Chapter 109(Orphan)

Down in one of the undead infested tunnels of the dusty underground necropolis on the island on the beleaguered chaos daemon world, teams of genestealer cult brood brothers finally packed up their tools after long labours. It had taken over a day, but secured abreast the narrow low ceilinged tunnel was now the horizontal axel bar of a crudely constructed mine flail.

The mine flail was a simple contraption originally designed to sit on the front of an armoured vehicle to clear land mines, little more than an axel with many heavy chains ending in fist sized metal balls protruding from it, the chains carefully measured to just miss the floor and ceiling when spun. The device was bolted between the two walls of the tunnel, completely covering this entire width with chains. At one end of the axel hard against the wall was a long sturdy bicycle chain covered by protective plate steel, which connected to a powerful electric motor a safe distance away behind the flail.

When activated the electric motor would spin the axel at very high revolutions per minute, and the flail chains all along the axel would swing around in a circle so fast and hard that any undead who touched them would be minced to a paste. Even power armour would be little defence against these spinning chains of death, the heavy chains were tough enough to withstand anti tank land mines and could easily shred apart an automobile in seconds.

The brood brothers moved a respectful distance beyond the mine flail, and carefully activated the electric motor.

The heavy chains hanging from the axel instantly swung around in a high speed blur, and dust and small stones started pelting out behind the flail in a strong gust of air from the spinning chains. The brood brothers flinched back as the spray of tiny projectiles pummelled them, the chains only just cleared between the floor and ceiling, mincing every tiny stone fragment sucked into them.

Even the smallest undead rippers wouldn't get through this lethal wall of spinning chains, and the electric motor was armoured against gunfire, and was powered by armour plated power cables that went to a far distant portable power generator, far beyond the reach of the undead.

It was a relief.

The brood mind had mapped out the entire extent of the strange undead horde in this subterranean chaos necropolis and noted the tunnels they occupied. The brood mind was not stupid, and had quickly realised that there was a far more efficient way to remove this undead threat then expending the lives of valuable genestealer cult forces in battle. Even the combined strength of an undead horde was not as strong as a group of large bulldozers, and could be simply pushed back by the dozer blades.

In this one particularly narrow tunnel leading to the undead horde was this lethal spinning mine flail. In all the other tunnels leading to the horde were modified civilian bulldozers with especially massive dozer blades on their fronts...

Brood brothers powered up their rumbling hydrogen combustion powered bulldozers, crunching them into gear with loud grinding noises from the safety of cockpits crudely covered with armour plates with only a few narrow slits to see through.

The crude machine spirits of these ancient civilian bulldozers flashed warning runes of deep offence at the use of lowly hydrogen in the combustion engines, and the brood brothers soothed the offended machinery to keep them rumbling forwards. Hydrogen gas unfortunately was hardly the best fuel for the combustion engines of these ageing bulldozers, but ever since the promethium shortages of the great Maelstrom hydrocarbon wars about ten years ago, other forms of combustion fuel were in rather short supply for non-military use, making the use of the much more abundant hydrogen unfortunately necessary.

The visibility inside the bulldozers was terrible, even with floodlights on the chassis illuminating the tunnel it was hard to see over the giant dozer blades that almost reached the tunnel ceiling.

The bulldozers juddered forward on their metal caterpillar tracks, wide tall dozer blades barely fitting down the low narrow tunnels, less than a foot of clearance on each side of the dozer blades.

Dozens of different tunnels had these bulldozers rumbling down them, in every single entrance or exit tunnel to the horde except for the one containing the spinning mine flail. Behind these bulldozers marched heavily armed brood brothers to gun down any undead that slipped past the dozer blades, completing this deadly trap.

The undead horde did not yet seem to be aware of the peril that awaited them, being all out of their line of sight, and the bulldozers clumsily turned around corners in the tunnel, scraping the walls loudly in the process.

In one of the tight tunnels a bulldozer made an appalling scraping racket as it's dozer blade barely fitted down the tunnel ahead, taking out every bit of decorative stonework and grave marker along the entire tunnel, forming a growing pile of stone being pushed forward by the dozer blades.

The brood brother driver cursed as the protesting machine strained against this growing pile of unwanted debris, getting slower and slower as the weight grew.

The driver reversed back a few meters with a grinding screech, and drove forward again with more momentum to try to clear the pile of rock.

CRUNCH!

The pile of rock had nowhere to go but forward, and merely continued to roll forward in the way.

The driver could barely see a thing in the slither of light beyond the top lip of the dozer blades. The tunnel ahead was hard to see.

The pile of rocky crap was so big now that bits of stone were starting to roll over the top lip of the dozer blades!

The bulldozer was barely moving forward now with this humongous pile of heavy crap in front of it, struggling for every meter of ground.

Suddenly without warning undead tyranids were trying to swarm over the top lip of the dozer blades!

BANG BANG BANG!

Gunfire pounded off the armoured cabin as brood brothers behind opened fire on dozens of undead rippers and a few hormagaunts that had made it over the top of the dozer blades!

The brood brother driver tugged up on a lever and the dozer blades rose up on hydraulics, the top lip of the dozer blades now crunched hard against the tunnel ceiling.

The screeching of undead claws against the front of the thick metal dozer blade was terrible, but they couldn't pierce through something as substantial as industrial strength bulldozer blades.

The gunfire around the bulldozer subsided as the brood brothers neutralised all of the undead that had initially gotten past, and the only sound was terrible scratching against the front of the dozer blades.

The driver moved the bulldozer forward very carefully.

With the blades raised to the ceiling the bottom of the pile of rock was no longer being pushed, and the bulldozer tracks very quickly clambered over rubble, the blades screaming against the tunnel ceiling until the entire machine jammed.

The driver reversed with a loud crunching sound, and tore free, lowering the blade again as the bulldozer reversed a few meters clear of the built up pile of rock.

Undead tyranids were once again trying to slip past the gaps around the dozer blades.

The driver gunned the engine forward with the blade down.

SQUISH!

A mixture of stone and splattered undead tyranid chunks were now rolling over the top lip of the dozer blades, dozens of undead apparently squished into a paste between the dozer blades and the massive pile of rock...

The dozer rumbled on, stone rolling over the blades as the pile of rock got steadily bigger, and more undead tyranids emerged over the blades.

The driver reversed again, going back a full 50 meters, and revved the engine.

The space ahead of the bulldozer visible in the line of floodlit light above the top lip of the dozer blades was thick with hundreds of frost covered undead hormagaunts...

The bulldozer roared forward at top acceleration, picking up speed and momentum.

Soon a vast pile of undead at the front of the accelerating dozer blades was so big that broken undead bodies were rolling over the top lip of the blades.

The bulldozer got faster and faster...

CRUNCH!

The entire pile of undead had been rammed at speed into the entire pile of rock, the weight and momentum of the bulldozer shattering the frozen bodies into mangled ruin.

The bulldozer tried to push forward even more, but crunched to a halt. The pile was apparently now impassable to the bulldozer...

The driver reversed back a respectful distance and peered over the blades.

Greeting his eyes was a mixed pile of rocky debris and mangled bodies all the way to the ceiling. The tunnel was completely and utterly blocked up and impassable to even the smallest rippers...

***...

Other bulldozers were having more luck avoiding the stonework, and their dozer blades were easily pushing back undead by the thousands.

Undead were successfully squeezing past the blades in places and attacking the brood in small numbers, but the bulldozers just kept rumbling forwards, pushing the vast majority of the undead back inexorably.

In the tunnel containing the fast spinning mine flail, undead tyranids were desperately and futilely pushing back against the crowd away from the high speed chains, as the press of bodies forced them meter by meter towards the whirring chains of the mine flail.

The many distant bulldozers pushed the undead horde back even more, and suddenly the rearmost of the half frozen undead hormagaunts were mulched up like a frozen smoothie and sprayed out the other side of the mine flail, covering the walls and floors and ceiling with ground up frozen gore.

More and more undead were pushed into the mine flail and instantly blended into half frozen mulch, the spray of gore out the back of the mine flail making a quite indescribable mess.

The undead showed no emotion as they were pushed towards the mine flail, just calmly trying to push in the other direction as they were pushed into the lethal chains.

CRUNCH!

A suit of badly mangled carapace armour shot out of the mine flail, spinning down the tunnel at high speed before gradually sliding to a halt.

(Gunfire sounds)

Bullets ricocheted off the mine flail as undead fired at it.

Brood brothers further down the tunnel ducked for cover as stray bullets zipped through the air.

The gunfire was having little effect.

Even the extremely corrosive digestive juices of the dead tyranids were having little effect on the mine flail. Usually these acids and enzymes would liquify steel, (indeed they were currently burning a growing hole in the floor just behind the mine flail), but the flail was spinning far too fast for the juices to stick to the spinning metal, vast centrifugal G forces flinging away every last molecule of the acids out behind the flail before they could do any harm.

The mine flail was designed to shrug off anti armour land mines with barely a scratch, nothing the undead could do would do any harm at all.

The bulldozers pushed unending thousands of frozen undead hormagaunts and rippers into the mine flail.

The spray of mulched flesh was so extreme now that a mountain of blended meat was now filling the tunnel behind the flail almost up to the ceiling.

The pile was growing by the minute, and sizzling steam was hissing out of it as the digestive juices from the mulched tyranid guts disintegrated the pile of meat.

The blended meat had been frozen at first by the heat draining supernatural sorcery of whatever unknown entity was animating these undead, but as the pile grew it trapped in heat, and the acids and enzymes of the digestive juices were heating up the pile over time from their exothermic chemical reactions on the meat, building heat faster than the unholy magic of this place could drain it away.

The armoured electric motor of the mine flail was now very deeply buried under the growing smoking pile of blended meat...

The billowing gas and the stench of corroding metal was now escaping from the pile of ever hotter blended meat.

The smoke was so bad that brood brothers fled the tunnel, they couldn't see a thing through the thick toxic smoke that filled the tunnel.

(The normal sounds of the spinning mine flail down the tunnel)

(GRINDING SCREECH!)

(Tortured metal sounds!)

(Sounds of the mine flail rapidly slowing down)

(Ominous silence)

The brood brothers looked at each other nervously and fell back as the sounds of endless tides of marching undead filled the tunnel.

That had worked quite well, but needed some modifications to finish the job. A greater variety of automotive industrial machinery was in order next time, and maybe some much MUCH bigger tyranid fighters...

***...

(Author's note, oh my god this child is driving me crazy jumping on the bed at night!... Ok she is finally asleep, I swear that the more my daughter learns to walk and talk, the more she runs amok. The joys of parenthood. Ok back to the story).

***...

The dark eldar woman was in a barely conscious post coital pleasure haze, her mind swimming with intense bliss.

She could vaguely hear words around her in the crude uncouth human tongue, words that did not find purchase in the intense pleasure haze of her radically advanced eldar psyche.

(Vox crackle)

"Mummy Wendy, I don't know how much longer my necromancy can keep these bugs out of the necropolis. The genestealer cult has learned how to drive freaking bulldozers now, my zombies are no match against dozer blades and steamrollers! Shit! Is that a fucking carnifex!"

(Vox crackle)

"Just keep it up as long as you can Violet, you are doing a great job distracting the tyranids. TigerLily says the bugs are so distracted they haven't even noticed our invading chaos forces yet, I need you to keep them distracted with your necromancy powers as long as possible for our forces to get into position."

These words had meaning, but her bliss was too complete to contemplate them.

She stretched her naked body slightly, felt luxurious soft bedsheets slide slightly over her chest, felt the delectable comfort of the fine quality mattress under her.

Her eldar mind blazed with pleasure and comfort a thousand times deeper than the dull senses of any human, the very height of human pleasure was like a feeling of dull numb nothingness compared to even the slightest most dull pleasures of her eldar mind.

She was an adult eldar female, an *utterly* sexually satisfied eldar female, and her pleasure and contentment was currently so extreme that she couldn't even remember her own name right now.

The comfort was just so glorious. Her loins ached so wonderfully. She felt perfect.

Words continued in the human language, many words, but she could not concentrate.

She felt an intense feeling of safety in this wonderful place, she knew that something she utterly worshipped was with her right now, keeping her safe. It was this object of her worship who had given her this perfect pleasure, she was utterly safe here.

She gave a sigh of heavenly bliss, her eldar pleasure thousands of times more extreme than human comprehension. When an eldar female came hard, came as hard as she could cum, and kept on cumming as hard as she could for over an hour, the pleasure was so powerful that the eldar female became quite witless for a while afterwards, her mind needing time to recover from extremes of pleasure that would drive a human mind insane a thousand times over.

Her mind would reorder itself in time, but at this very moment she had simply cum so hard that she no longer knew who she was nor what her name was.

She could smell perfumed humans around her, one was male and two were female, their brutal animal stench of mixed body odours strangely sexually arousing to her addled pleasure blasted mind. These were the smells of perfect pleasure, the smells of creatures who daily made her cum hard, every single one of these humans made her cum on a daily basis, she seemed to somehow know this.

Two of the humans, the male and one of the females, were but lowly submissive pleasure consorts just as the dark eldar woman herself was. The remaining human female however was glorious and exalted, a mighty dominant female chaos champion of the dreaded chaos god Slaanesh no less, and the dark eldar woman worshipped this terrible Slaanesh champion with complete trembling submission, her pleasure blasted mind powerless to resist the divine sadistic woman who dominated her entire life so completely.

She drooled slightly, her blissful pleasure so extreme, and she just basked in this glorious mind shattering feeling of utter satisfaction.

She lived a life of daily extreme pleasure, she somehow knew this, every day her cummed out eldar psyche was forced to cum even harder than the day before, the dominant object of her worship daily forced her beyond her boundaries of pleasure, forced her to cum harder and longer than she thought possible.

She was tired, always tired, her body never given a single day to rest from her extreme pleasure, forever driven onwards to expend every ounce of strength each day on pleasure until she was too cummed out to exhaustion to even move.

She had no strength left. The object of her worship dominated her will completely, demanding every iota of her strength to daily cum harder than the day before in offering to the terrible god Slaanesh.

She lay helpless under the sheet, utterly enslaved to the object of her worship. She had no strength left, had given all of it in tribute to the one she worshipped.

The perfect pleasure haze continued for a while, and she lay in perfect satisfaction as voices continued to talk in the unsophisticated human tongue.

"You still with us Belzevelle?," a deep male human voice asked affectionately in a working class Temperis hive city accent.

She knew this male human voice well, it was not the voice of the object of her worship but was the voice of one of her less important lovers, a fellow submissive pleasure servant consort of the one she worshipped, the owner of this voice gave her orgasms every single day without fail.

"Belzevelle?"

She could only groan and twitch her face slightly, she had nothing else left in her after her extreme orgasms had consumed her entire strength.

She felt her hair being clumsily pawed at affectionately by a male human hand, and she moaned slightly from the touch of her lesser lover, enjoying the physical contact.

(Vox crackle)

"Don't touch the xenos Step-Father!," a terrible brutal sounding deep Astartes voice reprimanded severely.

The comforting touch to her hair ceased abruptly, she frowned slightly.

The owner of the horrible Astartes voice was the Night Lord son of the one she worshipped, and this brutal nasty Astartes was always costing her pleasure, she somehow knew. He was a terror to her pleasure, like some terrible evil demon that hated her for daring to sleep with his mother, and wanted to make her unsatisfied and miserable at all times.

She flinched away from this terrible voice, this voice had cost her countless orgasms in the past she somehow knew. The terrible Astartes voice would only ever speak to her to curse her.

The horrible voice was speaking to the other voices, but she forced the words out of her consciousness.

She slid all of herself under the luxuriously comfortable sheets to hide from the vox view of the horrible hateful Night Lord Astartes, just wanting to be left alone till her pleasure exhausted body and mind could recover enough energy to even remember her own name.

She flopped down exhausted under the wonderful sheets, limbs sprawled out in utter defeat, wanting only to sleep more than anything right now.

Time passed, voices spoke, she twitched slightly as her completely spent mind swam in a strange witless stupor.

She seemed to sleep for an unknown time, fatigued flesh desperately recharging.

"My son Franklin is gone now, I finished the vox call. You can stop hiding now Belzevelle", said a deliciously dominant seductive female human voice in a Slaanesh worshipping Sevenson Night Lord family accent, the voice of the one she worshipped.

Her body responded without question to this command from her object of worship, and she crawled out from under the sheets, naked on all fours, completely submissive to the voice.

Her eyes were still too bleary for her to see, and she just held still above the sheets on all fours, her long black eldar hair draped on the bed in front of her from her head which was lowered submissively. Her entire naked body submissively belonged to the object of her worship, she could not deny any part of herself from the complete domination.

"I love the sight of a naked submissive girl on her hands and knees," the wonderful voice said with deliciously arrogant dominance.

She shuddered all over at the words, trembling with desire and worship.

"What is your name Slut, do you remember it yet?," the dominant sultry voice demanded arrogantly.

"I, I don't remember, I only know that I worship you completely," she submissively admitted honestly to the human woman she worshipped.

"Of course you worship me you grovelling submissive slut, I am glorious," the voice said with such exquisite arrogance that it made the nameless dark eldar woman moan softly with submissive desire.

"As for your name, you are named Belzevelle, pronounced Bell-zeh-vell, you are (or were) a true born dark eldar Dracon of the Ebony Stiletto kabal, and you have agreed to be my utterly submissive lover for at least the next 300 years, as stated in the infernal pact you made with me. I completely own your body as my personal play thing for the next 300 years, and in return your soul gains eternal protection from the appetite of blessed Slaanesh, a very fair trade as infernal pacts go I think you will agree. As for your current state of amnesia, recently I simply made you cum so hard that you are rendered witless from the extreme pleasure, this happens almost every day," the wonderful woman explained with dominant affection.

She, her name was Belzevelle... Belzevelle nodded in understanding to the wonderful voice, unable to do anything else.

"Crawl over to me Belzevelle," the dominant voice commanded simply.

Belzevelle did not raise her lowered head but crawled towards the voice without question, her long black hair still hung down in front of her face and dragging over the bedsheets as she crawled blindly towards the one she worshipped.

Belzevelle felt the outline of highly erotic human female legs under the sheets in front of her. A human woman's hand dominantly grasped hold of her dangling mass of hair and cruelly yanked it up with unnatural strength, filling Belzevelle's highly sensitive eldar mind with pain so intense that a human would go insane!

Belzevelle's agony wracked face was forced upwards, and her lightning fast eldar reflexes took in a panning view, first of exquisite legs and hips covered by crimson bedsheets, then a pale slender naked stomach sitting above the sheets, then astonishingly big and bulging pale perky bare breasts with pink nipples, then bare pale shoulders draped with long brown silky smooth hair, then a slender flawless neck, and then a mouth watering shockingly beautiful cruel sadistic face with an elegant mark of Slaanesh on her right cheek glowing with a pale pink light!

Deeply intelligent dark brown eyes with hugely dilated pupils gazed dominantly at Belzevelle from this shockingly erotic beautiful face, eyes filled with unquenchable sadistic lust for Belzevelle!

Belzevelle quailed before those terrible dominant eyes of the object of her worship, as the worshipped one cruelly grasped Belzevelle's hair, agonisingly holding Belzevelle's face inches in front of her own terrifyingly beautiful face!

"You are so beautiful," Belzevelle hissed in religious awe at the one she worshipped.

"I'm aware," the exquisite one retorted with spine tingling arrogance, making Belzevelle's mouth dry with intense desire for this arrogant dominant woman.

The erotic dominant naked woman assertively grabbed Belzevelle's neck with irresistible unholy strength, overpowering Belzevelle like an insect!

The worshipped woman was choking Belzevelle!

Belzevelle couldn't breathe!

Belzevelle gasped frantically!

The arrogant woman softened her unholy grip and Belzevelle gasped in breath desperately in huge gasps filling her lungs.

The dominant woman tightened her grip again, and Belzevelle wilted defeated!

The woman let Belzevelle breathe again!

The worshipped woman with this unholy strength pulled Belzevelle's face into her own, and arrogantly licked Belzevelle's face all over assertively!

Belzevelle groaned with intense desire, fierce sexual desire growing inside her already exhausted loins.

The woman's arrogant tongue was licking Belzevelle's entire face from chin to forehead in long assertive licks, Belzevelle shuddered with intense submissive desire, overwhelmed by the human woman she worshipped.

The woman assertively grasped Belzevelle's right breast with her left hand, cupping it arrogantly. Intense sexual sensation filled Belzevelle's radically sensitive eldar mind, the touch felt so overwhelming!

Belzevelle was gasping hard, utterly submissive to this perfect arrogant woman, she could offer no resistance at all in the face of such lust.

The woman let go of Belzevelle's neck, and used both hands fondling Belzevelle's yearning breasts.

Belzevelle was moaning, completely overwhelmed with pleasure and desire, held utterly captive by her submissive lust for this astonishing dominant seductress.

"Open your mouth Slut," the woman commanded arrogantly.

Belzevelle obeyed without question, moaning hard with lust.

The woman arrogantly spat her pungent human saliva inside Belzevelle's mouth! It tasted so strong!

Belzevelle groaned wonderfully as the woman continued spitting in her mouth, so utterly dominated and loving every second of it.

The woman was all over Belzevelle, arrogantly and assertively touching her all over in shameless ways, and Belzevelle could only submit, half insane with lust for the beautiful arrogant woman.

Belzevelle gasped as the woman suddenly punched her entire fist inside Belzevelle's vagina!

Oh it was agony!

Belzevelle's radically sharp senses could feel every slight detail of the dominant human female fist inside her, she felt every knuckle and finger, every finger joint and slight vein of the fist, felt it slide unstoppably inside her, rubbing and stretching her soaking wet vaginal walls!

It was stretching her!

The fist inside her very quickly drove all thought from her overwhelmed mind, agony and ecstasy battling for dominance in her quaking eldar psyche, completely frying her wits!

She couldn't remember her name any more, the pleasure was too extreme in her sensitive eldar mind.

She howled and moaned helplessly from the fist inside her, it felt so agonisingly good!

Pleasure blazed through her highly advanced mind, completely filling her mind and casting all other things out of her head.

She was helpless and drowning in a sea of pleasure, she was not the master of this situation, she could only powerlessly endure this impossibly extreme pleasure!

The fist pulled out of her abruptly...

A MASSIVE, furiously vibrating, cruelly spike covered Slaaneshi dildo was rammed into her vagina! It was twice as big as the fist!

She screamed piercingly with agonising pleasure, completely mindless now, her entire brain nothing but a pleasure processor right now!

Endless sexual pleasure vibrated through her, she was utterly enslaved and defeated by it, she couldn't move, she couldn't think.

On and on it went as she screamed in absolute perfect ecstatic agony, her naked body utterly dominated, she was completely dependent upon others to save her from this before she eventually died of exhaustion.

For a timeless eternity she was an utterly helpless pleasure machine, screaming incoherently as her energy drained away into growing exhaustion, her highly psychic mind blazing pleasure into the warp.

She was utterly exhausted, but it felt so good. She needed rest but was completely powerless to stop.

The pleasure was extreme to the point of agony, her life was draining away, she would die soon!

She was dying of pleasure and exhaustion!

"You don't get to die just yet Slut, you will live to suffer another day!"

The giant spiky vibrator was suddenly pulled out of her, vast quantities of blood and squirt fountaining out behind it!

She gasped in complete perfect bliss, her pussy wonderfully broken, her brain utterly blasted with pleasure, too exhausted and contented for conscious thought.

Strong female hands were moving her witless body around, laying her head on a pillow and covering her legs and chest with a sheet.

Sleep took her blasted mind instantly, wonderful sleep for her exhaustion ravaged body, blissful rest.

For bliss filled hours she slept, snuggled on either side by naked human bodies. The air was very cold in this room, the skin on skin felt wonderfully warm as she slept.

Her mind reordered itself as she slept, finding her lost scattered wits, regaining memories and purpose. She knew who she was and why she was here, she was whole once more.

Her eldar metabolism ravenously consumed her meagre fat reserves, rebuilding and reenergising her sex exhausted body. She was in the early stages of eldar pregnancy and the baby took it's share, ravaging her fat reserves even more for energy.

She would be extremely hungry when she woke, and would gorge herself with food like she always did, it took extreme amounts of food to cope with the energetic demands of the orgasms Mistress Wendy daily forced Belzevelle to endure.

Slaanesh the great enemy of the eldar race whispered cruelly to Belzevelle as she slept, greatly amused by her predicament. The drain of Slaanesh on Belzevelle's dark eldar soul would usually be extremely strong, but in agreement with the terms of the official infernal pact Belzevelle had made with the Slaanesh Champion Wendy Sevenson, the unholy power of the terrible Slaaneshi daemon ring Mistress Wendy had given her completely shielded Belzevelle from She Who Thirsts, utterly protecting her vulnerable dark eldar soul from this terrible fate.

Chaos Champion of Slaanesh Wendy Sevenson had now claimed Belzevelle as one of her utterly submissive personal sexual consorts, and in return Wendy had personally ensured that Belzevelle's soul enjoyed Slaanesh's protection from the usual doom of the eldar, a mutually beneficial pact that Belzevelle and Wendy had both willingly entered into, Belzevelle had freely consented to this infernal pact.

As the pacted sexual consort of the Slaanesh Champion, Belzevelle's soul was now completely untouchable. She was SAVED, saved for all eternity! Even if Belzevelle died, Slaanesh could not touch Belzevelle's soul ever again, Belzevelle was freed forever from the terrible eternal doom of the eldar! It was a pact that any dark eldar would KILL to enter into, it was every dark eldar's wildest dream! Freedom from the thirst of Slaanesh and eternal peace in the afterlife!

The cost however was extremely high...

Slaanesh might now no longer feed on Belzevelle's soul, but the terrible god still fed very heavily on the pleasure energy generated in Belzevelle's extremely sensitive eldar psyche. The longer and harder Belzevelle orgasmed, the more Slaanesh was fed, and to please her cruel god, Mistress Wendy daily pushed the utterly submissive Belzevelle to abusive extremes of raw pleasure.

Belzevelle was utterly dominated by her personal Dominatrix Wendy Sevenson, indeed she actually desired the beautiful arrogant sadist more than she had ever desired anything else, and could only grovel in worship before the arrogant Dominatrix in complete blissful submission each day, utterly enslaved by a very genuine highly submissive lust for the exquisite woman.

Belzevelle might be infernally pacted to utterly submit to Wendy for the next 300 years, but the extreme sexual relationship between them had grown very genuine, into a twisted highly sadistic thing that might actually be called "love".

The Slaanesh Champion was Belzevelle's everything, Mistress Wendy was like oxygen to Belzevelle. Even when the agreed 300 years of submission ended, Belzevelle couldn't imagine living a single minute without the deliciously erotic dominatrix, Belzevelle wouldn't want to leave at the end. Every day Mistress Wendy made Belzevelle cum harder than she had ever cum before, and Belzevelle was completely and utterly addicted to this maddening submissive lifestyle of sanity shattering orgasms.

Belzevelle was still asleep, dreaming the extremely sharp and detailed dreams of the eldar, almost all of them sex dreams about Mistress Wendy or fellow submissives Octavia and Adolf, or occasionally a sex dream about her distant dark eldar boyfriend Arzurmor who had impregnated her. The dreams were currently a highly detailed swirl of utter nonsense without coherent story line, just high definition images and sounds, chaotic and nonsensical.

The dreams gradually settled from swirling brightly discordant images and sounds, into a high definition grey mist all around her, with her standing alone in impenetrably thick mist. A familiar feeling of unease entered her dream, a feeling of being watched, of being not completely alone in this dream.

Though she rarely payed it mind when wakeful, Belzevelle's dreams had been plagued by the disquieting feeling of being watched, every single night ever since she had first met Mistress Wendy the Slaanesh Champion those long months ago.

She couldn't see anyone in the grey mist of her sharply detailed dream, but Belzevelle could sense beings watching her, sensed large numbers of watching figures all around her, watching her and... judging her.

Were these things invading her dream daemons?

Belzevelle felt momentary fear in her radically sharp eldar mind, but then she laughed remembering her infernal pact with Wendy, the unholy pact she had willingly entered into back on the day of Wendy and Adolf's wedding when Wendy had given Belzevelle her daemon ring. Under the terms of Belzevelle's infernal pact her soul was completely protected by Slaanesh himself and utterly untouchable.

"I do not fear you, daemons in my dream. I have a pact with Slaanesh, you cannot touch my soul," Belzevelle laughed at the unseen figures.

Fierce anger and disgust palpably filled the dream at her words, waves of intense sharp emotion, but not her own.

She was most definitely not alone in her dream.

Belzevelle stood her ground in the mist as intense hostile emotions reverberated around her, a vast multitude of unfriendly figures seemed to close in all around her.

"Show yourselves!" Belzevelle demanded of the unseen figures.

The thick grey mist thinned, not disappearing, but thinning out, the impenetrable fog becoming more translucent. As the mist became thinner, Belzevelle's sharp senses could make out the vaguest most half seen outlines of humanoid figures, almost invisible but just shy of complete concealment.

Some of the vague outlines had what looked like the shape of tall conical helmets on their heads, some seemed to hold long staffs in their hands, some seemed to have neither helmets nor staffs, and some seemed to carry both. Belzevelle recognised the shapes of these barely visible half seen figures.

"Asuryani," Belzevelle hissed.

The figures inclined their obscured heads mockingly in acknowledgement. Belzevelle could palpably feel the raw contempt they felt for her, pressing down on her like a physical thing.

"Why do you invade my dreams?," Belzevelle demanded.

The Asuryani laughed mockingly in melodic craftworld eldar voices, giving no answer.

"Go bother someone else, warlock tricksters. I am innocent, leave me in peace!" Belzevelle crossly demanded of the crowd of craftworld warlocks.

"Innocent!" Asuryani voices hissed in contemptuous disbelief at her words, waves of their hostile hateful emotions filling the dream.

"INNOCENT!" The voices repeated again, this time a scream of rage.

"I have never done a thing to personally harm any of you," Belzevelle slightly amended.

Rage and challenge of this statement filled the dream, the Asuryani clearly strongly disagreeing.

"How have I harmed any of you?," Belzevelle challenged the judgemental eldar warlocks.

Many warlocks spoke at once, "you consort with the great enemy", "you feed Slaanesh!", "you enabled Slaanesh to gain a foothold in Commorragh!", "You let Slaanesh grow stronger as the rest of us fight against She Who Thirsts!", "You undid so much work to weaken Slaanesh!", "Asuryani DIED to weaken Slaanesh and YOU made their sacrifice in vain!", "Selfish traitor!", "You undermined the entire eldar race!", "You work to doom us all!"

Hate filled voices screamed condemnation at Belzevelle, calling her a traitor to her entire race, hurling vile insults at her in the eldar tongue.

Belzevelle felt the weight of the intense emotions from so many eldar minds crushing down on her, felt their hate and disgust and utter contempt, felt it all like a heavy burden on her shoulders.

Belzevelle cowered down as the Asuryani warlocks raged condemnation around her in the mist, driven down to her knees by the weight of their powerful eldar emotions.

Belzevelle was forced against her will to see what she looked like to the point of view of these Asuryani, these warlocks who had dedicated their entire lives to fighting against Slaanesh on behalf of the entire eldar race.

Belzevelle had willingly betrayed her entire race for personal gain, she had saved herself by damning billions of her eldar kin, she had become an officially infernally pacted servant of a Slaanesh champion!

"I had no choice! If not me then Mistress Wendy would have simply found another! I saved myself!" Belzevelle defended herself desperately.

"Self centred traitor!" the warlocks shouted in unison.

"Mistress Wendy would have just found another!" Belzevelle defended herself again.

The warlocks spoke, "Then YOU at least would have had honour if you personally refused!", "Had you let Wendy go when you could, you would not be condemned by us now!", "Then we would be condemning the other not you!", "YOU are the one who did this!", "You could have killed Wendy in her sleep!", "You didn't lift a finger to stop Wendy!"

"It is done now, it is what it is," Belzevelle dismissed callously.

"It is what it is!?" The warlocks screamed.

"Bothering me won't change the past, my path is set now. For the next 300 years at least, my option to choose my fate is gone," Belzevelle defended.

The warlocks seethed angrily, but had no reply to her logical words. Belzevelle was completely enslaved to Mistress Wendy now, she had no agency to choose her fate now, she could only submit to Wendy's will, screaming at Belzevelle now that it was too late was pointless.

"Have you no shame?, Selfish creature," a warlock hissed.

"It is very hard to have any shame left after all the things Mistress Wendy does to me," Belzevelle quipped cheekily.

The entire crowd of warlocks roared at her in outrage, having no sense of humour about it at all.

"You don't care about us perhaps, but what about your kabal?, Do you care what happens to them?"

"My kabal is at the height of its power thanks to my actions, we were nothing without the Sevensons, barely surviving!" Belzevelle snapped with genuine passion.

"Your kabal is corrupted and enslaved, just as you yourself are. They have no dignity left, no agency, they are merely slaves of the great enemy."

"They will *survive*, survive and *thrive*!" Belzevelle defended.

"You short sighted fool! Do you imagine that Slaanesh spares their souls when they die?! Of all your kabal, you *alone* enjoy Slaanesh's protection! The rest all give their lives to fight for Slaanesh, and Slaanesh then treacherously eats their souls anyway! You have sold them all out!"

"Slaanesh would eat them eventually anyway, as he does to *all* dark eldar in the end. This changes nothing, but it makes life more prosperous in the meantime before the inevitable happens," Belzevelle rebuffed.

The warlocks all held silent, and Belzevelle could feel their very deep pity, not pity for her, but pity for the poor doomed multitudes of the dark eldar race.

"I at least get to escape their terrible fate, I have gained IMMORTALITY! Slaanesh will protect my soul for all eternity now!" Belzevelle justified herself.

The air palpably filled with a new intense emotion, the deepest most bitterest envy, these warlocks *envied* Belzevelle her eternal salvation!

Belzevelle laughed at them.

"Curse you you traitor! You deserve least of all the hand you have been given! Where is justice!"

"There is no justice in the universe, why should there be?, The only truly powerful gods that exist are all evil, and evil gods make an evil universe. Why even bother to look for a justice that isn't there?," Belzevelle asked the warlock fools.

"Ynnead will rise! There *will* be justice for our people!"

"What nonsense! Slaanesh himself holds the fifth crone sword! Ynnead will never rise. Even if he did, he is never going to be strong enough to defeat Slaanesh, Slaanesh has countless trillions of mortal worshippers among the humans and others, and has consumed a million fold more eldar souls since the fall than currently still live. Ynnead will never be even one tenth as strong as Slaanesh, it is folly, the wishful thinking of weak desperate idiots," Belzevelle laughed.

The warlocks seemed to quail at her terrible words, they saw the logic of her words, and it haunted them with horror.

"I saved myself, through my soul at least a part of the eldar people will endure for eternity. When the last stars burn out and the universe grows cold, long long after Slaanesh has eaten you all, I will remember you, remember this conversation. A part of you will live on through me," Belzevelle said in a strange blend of comfort and mockery.

"When Ynnead destroys Slaanesh, your soul will be destroyed too, you despicable creature,"

"If you ask Slaanesh nicely, your own tortured souls will also get to live forever. Slaanesh doesn't destroy all those he eats, some get eternal torment instead," Belzevelle countered cruelly.

The warlocks roared hatred at her, Belzevelle laughed at them.

"We would kill you with our psychic powers right now if only continued life was less cruel for you than death! For 300 years you will be tortured beyond endurance by Wendy Sevenson, no matter how much you plead her for mercy! We will savour every single hour of your degrading torture, we will savour every scream. The cruelest thing we could ever do to you is let you continue to live in your cruel captivity, so we shall spare your life to languish in your hellish existence!"

Belzevelle shuddered at this reminder of her own torture filled daily life, they were not wrong that Belzevelle lived in excruciating perpetual torture...

"In 300 years time, we will end you before you get to experience a single day living free in peace, but until then you will languish in your living hell, you despicable selfish creature!"

Fear gripped Belzevelle at this death threat, her life must not end so prematurely!

"I wouldn't leave Mistress Wendy when my 300 years are up, I will stay to be tortured forever!" Belzevelle desperately pleaded for her life, trying to bargain.

The warlocks laughed.

"I will live in agony every day!" Belzevelle promised.

"You will either live in degrading agony, or not at all. We will not permit you to live except in a living hell, remain in hellish torment forever if you wish to remain alive!" The warlocks spat hatefully.

"I will! I will tell Mistress Wendy of your threat, she will extend my torture from 300 years to forever. I will be punished," Belzevelle promised frantically.

Belzevelle could feel the palpable hatred and disgust these warlocks had for her, the intense emotions of the eldar, and in this hatred she saw her salvation.

These eldar *despised* Belzevelle and wanted her to be *punished*. If they killed Belzevelle, her soul would go off to enjoy a peaceful afterlife where she never suffered again. But if they let her live, then Belzevelle's agonising and humiliating daily life in submission to Wendy would give Belzevelle ample punishment, letting the warlocks somewhat satisfy their intense need for vengeance.

Letting Belzevelle live in continued servitude to Mistress Wendy was indeed one of the cruelest possible things anyone could do to her, and the warlocks knew it. Belzevelle might desire to remain alive, but it was a foolish desire given the sort of life she endured, anyone with any pity for Belzevelle would kill her right now and end her torment forever.

"You are a fool Belzevelle, an utter fool. You could right now be offering to do the right thing, offering to help us right now in return for our forgiveness! Instead you would prefer to spend the rest of your life living in humiliating agony than lift a finger to help the entire eldar race!"

"I would be an even bigger fool to betray my Mistress Wendy! I have saved my soul, what utter folly would it be to jeopardise this incalculable gift! No earthly torment is too high a price to keep what I now possess, there is no temptation that could ever sway me," Belzevelle countered.

"Is there nothing but selfishness in you?, Is there no notion of doing the right thing to help others even if it costs you everything?!" The Craftworld Eldar warlock demanded.

"What a bizarre notion, why would anyone ever do that?," Belzevelle mused out loud.

"Even the most utterly fascist citizens of the Imperium of Man are not self centred to the point of caring about *nothing* bigger than themselves, you are lower than a fascist!" The warlock criticised.

"I'm a dark eldar, I am a libertarian," Belzevelle explained with a shrug.

"You could do *something*, *anything*, you have access to Wendy Sevenson, you could influence her in slight ways without outright betraying her. Your soul would remain safe but you would still be very very slightly helping your entire species. It wouldn't even cost you anything!" The warlocks urged her.

"I would have to ask Wendy for permission," Belzevelle hedged.

"Do you take us for fools!"

"Can I wake up yet?," Belzevelle complained.

"Do *something* to help your people! Find some dignity inside yourself! You know that you are in the wrong here!"

"We all know you won't kill me, you hate me too much to let me experience the peace of death. You can't realistically make my life any more hellishly painful than it is already, Mistress Wendy tortures me almost to death every single day already. You haven't tried to offer me anything I want. Why exactly would I do something for you?, What is my motivation?," Belzevelle reasoned logically.

"Is there no altruism in you?!"

"Not really, no," Belzevelle admitted honestly.

"Help us now and in 300 years time we may actually let you live outside of your current life of torture," a warlock offered.

"I don't actually *want* my submission to Mistress Wendy to end, the sex is really *really* good!" Belzevelle protested.

"You are insane! She almost killed you tonight! She *tortures* you! If not for the healing power of your unholy daemon ring, you would need vaginal surgery after that penetration by that spiked foreign object!"

Belzevelle shrugged, she was kinky.

"I enjoy being a grovelling submissive sex object, it is a sexual fetish. I *worship* Mistress Wendy, she makes me cum *so* hard. I have every motivation to stay no matter how much it hurts, I am fulfilling what I desire most," Belzevelle justified defensively.

"Then we should kill you right now!"

"You won't," Belzevelle said confidently.

The dream suddenly changed.

The mist was gone now, Belzevelle was floating like a disembodied ghost high up in a dark rainy sky. The rain didn't touch Belzevelle's ghostly form, passing straight through her, she felt warm and comfortable, unaffected by the weather.

It was utterly dark, yet in her ghostly form she could somehow see everything clearly in sharp crisp detail.

She couldn't see her own body, apparently completely invisible even to herself, but she saw far below herself the shore of a vast dark island, forebodingly immense, covered with many low cliffs and headlands between huge beaches of dark sand.

From the beaches and headlands stretched countless canals going inland, swiftly lost to underground tunnels as the land rose. Huge piers stretched out to sea from the headlands and cliffs, connecting the land to monstrous shipping docks out in the deeper waters far from the shore, and at these docks rested many civilian cargo ships of human design, all of them locked in place by many huge chains, gang planks absent, the ships completely locked down without sign of crew.

Inland were huge dark cities of tall black towers, and industrial docklands and storage depots that clearly serviced the innumerable ports via the piers. Roads were everywhere, wide roads without civilian vehicles of any kind anywhere outside the industrial areas, and these only being vehicles dedicated to some utilitarian function like loaders and cranes. Along the roads were evenly spaced pedestrian entrance ramps, leading to subway systems.

The horrific shapes of rippers and hormagaunts infested the cities and industrial areas, and the docks and piers. Out of every subway entrance poured an endless tide of the things, out of every opening in almost every building, out of every canal tunnel, drain pipe and air duct the things poured out. They swam in the sea, they stood atop the locked cargo ships, they swarmed the entire region in absurdly large numbers.

Belzevelle recognised this island instantly, it was very obviously her current home on the daemon world of Dark Tropic.

Vast as the tyranid infested cities were, they did not cover everything. Surprisingly large tracts of completely undeveloped empty land separated cities, empty of buildings from shore to distant inland peak in places, with nothing but the occasional chimney or other instillation dotting the black rocky landscape.

These empty places were breathtakingly beautiful, filled with winding elegant paths, gentle tranquil pools of water, glorious elevated lookout points for hikers with the eyes to see in the dark. Hiking trails and rock climbing faces adorned the dark wilderness, secluded sitting areas and carved works of art dotted the land. These wilderness areas were the parks of the island, beautiful tranquil places were those with the right type of eye sight could go to relax or enjoy themselves.

In times of peace Night Lords and others would stroll around these beautiful dark parks, their supreme night vision seeing easily in the inky blackness. Sevenson women would swim in the tranquil pools, others would enjoy rock climbing or hiking or other outdoor activities. The general public could not see well enough in the dark to explore these parks, and the park interiors were far from any subway entrances, leaving the parks virtually empty of all but the Sevensons and the few others with exceptional night vision.

The parks had far fewer tyranids than the cities, the empty rocky land had no plants or biomass of any kind to attract the hungry creatures, nothing but bare stone and pools of clear lifeless water. The parks also lacked subway entrances or other access points for a lot of tyranids to constantly swarm out of, limiting their numbers. A modest number of hormagaunts and rippers still explored the vast wildernesses, looking for anything to eat, it would certainly not be safe for a civilian to wander in those huge parklands, but it was nothing as bad as the endless carpet of tyranids that the city streets were.

Below Belzevelle in one of the largest of these empty wilderness parklands, a massive humanoid army was establishing itself...

A shockingly large armada of beach assault boats filled the water around the magnificent beaches of this unspoiled parkland, the line of boats stretching all the way to the horizon, disgorging tanks and infantry and supply vehicles on the beaches. The boats were dark as dark could be, utterly silent in the roaring downpour of the rain. Not a light shone anywhere, the army was clearly being as stealthy as it could be, currently focused solely on unloading and deploying their entire forces onto the land undetected.

The troops and tanks were shunning the edges of the park near any of the urbanisation, keeping a considerable distance from anywhere with an especially large tyranid presence. The army was steadily moving right into the middle of the park, making room for the forces unloading onto the beaches. The army was massive beyond anything Belzevelle had ever seen, an unending carpet of infantry on foot.

The army and the vast number of boats were encountering hormagaunts and rippers, both on land and in the sea, and small skirmishes erupted everywhere. The army was using knives rather than firearms to fight these skirmishes, Belzevelle guessed they did this to avoid muzzle flashes and gunfire sounds in a deliberate effort to maintain stealth.

It was raining very heavily, but Belzevelle's ghostly body could somehow see clearly through even this heavy deluge. The tyranids on the other hand seemed to have great difficulty seeing and hearing the assembling army through the thick fury of the crashing downpour, and the vast majority of the swarm had clearly not detected them yet. Only those tyranids that blundered too close to the army by chance were attacking them.

Belzevelle could make out the figures of the army, they were almost all members of her own kabal! Countless millions of kabalite warriors in the black body glove uniforms and heraldry of the Ebony Stiletto kabal!

The boats and tanks and vehicles were all human, as were a tiny proportion of the infantry, but easily the vast majority of the force was dark eldar infantry on foot, with but a relative few dark eldar anti gravity vehicles supporting this massive ensemble!

Belzevelle was amazed! Mistress Wendy had not informed Belzevelle that the kabal warriors would be part of the liberation army! Belzevelle had expected only humans.

Belzevelle surveyed the endless line of boats out to the horizon still waiting to unload troops, how much of the kabal was here?!

"What is going on here?!" Belzevelle asked out loud to no one in particular.

"Behold your poor enslaved kabal," warlock voices said all around her in the sky.

Belzevelle tore her gaze all around, but she couldn't see them.

"This is but a dream," Belzevelle said with certainty.

"No Belzevelle, this is a vision, this is happening right now in real time, we are showing you what our seers see."

"Below you is very nearly the entire fighting force of your kabal. The Sevensons have forced these hapless wretches to fight as slaves for them, to expend their lives solely for the benefit of Slaanesh. Win or lose, your kabal will gain no spoils in this war, they march to war as slaves. You have sold them all out,"

Belzevelle watched below as some of the kabalite warriors fought desperate knife fights with tyranid stragglers. A few of the warriors died from the claws and teeth of hormagaunts and rippers, and Belzevelle's ghostly sight saw shrieking terrified dark eldar souls rise up from the dead, only to then be immediately snatched up and devoured by the terrible appetite of Slaanesh!

Belzevelle's blood chilled as she heard the pitiful wailing of these damned souls just before they were eaten, they were screaming in horror.

"See how Slaanesh betrays them. They fight and die for Slaanesh, only to then be eaten by him!" A warlock informed Belzevelle.

"Only a few are dying," Belzevelle reasoned.

"The tyranid brood mind is still not aware of the army yet, a Slaaneshi necromancer is currently distracting the swarm quite effectively. This will not last. The brood mind will soon be alerted to their presence, and the deaths of your kabal comrades will become great in the extreme," a warlock corrected Belzevelle.

"I can do nothing to stop that," Belzevelle dismissed.

"This is but a foretaste of the evil your actions have sown, in the long term every single one of these will extinguish their lives toiling and fighting for Slaanesh in one war or another, and then be eaten for their troubles. You have enslaved them all to their own worst enemy! They now fight to *increase* the strength of the great enemy of our entire race!"

Belzevelle had enough presence of mind to grasp some inkling of just what a horrific thing she had done to her own people.

Her kabal was not fighting for its own pleasure and gain anymore. Most dark eldar kabal members enjoyed the selfish pleasures of the moment, knowing that the future was a nightmare in the ravenous embrace of Slaanesh. Thanks to Belzevelle her own kabal members served only the appetite of Slaanesh both in the future *and* the present! Her kabal members didn't even get to enjoy the brief mortal present in selfish freedom, they were nothing but slaves for life to the god who ate them!

More damned eldar souls screamed in damnation as hormagaunts killed them, and Belzevelle cowered in horror.

Belzevelle couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, she was slightly less than 100 percent innocent...

"Speaking *completely* hypothetically, *merely* to satisfy my own curiosity only, what exactly did you want me to do in some crazy alternate reality where I actually lifted a finger to help your cause?," Belzevelle asked very very carefully.

The warlocks paused, their sharp minds instantly understanding what Belzevelle was driving at.

Belzevelle could then sense all of the warlocks smile in triumph...

***...