Yes, another new story, but I've been percolating on this one for a while. I love Warhammer 40k (SISTERS ARE FINALLY COMING OUT IN PLASTIC HOLY SHIT I NEED TO SAVE UP!), especially the aforementioned SOB and Ynnari. SOB because they are an army of (insanely zealous) Joan of Arcs, and Ynnari because they seem to actually be trying to make the galaxy better rather emulating the other races, who are more interested in warring with each-other and defending their proverbial parcels of land.

Now, Worm and 40k crossovers are hardly rare. There are even some good ones, like Empress Ascendant by…something (Unruly?) Marmite. I could look it up, but I guarantee you all know what story I mean so….

This one, however, is not quite like those. It is most similar to Empress Ascendant, in that she doesn't trigger and somehow gain the powers of the Eldar because *wiggles fingers* reasons. However, rather than having Emprah the Awful Dad stuck in her head, she is literally Yvvraine reborn.

This, obviously, will result in her being just a little bit different to everyone else on Earth Bet. She is(was?) the Emissary of Ynnead, God of the Dead, and the only Eldar alive to have walked not only the Paths of the Eldar, but also the Path of the Corsair and the Paths of the Damned. This, according to fluff, is why Ynnead chose her in the first place. As you can imagine, having been a Dire Avenger (amongst other paths) for her bloodlust and was the Succubus of a Wych Cult, well... She will not be a PG hero lol, though anything on SB and SV will obviously be edited to meet their guidelines.

Therefore, it is my great pleasure to offer up the first chapter of Herald!

######################################################################

Nikos Vasil was not a good man by any stretch of even the most wild imagination or the most forgiving of hearts. He was no misunderstood visionary, no man of morally grey, no uncouth pragmatist. He was a monster in the guise of a man, a cruel and arrogant narcissist that took what and who he pleased and discarded them just as easily without pity, regret, or hesitation. Someone who had destroyed many hundreds of lives through his actions and manipulations.

Known and hated the world over as the S-rank supervillain Heartbreaker, he used his parahuman power to ensnare any woman he desired. One of the most powerful Master-class alive, he had the ability to manipulate and control the emotions of anyone he could see, and where emotions (and the chemical reactions they caused) went, minds and bodies were wont to follow. Women were absorbed into his ever-growing harem, and any men that tried to stop him or rescue their loved one became loyal guards and human shields.

It was the scope and intensity of his power that kept him alive, the fear of him enslaving any parahuman or military forces sent against him preventing direct action to bring him to justice. The countless brainwashed innocents within his compound prevented any form of long rang attack, it had long since proven impossible to sneak snipers past his patrols and guard posts, and the brisk Canadian air would disperse any sort of knock-out gas long begore it could lay him low.

So, the authorities had long since settled for trying to keep him contained in his sprawling compound outside Montreal, and for the most part he was content to allow them this petty 'victory'. He had so many women to enjoy, after all, and when he tired of them, he had his ways of sneaking about the world outside to claim more. Safely behind his walls and women, he had little trouble sleeping every night, surrounded by the sweat-and-fluid-soaked forms of whomever he had kept with himself that night. After all, no one within his compound could act against him, and those outside of it could never sneak past his guards.

It was this iron-clad truth that caused his confusion when he awoke late one August evening, stirred to consciousness by something unknown and unexpected. His brow furrowed in groggy thought as he tried to discern just what had woken him. It certainly wasn't an enterprising toy, none of them were foolish enough to wake him with physical affection unless he had expressly instructed them to do so beforehand. In fact, it wasn't anything physical at all, but rather entirely audible. Soft flute music drifted in through and open window, and he sat up with a baffled look. He had many musicians amongst his conquests, ones whose skills, beauty, and star-studded careers had led to him claiming them in the first place, but they played only when he desired it, or during their permitted 'free time'…which certainly didn't cover this hour of the night!

Slipping from bed was not the easiest task, given both its size and the number of still-sleeping occupants, many of whom had not been far from his own resting place, but he managed well enough. Had he been more awake, he might have wondered why none of them stirred as he rose, despite his creating enough of a disturbance to have easily done so. Instead, he pulled on a silken bathrobe (more to protect himself from biting insects than for anything related to modesty) and saw himself outside.

The music grew louder as he followed it towards the center of his kingdom, where he mockingly displayed a large Canadian flag atop a high flagpole, the base of which was surrounded by the pillories he used to publicly shame slaves that had irritated him for one reason or another. The delicious, debauched, mocking gesture had never ceased to amuse him. The only way it could have been more ironic would have been to have an American flag upon the pole, but he could hardly do that. After all, he was a proud son of Canada and a loyal servant to Her Majesty, wasn't he?

He smirked at the thought of the old hag. She had been beautiful once, of course, and had he come to power in her youth he would have loved to claim such a beauty for his own, but alas such charms had long since faded from her visage. Though several of her in-laws were quite entrancing, and it would be nothing short of heavenly to steal them away from their blue-blood husbands. Something to consider for the future, perhaps.

His eyes finally rested on the source of the music, and he actually found himself stopping in his tracks at the sight of her. Standing at the very top of his flagpole, balanced in a way no average human could possibly hope to, she was dressed in a dark tunic and flowing white dress that shone and shimmered in the breeze, framed against the radiance of the full moon that hung low on the horizon. He could just see the flute at her lips, a faintly glimmering length of silver, her fingers moving smoothly along its length as the haunting melody continued to play. It was deeper than most flutes he was familiar with, an odd drone not unlike a bagpipes beneath the rise and fall of her recital. It was beautiful, and he decided in that moment that she would become his. Who she was or how she had come to be here didn't matter, indeed those thoughts never crossed his mind, for the beauty of her song was all-encompassing. He didn't know how long he stood there, but when she finally lowered her flute he cried out in distress, demanding more. She turned to look at him, cloth swirling around her, before dropping from her place. He stretched out his hand, fearing his new gem would shatter once she reached the ground, but she landed lithely and without harm before approaching him.

As she came closer, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Never had he seen such ethereal beauty, and she seemed so young to be so radiant and so skilled. Dark orange eyes, magnificent in their unique shade, shone as they gazed at him, and a golden star-mark rested on her forehead. She was tall and svelte, not an ounce of excess fat or unsightly marks within his gaze, her long and silken black hair in a bun-and-braid, a small decorative choker-like object keeping the bun in its shape. Slim hands held her metallic prize, and he couldn't help but think what they would look like wrapped around him instead.

"Tell me your name!" he asked, no demanded, of her, and she smirked coyly at him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"My, so commanding. How delightful, to see one who can dictate his desires so easily." Her contralto voice caressed his ears, a gentle warmth that seemed to fill his senses, and she cocked her hip and gave a practiced flick of her hair as she continued. "You may call my Yvraine Alarielle, if you can bring yourself to speak to me at all."

Cocky little thing, wasn't she? Was probably used to getting everything she wanted on a silver platter without having to lift a finger, like every other rich heiress he had gotten his hands on. Still, instead of the usual naïve but blustering maiden such girls normally presented themselves as, she seemed far more worldly. Familiar, but with an added twist that would make the taste of conquest all the sweeter.

"I can do more than speak, I always know what I want, and I always get what I want. Which is you, naked and kneeling before me. I am your master, after all, and the only thing that matters to you in the world is making me happy." He responded as his power stretched out to her mind, sinking into her soul and binding her to him eternally…or so he had thought. Instead she simply laughed brightly and twirled around in a full circle, delight in her expression.

"Come now, is it not a glorious night? Will you not enjoy my song and dance with me?" she responded, and for a moment he frowned in consternation, but the haunting melody was there again, flowing beneath the sounds of nature around them unceasingly, and he smiled in return as it grew ever so slightly louder and wiped his nascent worries away. Dancing to such beautiful music did sound very appealing…

He followed along with her as she spun and twirled around him, the music ever-present and unceasing, and he soon found himself swept up in its notes and her infectious energy. He was no professional dancer, nor was he in quite as good shape as he had been in years past, but he took reasonably good care of his physical form and had enough energy to make up for his lack of skill. As she dipped and spun, she gathered flowers from the ground, weaving them deftly into a beautiful garland necklace that she draped around his neck with a chorus of bright laughter.

The music was so loud now, filling the air and his mind, drowning out the pointless sounds of the natural world as they climbed the stairs to the parapet of his towering compound wall, hands in hands as they spun and danced and laughed together in the light of the moon. They came to a halt for a moment, breathing heavily and pressed close together, and she pranced away with sudden shyness as he dipped his head to kiss her.

"Will you not rid yourself of your other servants, for me? Surely you don't need all those other common people when you have one as magnificent as myself in your company?" she pouted, and he felt a pang in his chest at the sight of her unhappiness.

"Of course, of course. Whatever makes you happy!" he bobbed his head agreeably, releasing his hold on all those who called him Master, something he did rarely…usually so someone could experience the full horror of their current circumstances before he leashed them again. Besides, once she was fully under his power, he could reclaim the others easily enough. It wasn't as if she would have the capacity or desire to object at that point. "There, it's done. Just for you."

"How wonderful." She cried in delight, clapping her hands before offering them to him once more. As he took them, she smiled again…but it wasn't a nice smile. "Then I only have one final thing to ask of you before you get what you deserve."

"Hmm? What's that?" he queried almost absently, confused by her sudden change in attitude and almost deafened by the swelling music. There was something wrong about all this, but it was so hard to think…

"From the very bottom of my heart, there is nothing more that I would love in this moment than for you…" she started, spinning him around until his back face the outside edge of the wall. With a vicious smile and cold, loathing eyes, she gave him a light shove. "To die for me."

He fell, mind suddenly somewhat clear of her spell, and for a heartbeat he felt the true terror that must have gripped the hearts of every victim he had ever given clarity, if only for a moment. His garland grew tight around his neck, coarse like rope, and the last sensation he ever felt was reaching the end of its slack. There was a crack, and darkness consumed him.

###############################################################

Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Amalia Greyson was not the most impressive member of the Canadian Protectorate's volunteer-only Heartbreaker Containment and Observation Unit, at least so far as earning medals or performing feats of prowess, but she was one of the best scouts in the entire organization. Moving without getting spotted and seeing without being noticed were where her talents lay, and that was a great deal more useful to the HCOU than another gun-bunny.

Dressed in drab greens and dark browns, she slunk out of a hidden exit (created in fear of Heartbreaker spying on them as much as they spied on him) and headed for her assigned daily post, which happened to be a hide halfway up a massive Siberian elm with a perfect view of the front gates to the villain's compound. As the sun began to rise, lightening the sky from black to a pale grey, she carefully clambered up the rope ladder to her hidden platform perch, reeling the tool in when she finally reached her goal. The faintest sound of equipment clattering could have been hear as she adjusted the observation tools to her preference…shortly followed by a much, much louder commotion as she tossed a single line over the edge and belayed herself back to the ground with almost dangerous speed. Hastily unclipping the shunt and tossing it aside in her desperation to move just a little bit faster, she ran faster than she had ever run before back towards base. Ignoring the concerned shouting of her compatriots, and nearly bowling over one particularly unwise Captain who attempted to waylay her, she burst without ceremony into the office of the Colonel in charge. Even as his mouth opened to bellow a condemnation, she shrieked a sentence that was equal parts glorious and terrifying.

"HEARTBREAKER IS DEAD!"

The Colonel gaped in a thoroughly undignified fashion, cheeks flush with fury paling so dramatically an observer might have called for a medical intervention, if said observer had been in a better state themselves.

"Tell me everything!" he very nearly whispered, and she took a deep, steadying breath before obeying.

An hour later, nearly the entirety of The Guild and Canadian Protectorate, along with a dozen of the best PRT Strike Teams alive, were slowly approaching the walls of Heartbreaker's compound. A Dragon Suit sent by the famed Tinker had confirmed that the corpse hanging by his neck from the parapet of the front gate was indeed that of Nikos Vasil. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that his many children were any less of a threat than they had been when he was alive, and their powers were more or less totally unknown. Not to mention that they had no idea what would have happened to Heartbreaker's slaves if he died. For all the gathered law enforcement knew, they could all be a heartbeat away from turning into suicidally homicidal lunatics.

"Colonel, I suggest we move ahead quickly and carefully. As far as I can tell, everyone in the compound is still asleep. If we can secure them before they wake up, we can keep casualties to a minimum." Dragon reported, lift-jets whining softly as the suit touched down beside him. "There is something else you should see. Someone left us a message."

"Understood." The Colonel nodded to her in both acknowledgement and thanks, before keying his radio. "All teams, move in and secure the inhabitants of the compound. Recon says they're all still asleep, lock them down before they can pull themselves together."

The PRT troopers surged forward in response, boots pounding on packed dirt and gravel as they stormed into the compound in force. Doors were kicked in, smoke and flashbang grenades leaving those inside helpless to resist as they were hosed down with containment foam where they lay. The parahumans split up to follow, each prepared to combat any powered enemy that might appear before them, but either none of Heartbreaker's children had powers, or they had all been foamed quickly enough to prevent them from using said powers.

As the trucks began to pull up and the transport teams began collecting the semi-solid masses of porous foam, the Colonel followed the Dragon Suit up to the top of the wall, where a short rebar rod had been driven deeply into it, a rebar rod that served as the anchor for Heartbreaker's gallows and was topped by a sign.

Nikos Vasil has been punished

For the crimes he has committed

Against the innocent and helpless.

Those of his children with powers

Are appropriately marked.

Those who suffered are free

of his control Treat them well.

His wealth belongs to his victims.

The prices on his head belong to me.

003-98752-795136-13264

"No signature, nothing to indicate who did this. The numbers belong to a banking account, standard Independent/Vigilante rules. No name, no face, nothing more than a basic description. Young, female, Caucasian. Long black hair. Anything deeper than that would require government intervention, and if word got out that we were digging into the private identity of the person who killed Heartbreaker, the backlash would be cataclysmic." Dragon told him quietly, doubtlessly trying to keep this information from the rank and file troopers for the time being.

"The only reason I would want to know who they are is to give them a goddamn medal and thank them personally for killing this bastard." He grunted in response, turning away from the sign to overlook the ongoing efforts of clearing the compound. "It's a hell of a thing, Dragon. Whoever came in here did what we couldn't and took him down without his victims getting hurt. Today is a great day."

############################################################

"Though details are still sparse, Protectorate, PRT, and Guild representatives have jointly confirmed that the supervillain Nikos Vasil, aka Heartbreaker, was found hung from the front gate of his compound in the pre-dawn hours of this morning. While no one named themselves, it has been confirmed that he was killed by another parahuman, who has since received the enormous sum of money from his bounty, totaling several hundred million dollars that were pooled together by the governments of the world and the relatives of his countless victims. We'll bring you more as this story develops."

"Taylor, honey, turn off the TV and come to breakfast! The Barneses will be here to get you soon!" a woman's voice overrode the news' switch to the meteorologist, and the screen went dark, leaving the dark shape of a teenaged girl reflected on its unlit glass surface.

"Coming, mom!" Taylor Hebert responded, dark orange eyes smoldering with satisfaction, mouth curled in a pleased smirk as she got to her feet and padded out of the living room. "Just wanted to catch the morning news…"
###############################################################################

So, yeah. This, Nothing Is True (the Rewrite) and Seraphim are going to be the three stories that I work on for the time being. Got a few things on deck, but I don't really feel like starting more new stories at the moment. As always, please leave a review and consider becoming a Patron.

I have added the option to commission a chapter for a non-canceled story, so if you really want an update on a story consider doing so.

As an added note for SB and SV moderators, let me know if I need to edit this. I tried to skate the edge of breaking the rules as best I could, but I really wanted to display just how much of a monster Heartbreaker is, and how much he enjoys being that monster. Alotta people in Worm, living anywhere other than Earth Bet (or even living outside of Brockton Bay) would have been tolerable or even good people if not for the grimdark world Worm takes place in. Many of them are forced by circumstance to become what they are, Taylor most obviously.

Heartbreaker, though? No, he wasn't forced into his situation, he created it with meticulous preparation and unfathomable evil. He is an evil, evil male (I hesitate to call him a man) to the very core, his soul as rotten as anything I can imagine. He will never suffer anything but an unpleasant fate in any Worm story I write.