"The Dark Eldar's entertainment culture is still too primitive and lacking…"
Eden flipped through the documents on the Dark Eldar, shaking his head.
And it wasn't just the Dark Eldar.
Right now, the entire galaxy's entertainment scene couldn't even compare to the golden era of his previous life's 2K age.
Only the heretics devoted to the Dark Prince knew how to have any sort of "fun"—and even then, it was just a little more creativity in depravity.
But it wasn't really their fault.
Nearly every race in the galaxy was facing brutal survival crises. When you couldn't even get enough to eat or feel safe walking down the street, who had the luxury of investing in entertainment?
Worse still, the Dark Prince's existence had pushed the Ecclesiarchy to further suppress pleasure-related activities, shrinking what little entertainment remained.
Some zealots, in order to maintain their willpower, not only refused to indulge in entertainment but regularly used flogging devices to scourge themselves—
—to keep their minds "alert."
Of course, for certain… predisposed individuals, that could be pleasurable in itself, leading straight to corruption.
The Aeldari faced the same problem.
They were targeted even more than humans, being the Dark Prince's prime corruption target. They didn't even dare speak the deity's true name—referring to it instead as She Who Thirsts.
The Craftworlders used spirit stones and strict asceticism to resist corruption, while the Dark Eldar hid in the Webway, feeding on souls to survive.
If they ever stopped consuming souls, the Great Enemy would take them swiftly.
Under such constant pressure, the Dark Eldar's only real "entertainment" was coming up with new ways to torture people.
Even their gladiatorial arenas were stuck in the oldest format—just mobs hacking each other to pieces.
Which meant Eden had an opening.
The Dark Eldar tortured simply for the pitiful, fleeting rush of soul-healing satisfaction.
But what if he could give them purer, more potent soul energy… and diversify their pleasures to something truly overwhelming?
"Oh yes—this time, I can finally go all out!"
He was exhilarated.
In the Savior's Domain, he'd never dared to push entertainment too far, worried it would corrupt the realm's moral fabric.
But here?
Here, on Dark Eldar turf, he could unleash his full creativity.
And Aeldari beauty was no worse than human—Dark Eldar succubi were even more explosively enticing.
On the development plans for the satellite district, Eden underlined his priorities.
This new City of Ecstasy would integrate modern entertainment management concepts—centered on death arenas and soul paradises, supplemented with gambling and credit industries.
Give the Dark Eldar the most intense experiences possible.
When they ran out of money, they could borrow—and if they couldn't repay, they'd sign work contracts and serve.
It would be a massive siphon of both wealth and manpower.
Once he'd finished reviewing the plans, Eden sent the full reconstruction proposal to Ilyss.
Her job: organize the workforce for construction.
Ilyss now had her own secretary team, capable of handling far more administrative work, and she was gradually modeling the organization after the structures of the ancient Aeldari Empire—
—establishing specialized departments to oversee specific tasks.
The Dark Eldar had inherited much of the old empire's technology, and their industrial base was actually stronger than the Imperium's. They could build prosperous territories—
—but they were too lazy.
Instead, they left it to half-dead slaves—often crippled—who labored under constant torment.
If the slaves died halfway through the work, no one cared.
As for urban management? Forget it.
Most areas were chaotic, unmanaged wastelands—rubble left where it fell, blood and bones tossed wherever they landed.
In Commorragh, the kabals fought endlessly; might made right, and destruction was easier than construction.
If not for the fact that Commorragh's structures were made from soulbone—vast and self-expanding by absorbing energy—whole districts would have collapsed long ago.
By Eden's estimates—
If he could organize a basic urban administration, pair it with Aeldari construction tech, a few million slaves, and some of his own resources—
—they could meet all reconstruction goals within five years.
The system wouldn't be too refined; it would be a temporary structure to get the job done.
Later, it would merge with his "joyful education" and entertainment systems to gradually erode the Dark Eldar's fighting spirit.
Because if the Dark Eldar ever truly became "great" again—
—that would be a problem.
"I'll handle it, my lord."
Ilyss accepted the documents, adapting to the new style of work. "We've found a number of still-functional construction machines in the underground vaults beneath various fortresses.
That will greatly speed our progress."
This was nothing like her old life. Instead of brewing poisons, designing assassinations, or organizing raids, she was… building.
The Lhamean found such large-scale construction baffling.
The Dark Eldar lived with no tomorrow—never knowing when their souls would be claimed by She Who Thirsts.
Commorragh was an ancient, ever-expanding megacity that absorbed whole satellite districts as it grew; "city planning" wasn't in their vocabulary.
At most, they built weapons forges or fleshcraft workshops.
Why bother building when, with ships and weapons, you could just plunder the galaxy?
They could slip through the Webway and raid anywhere.
"Perhaps… the old noble families do things differently," Ilyss mused, not finding the situation strange.
As far as she was concerned, following Raphael Asurmen's orders and getting paid was all that mattered.
She walked away with graceful steps, her beauty heightened by the nourishment of pure soul energy.
That was why the Dark Eldar nobility craved pure psychic energy so much.
Even freed from She Who Thirsts' hunger by consuming vast quantities of souls, they still needed that power to maintain their bodies.
Eden's earlier iron-fisted measures had terrified the entire satellite district, ensuring smooth governance.
Orders were followed without obstruction—
—after all, the corpses and severed heads of Archons and Kabalite warriors still hung in public squares.
But before construction could even begin—bad news arrived.
When the purge of the local administrators had been carried out, someone had sent a coded distress signal to one of Commorragh's greater kabals.
That kabal had now responded—bringing a full battlefleet to "avenge" their allies.
...
Inside the council chamber—
Eden listened silently as the Spymaster presented the gathered intelligence.
Titus and the other officers wore equally grim expressions.
"My lord, the Iron Thorn Kabal is mid-tier in scale," Ilyss said gravely. "They have hundreds of thousands of warriors, and numerous warships and heavy armaments. Our satellite district can't stand against them."
Eden sighed. "Can we seal the port routes entirely? Keep them out?"
"No," Ilyss shook her head. "Any mid-tier or greater kabal has relic-grade Waystones. They can bypass standard port-route lockdowns."
Eden's brows furrowed deeper.
That was worse than he'd thought. It meant that until he was truly powerful, he couldn't stop other forces from arriving.
All his hard work in the satellite district could end up being stolen.
That was why the Dark Eldar rarely invested in building. Raiding was safer—spend everything on ships and guns, and if you couldn't hold the territory, you just ran.
If you built up your domain, it could all be taken in one raid.
Environment shaped behavior.
It was like, in his past life, how people mocked certain small nations for "laziness"—living off bananas rather than farming or building homes.
But it wasn't laziness—it was that hard work wasn't worth it.
Plant a crop, and before it ripens, it gets stolen.
Even his own homeland had seen mobs looting harvests; after that, who'd bother planting again?
Commorragh was the same.
Only the strongest kabals could keep what they built; everyone else did smash-and-grab raids.
See something valuable in the galaxy? Take it.
Eden's real fear was exactly that—
If the Iron Thorn Kabal entered his district and saw the supplies he'd shipped in…
—that would be trouble.
Even if he drove them off, they'd spread word.
And then more kabals would come sniffing for loot.
The Redemption Satellite District needed time to grow its strength and build airtight defenses before they could afford to show wealth.
Worse, his manpower wasn't even in place yet—no large-scale recruitment had been done.
They might not even survive the Iron Thorn's first assault.
But this was unavoidable.
He couldn't just move whole human army units into the district—that would risk exposing his true identity.
If that happened, his entire plan would collapse, and he could never again set foot in Commorragh.
Right now, his persona as a Dark Eldar noble—the descendant of the Asurmen line—was everything.
If that mask slipped, and the kabals learned a human held the district, they'd unite to exterminate him.
That would become a Dark Eldar–Imperium war—and in such a war, he'd be at a disadvantage.
But as an Asurmen heir holding a satellite district? That was just internal Dark Eldar politics—fighting under their own rules.
If you were strong enough to kill the Supreme Overlord, even ruling all of Commorragh was acceptable.
So no matter what—he had to keep that identity intact.
"My lord, please give the order."
Nightmare Warlord was already prepared for battle, and the other Kabal leaders turned their eyes toward the Archon—
—awaiting his next order.
Whether it was to stay and defend or to abandon the satellite district, load up all their possessions, and flee into the void, they were ready to follow.
Some believed the Redemption Kabal couldn't possibly hold the district.
In their minds, retreat was the best choice.
But none dared speak such thoughts aloud, fearing the brutal consequences.
That noble figure would never tolerate the shame of fleeing without a fight.
After a moment's hesitation, Eden gave the order for full defense, directing them to fortify the port and dock areas as much as possible.
Until the very last moment, he would not abandon the Redemption Satellite District.
If he gave it up now, who knew in which far-off year he would find another location as suitable as this?
By then, the chaos caused by Commorragh's great schism might already have ended, and his window of opportunity to grow would be gone.
Once the Archon's command was issued, every warlord obeyed, hauling all available armaments to the port to establish a defensive line.
A battle with no way out—
Fight with your backs to the wall!
Watching the warlords depart, Eden's gaze flickered with worry.
Still, the Redemption Kabal was not in a hopeless position.
They had around 100,000 warriors and numerous armored units, and they were fighting on home ground.
As long as the Iron Thorn Kabal didn't commit its entire force, they could hold.
And he had already prepared a second plan to turn the situation in his favor.
Returning to his office, Eden buried himself in work, patiently awaiting the final outcome.
Meanwhile, in the Webway—
The black-hulled fleet of the Iron Thorn Kabal continued its advance, intent on plundering the supposedly wealthy Archon of the Redemption Kabal.
Noble or not, to a Kabal, an aristocrat without strength was nothing more than a lamb awaiting slaughter—
—and perhaps a source of ransom, if the family could be extorted for inheritance rights.
BOOM—
Suddenly, disaster struck. As the Iron Thorn fleet rounded a bend in the Webway, they were violently rear-ended.
Ramshackle vessels of scrap and scavenged plating, seemingly out of control, smashed into their formation.
More of these crude warships followed, scattering their ranks and opening fire with wild abandon.
Bombers swarmed toward their targets, ramming into ship after ship in suicidal attacks.
"Wretched beasts!"
The Iron Thorn's Archon roared in fury, trying to rally a counterattack—
—but it was already too late.
"WAAAGH… BLACK SPROUTS!"
From gaping breaches in the hulls, Orks poured in like dumplings into boiling water, threatening to flood every deck.
Savage close-quarters combat erupted inside the ships, only further thrilling the greenskins.
Outnumbered in boarding parties, the Iron Thorn warriors fell back step by step.
Ships began to go down.
Within half a day, the Iron Thorn fleet was annihilated under the greenskin assault.
The news spread through Commorragh—
—but it barely caused a ripple. No one intended to hunt these Orks down.
As long as the beasts didn't invade the main city, the corsairs of the Dark City wouldn't care. Whoever ran into those mindless savages was simply unlucky.
On occasion, some Kabals even used them as blunt instruments to attack rivals.
The report eventually reached Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect—
—but he paid it no real attention.
"These mongrel beasts again? Roaming the lanes of Commorragh… Tell our people to be cautious."
Such a trivial matter wasn't worth his time.
At that moment, Vect, dressed in resplendent robes, lounged lazily upon his throne, attended by a pair of twin courtesan-warriors.
The Savior's new branch of Webway routes had begun to intersect with Commorragh's own lanes—an intolerable affront.
No other ruler in the galaxy could be allowed to control so many routes.
He had already sent several Kabals to sabotage them, even destroying node structures with dark-matter singularities.
"Not enough…"
Vect's razor-sharp nails tapped the armrest as further schemes took shape in his mind.
Perhaps he could enlist the aid of daemons.
He would weave a complex trap, then unleash a tide of Warp-spawn to drown the Savior's Webway.
Surely, the Chaos Gods would be intrigued.
He almost smiled, anticipating the look of pathetic despair on the Savior's face when the routes were lost.
"Excellent news!"
Ilyss was thrilled as she reported the destruction of the Iron Thorn fleet, and the fact that the Orks showed no sign of approaching the Redemption Satellite District.
Eden smiled as well—but without the elation she might have expected.
After all, those were his Steel Fang Ork forces, deployed precisely to intercept incoming fleets.
Fortunately, they had arrived in time.
"Do you know the route to the Iron Thorn's satellite district?" he asked.
Most sizeable Kabals maintained a satellite district of their own.
"My apologies…"
Ilyss flushed in embarrassment. "I was so overjoyed, I nearly forgot the important part. I'll organize a raiding party immediately!"
With the Iron Thorn gutted, it was the perfect time to plunder them.
Other Kabals might already be moving in to grab the spoils, but they could still hope to catch some scraps—perhaps enough slaves to bolster the construction workforce.
"Choose the right people. I have other matters to attend to," Eden said, and left the fortress with his bodyguard Titus in tow.
Outside, a monstrous Haemonculus awaited—
His flesh was splattered with gore, several glass canisters of captured souls hung from his back, and his six arms bore grotesque grafts from various species.
A long, coiled scorpion tail swayed behind him.
Such flesh-sculptors were terrifying wherever they appeared, seeing the entire galaxy as their banquet table—humans, Necrons, T'au, Orks, all raw material for their art.
Even high-ranking warriors were not safe from dissection.
Even Archons treated these "artists" with a wary respect.
The Haemonculus's head twisted a full 180 degrees, baring a hideous grin.
"Greetings, my lord Archon!"
His tail arched high in salute. "Kronnie has been waiting for you!"
This high-ranking member of the Haemonculus Covens displayed no arrogance toward his patron—more like a fawning sycophant.
He had been stuck at his current rank for far too long, one step from becoming a Haemonculus Master.
But his chosen specialty—Tyranid fleshcraft—was niche and ruinously expensive. No one would fund it.
Poverty had forced him to move his laboratory from Commorragh's main city to the satellite district to escape competition—
—but even here, times were hard.
Now, Kronnie had finally met a wealthy scion of a noble house—a walking treasure chest and perfect patron.
Not only did Eden supply him with purest-quality souls as raw material, he granted any resources required.
Of course Kronnie was all but groveling.
He even worried Eden might one day decide his research was useless and cut the funding.
Eden merely nodded, and the Haemonculus politely stepped aside, keeping just far enough back that the stench of his alchemical brews would not sour his patron's mood.
Eden headed for the landing pads, Titus and Kronnie flanking him in silence.
It was obvious Kronnie had something to say but was hesitating.
Eden glanced his way. "The specimens you wanted will be delivered soon—including a large, mutated Hive Tyrant."
"Your generosity is beyond repayment!" Kronnie's fanged mouthparts clicked in excitement. "If you wish, I will stitch together corpses for you—so you may be perfectly re… reanimated…"
Realizing the impropriety, he stammered to a halt.
Resurrection was a core Haemonculus service, but no Archon wanted to imagine the day they would need it.
Eden took no offense.
In truth, if the chance arose, he was curious to experience the Dark Eldar's resurrection process—just to see how it worked.
The trio boarded a skimmer and set off toward the satellite district's only arena.
In Commorragh, death arenas were among the hottest industries—a true gold pit for the elite.
The various Wych Cults used them to amass staggering wealth and unmatched influence.
It was also one of the flagship projects Eden planned for the Redemption Satellite District.
Today's goal was to inspect the arena.
If he could secure both the arena and the Wyches within…
…that would be the best outcome.
(End of Chapter)
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