Editing M43 (section)

===The Death of Arisriel===
'''9 586 311.M42'''
: In a hall of carrion and gristle, still wet with blood, she saw her fellow Eldar fall to the ground. Their heads were all looking toward the ceiling. Their mouths wide in a terrifying scream. Yet no sound was coming out. The hallway was completely silent. Then a creature with more teeth than she’d ever seen.


: Arisriel woke from her daydream with a start. She leaned forward resting on her knees, completely out of breath. This was getting far worse. Several years ago she’d start having these flashes of something. Originally just a hall covered in gore. And then a glance of one of her kin. And now they were vivid and much longer. <span style="color:#0000ff">“Arisriel! We must go. The Farseer has announced that all non-necessary personnel to the  Vaul deck. I fear what we will hear,”</span> Olavae’s quick order jolted her out of her thoughts. An assembly? Those have only been called before dire times. Actually, the last time one had been called was...before the Behemoth grabbed the Craftworld in its jaws. She and Olavae made their way toward the Vaul deck.


: The walls dripped of blood, adding to the pooling ichor on the floor. She could hear the dripping. Each drop sounded as a explosion. This was a new terror for Arisriel, far worse than deafening silence. The other Eldar remained frozen in their perpetual screams. Then from as far away as ever, the dripping began to recede to make room for a new sound. An animalistic, primal, angry screech. The gore and fluids seem to shudder themselves. It grew louder and louder until it was unbearable. She tried to scrunch her face, raiser her hands to her ears, anything to shut it out. But she could not. Her head was turning, somehow against her will, toward the screech. It grew to new levels as the toothed terror again lunged into her view. She blacked out.

: When Arisriel came to, she was dangling off of Olavae’s shoulder. <span style="color:#0000ff">“Oh Isha, you’re awake! What is going on with you?”</span> Despite the din, Olavae’s tone was clearly one of concern. Arisriel shakily got to her feet. <span style="color:#00ffff">“What...what did I miss? We can discuss this later,”</span> she said taking in the current state of the deck. <span style="color:#0000ff">“The Farseer has announced that we are on a collision course with a tendril of the Great Devourer. In a month’s time, Hive Fleet Bergrisar will find us,”</span> explained Olavae. All present left, the mood incredibly somber. How many of the Spirit Stones were to be used? How many would return to the Infinity Circuit? In the following weeks the Craftworld seemed to slow down. The Shadow in the Warp turned the air into an oppressive soup. Nevertheless, Alaitoc prepared for its date with the Tyranids.


: New sounds mixed in with the familiar ones. The high zipping of shuriken rounds could be heard echoing off the corridors. The hard ticking of chitin on metal was just as prevalent, albeit in a much more distinguishable pattern. The screams of dying Eldar mixed with the soul shearing cries of the Eldar surrounding her. The creature flashed into her view once more. But instead of waking, it continued. A boney scythe came down to the left of her head while another one rushed at her side below her right arm. She saw her body jerk as they hit and passed through her armour. She felt nothing. No pain, no tearing vibrations. She couldn’t feel the ship shuddering as cysts and pods impacted. There was no sense of motion. Her head lolled forward and everything went black.


: Her nightmare ended as a loud klaxon blared its terrifying warning around the Craftworld. They were here. Nobody needed the alarms, the screaming whispers of ‘eat it all’ and ‘hungry’ were always in the background now, as the hive grew closer. She felt tiny tremors both from her sleeping ordeal and cysts burrowing into the craftworld. Olavae burst through the door. <span style="color:#0000ff">“Arisriel! GET YOUR ARMOR ON. NOW!”</span> she shouted at her dazed friend. <span style="color:#00ffff">“I...uh...I-I...yes...YES!”</span> she groggily acknowledged, the gravity of the situation hitting her. Once she had her armor on, she rushed toward the nearest staging area to join with her squad. 


: Every cyst that impacted shook the local section. The rushed and pull of air as explosions detonated and wink out whooshed past Arisriel. A dull throb pulsed through her as the Craftworld fired long dormant thrusters. She could feel everything. The top half of an Aspect Warrior sailed through the crossing several meters away. Blood pirouetted through the air and spattered the walls with gruesome artwork. As if tethered to the body a Tyranid Warrior stomped around the corner.


: She started once again as the toothed monster came into view. This wasn’t a dream anymore, it was real. That’s why it was the most vivid version. Even though it was real, everything was slowing down. It was all happening the same. She watched almost with the same removed vantage as her fellow Eldar all dropped to their knees. Their faces turned toward the ceiling as their mouths opened in a silent scream. As she to fell to her knees, it occurred to her: the sound that should be coming from the screaming mouths wasn’t there. A voice echoed through the Craftworld, <span style="color:#800080">“ELDAR, OUR DESCENSION IS AT HAND. THE FORCES THAT ASSAIL US AT EVERY ANGLE HAVE BECOME TOO MUCH. THE AVATAR WILL VANQUISH THE GREAT MOUTH AND THEN CARRY OUR FIGHT TO SHE WHO THIRSTS. OUR DESCENSION!”</span> Arisriel blacked out again.


: In an inner sanctum, a dusty avatar surged to life. Wisps of darkness and gray wraiths flew through the bloodstained halls. Conduits and lines surged with white-black auras. The gigantic being filled with ill-gotten souls and began to awaken. The mask and head warped as two horns protruded. The face scrunched and a single closed eye formed. The two metallic arms shook and divided. As it stood up taking its first steps. it hunched over. Its back stretched and wiggled as six spines curved out of its back. The giant sword vibrated as it was consumed by a black gas. As the cloud lengthened, a dull gray halberd came into being. It hefted the death halberd as its singular eye opened half way. “I am the avatar of the end of the Eldar. I am the avatar of death.”


: Whilst an avatar of Khaine might have succumbed to a hive tyrant or the flowing hordes of gaunts. But the avatar of death that walked amid the halls reaped all. Unceasing and uncaring. Its halberd wiped away all traces of that which it touched. Tyranid warriors shrivelled and decayed while the wraithbone buttresses cracked and disintegrated. Unlike Nurgle, their was no chance of rebirth. All withered and ended. The chaff of the dying Bergrisar blew away with the solar wind. Silently the empty Craftworld of Aliatoc turned inward towards the galactic center, where the swirling warp rift of Maelstrom resided. She Who Thirsts was about to feel the first birth pangs of Ynnead.