The Warp curled around the Vengeful Spirit like a living, screaming shroud. Its tendrils whispered lies and truths alike into the ears of mortals, but most were deaf to the symphony of madness. Most. Not him.
The Joker stood at the edge of a viewing platform, the ship's Gellar field barely holding back the immaterium beyond. His new body—a gift woven together from dreams, agony, and impossible geometries—shifted slightly with every chuckle. He had walked through fire, through laughter, through Slaanesh's sensual razors and Tzeentch's impossible riddles. And he had emerged with a grin wider than ever.
"Mmm," he hummed, eyes tracking a spiraling Warp entity dancing outside the hull. "Like a child with too many crayons and a galaxy for canvas."
The doors to the chamber opened with precise, militant efficiency. Horus Lupercal, Warmaster of the Imperium, stepped inside, flanked by two Justaerin terminators. His face was a chiseled mask of suspicion.
"You," Horus growled, voice low and gravelly. "What are you?"
The Joker turned slowly, his smile never fading. "Oh, just a tourist with an interest in… future real estate."
The Warmaster approached, towering over the Chaos-born intruder. Psychic shields flared subtly around Horus, reacting to the Warp-stench the Joker exuded.
"You're in my ship, uninvited. And the Warp writhes louder every second you're here. Speak your purpose before I rip it from your mind."
The Joker tutted, a sound like a bell tolling at midnight. "Dear Horus, oh mighty son of the Man-Thing on the Throne. So serious. So burdened. Tell me, does Daddy ever call?"
Horus narrowed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. The Justaerin raised their bolters, mechanically precise, ready to fire.
"I've come to help," the Joker said sweetly, the words dripping with mock sincerity. "To… offer options."
"I need nothing from a daemon," Horus snarled, voice like a thunderclap in the confined space.
"Daemon? Me? Oh no no no, I'm something far more entertaining. Let's call me... the punchline of your father's joke."
Joker reached into nothing, his fingers dancing in the air, and pulled out a flaming deck of cards, each marked with faces—some known, some not yet born. He tossed one toward Horus. It landed at the Primarch's feet.
The face of the Emperor. Smiling. Judging. Distant.
"You feel it, don't you? That tug. That… *disappointment*. You lead His armies, bleed His wars, but where is your glory? Where is your place in the great plan?"
The words slithered through the chamber like serpents of temptation. Horus stood unmoving, but his aura flared dangerously, a warning in the air.
"Enough," he commanded, voice a low rumble that promised violence.
"You are not the first son to be ignored. And you won't be the last. But what if you could write your own story, eh? Become the main act, not just the understudy?"
"Enough," Horus repeated, fists clenched, the tension between them crackling like the Warp itself.
The Joker's grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "Join the chorus. Drown the galaxy in a new melody. One of freedom. Of laughter. Of chaos."
Horus moved.
Faster than a mortal eye could follow, the Warmaster seized the Joker by the throat, slamming him into the bulkhead with a deafening *thud*. Warp-light crackled around them, illuminating the chaos-born's features in stark relief.
"You speak treason," Horus spat, his grip unyielding.
"No, no, no," Joker wheezed, struggling against the pressure. "I *whisper* opportunity."
Horus's eye flared with golden light as he peered into the Joker's mind. For a moment, the Warp yawned wide. He saw fragments—planets burning with joyous madness, loyal Legions dancing in blood, a throne of skulls... and at its base, a jester smiling.
He recoiled, the visions twisting in his mind.
"You would burn the galaxy for a joke."
The Joker giggled, the sound a chilling melody. "Only the punchline matters."
Horus dropped him, the Chaos-born collapsing to the ground with a *thump*.
"Leave. Or I'll end you here."
The Joker bowed mockingly, a flourish that was both theatrical and absurd. "As you wish, dear Prince."
He flicked a card into the air. It spun, a fractal of insanity, and vanished. So did he.
Elsewhere, in the Warp...
The four Greater Daemons watched the exchange from their thrones of writhing symbolism and substance, their forms shifting in and out of reality.
Kai'Zulith, Lord of Paradox, chuckled, a sound that echoed through the void. "He plants seeds with madness. Already the cracks form."
Azarael, the Mirror of Desire, Slaanesh's chosen, smiled, her eyes glinting with pleasure. "He dances on the edge of rejection. Delicious."
Rokh'Murgal of Nurgle belched, a sound like rotting flesh. "Unstable. He'll rot before he blooms."
Korth'garath the Butcher, of Khorne, growled, his voice a deep rumble. "He is no warrior. But he may bring the war."
They watched the Joker fall through realms, still laughing, the sound a siren call to chaos.
Back in realspace...
Joker reappeared within the heart of a dying moon, where reality frayed at the seams. The air crackled with latent energy, and he looked skyward, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.
"Well... that could have gone better," he mused, rubbing his throat where Horus had gripped him.
He pulled out a cracked mirror, its surface swirling with reflections of countless realities, and looked into it.
"Plan A: Kill 'em with kindness. Rejected. Plan B: Chaos by infiltration. Off to a roaring start!"
The Joker began to draw on the stone with blood and Warp-ink, making plans no mind should ever understand, each stroke a dance with madness.
"Oh Horus," he whispered, the words a secret promise. "You may think you're free. But this galaxy is just a joke waiting to be told. And I'm the only one who knows the punchline."
He laughed, the sound echoing through the dying moon, reverberating off the crumbling walls. The Warp laughed with him, a cacophony of madness that wrapped around him like a warm embrace.
The seeds had been planted, roots creeping through the fabric of reality, intertwining with the fates of the living and the dead. Even in rejection, the Heresy had begun.
Back aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Horus stood in silent contemplation, the weight of the Joker's words pressing on him like a heavy cloak. The Justaerin exchanged glances, their bolters still raised, poised for any sign of threat.
"What did he want?" one of them finally asked, breaking the thick tension that filled the air.
"To play," Horus replied, his voice low, almost a whisper. "And to tempt."
"Tempt? With what?" another Justaerin queried, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Horus turned, eyes steely, reflecting a storm brewing within. "With chaos. With freedom. With the idea that we—" he paused, clenching his fists, "that we could rewrite our destinies."
A heavy silence settled, the weight of his admission hanging like a blade in the air. The Justaerin shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
"Is that what you want, Warmaster?" one finally asked, voice low.
Horus's expression hardened. "What I want is irrelevant. It is what the galaxy needs that matters."
"Then we must prepare," another Justaerin said, resolve hardening in his tone. "Prepare for whatever that creature has in mind."
Horus nodded, the fire in his gaze igniting. "And we will face it together. As sons of the Emperor."
Back in the dying moon...
The Joker finished his drawing, a web of symbols and sigils that made no logical sense, yet pulsed with a sinister life of its own. He stepped back, admiring his work, laughter bubbling up once more.
"Now, where to next?" he mused, twirling a finger through the air. "Ah! The Imperium has a few more players to join this delightful game."
He glanced at the cracked mirror, the reflections shifting, revealing faces he recognized—some from the past, some yet to come.
"Let's see how far this punchline can stretch," he said, a wide grin splitting his face.
The Warp crackled around him, a cacophony of voices rising in a tumultuous cheer. And as he stepped through the rift that opened before him, the galaxy spun on, blissfully unaware of the chaos that awaited.
The Joker laughed, a sound that echoed through the void, a harbinger of the madness yet to unfold.