𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒜𝓂𝒶𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒞𝒶𝒾𝓃ℯ

-And in a sunless realm, the sun rose at last- The enemy hordes felt it as acid on their skin. The creatures – daemons no matter what secular truths held strong – lost what little order they had ever possessed. ''The Anathema!'' ''The Anathema comes!'' ''The sun rises!'' Of the Neverborn, some broke ranks and fled. These cowardly shards of their vile masters knew that destruction had come. Some tore into each other, cannibalising their kindred for strength in the face of destruction. Some lost what little grasp they had on corporeality, their forms melting and dissolving before the sword-wielding monarch even reached the front lines. The strongest raged at the sin of His existence. With a gestalt bellow loud enough to shake the windless air of this alternate reality, they fought to reach their archenemy. The Emperor raised His sword in a two-handed grip. As His knuckles tightened, the geography of circuitry ignited along the blade's length, spitting electrical fire and wreathing the sword's length in flame. He didn't speak. He didn't look at any of His warriors. The sword came down. The webway caught fire.