Forewarning:

Allow me to state this up front: this is being written for the express purpose of challenging my limits as a writer. My prior work has had many of these dark themes exist in the world of the story but never before have I put them front and center like this. I've written sex scenes before but I've done so sparsely and it has never risen above "harlequin romance". So this is my first foray into out and out smut. Let's see how this goes.

Speaking of dark element. I've always made to decision to keep non-con acts "off screen". I'm severely bending that rule by diving head first into dub-con. Consider this the trigger warning. While we're at it…

If for some reason you stumbled onto this without any prior knowledge of what the Drukhari/Dark Eldar are from Warhammer 40k, then is basically your TRIGGER WARNING for EVERYTHING. I'm being neither cute nor obtuse with that statement. The Dark Eldar are an entire society of space pirate elves who sustain themselves on the extreme pleasure and pain of other sentient. By culture they are all horrific murders, torturers, and rapists…and that's not even the worst of it. As I'm writing this I can't say with certainty what exactly will end up in here…but given the "Drukhari", basically anything and everything is on the table.

Gird yourselves accordingly.

The MC of this story is also a breed apart from my usual fair. Sure, I love my morally flexible anti-heroes with a profound guiding ethic and a sympathetic extremist pushed over the moral event horizon by perverse necessity, but Jalaqier is built...different. A through and through "Sigma Male". He is only as sympathetic as I felt necessary to keep the narrative functional, but make no mistake...he is wholly irredeemable and utterly vile. Just like 98.5% of the people in his society, he's a horrific sadist, self-hating racist, brutal slaver, vicious murderer, and undeniable rapist. YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO LIKE HIM...but I am challenging myself as writer to see if I can get you to understand him and how his culture/society made him the monster that he is.

I'm not playing around when I say, "DRUKHARI = TRIGGER WARNING: EVERYTHING!" They are deliberately designed to be the most depraved race in the universe that coined the term, "grimdark". They are evil to the point of comedic absurdity. You have been sufficiently warned. If you proceed forward, that's on you mate.

Chapter 1:

The pillars hummed and the nodules sparked. The faint whizzing echoed through the great antechamber deep within the labyrinthian fortress. As the sound grew to a grumbling whir, bolts of electricity shot off of the opal fangs that comprised the gateway. The ancient tech of their specie's once glorious empire was all but undisguisable from the arcane rituals of their prudish cousins. Blue bolts rippled through the chamber, scorching the floor and incinerating the flayed corpses hanging off wretched meat hooks dangling from the ceiling.

As the ashes of their old trophies filled the air, the grim king of this heinous kabal made his presence known. Archon Lau-Fey, the "Barbarous Butcher of Bel-Nach", dressed in his finest blackened human leather lined with the cerulean fur of gyrinxes. He was flanked by his retinue of Lhamean courtesans and sslyth bodyguards. The xenos warriors' iridescent scales glimmer in the light of bright green, witch-fire torches. The archon raised a fist and they hissed with delight.

They began to rattle their tails, genetically modified to their employer's preference. "Chuch chuch chuch chuh, chuh," their rhythm filled the air. With their first pair of arms they beat spear shafts against shields, "ta dah dah dah, dah", as shredder blasters and swords were held at the ready in their second pair.

The archon nodded to his trusted arbiter, Máuo-Feìmí, the lanky Drukhari heeds his master's whim and wrenches forward a great leaver. The ancient mechanism slams into place and the blue bolts arch back around to the center of the archway. They coalesced into a tear in reality that revealed a pulsating blue wound. From within the webway, the victorious chants of savage warriors echo. The trueborn "nobles" find their places along the veranda overlooking the antechamber. One of them, a ghoulishly beautiful woman with floor length auburn hair braided with the bones and tendons of her victims, cleared her voice. She tapped black nails sharpened to a razor's edge against one another. Then in a bright voice that cut through the maelstrom, she sang in the ancient tongue.

"Tal lac aela lai aela lai aela lai…,"
"Tal lac aela lai," the rest of her peers joined in choir.

Then the portal "bwured" open. From within the webway, the shadow of the warband stretched long into the blue tunnels forged by the long dead architects of creation. Roar of their chant shook the pillars of the gate.

"Aela lai! Aela lai! Aela lai!"
"Great hunt! Great hunt! Great hunt!"

The warriors erupted from the portal, leaping and bounding as they cackled and hollowed with sinister delight. The baleful barbs of their black armor dripped with the blood of innocents. Some were so heavily coated that they stank of wrought iron. Freshly severed ears and noses danced on barbed wire necklaces, while newly plucked eyeballs jiggled as new gruesome pendants for the raiders. Scourges cackled as they darted through the room, covering all in a powder of finely ground bone. Hellions screeched through the gateway. The faces of their plunder were frozen in their dying moments of terror and agony, now dangled off of their gliders.

These savagely slaughtered souls were the fortunate among their lot. As the warband filled the chamber with successive waves of soldiers, the true terrors of the Drukhari made their appearance. Ezrhis Kaeberos, the demented scientist haemonculi, with his twitching, arachnid bio-engineered limbs scuttled across the floor as he filled syringes with luminescent body fluids drawn from still living subjects.

Behind him lumbered the levitating hulks of metal and flesh known as talos pain engines. These heinous devices were powered by the suffering of the poor who served as its battery. In their whirring talons of needles and scalpels were clutched their future power supply. Behind them followed the wracks, the twisted abominations that served as testament of their haemonculi's surgical prowess. The gurgling nightmares sewn together from the flesh of multiple beings, panted and heaved as powerful psychoactive drugs colored their veins neon.

Then at last, the prized jewel of any warband, the ravagers sailed through the portal. The foul skiffs were each affixed with a trio of dark lance canons that could annihilate enemy walkers or tanks in a single volley while racing over the horizon at lightning speed. Atop their decks stood the proud and treacherous incubi: the warrior elite. Clad in spiked plate, adorned with mighty horned helms with glowing visors, and wielding monstrous klaive blades; their foot steps thundered on the decks of the ships.

"Kuh lac kuh lac kuh lac khu lac, karlei!" they shouted.
"Karlei!" the soldiers and nobles shouted.
"Karlei karlei karlei karlei, karlei lai!" the whole of the kabal screamed.

"Savage savage savage savage, savage hunt!"

"Silence!" Archon Lau-Fey roared and the screeching, cackling raiders heeded their master's word. "Dracon Dha'khar ," the archon called out to the commander of the mighty incubi, who removed his helm to reveal a ghostly pale but fair visage with long black hair, "what fruits has your terror harvested?"

"My lord…," Dha'khar shouted back as he raised up his twin klaive. The hand carved runes in its side glowed a fell green as the weapon fed off of his excitement. He brought it crashing down a chain, easily cutting through it. The ramp doors of the lead ravager came crashing down to reveal the huddled masses of terrified human slaves, "…the wine of sorrow and the red meat of pain!"

The archon bellowed a dark laughter that filled the room echoed by a rising chorus of "heh heh hehs". The chains to the rest of the ravagers were cut free and their doors came crashing down to reveal the poor wretches below their decks. Their soul shredding terror and choking dread psychically fed all the gathered Drukhari, who moaned in foul pleasure.

Archon Lau-Fey then fell quiet and impatiently tapped his finger on the wall. At this gesture the dracon nodded to one of his soldiers who quickly vanished below decks. A short while later he emerged with string of twenty young women, the most beautiful of their kind…at least by the standards of a human, bound in electrocuffs. The incubi soldier lead them out of the chamber. With his "share" secured, Lau-Fey smiled fiendishly as the black pits of his eyes leered on at the crowd.

Among the incubi he found a young Drukhari whose face was far too flush for one of their kind. The youngin' looked up at him reverently, but the archon would not return any kind glance. He turned his face away and painted on a smile again.

"Well then, what are you waiting for my lovelies?" he shouted, "Feast!"

At the proclamation, the dark eldar descended upon their captive prey as the dread archon lead his retinue out to his personal chambers. The slaves were pulled out of the ships as the perfidious pirates rushed to stake their claims. Men were whipped and beaten. Women hauled away by their hair or over the shoulder of their "masters". Children wept as strange ladies whispered of how they were going to, "bake them into sweets" and led them away.

That pain and agony were ecstasy to the Drukhari, and it intoxicated them. The greater the terror and pain of their slaves, the more and more they lose themselves to it. Warriors began "taking" their prizes there in the antechamber, and the lurid spectacle only exacerbated their thirst. Seizing their opportunity while their rivals left themselves vulnerable in acts of carnal violence, decades long scores were settled in a flash of blades. Vicious, bloody brawls broke out as warriors fought one another for their "treasures". In throes of murderous passion, the kabalites most lost in their sadistic thirst began "taking" one another. Years of recrimination vanish in an explosion of carnal violence that eclipses the distance between "lover" and "foe".

"Ooh! Hoo-he-he-ha-hargh!" a female kabalite warrior panted as she was shoved against the outer wall of the ship and forcibly taken from behind by one of her comrades, "Ahh! Yeah-yeah-yeah! I know you've been dreaming of my tight little pussy!" she screamed in delight as he held her head back with a firm grasp of her midnight black ponytail.
"Shut your whore mouth, bitch!" he demanded as he thrust himself more brutally into her.
"Ah-ah-ah-ahhhh yeah! Give me that dick! It's all mine. Not yours…mine."
"Yeah you filthy fucking tramp! This dick is yours…now take all of it!"

He groaned as he laid his hand over her crotch, fingers tracing her labia ; shoving the full measure of his cock into her as he slammed her face against the side of the ship.

"Aww fuck! Take it all you filthy whore!" he whispered as he released himself inside her. His hot seed spurted out of her even though the meat of his shaft remained firmly inhered inside of her passage. "I fucking love you, you stupid bitch."

At that, body quivering and breathing heavily, he withdrew himself from her. Then with a devious smile, she pulled a small syringe out of her gauntlet and jabbed it into his penis. He howled in pain but the stimulant did its job, and he was fully erect again immediately. Then the female proceeded to shove the male to the ground and throw herself on top of him. Their hips slammed against one another with a constantly accelerating pace. They both continued to moan, hiss, insult, and threaten one another endlessly. Then she arched herself backward and began gyrating her hips. The male's eyes rolled up into his head just as he was about to achieve fruition for a second time in as many minutes.

Then, at the height of his carnal ecstasy, she unsheathed a dagger and dug it deep into his chest. "Waaaaaah!" he wailed in searing agony, but in the process he gripped her hips and thrust himself powerfully into her one last time.
"Awwaw-ahhu-he-awwww!" her voice fluttered as her eyes closed and body trembled. He released into her a second time as she plunged her hands into the open wound and ripped his still beating heart out of his chest.

"Your heart belongs to me," she lovingly whispered to him.
"My heart is yours," he whispered back with his dying breath.

A dozen other similar scenes play out across the antechamber. All the while the onlookers feast off these extremes just as much as any other. Soon, more and more Drukhari are "giving" themselves to one another as those who don't are leaving with a greater proportion of slaves.

The young incubi who made eye contact with the archon takes stock of the situation. All in all, a fairly mundane raid and reception. At least this time there's no rival kabal trying to steal them, nor are they much more than pitiful peasants.

He stood there recalling their last raid, as the yips, moans, and cries of pleasure, death, and agony swell into a vile cacophony about him. Last time we raided a covenant of Sororitas. By Vecht, the monkeigh emperor's daughters are a tenacious brood…but that's what made their conquest so much more fulfilling to him.

But there was always another raid for another day. He had to claim his share before it was lost. Jalaqier glanced back to where the archon had been only to find the noble woman with the long red hair staring at him. Her viridian green eyes pierced through his soul. Though their kind had forfeit their psychic talents many generations ago, Jalaqier didn't need them to recognize that look of longing. He'd seen it before on her many times.

Not tonight, Yr'lendriel. I've got a taste for something "abnormal".

He ventured below the decks, shoving his way through the mass of human flesh crowding itself tighter and tighter together as they futilely huddled for safety from the ravenous claws of their captors. One by one, he shoved them aside as though they were reeds in his path. As he passed by young women, he'd stop, seize them by their chins, and investigate their faces. He was looking for a veary specific one. Eventually he found her.

Whether it be Chaos taint, the Imperium's own hysterically primitive genetic manipulation, or simple genetic mutation; humans occasionally produced abnormal breeds. Among their slaves was one Jalaqier had never seen before. The terrified mutant "monkeigh" with her pleading red eyes looked on at the dark, sylvan monstrosity that towered over her. She was some sort of animal half breed…kinda like me…with fluffy canine ears and a bushy tail. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders, across her ample bosom. Jalaqier laid a single finger over her quivering lip.

"I know what to use that pretty mouth of yours for," he told her.

Jalaqier couldn't wait to find out what noises she made in both pleasure and pain. Would she yip? Howl? Squeak? He had to find out. He gruffly seized her by the arm and drug her out of the ship despite her meek protestations in that driveling monkeigh speak. It's all "ooh ohh, aah aah" to me.

On their way down the ramp way, stepping over the writhing, entwined, eviscerated bodies as they went, the dracon placed himself in their path. As Jalaqier went to shove past him, Dha'khar pressed his open hand firmly against his chest.

"Where do you think you're going with that?" Dha'khar growled.
"I'm claiming what is mine," Jalaqier snarled back.
"Is that so? You over step your station, ape. You're not even a half-blood. Wait your turn to feed."

A venomous hissed welled up in Jalaqier's throat. It was a slight he had heard his whole life, but it never got any easier. Yet there was a reason he hadn't been cast aside or terminated like all the other half-breeds. It was something Dha'khar knew as incontrovertible fact. Still, it was a card that didn't shine well on his standing. All that mattered in the Dark City was strength. Power was the soul currency of genuine worth. He couldn't afford to debase his own merit any more than it already had been.

"You going to make something of it Dha'khar?" Jalaqier asked as he drew his klaive, "or are you just going to keep babbling on and on like a stupid bitch?"
The dracon laughed as he drew his weapon, "You've had this a long time coming, filth. Fuck Slaanesh good for me, won't you."

The two incubi held their massive blades up in guard position. In a long, lingering moment they stared one another down, waiting for the other to move. With their lightning quick reactions, the person who abandoned their guard to strike first would almost certainly be decapitated by a relentless counter strike. Jalaqier could hear his heart beat in his ears but his hands remained steady. They two of them began to raise their front feet off the ground and bring them weapons clashing down on one another when in a flash of white furs and green silk, the arbiter darted between them.

"Now boys, we all got our swords raised but you should go smash yours together in the privacy of your chambers," Máuo-Feìmí said with a wink and a smile.

The two incubi groaned as they lowered their blades.

"Damnit arbiter! Don't interfere. This is between a commander and his entitled prick of a subordinate," Dha'khar sneered.
"Máuo, I don't need you fighting my battles for me. I'm a fucking incubi, damnit!" Jalaqier shouted.
"You really think you got there on your own, ape? There's no way filth like you could ever stand equal to a trueborn like me."
"Alright asshat, let's find out. If you're really so much better than me then what are you afraid of?"

Máuo-Feìmí placed a hand on either flat top of their blades and sighed heavily.

"Children," he stressed the word severely, "you both know the price for either of yours' blood is blood. Jal, your fellow warriors will never accept you as commander by right of kill, and will turn against you in the name of vengeance. Dhak, even if the archon forgives it, you have to know you'd be signing your death warrant with Yrie. We're already going to be regrowing over half our forces. If the kabal's rivals found out our two best warriors were back in the tubes, they'd descend on us like Rak'Gol."
"Heh!" Jalaqier snorted, "Fine. You know what Máuo, you're right. The two of us couldn't walk away without severely compromising the other."
Máuo-Feìmí shook his head, "Boy, you're not one of the two."

A lump welled in Jalaqier's throat as he was shaken to his core. Dha'khar laughed and calmly set his blade aside.

"Alright arbiter. Do your duty. Me and the ape are at an impasse. He has claimed this treasure as his own despite not waiting his turn. How do you rule?"
"Well, I am prepared to remove the illusion of the rat girl as the focal point of your squabble," Máuo-Feìmí smirked, "Dhak, I'll pay you a favor in exchange for her."

"Hey!" Jalaqier shouted, "it's my treasure by right of possession. I have not forfeited it. How can you buy something not in that person's possession?"
"Because you would lose. What I'm doing for you is saving you a beating. That payment is more than sufficient you little shit," Máuo-Feìmí replied cheerfully as he wagged his finger.

"A favor he says!" Dha'khar's voice rises.
"Yes a favor…and if you were sharper than a stick, maybe I'd be worried about it. Alas, you are not so I am not," Máuo-Feìmí shot back with a wink, "Do we all have an accord?"

Jalaqier reluctantly sheathed his blade ad turned his head aside.

"Fine," he grumbled.
"Yes arbiter, we have an accord," Dha'khar replied.
"Excellent!" Máuo-Feìmí declared.

Jalaqier stepped aside from his prize as Máuo-Feìmí bent down to be at eye level with the frightened creature. He smiled warmly at her and she did so in kind. He reached his hand out to her and she tepidly took it, her eyes filled with wariness. Then in the blink of an eye, the arbiter had pulled her close to him, produced a small gun from his belt pouch, pressed it against her throat, and fired off a faint "pew".

The rat girl lurched forward, gasping as she frantically held he throat. Without missing a beat, Máuo-Feìmí lined the gun up with her dog ears and fired another faint "pew". The girl clasped at her head, closing her eyes tight as tears began to roll down her cheeks. But her monkeigh babbling had ceased. Now she cried in the tongue of the Dark City.

"Ow! Why would you do that? I want to go home!" she sobbed.
"Shhh! Shhh!" Máuo-Feìmí gently whispered to her as he wrapped his arms around her, "Don't cry. Don't cry, sweet child. I can't help you with your last request, but I can explain myself. Sure it's a bit rough, but inserting a translator into your body is the quickest means for us to communicate. I'm sorry."
"What is this awful place? Who are you?" she begged.

Máuo-Feìmí wiped the tears from her eyes and brushed the hair out of her face as he stared longingly into her eyes. She cupped her hands over his as he held her face.

"My name is Máuo-Feìmí, but you are to call me 'master'. I've purchased you from these squabbling idiots."

The rat girl froze, her eyes grew wide, and she began to quiver. The arbiter smiled meekly.

"Look at you, you're trembling. Well of course you are. Look at these rags they have you in. You'll catch your death of cold. Here, take this," he told her as he took off his furred coat and covered her in it.

Jalaqier, Dha'khar, and several other Drukhari were snapped out of their debauchery by this preposterous sight.

"The fuck is he doing?" Jalaqier whispered Dha'khar.
"Void if I know," he replied.

Máuo-Feìmí bent down and lifted up the startled abhuman. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the tall, dark, mysterious man carried her away from this depraved nightmare she found herself in.

"What's you name, love?" he asked.
"Ra-Raelphina," she stuttered.
"Hmm…"
"W-wh-what?" she nervously asked.
"Just so apropos for such a beautiful name to match such a pretty face."

That is when Jalaqier got the answer to his question second-hand. She squeaked with joy as they passed beyond his sight. Damn it! He turned his attention toward Dha'khar who leered back at him.

"One of these days you're going to get put in your place, filth. Just pray that it isn't me who gets that chance. Watch your back in real-space," the dracon snarled before wandering away.

Jalaqier looked back at the ships to find them and the surrounding antechamber empty…except for the dead bodies. The scavengers had picked their fill and retreated to their dens to consume it. His altercation had made him miss out on his share. Now he'd be going hungry.

"Come to me," the sweet, sensuous whisper of the Chaos god Slaanesh echoed in his ear. It made a cold chill run and down his spine. Drukhari didn't "feast" solely for their own accord. For the debauched excesses of their ancestors, their entire race is damned to "She Who Thirsts". The dark pact the dark eldar made to stave her off was to satiate her hunger with their actions. Without the feast from the raid, Slaanesh would drink his soul.

Approaching movement diverted his attention from that dreadful thought. The shambling figure of a half-born slave not long ago birthed from a tube, scuttled towards him. Jalaqier glared murderous contempt down at this travesty of Aeldari genetics.

"Speak quickly," he snarled.
"Mistress Yr'lendriel demands an audience with her in her chambers."

The slave went to shuffle away, but before he could his head was seized by Jalaqier. Hot rage pulsed through the incubi's blood as his grip tightened on the man's skull. Fucking bitch! He couldn't deny such a request, despite his heritage. A trueborn noble could have him killed for defying her.

"Please! Please! Please sir! Please!" the man pleaded, but Jalaqier was deaf to him.

The good news is that he'd have something to offer Slaanesh. The bad news however was…I'll have to crawl for her like a fucking dog! At that thought his grip exploded the freshly grown half-born's skull.

"Yes!" the ethereal whispers of Slaanesh shouted as her voice faded away.