TN: And we're back! sorry for the week long hiatus, it was not intentional since I had to get my right leg in a cast after tripping 3 floors down a stairwell (like an idiot ://) and be unable to use my PC setup upstairs BUT I should be OK now.
Anyways, Thanks for Arcanic Madness, WeissAkumu and WolfWTF for becoming as Supporters!,
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Cerakos' power sword was sheathed not only in a disruption field, but in a layer of mysterious golden light—identical to the radiant wings blazing behind him.
If all mercy and kindness were reserved for humanity, then what remained for xenos and heretics was hatred carved into the marrow. The warrior who was normally refined in conduct and gentle in speech now had veins bulging across his face. He looked ready to tear the Slaanesh daemon apart with his bare hands and devour its flesh.
Just before impact with the ground, the daemon's pincer snapped toward the angelic helm. Cerakos twisted aside; psychic power shimmered along the claw. He dared not gamble that his helm would withstand such a strike.
That slight shift in balance was enough. The agile daemon kicked into the Intercessor's abdominal plate, using the recoil to wrench the power sword free from its body.
Foul ichor splashed upon the ground. With a fluid twist, the creature evaded Cerakos' follow-up strike.
Now it revealed its true form.
It stood slightly shorter than Ignis, its skin a muted violet. Its gleaming bald scalp was studded with gems and crystals, bound together with stolen hair to form a lavish, decadent cascade. Like all servants of the Prince of Pleasure, it lacked eyelids—never deprived of sensation. Scars crisscrossed its face in patterns like blasphemous tattoos. Its long, forked tongue flickered constantly.
Its body was divided—male on the left, female on the right. One half muscular and broad; the other supple and alluring. Its original hands had become pincers, yet beneath the shoulders a second pair of arms had sprouted, elegantly spinning gem-encrusted short swords.
The male half bared its chest; the female half wore a bikini-like breastplate. Goat-like hooves were wrapped in violet stockings and adorned with gold, forming a twisted, decadent beauty.
"How rough," purred the saccharine female voice.
"Such exquisite pain!" shrieked the male half in rapture.
The creature swayed obscenely, the gauzy skirt shifting to reveal unnatural shapes beneath. The sight alone made onlookers' teeth ache.
Cerakos charged without hesitation. Though not a company champion, his physical prowess and swordsmanship were formidable.
His strike was stopped in an instant.
The Slaanesh champion's short sword, its guard exaggerated and ornate, locked against the descending power blade. Disruption fields spat lightning—but failed to break the daemon's weapon.
His lightning claw fared no better. A pincer clamped around it. Cerakos strained with all his strength—yet the slender daemon did not yield an inch.
"Son of Sanguinius, I had not yet come for you," the daemon whispered, its tongue brushing his helm. "What was her name? Cecilia, yes? A lovely name."
"She is beautiful. Fond of you, too. Tell me—if I wore your face and lured her away, how long would it take? And how long would you have to save her?"
Laughter burst forth, laced with psychic assault. Cerakos felt his focus fraying.
The ground shook as Gotthardt attacked from the flank. The siege drill roared downward with calculated precision—capable of boring through granite. Had it struck true, the daemon would have been pulp.
But Slaanesh daemons were speed incarnate—able to outrun vehicles on foot.
With a twist of its left blade and a tearing pull of its right pincer, Cerakos' guard collapsed. The daemon kicked him away, then spun in a dancer's arc—evading the Leviathan Dreadnought's drill.
It landed gracefully, pivoted, slipped past Ignis' chainaxe. The roaring teeth skimmed its skin from head to toe—drawing no blood.
The thunder hammer swept for its torso. It smirked, even winking at Ignis.
A backward arch evaded the hammer. A backflip dodged the chainaxe. A sidestep avoided the next strike. It spun around Ignis like a dance partner, ending at his back.
Ignis turned; the chainaxe howled. The daemon leapt in a perfect grand jeté, the blood-god's weapon sweeping harmlessly beneath it.
Its movements rivaled the finest ballet dancer—perhaps surpassed them. Three Space Marines—including a Leviathan Dreadnought—pressed their assault, yet achieving nothing.
It spun, leapt, danced—untouched. Weapons roared inches from its flesh. It even hummed a melody in time with its performance.
But the dance was not purely defensive. Blades and pincers lashed mid-spin; hooves struck mid-leap. Cerakos' pauldron dented. Ignis' vambrace buckled. The Leviathan bore fresh gouges along its legs and drill-arm.
"I've never seen the big guy this battered…" Billy muttered, baffled. In his estimation, Ignis stood at the pinnacle of combat ability—strength and speed alike. Yet this violet creature flowed through the storm like silk.
"And it's dancing…"
"How beautiful…" murmured a wounded officer on the ground. "Like a celestial fairy…"
As the praise left his lips, a faint pleasure tingled in his chest—almost soothing compared to his broken leg. The dancer's gaze met his, approving. Ecstasy bloomed.
"Three gentlemen for one partner? How eager."
With a whipping spin, iron-hard hooves drove Ignis and Cerakos back.
"I have not introduced myself." It bowed, jeweled hair cascading, refracting light in mesmerizing brilliance.
"My name is Sinera Finale. Some call me the Weaver of Delight."
It smiled confidently. "I must thank you. Especially you, Son of Vulkan. Your interference hastened my design. I had no idea how magnificent humanity's creations could be under the dominion of pleasure."
Ignis tried to charge—but thorny vines erupted from the ground, binding his legs.
"Do not struggle." Sinera smiled cruelly. "These are what the missing children became. Their skin is wonderfully elastic—perfect for binding."
"Careful of the thorns. Your armor may not withstand them. They are forged from the purest dreams of youth—hardened beyond steel. And poisoned—with the darkest recesses of the human heart. Purity and malice intertwined—what art."
The thorns crept upward. The Leviathan was immobilized in pink mist, thrashing uselessly.
Warp sorcery. As a Slaanesh warlord, psychic power was well within its grasp.
"I should thank you, my warrior." It caressed Ignis' helm. "You gave them fear to enhance their pleasure. This massacre? A masterpiece. They would not freely offer their souls—but you liberated them from fleshly indulgence and delivered those souls to me."
"I am merciful. I never act upon myself. I merely wait until they tire of excess and surrender willingly."
"My power now is built upon you—your courage, your rage, your hatred."
It leaned closer. "Jane Doe is lovely. So is Iori. And Nekomata. Your taste in women is exquisite."
"Join the Prince of Pleasure. I will preserve their souls for you. Insert them into any body you choose—ageless companions forever."
"Or this world. Weak, fragile. When all ends, I could grant you dominion. Build whatever society you wish. Indulge as you please."
"The Prince is generous. You are personally desired. These are but tokens. Ask more."
Each word struck Ignis like a blade.
"I will kill you! Filth of Slaanesh!" He struggled. The thorns pierced ceramite, injecting venom.
Pain, itch, crawling madness assaulted his nerves. Hallucinations flared. His will faltered.
"Submit. Beg. Join us." Sinera held his helm, sensing his resolve fracture. Soon—his soul would be hers. The Prince had named him. In this warp-thin world, victory would elevate her to true Keeper of Secrets.
"You want his soul?" The Khorne chainaxe roared.
Does Slaanesh think she can claim him alone?
The Khorne daemon had drunk deeply of blood today. It had planned to seize Ignis eventually—but if it delayed further, Slaanesh would win.
Better risk failure than humiliation before the Blood God.
Blood-flame ignited along Ignis' left hand, engulfing him. The thorns burned away; venom evaporated.
"So—you ally with him?" Sinera leapt back.
"Against you? Acceptable. I require skulls and blood. Yours will suffice." The Khorne daemon laughed as the chainaxe screamed to life.
Ignis' clarity returned. Blood-fire cloaked him.
None of them were innocent forces.
"Oh dear. How tiresome." Sinera sighed theatrically. "It could have ended peacefully."
Raising its right blade, it sliced its own chest.
"I hoped to continue my little sermon."
The pink-violet mist churned violently. Warp energy gathered at its claw-tip into a spiraling vortex.
"Come, my sisters. Behold this new world!"
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