Enemy was born into the universe. Even you humans have heard of that event. Our hero was on the altar, his body bared to the blade, anointed in the most exquisite perfumes and oils, his mind enraptured by the elixirs he had taken in preparation for the glorious event. Even as the blade touched his throat... Her birth-scream screeched across the galaxy, extinguishing suns and all but wiping out our race. Her scream was joined by the death cries of countless millions of my people, their spirits ripped from their bodies by the hungering maw that is the Great Enemy. Almost all of us died that single night, the victims of She Who Is Not Named dropping to the ground as lifeless, withered husks. Some survived, but not without loss. These were the ones whose spirits were torn between the real world and the realm of Chaos. They were driven insane, half their mind within the rational world, the other half tormented by impossible visions of the Otherworld. Many ended their own lives, others were driven into killing frenzies and rampaged through the streets slaying everything they came across, burning buildings, smashing the beautifully sculpted statues, razing the intricately ornate gardens in their madness."
Vect's face was twisted in anguish as he pictured the tragic fall of his race. In one instant they had lost everything and had become a race doomed to forever teeter on the edge of extinction, and terrified of the god they had created.
"Our Lord, young as he was, was not so steeped in the pleasure and ecstasy of our peoples, so along with many other of the children he had not been as strongly tied to the Great Enemy. This slave boy was a natural leader. Of all the survivors from his cult, he was the first to react. He gathered what weapons he could, rallying the few survivors of his temple. They took to the streets, seeking out the other shrines of indulgence. Some would not accept his leadership and their blood flowed alongside that of his followers. Others were more wise and took up their weapons in his name. Others had also begun to rise to the fore, slaying those who would not bend their knee, mercifully listening to the begging of those who wished to be led. As time passed through an eternal nightmare of half-reality – for the emergence of the Great Enemy created the vortex known to you as the Eye of Terror, engulfing our oldest worlds – it became clear to our hero that She Who Thirsts was not finished with our people, her hunger would never be sated. She had a grip on our spirits and though temporally assuaged by the massive slaking of Her thirst during Her birth, She still needs to drink. Our lord-to-be felt Her thirst lapping at him and saw it in the faces of others, their essence being slowly leeched away by the Nightmare That Hungers."
Vect took another sip from the goblet and then laughed shortly, his lips twisting into a wry smile. Shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss the thought, he turned his gaze back to Gideon, the dark orbs of his eyes reflecting the red glare of the lantern-stone.
"It seemed there was but one way of escaping Her and that was to flee their homes and leave the physical world behind forever. We came here, into the realm between worlds that we created to traverse the galaxy safe from harm. Here, the Great Enemy's grip is weakened, yet to our Lord's horror it was not wholly broken. He had bought his people time, a little instant of time but nothing more. Others followed him, each choosing a place for themselves, building new shrines and around them great palaces. Here, where you sit now, is one of the chambers of the original Temple of the Black Heart. You are very privileged, you know. Not many survive to get this far. Most of them break before they even reach the second level. Perhaps that is why I am interested in you."
"Remind me to thank you for the honour," Gideon said bitterly, swirling the last few mouthfuls of the drink around the rim of the goblet.
"I will," Vect replied, his eyes growing hard, sending a sudden shiver of fear along Gideon's aching spine.
"As I am sure you have already guessed," Vect told the prisoner, instantly forgetting his annoyance, "as more came and built temples and houses and palaces and mansions, the settlement grew into the city some of our people call Commorragh. But even as they were erecting the statues of their lords and masters, our great leader was looking at the world beyond. He saw creatures sprawling across the realms of our people, ugly mon-kei like you humans and the brutal Orks, the insufferable Kroot and others. Now, disgusting beasts from across the voids are ravaging our lands and these young, weakling races are pitiful in their attempts to stop the encroachment. You deserve to be exterminated but not until you have served your purpose."
"What purpose is that?" Gideon asked, stretching his legs out in front of him, looking at the many scars where the flesh had been torn and the bones repeatedly broken.
"Why, for sustenance and amusement of course," the Kabal Lord replied with an evil grin. "Our founder looked upon the outside world, horrified by the beasts rampantly breeding across our domains. But then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps She Who Thirsts would drink others, as well as us. He sent some of his many warriors to capture a few of the man-things that had been spawned by an insignificant blue world in the western spiral arm. His best counsellors and experts examined them and indeed these beasts, for all their crudity, still contained that vital essence of life, that spark of spirit that turns a fleshy vessel into a living thing."
"You mean a soul?" Gideon said, sitting forward and paying more attention to the ancient Eldar's rambling tale.
"Soul?
Soul! Soul. Soul…" Vect seemed to be trying the word out for size,
repeating it in different accents and intonations, as if he were tasting a fine
wine. The words seem to roll around his mouth and throat for a few moments.
"What a fascinating people you are, in a barbaric sort of way. Your language
is so basic, you think you can capture everything about life and essence in
a single, short word. Incredible…"
The Dark Eldar Lord recovered from his distraction and spoke once more into the communicator at his wrist. A few moments later the door hissed open and the female Haemonculus stepped in again.
"I-I don't understand…" Gideon stammered, eyes flicking wildly between the two Dark Eldar.
"No?" Vect said mockingly. "It must be so terrible for you…"
The Dark Eldar leader stood and took the goblet from Gideon's numb fingers. He sniffed at it delicately.
"A good tasting drink," Vect said, swallowing the remaining contents and letting the goblet drop to the floor, where it shattered into hundreds of tiny shards. "It is a pity for you that some of the compounds used in its distillation do not react very well with your human digestive system. I hear the stomach cramps can last for days on end…"
"You didn't finish the story…" Gideon prompted, desperately hoping that Vect's statement was just another cruel jest.
"No, I didn't," Vect answered him with a look of feigned innocence. "I suspect you would like to know how it ends?"
"I would," Gideon whispered, bowing his head in capitulation.
"That is unfortunate," Vect told him as he turned and walked towards the door. "Because not knowing the end of the tale will drive you mad, won't it? In those moments that you can have a clear thought, you'll try to work out the ending. It'll gnaw at you, as a rodent gnaws its food, scraping away the last vestiges of your sanity. Such a shame, you really did interest me."
"You must have had another reason for telling me!" Gideon demanded, knocking the chair over as he pushed himself to his feet and turned to the Lord.
"Oh yes," Vect agreed with a slow nod. "I enjoyed telling the tale. There is no point telling any of my servants, they know it already. A story should be told, it is the very purpose for which it exists. Just as you exist to satisfy me, and nothing more."
The Dark Eldar was almost out of the room when Gideon shouted after him. "So it wasn't true at all! It was all made up!" he called out.
"No," Vect turned on his heel and pulled down the collar of his robe to show his neck. A scar ran a finger's length across his throat.
"Why me?" Gideon begged, falling to his knees.
He looked pleadingly at the Haemonculi who regarded him with a twisted smile. Wordlessly, she pointed towards the bloodstained slab. As the door slammed shut, Gideon could hear Vect's laughter echoing off the walls of the corridor beyond and the Dark Eldar Lord's voice carried into the torture chamber.
"Why not?"
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