A Few Minutes Later
The Harlequin equipment issued to me was fascinating.
So fascinating, in fact, that it easily rivaled the wargear of the Adeptus Astartes and other famous super-soldier organizations that would rise in the future. In some respects, the Harlequins themselves belonged in that category.
Arguably, their equipment was even better.
Much to the eternal fury of Imperial fanatics.
Spreading everything across my table, I carefully examined each component of my future arsenal.
The first piece was, without question, the Agaith, the "False Face."
Every Harlequin possessed one.
Beyond displaying theatrical emotions through hyper-elastic psycho-reactive material that functioned like a second skin, the mask also served as a respirator, miniature cogitator, and highly sophisticated scanning device.
Furthermore, it could record everything it witnessed and replay those memories later. As far as I understood, Harlequins frequently used this function to capture the agonizing deaths of their enemies before projecting those recordings to others.
My own mask, however, was unusual.
Unique.
It strongly resembled the masks that would one day be worn by the Solitaires, though it lacked their distinctive horns. Cegorach wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was singling me out. After all, we were planning a truly magnificent joke together.
Heh-heh-heh-heh...
"Heh-heh-heh..."
The malicious chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
A moment later, I returned my attention to the rest of the equipment.
The second piece was no less important.
The Dathedi, more commonly known as the holo-suit.
It was responsible for the iconic appearance of the Harlequins, those impossible warrior-performers whose very existence seemed surreal against the backdrop of the grim darkness of the far future.
Rather than relying on heavy armor plating like the Space Marines, Harlequins wore incredibly durable bodysuits woven from psycho-reactive materials. Like psychic weaponry, their effectiveness depended upon the wearer's psychic potential.
In battle, these masterpieces of craftsmanship transformed Harlequins into dazzling blurs of impossible motion.
I knew that from experience.
Years of sparring had shown me exactly what active holo-suits could do.
Its wearer's outline exploded into storms of shifting light, confusing the senses and overwhelming perception. More than once, I had found myself completely disoriented while facing one.
And the worst part?
No scanner helped.
No sensor compensated.
Psychic technology combined with a touch of divine trickery deceived machines as effortlessly as it deceived living beings.
Accompanying the holo-suit was an elegant cloak woven from some material known only to Cegorach. Tiny crystals of unknown origin had been embedded throughout the fabric.
Among Harlequins, they were simply called Onyxes. Those priceless gemstones were capable of absorbing enormous quantities of energy.
Explosive force.
Kinetic impacts.
Plasma.
Psychic attacks.
Almost anything.
Naturally, they also contributed to the absurd visual effects surrounding Harlequin movement.
Together, the cloak and holo-suit formed what could only be described as an epileptic's worst nightmare.
Next came equipment that wasn't technically mandatory but was almost universally used.
For example, the Flip Belt.
A genuine miracle of Aeldari engineering, a compact anti-gravity generator activated through rapid mental commands.
Curiously, it wasn't actually dependent upon psychic power. The device appeared as little more than a collection of impossibly lightweight belts. Despite that apparent simplicity, it never interfered with the natural agility of the Aeldari, nor with the enhanced abilities of the Harlequins.
Instead, it amplified both to absurd levels.
Jetpacks used by other races became laughable by comparison. Gravity itself seemed to retreat into a corner and cry.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Among the remaining items was a Domino Field, a device capable of concealing its user from nearly every scanner in the galaxy.
That alone would have been impressive.
But it also projected an exact energy duplicate of its wearer.
The illusion was so convincing that even the assassins of the Officio Assassinorum would probably become nervous.
Wait.
What was this?
I frowned.
Where did this pendant come from?
I hadn't seen anything like it when I unpacked the equipment. It certainly hadn't been inside the case. Carefully, I lifted the object with a gloved hand. The semi-transparent material was covered in intricate Aeldari runes.
It drew the eye.
Almost irresistibly.
More importantly, my psychic senses reacted strangely to its presence.
I wasn't a Shadowseer.
Psychic specialization wasn't my field.
But still...
Brrr...
"That is my Eye, Knowing Jester. It shall aid you in the deeds that lead us toward the Grand Jest."
Cegorach's familiar voice echoed within my mind.
As always, he felt less like a distant god and more like a puppeteer explaining a performance to one of his actors.
Then again, any discomfort that comparison caused vanished the moment I remembered Slaanesh.
Without Cegorach, I would have died the instant the Great Enemy was born.
"Generous..." I murmured.
And a rather clear indication of just how much the Laughing God was investing in a single reincarnator.
I stared at the pendant.
Then realization struck.
"Wait... is this... an imitation of a Pariah?"
"Oh no!" Cegorach laughed. "Far more elegant than that, my little fool. This relic compels hostile psykers to perceive you as something akin to a Pariah. It deceives their minds and convinces them that, for reasons beyond comprehension, their powers cannot affect you."
His laughter continued.
"And the true brilliance of my creation is that even daemons, those foolish creatures so reminiscent of the arrogant Aeldari who drowned themselves in excess, perceive you in the same manner. Even She Who Thirsts herself shall be unable to seize your soul with her grasping claws."
I understood immediately.
"Without this..."
"Our Grand Jest would be impossible."
"Exactly."
For once, Cegorach sounded entirely serious.
"Slaanesh is young and foolish. Yet she remains a Chaos God, the inevitable destination awaiting every psychic species. Neither mortals nor immortals should ever underestimate her."
A brief pause followed.
Then his usual enthusiasm returned.
"Now gather yourself and step onto the galactic stage, my fool and delightful troublemaker!"
The divine presence vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
I sighed.
Well, I could refresh my memory regarding the weapons later.
The important thing was that I had already trained with them extensively and knew exactly how to wield the rather entertaining arsenal available to a Harlequin.
……
Several Hours Later
Southeastern Fringe of the Milky Way
Craftworld Iyanden
The Harlequin beside me cast a silent glance in my direction through eyes not yet concealed by her mask.
This was the individual Cegorach had assigned as my partner, bodyguard, and instructor all at once.
He had also muttered something about an "Aeldari wife" and "Black Library social credit."
I had absolutely no idea what that meant.
Undoubtedly, it was some sort of joke.
A moment later, a white mask fitted with multicolored lenses settled over her face, completing the appearance of a true servant of the Laughing God.
I assumed she had been assigned to me because Cegorach had no desire to see me die.
At least not before our magnificent prank reached completion.
She was fairly petite by Aeldari standards. For humans, however, her height of nearly one meter eighty-five was still impressive.
"Yes, yes, Killing Mockery. I'm not exactly thrilled about watching a Craftworld get torn apart by the daemons of She Who Thirsts either."
Feeling my companion's displeasure almost physically, I shook my head and shifted my weight from heel to toe.
Harlequins rarely wore conventional footwear.
Shoes interfered with the extraordinary flexibility of Aeldari feet, flexibility I was currently exercising out of habit.
"But we need to wait for..."
My words died away.
"There he is."
"Move."
The order came through the communication systems built into our masks.
Brief.
Direct.
The Great Harlequin himself.
Within the loose hierarchy of the Harlequins, he served as something akin to a general, wielding authority over one of the great Masques.
I had met him before.
Apparently, a reincarnator from another reality qualified as a noteworthy event even by the standards of this universe.
The moment I had called out to the Laughing God, Cegorach had dispatched one of his most trusted followers.
Now, acting under his command, we surged into battle.
Members of the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow erupted from Webway portals scattered throughout the Craftworld.
This was the refuge of those Aeldari who had embraced the disciplined Path system as their means of survival.
Now they were fighting for their lives.
Against daemons.
The servants of Slaanesh filled the battlefield with a cloying, intoxicating stench that was almost physically stimulating.
They pressed relentlessly against the defenders of Iyanden, whose yellow-and-black armor, vehicles, and weapons gleamed with the elegant artistry characteristic of the Aeldari race.
Their enemies, despite possessing vaguely humanoid forms, looked less like an army and more like a deranged mob.
Personally, I thought they would have fit Khorne's armies far better than those of the Prince of Pleasure.
The Daemonettes certainly bore little resemblance to the seductive succubi common to countless fantasy stories.
They weren't misunderstood.
They weren't tragic.
They were monsters.
Hideous inside and out.
Claws.
Distorted mockeries of feminine anatomy.
Parodies of elegant Aeldari ears.
Attire seemingly designed by deranged sadists.
Banners fashioned from living pink flesh that twitched and writhed of their own accord.
I genuinely couldn't understand Slaanesh worshippers.
Where exactly was this supposed perfection?
How could anyone find such creatures attractive without being heavily intoxicated or utterly insane?
More importantly, these daemons weren't even attempting to capture Aeldari for pleasure.
Unlike the depraved cultists of the fallen empire, they simply charged forward in endless waves, slaughtering as many Aeldari as possible to feed their souls to Slaanesh.
There was no strategy.
No tactics.
No self-preservation.
This wasn't even Khorne-style brutality anymore.
It resembled a Tyranid swarm.
Well...
A Tyranid swarm that occasionally stopped to eat the corpses.
A group of roughly ten Daemonettes had surrounded a wounded Craftworld civilian when I struck.
That cluster had already been designated as my target under the battle plan.
The objective was simple.
Divide the enemy.
Destroy them piece by piece.
Divide and conquer.
A classic Harlequin strategy.
As for the strange sensation radiating from the Daemonettes...
It induced a deeply inappropriate excitement on the battlefield.
Harlequins weren't taught to suppress it like the Path-bound Aeldari.
Nor were we taught to indulge it as the Drukhari did.
Instead, we released it.
Through laughter.
Through movement.
Through battle.
Through the act of carving open daemon throats.
It made us seem slightly insane.
Yet, like master tightrope walkers, Harlequins balanced perfectly between two extremes. We were neither emotionless machines nor uncontrollable madmen, but something balanced between the two.
And that balance was precisely what allowed us to survive.