Farsight has a terryfying vision of the future:
"He watched layered reality, white and chrome and beautiful on the outside, slough away like melting wax. It revealed a twisted, skeletal wasteland beneath. He saw hundreds of thousands of t’au slaves, all smiling so hard they bled at the corners of their mouths and stained their teeth with gore. They were bound in glowing chains to the hands of heedless giants, massive robed behemoths several hundred metres in height, who dragged their slaves like rag dolls through a wilderness of broken glass and grasping, snarling horrors.
Hundreds of smiling t’au died with each giant step, but always there were more to replace them, pushed out from tube-ridged carousels that protruded from the ground. Each infant was pre-packaged and shrink-wrapped, its birth-caul somewhere between a shark’s egg purse and a rations packet. The tiny t’au within struggled to get out, ripping their cauls with shaking fingers. As soon as they shucked off their translucent coverings and stood up, a beam of harsh light burned down at them, its intensity peeling back their eyelids to force itself into their minds. Getting larger and older by the moment, the t’au youngsters drooled, then grinned. They picked up the chains from the corpses trailing in the dust and unclasped them, only to close the collars around their own necks.
In the middle distance, vassal races of all shapes and sizes were branded like cattle by empty battlesuits whose gaping control cocoons dripped with blood. Those of the slave races that dared break free from the processing lines were blasted in the back by killing plasma, each double beam shooting out not from weaponry but the sensor optics of the battlesuits that herded them into the throng.
Farsight blinked, his mind reeling.
The capital world, T’au, was beset by the ravages of outright war, its elegant towers toppling into a red-lit fug of smoke and flame as crimson skimmers and battlesuits rained down fire from above. The skyline faded away to reveal an endless plain of hot brass shot with bubbling rivers of blood. The spires of t’au civilisation crumbled like dry Dal’ythan clay to reveal vast towers of bone and pillars of stacked skulls. Some were so high they disappeared from sight above clouds of soot and pollution.
The roar of distant battle clamoured on the edge of hearing. In the foreground were wargroups of t’au, divided by caste as in the time of the Mont’au, each group clad in the colours and raiment of their original tribes. They no longer stood united by the Greater Good, but as deadly rivals, shrieking their hatred at each other as if possessed by a mania ten times worse than that of the Time of Terror.
Blood ran on the dry earth in rivulets. As Farsight watched, the little streams rose into the air, funnelling themselves into the mouths and eyes of the t’au fire caste to drive them into apoplectic frenzies of killing violence. Farsight saw himself amongst them. He was clad as a warrior king, a crown of bones protruding from his brow, screaming in triumph as he throttled O’Shaserra with one hand and O’Kais with the other.
He blinked again.
The vastness of space glittered, cold and uncaring, broken only by an impossibly vast hexagonal structure around a hole in space. On the sleek arcology before him a crowd of t’au cried out in pain and terror as some manner of grotesque fungus burst from their limbs, then torsos, then mouths and eyes, the odd growths stretching up to intertwine into a throbbing, pulsating mass of plague-ravaged flesh that leered down at him. Rancid fat and toxic phlegm poured down like rain, rivers of infected drool gushing from its blubbery lips as the creature grew vaster still. It reached up to the hexagonal structure and hauled itself upwards, blotting out a hundred thousand suns with its flabby immensity as it squeezed its way into the portal-like hole in space. Somehow Farsight knew that on the other side of that hole was the cradle of t’au civilisation, and that the godlike creature pushing its way through there could no more be stopped with military power than a creeping, invisible plague could be stopped by a balled fist.
Another blink.
A landscape of tortured, inflamed flesh stretched out into the distance. Stumbling blindly on bloodied feet were aliens of a hundred different species, naked and confused. Towering bipedal ballistics suits the size of skyscrapers stalked amongst them, their elegant lines and clean sept heraldry obscured by the corpses tied like ablative armour to their limbs. They were piloted by nothing more than necklaces of brains held in strange glowing spheres. The giant machines called out fragments of phrases that Farsight recognised as the invective of the water caste, each carefully crafted sentiment and cunning entreaty punctuated at random by the same bellowed refrain – ‘JOIN OR DIE!’
Where the aliens ran from them, the ballistics suits opened fire, obliterating those who rejected them in sudden firestorms that turned them to ash on the wind. Where the inductees simply cowered, the t’au giants would catch them up in clawed hands, then hold them close to their anatomy where they were bound by living chains to form another layer of fleshy armour over the pristine alloy of the suit itself. The screaming of the victims bound to the titanic battlesuits clawed at Farsight’s mind, a symphony of pain that pushed itself into his soul.
Blink.
Peace on Dal’yth. The aun caste were massing to hear the words of the Supreme Ethereal, walking through twilit gardens towards the vast spires of a crystalline fortress. They blurred and shifted as he watched, splitting into two, then combining, then splitting again as they talked animatedly about the wisdom they were about to receive.
The crystal fortress shimmered in the evening light, unfolding so that its panels of reflective material sent a kaleidoscope of images glinting in the air. Each showed the crux point of a new war being declared, a new atrocity being committed, a new act of treachery or manipulation that would see coiuntless lives changed for the worse.
As the ethereals gathered, joining hands in a great circle of supplicants around the towering edifice, the last of the crystal fell away to expose a vast abomination, blue and pink and burning with warp fire all at the same time, the flaming eye sockets and gibbering maw set into its chest recounting words of madness in a hundred thousand languages. The ethereals took up the chant, blending and blurring into one another to become a set of reflections so fractal and complex that they showed a thousand warzones, a trillion deaths, all somehow forcing itself into Farsight’s consciousness at once.
Blink.
The galaxy screamed, and ripped along its length. The works of those long-fallen empires that had held back the dimension beyond reality had been purposefully shattered, hunted down and cast into the dust. The fabric of real space had weakened, thinned, and – like a dam broken apart by ceaseless impacts across its length – finally burst.
The terrifying truth of the hellish dimension was writ large, scarring the heavens with a lurid weal of purple, pink and blue. The disc-portal of Arthas Moloch was a single drop of poison in comparison to this ocean of toxic damnation, a rising tide of anarchy that would turn the history of the galaxy on its head.
A dread certainty slithered within Farsight’s mind, a serpent slick with blood wrapping itself around his frontal lobe. This was no threat, no awful spectre of that which might come to pass should the evils of the galaxy be allowed to triumph.
This was the truth, and it was inevitable."
- from "Empire of Lies" by Phil Kelly