The Aledari God of Magic glowered where the jaws of the Necron God of Famine had manifested. His eyes were bright with psychic power, as a rumbling growl of frustration escaped his throat causing the air to vibrate.

Then he approached the limits of the shields. He then proclaimed loudly while scanning his surroundings, "Run, run from me, run little parasite, that is all you are worth."

The response to his taunt came promptly and in the most direct form, a clawed hand seemingly composed of rusted metal snapped into reality, it was coated in malevolent pale orange that consumed all. As if the masterfully crafted shields were all but flimsy wet paper it perforated them all, the thin sharp fingers stretching far beyond what physically was possible at subluminal velocity.

The Achrdjinni of the Rings stood still, his muscles unmoving, his body as if frozen in terror but it couldn't be farther from the truth. At the very last instant before the claws could rip his head off a golden ring manifested, and the telegraphed attack was teleported away.

Another ring manifested above the continuation of the hand, the arm of Star God, skewering it on itself at such an angle that trying to retract the limb became all but a technical impossibility. The recurved spine on the digits did little to help.

There was a howl of pain that traversed the veil of the Ghostwind but it wasn't brought by the C'tan's self-stabbing act. The source of the chilling agony was six chain blades covered in hooked spikes themselves covered with smaller hooks in a never-ending cycle inscribed with millions of microscope runes digging in.

"Isn't it unpleasant? I greatly hope it is the case.", Hoopa asked rhetorically with a large fanged smirk, yanking the weapon-shaped spellcraft with one mighty tug with the two hands that were casting the chains, three chains held in each.

It was a sealing spell using his dark energy, quite simply to the one he had used on the Silent Cry. A spell that was far from his most destructive warcraft but one needed for C'tan to be killed with great care and delicateness. There was a protocol to follow when eliminating creatures that embodied aspects of Realspace.

A continuous howl followed. The Flayer tried and failed to retract his limb. Limitless powers that should grant the ability to shapeshift and phase to different planes of reality were in a losing conflict to the surge of psychic and darkness pumped in by every little blade of the steel digging into his Necrodermis flesh.

Then with a louder howl, it all stopped like a fisherman having his line cut on a sharp rock, the fish that was caught fleeing deep in the abyss.

'Oh… He cut his arm… And forfeited all that was within it and turned it into a hand-made bomb...', Hoopa thought both impressed and annoyed as felt the limb he was railing suddenly go limp and all the force behind him flung it with enough force to crack planets open.

Luckily his reaction was fast, beyond the realm of mortals and he caught it in another ring that led to a temporarily frozen and highly warded room of the Vault, his secret stash. For what precise uses? He didn't know yet, it was done on the fly but it could prove useful and at worst it could become a rather spectacular decoration.

"EnOUgH oF tHIs trIcKErY AnOMalY!", llandu'gor screeched, his voice besmeared in his aura devouring the shields enough for him to kill thousands and gravely injure millions of thousands below.

Their only saving grace was the Merciful Mother's blessing and even then she could not heal from nonexistence and the ones that died were gone in the most absolute sense of the word, their essence to the very concept of their existence devoured. But that was nothing but fractals of fractals of the population below, a handful of sand disappearing from a desert.

After those words, the Necron God's presence completely vanished, but it resurfaced a few seconds later ever-present around the Celestian Enclave. Fingers ending in vile claws, jagged fangs, and spine blades hueing a dimly bright orange, ripping holes into Realspace to eat through the arcane shields in a mad whirlwind of fervent hunger.

However many of those attacks never met their intended targets for golden rings manifested in their path and thousands of paradoxical chains were shot from them. Alas unlike before the Flayer reacted and many of his body parts vanished before the spells hit it.

As for the one hits, the chains' purpose in dragging the hooked target became meaningless as all the Necrodermis body parts without fault detached themselves the next instant from the greater whole of the C'tan. Then they exploded into rains of primordial hunger that devoured all in their proximity.

Simultaneously the body parts that had disappeared reappeared at others' emplacements doing much the same, starting a cycle where the Aeldari God defended and the Necron God attacked.

The one defending was only delegating a portion of his mind to the task. Using the same spell and tactic again and again with only minute corrections for he was fighting an animal that lost nearly all inhibition, making it both unpredictable and predictable.

In addition to acclimating himself to the relations between this dimension of nothingness to Realspace that was forced on by the thousand of Null Obelisk. There was no teleportation involved unlike him, it was similar to the Labyrinth Dimension, using shortcuts to artificially reduce travel time from one point to another.

It could be tracked even without the knowledge of the Ghostwind, patterns were repeated and then predicted, unlike the chaotic Sea of Souls. Absolute order reigned here, his domain over the concept of 'Travel' only aiding in the matter. It meant the one attacking suffered progressively more damage that could be fought off and recovered.

However this would require patience and one-minded focus, two things he was currently in great lack of to purge this paradoxical mixture flowing in his body in its totality. The psychic energy posed little problem, nullification fields of the Obelisks or even the Ghostwind sufficed even if it wouldn't mean it was healed. He was doing it even, letting them flow through him but the dark alien substance was something far worse.

It couldn't be purged using brute force, it was vicious, intelligent, aggressive, and resistant digging deeply into his very essence causing waves of agony to surges. Trying to expel it in such a crude manner would only worsen things.

The devouring of the Silent Cry was entirely different, he didn't have to be careful and his stomach was where his power was strongest.

The only effective method was to quarantine the infected parts and do much the same as he did with one of his arms, self-amputation followed by detonation with all the energy stored.

This greatly damaged the shield, pelting it with reality-warping bombs of maddening hunger made manifest for the Archdjinni could not block them all, but it came with a heavy price for the C'tan.

It was a constant trickle down of power, each little droplet lost from the ocean of energy and concept the Flayee was, each lost increasing his further hunger rising to heights beyond comprehension. Yet it seldom mattered, what a little bit of effort but a way to enhance the taste of a future meal? Delectable flesh was aplenty, if work was needed to get it then so be it.

Still, his rage equaled his hunger and for Hoopa this was good, it made the predictable creature of maddening hunger even more so. The increasing understanding of the dimensional relation between the Ghostwind and the twisted one of Reality and Unreality only aids in the matter.

It wasn't teleportation like him, merely short cut through another layer of reality, quite like the Labyrinth Dimension, and as such the Flayer could not attack at every place from any distance. It was only an illusion that he was doing.

However this divine game of whack-a-mole was not happening in a vacuum, it was only a fraction of the cathartic beldam that would affect the fate of countless trillions for the coming eons. On the edges of the multi-layered shields other Gods both Necron and Aeldari in origin, were fighting in the most cataclysmic of battles with the goals of their mutual annihilation.

"Foul aberration die!", Lileath hollered as an arrow of dream-made reality empowered by the potent psychic energy of Asuryan was shot from her now before duplicating itself into a thousand more.

The target of her wrath was Iash'uddra the Endless Swarm, her worm-like body of dark green color covered in pulsating insects and gaping maw hissed and chittered harshly.

Her ever-shifting tentacles lashed out and swarms of skittering insects flew, parrying hundreds of arrows yet hundreds burned through her Necrodermis hide. From those gaping holes never never-ending surges of arthropods their shapes varied but all of many mandibles and legs.

They jumped, skittered, crawled, and flew, covering the Necron Goddess of Pestilence in their countless articulated bodies, swarming their mother in a cloak of moving black and glowing green chitin, tentacles rolling below like waves upon the sea.

"Infect…", clicking of many mandibles echoed from behind this living cloud, "Multiply…", snapping of legs and buzzing of wings, "Spread… And grow…", as the words were spoken simultaneously from hundreds of mouths the Star God acted, faster than the Aeldari Goddess of Dream could ever hope to react.

Three tentacles snapped outward to the shields breaking through the runes as the sitting vermins adorning the limbs shifted all that they touched into perfect replicas of themselves destroying all in their path.

All that Lileath could do was widen her eyes, their color switching to a ruler shin as horror gripped her feature at her incoming grim fate. A silent scream of unknown emotion escaped her throat as the first tentacle penetrated her lower abdomen cutting right through her armor before exploding in a swarm of legged maggots within her guts.

The second did the same to her right shoulder blade, insects writhing below and digging in flesh to multiply. The third was the coup de grace spearing her left eye and exploding on the other side of her helmeted head in a horrifying shower of bone fragments, multicolored brain matter, and golden blood.

There was no mockery or taunt from the Endless Swarm as Lileath's face began to crack, gold ichor turning to black sand, the thin smile full of regret slowly ebbing away on the Aeldari Goddess as parasite and disease claimed her.

Yet in an instant, it all changed. A deranged grin split the dying goddess' face, only when it reached up to her eyes did it stop and as it did a cackle exploded from her and all around with the sound of clapping and laughter.

"Ow, you got me! Bravo! Triple penetration, eh? I like it.", she spoke like a broken record, her voice shifting to something deeper yet not distinctively male either, the body cracking further and further as if it was a clay doll revealing a cloth puppet with imaginary strings of light, "Do you want a hug or play who can embrace harder? Or maybe a surprise present?!"

Before Iash'uddra could unlatch her tentacles, having realized her mistake, the traps sprung open. A large pentacle manifested behind the damaged puppet, glowing a dark purple from its star tips, and its middle six ebony chains shot outward.

As if possessing a mind of their own the chains aimed themselves at the C'tan, three of their wickedly sharp hooked heads akin to the most horrific of harpoons dug themselves into the three tentacles while the remaining three flew at unprecedented speed toward her main body.

Alas, the Endless Swarm had felt what had occurred to her brethren and as the least emotional of them all, she reacted most appropriately. Immediately she cut off the tentacles that were chained making them explode into three distinct swarms of insects while she retreated, her body splitting into billions of fragments.

She dodged the chains' onslaught in its almost entirety but a few still injured her, the darkness within attacking her essence making her emit thousands of shrill screeches from her hundreds of mouths as backed off further.

Her swarms only grew in size and density as her attack became tenfold more aggressive yet even more careful. Her targets changed from the Aeldari Gods to the shields yet there was no reason to stop assailing them for she was the Endless Swarm and she knew when was the perfect time to strike.

"Didn't go exactly as planned… Oh well…", Cegorach mumbled in disappointment, his lopsided frown shifting to a cheery grin as from his two gloved hands were cloth puppets similar to the one that had exploded. Puppets he confectioned with a surprise from his favorite brother within.

"Niece, brother, and sister would you please be of assistance to my poor self? Let's partake in one of the most entertaining family activities, murder!", he exclaimed, vanishing in a cloud of pink smoke leaving one of the puppets behind that mimicked him to perfection.

And right where he once was reality bent, space was torn asunder tentacles warped in disease-filled maws, and flies shot outward barely. However, at the very last instant, they dodged his little goodbye gift before fleeing dodging the vast majority of the dark chains.

In the distance, the true Lileath was powerfully beating her large wings dodging a cloud of winged arachnid centipede hybrid as she retaliated by raining down apocalypse with dream-filled arrows.

There was no need for the Laughing God words for him to attack, the sight of her puppet she had swapped places with an image anchored forever more in her mind. And in equal measure to her mother and father, if even more so.

Kurnous was moving between the never-ending attack, in his hand was a baton carved with mystical runes of which on top and bottom was a pentacle, primordial instincts and technique honed beyond that of any others flowed through his being.

Each of the Lord of the Beasts' movements was of utmost perfection and with devastating effect upon his foe, each micro-movement generating shockwaves fueled with darkness and pure psychic energy that would rip continents plate apart exchanged in a continuous flow reminiscent of both a calm stream and a torrential river.

Yet none of it would be possible if not for the Merciful Mother's control over the very essence of life itself through which she granted him the mobility to act but also protection in the form of healing.

But it was not Isha's only actions, she was dancing upon flowers, her movement of unparalleled grace, as the tip of her ornate staff in her hand glowed a soft pink. The rings of bells were heard, each comprising a storm of iridescent petals turned asunder which were foes and blessed which were allies.

Another battle was happening on the other side of the Celestian Enclave, this one far more direct and brutal as a burning blade of crimson fire and molten spear of obsidian struck one another, each sporting dramatically opposite expressions.

"Weak, you are weaker God of Violence than last time we clashed blades together. Aza'gorod did truly wound you, how disappointing.", Nyadra'zatha the Burning One said, emphasizing the 'violence' part, and as if to prove her point she batted his sword away with ease before thrusting her spearhead into his throat.

Only for the spear glowing in baleful fires to miss its target as the Bloody-Handed God was brought back at the last instant to his anterior fate by his Consort, the Crone, letting him dodge the blow that would have decapitated him. He roared his eyes burning in rage as he appeared behind the Necron Goddess of Conflict. The flame of his blade turning to obsidian he struck carving a deep gash from her shoulder to her pelvis.

She screamed, moaned, and wailed, they were ones of agony and jubilation. The injury did not bring her doubt and fear, only the opposite, excitement in obscene quantities and a thirst for more, far, far more. The mere thought of doing something different was all but an utter impossibility in her twisted mind. She couldn't even conceive such a thing.

"Yes, that is it! It hurts! It damages! I feel it! Yes! Yes! That is what I desire! Yet I cannot accept this generosity without giving it back in equal amounts!", she yowled in elation, her voice turning several pitches higher and her body language shifting to an excited stance, arm spread open and eyes gazing above.

Then from the unhealable wound, her back split open further glowing a pure white for a fraction of a nanosecond before exploding omnidirectional in a blast of crimson fire hotter than any star cores in existence reaching temperatures that began to distort the space-time continuum itself. 

However, Khaine was saved from it by Morei-Hag as she brought him back to her while she cut off the fate of the reality around her from the rest of the world. Her three pairs of eyes were focused and unreadable.

The all-consuming eternal flame of conflict burned through all in a cataclysmic conflagration. It annihilated anything and everything in its path but the Necron to which it harmlessly passed over and the two Aeldari Gods that could but watch impassively.

As soon as the rolling waves of fire stopped the deathmatch began again between the three. But the deities of both camps battling were all but small if bright pockets of utter destruction in the chaos that was this battlefield, the battle between the Silver Tide and the Young Races was equally massive and unending.

Then a stentorian roar resounded across the Celestian Enclave.