Amby lay collapsed on his bed, his nerve endings still throbbing with agonized spasms. The residual agony Yuki had inflicted upon him lingered stubbornly throughout his frame.
"That damned, overprotective freak..."
Groaning through gritted teeth, Amby reached blindly for a large pill bottle on his nightstand. Without bothering to count the dose, he dumped a handful straight into his mouth.
It wasn't until fewer than three pills remained in the container that the excruciating pain finally began to recede into a dull ache.
"Where on earth did that Yuki come from? His conduct couldn't be further from proper nobility. In high society, a man who refuses sharing doesn't last long—is he from some backwater sector? He can't possibly be from the Five Hundred Worlds, can he?"
Amby racked his brain, recalling the arrival of Yuki and Yuno. They spent wealth effortlessly, carried themselves with extraordinary composure, possessed various gifts bestowed by Space Marines, and Yuki himself was a potent psyker.
Perhaps they were military aristocrats fresh off the front lines? If so, their total disregard for conventional high-society etiquette made a certain amount of sense.
His head throbbed again.
*Dammit... has that bastard's psychic residual effect still not worn off?*
Amby struggled to lift his trembling arm. Psykers truly were terrifying creatures. In his memory, there had been another wildly popular psyker who could induce simultaneous, overwhelming ecstasy in thousands of people with a mere flick of his power.
That grand spectacle remained burned into his mind to this day.
Yet Amby harbored far grander ambitions. A mere thousand people was far too modest; a truly magnificent spectacle required tens of thousands intertwined in collective passion—dense and writhing like a sea of maggots. After all, humanity was precisely that kind of monster deep down.
Seeking to numb his lingering discomfort, Amby pressed the bedside service bell.
When the operator inquired which servant he required, the face of the young lower-hive girl from his meal with Yuki flashed in his mind. He had eyed her for a very long time.
Before long, the requested server, who happened to be off duty, arrived at his suite. Staff within this vast luxury retreat carried such obligations as part of their contract anyway. As Amby indulged himself, he took immense satisfaction in mocking the low-tier noble who carried a torch for her.
How absurd—what kind of self-respecting noble still clung to romantic sentimentalities?
---
Meanwhile, Yuki sat in a slightly lower-tier establishment, a remarkably handsome man clad in rich purple robes seated beside him.
The man possessed a face so striking it could easily be described as beautiful. His attire was elaborate and intricate, yet the gaze he directed at Yuki carried a distinctly unsettling edge.
"Little Yuki, don't be so distant," the man purred. "Your wife surely can't satisfy you in her current state, can she?"
"Fulgrim," Yuki said flatly, "can you speak like a normal person for once?"
Manifesting in realspace in a long-absent human visage, Fulgrim let out a strange, musical laugh. "My, my, a person as captivating as you ought to have a bit more self-awareness. Charms like yours could drive even Angron wild."
For a moment, Yuki wasn't sure whether Fulgrim's sickening tone or the bizarre mental image he described was more irritating.
"Why aren't you lounging in your palace dallying with daemons?" Yuki muttered. "Stepping foot here makes the very air feel contaminated."
"Hardly a mere feeling—can't you sense it?" Fulgrim replied smoothly, leaning back. "Since my arrival, the locals have become delightfully uninhibited. Ah, this is true existence! Savoring exquisite sensations and manufacturing ecstasy—that is the key to a perfect universe."
Yuki looked at Fulgrim, entirely at a loss for words. Ever since this creature descended, the already decadent nobility on this world had spiraled into absolute hedonism.
He had originally come to this Garden World to enjoy its scenic beauty and unwind, yet while the environment was stunning, the inhabitants left him thoroughly disgusted.
"Say," Fulgrim purred, gesturing lazily, "how about you hand those tasteless acquaintances of yours over to me? I guarantee a performance that will leave you breathless—my craft is exquisite."
"Learned that skill on Ferrus, did you?"
Fulgrim froze for a fraction of a second before bursting into boisterous laughter, draping an arm over Yuki's shoulder. "Hahaha! Indeed! I tell you, the sensation of severing dear Ferrus's head was truly divine—"
While Yuki listened to Fulgrim detail the unique sensation of slaying a Primarch and his clones, Amby suddenly burst through the doorway.
Knowing Yuki frequented these modest establishments, Amby had tracked him down.
Noticing the frantic look on Amby's face, Yuki gestured for Fulgrim to shut his mouth.
Amby cast a lingering glance at the breathtaking man beside Yuki before blurting out his purpose: "Quick! Come see! I've created a masterpiece of art!"
"Art?"
Fulgrim's interest was instantly piqued. He had descended to this world on Slaanesh's command to harass Yuki, though the local nobility had managed to amuse him slightly. Hearing this mortal—who clearly lacked an ounce of artistic refinement—claim to have crafted 'art' was an insult he was eager to dismantle in person.
Yuki had zero interest, but seeing Fulgrim's sudden enthusiasm made him hesitate. If a Daemon Primarch was genuinely curious, had Amby actually committed something utterly monstrous?
Curiosity winning out, Yuki followed them back.
Stepping into Amby's suite, Yuki was greeted by the sight of the lower-hive server suspended from the ceiling. Shredded flesh and blood splattered every surface, smeared haphazardly across the walls.
"That's it?" Fulgrim scoffed.
"I carved that out with my bare fingers!" Amby panted proudly.
"I repeat: that's it?"
Fulgrim was genuinely disappointed. He knew the mortal was incapable of producing anything truly sublime, but such crude, amateurish slaughter was an insult to the concept of art.
Drawing his blade, Fulgrim moved with blinding, fluid grace. His edge slid effortlessly across the victim's remains, and within seconds, a gruesome canvas materialized.
Blood, skin, fat, and muscle interwove into a grotesque, haunting scene depicting a mass of intertwined bodies.
"At the very least, a daily warm-up piece should reach this level," Fulgrim declared with absolute solemnity. "Calling even this 'art' feels somewhat embarrassing, but whatever you cobbled together certainly doesn't qualify."
Amby stood frozen, staring in absolute, reverent awe. Yuki, on the other hand, was already turning toward the door.
He had simply wanted a quiet, mundane vacation. Why did he keep running into tedious nonsense like this?
*These two degenerates... can't they just kill without dragging out the torment?*
It was a good thing the Warhammer universe lacked a human rights organization.
"You two enjoy yourselves," Yuki said, stepping back out. "I'm leaving."
Amby was practically trembling with excitement. Falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead against the floorboards.
"May I... may I ask your name, my Lord?"
"Hehehe... you may call me the Phoenician, you arrogant little creature."
"Please... teach me how you achieved this! Looking upon it makes my very soul sing!"
Fulgrim reached down, stroking Amby's hair with a sinister, captivating smile. "It is instinct, my dear mortal—an instinct buried deep within every soul. Humanity naturally craves and adores these sensations. Our true nature is merely suppressed by mundane existence; only by unleashing it can one achieve true, eternal ecstasy."
Overhearing the dialogue from the corridor, Yuki shrugged.
*How utterly tedious. I'd rather head back and spend time with Yuno.*