A/N: I wrote this shit after downing a bottle of Jagermeister and I think you can all guess by what point did it take effect.
I decided to leave it like that because hell, this is a parody and it was just too bad to fix, but be prepared for a lot of nonsensical shit.
Also, for the guys who read my previous crackfics, here's the shit 40k shit I promised you.
That said, I wish you enjoy this babbling.
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He wasn't overlooking a battlefield.
It wasn't the scheming of the inquisition.
Nor were the pleads of the quadrillions of humans on Terra.
His gaze was forced to look upon the skies of a world he'd never thought he'd see again.
Nominally it was an Armoury world wholely dedicated to the 56th Jovian Fleet and its Hussars, but that group never existed, for it was a cover-up for a colony wholely dedicated to hiding a little something from times forgotten.
It was forbidden to visit for anyone that didn't hold the direct permission of the Eyes of the Emperor, or the word from a Captain of the Grey Knights, including each and every person of the military units going back and forth for training purposes or bringing the supplies out from the system the planet crowned. All to keep it away from prying eyes such as those from the Inquisitors.
On the depths of the planet, as the last barrier personally sent by him, was a single Custodes.
And there was an order for no one on the imperium to meddle in the planet's politics or military if it didn't have permission from the Lords of Terra themselves.
Such was the status of one of the first words he had conquered after reuniting the home of mankind: Nube.
On its surface sprawled a booming center of isolated culture that evolved following the influence of old human customs, going as far as producing a military he'd think was a copy of the armies that once conquered without losing a single man to enemy fire back on the golden days of his species.
At least fifty billion souls laid on it, with a balanced industry that produced the finest tools of machinery for some of the more accurate needs that some factory worlds ignored by the Mechanicus needed.
Its foodstuff was a delight that some enjoyed as a luxury, even if it was just a reminder of the old selections people had in their hands back when Chaos wasn't an issue.
Politics were dealt with safely, without corruption such that it devolved into a squabble of moronic leaders plunging it into anarchy. It served as much as its relatively efficient bureaucracy.
Overall, it was one of his proudest worlds. Even if there was similar ones in the Imperium, he'd always think of this one as the prime example his average planet should be like, despite the horrid secret it held.
Yet now, he saw that its navy had been destroyed, overran despite its marvelous tactics, perfect gunnery, and outright marvelous organization.
The surface burnt, with the army and airforce still fighting, even as hope had been lost, for all population centers had been defiled.
Tanks modified to be more acute to a real battlefield than those of the Astra Militarum proved to be wonderous, only to them be destroyed by overwhelming onslaughts of demonic forces; including Marines that bled themselves against the upcoming fire to then unleash killing sounds at the vehicles.
This planet's last titans from the Mechanicum brigade held there were falling into flying sinner souls that raged against all infantry before slowly scrapping the God Machines.
The veil from the strongest warp-presence he'd felt since the opening of the great rift now opened to show him this.
A reminder of what could've been a glorious future was turned into a reminder that in this reality, only war was a constant.
In the preceding months, he'd come to notice subconsciously that the sons of one of the Gods of the inmaterium disappeared from the lines of combat; letting Humanity maintain a bigger bridge along the Great Rift before most if not all daemon forces retreated.
But now he could see why they retreated. It wasn't a skirmish between them and some rebellions inside the Warp.
They had focused on this single world.
One deep within Imperial dominion.
Some strategists would see this with curiosity, since it wasn't in any way a threat to Terra, since despite its marvelous status, it was pretty disconnected from the rest of the Imperium, filling a niche within a niche for the logistics of Mankind.
Foolish of them. For it wasn't because of any tactical victory this should bring forth, or any goal in a war.
The eternal enemy had wasted enormous resources to prepare this invasion, such that mankind advanced through the Great rift in a glorious rampage of victory due to the lack of resistance. But it wasn't out of desperation, or because they wanted to siphon their forces inwards to make a counterpush. Their real objective was hidden in the depths of a mountain.
Ten battle brothers of the Grey Knights had been tasked with defending this planet, not counted on the numbers of the Chapter so that they might be devoted to this duty fully.
But it wasn't mere demons and their armies that they faced.
It was the full force of a single god.
Leading the charge was his son.
Fulgrim had led the entirety of the Slaaneshi armies to this single planet.
The martial prowess of the planetary defense forces devastated their initial push, but on the same day, they just overran them with a swarm of everything they had, from hedonistic vehicles made out of pure warp energy to ships captured on the Heresy times. For the objective the planet held would prove quintessential to the youngest God.
So much so that he couldn't even feel the presence of any of the other kings of Chaos, this was entirely Slaanesh's machination.
And it was marvelously executed, for it took a week for the campaign to devolve into this beautiful planet to be lost in almost its entirety.
The Space Marine chapters tasked with protecting the Karthago Sector's Pilgrims and trade routes, the Compostelians had moved its entire force to aid, along with three fleets and an entire theater army of the Astra Militarum as a quick reaction force.
The leadership on Sidon Ultra hadn't been lenient either, for the forces pacifying the sector after the Badab War were already mandated to recover the planet after receiving approval from Aidan Perdon of the Grey Knights to retaliate against Chaos.
Yet the sheer mass of lusting killers had stopped all incursions and resupply attempts of the survivors of the carnage, if there were any.
So all he thought he could do was watch the events unfold.
For he could clearly feel everything, as if were his golden days back on the Great Crusade, overseeing battles with his whole mind, focused, fully in control of his powers, himself, and seeing the connection he had with every single asset on the battle, playing the game against the lords of the forces he was fighting.
Though as he discerned his own capacity to aid in the whole theater, so that the remaining pockets of Imperial might could be guided, there was a single place he knew would be where his efforts had to be placed. So much so that his soul clamored for him to see.
Now, his eye sat on the base of the mountain he'd hidden this world's demise; where Alke of Nigredo, a swordsman of the Grey Knights, dared to impose his blade against the so beautiful yet so wretched sight of his once son; all the while he could feel the Prince of Pleasure looking at him directly, triumphant, for this was the only obstacle he had before his victory.
Fulgrim and his army had killed the other Knights, his main effort on this campaign cleared everything on the north of the planet, leaving this lone mountain in a wasteland to be protected only by the remaining one, and the few inside of it, protecting the secret of Nube.
The emperor could feel how while the rest of his consciousness worked as efficiently as it did millennia ago, and kept all his duties of the throne; he was feeling how Fulgrim's soul smiled, as if clamoring victory already.
It wasn't like in the Wars for Armaggedon, where his aide was tacit, guidance.
This time, he felt as his he just could... Touch, and intervene.
He didn't understand why, he knew this was reality. Maybe this event had shaken reality enough to let his damaged self have another opportunity.
So on the desolate grounds of Mount Hattepes, as thousands of demons and traitors lay dead around the remains of the most elite of the planet's guard, and just waited for their leader to finish things off: he decided to guide the sword of Alke as he was about to be struck down by Fulgrim's own blade.
The face of the Daemon Primarch was filled with awe once the might of cleansing fire stopped his attack.
The eyes of the man in front of him were glowing with duty, but most importantly, the power of his father.
From Daemonettes to the Dreadnoughts from the traitor marines that had followed Slaanesh's Prime commander, all fell back, unable to do anything, as the might of the Emperor protected Alke as a sweeping righteous wave.
Meanwhile, as he overlooked the ethereal veil surrounding the battle, which had been clouded for him before as his limited form on the throne lacked the focus it was now feeling; he saw the Chaos God frown with utter disgust at him.
The Prince of Pleasure was being challenged when just minutes away from his climax.
Alke then shifted the grasp he had on the word, and kicked Fulgrim's lower left hand, letting him have a single avenue from where to stab the front of his fluid-tainted armor.
Fulgrim was now facing the worst single threat to him since he killed that Iron Hands Captain. For his father's influence was pouring right onto this man, fueling his drive a hundredfold. He couldn't just take this lightly.
It didn't matter though, he could keep trying. His patron God kept fueling him. His other arms thus struck with a spear directly at the shoulder of the Knight, trying to incapacitate him.
He'd easily win, for the might of the man was depleted after fighting for a straight week against his forces; or they would be if not for the pure warp power that he now wielded thanks to his emperor, letting him strike with a bolt of lightning that momentarily shook the Primarch before he used his own psychic might to push Alke back.
From inside the base of the mountain came a squad of Nubean troops, letting a smell of horrid sin pour into the air; something caught by Fulgrim, who shook his head, angry.
As the Grey Knight began to stand up again, Fulgrim looked upwards.
The Emperor felt the gaze directly at him, as if his son was ten steps away from him on the throne.
"FATHER! You dare mock me!? An entire world razed by me, and now that I'm close to victory do you only come to taunt your power after millennia of idleness!?"
The demonic serpent rattled his tail as the master of mankind was faced with his own doubts about this fact.
He felt strangely in control of himself, yet he couldn't seem to shift focus from this place in particular like his very soul denied his conscience of freedom to act, for he knew what was on the planet, and the threat it was; even if his still slumbering self couldn't quite grasp it.
Despite this, he had to continue. Slowly he was feeling a bigger grasp over everything, thus, his whispers reached Alke's ears.
Fulgrim noticed the string of the warp being pulled to share his words, so he prepared for the next attack, his four arms now holding his spear as he would try and impale the rushing fool.
Despite this, the Grey Knight kept going forward, jumping right into the tip of the spear which pierced one of his hearts, still progressing despite the damage, and landing the tip of his martyr blade right into the chest of Fulgrim; a double strike.
The lost Primarch used his might to materialize a knife with which to trespass the side of the knight.
It struck true, but Alke drove the blade so deep inside him that for a single moment, Fulgrim feared that the eternal fire of humanity might erase his already damaged soul.
In that moment, where the might of the Emperor fueled such power to kill his own son, the Prince didn't stand and watch.
The echoes of countless demons suffering as their flesh was turned again into pure energy permeated the planet before such a heavy mist of hedonistic desire came rushing into Fulgrim's back.
His genetic sons suffered as their souls were ripped apart in order to keep their father alive.
For a second, the Emperor through Alke's eyes could see Slaanesh himself pour through Fulgrim's carapace, taunting him as the sword wasn't able to do the damage necessary to hinder the campaign enough to let humanity have a chance.
The knife drove itself further into the side of the Knight, who was already a walking miracle as his life still held.
All those around them could only wonder in awe how much could he hold out, for it was obvious that Chaos had the advantage.
If only he wasn't fueling the Astronomicon and holding Terra together, he'd already tried to hide from this exact God was hampering his power, and fueling Slaanesh to have the capacity to rival him.
What's more, he couldn't send any of his chosen sons, not the Legion of the Damned, not Saint Celestine, for the fog of Chaos was too thick. He didn't even doubt for a second that Slaanesh's own realm was being purged right now by the other Gods to try and stop this truly apocalyptic attempt.
Guilliman couldn't do anything this time.
Sending Custodes would take too long.
This had been a perfect ploy, one which Tzeentch would be proud of.
He'd come to intervene too late.
All until he heard something.
Just as the tip of the blade was being expulsed from Fulgrim's body, and the Demon's knife was about to puncture his angel's second heart.
The soldiers, sons of Nube who'd been tasked to accompany the Grey Knights to protect this horrid relic of the past.
They saw the greatness, the light of hope illuminating Alke as he was facing what they thought was Slaanesh himself.
Not in a single moment did they doubt that one of the Angels of the Emperor, the last one of them, one that had battled the lord of pleasure for so long, in a campaign so horrid that all hope seemed lost on its tenth hour: would fall.
From their mouths came chants of exhilarating pride, and faith in their soul-brother.
A barrier surrounded them, covering them from the malice of Chaos and its minions, so their souls could grow with the excitement of what had driven their species to the stars in the first place.
Drive, Duty and Hope.
This was the drop that overflowed the glass.
A slow drive upwards caused the ignited blade to begin puncturing, breaking the threads on Fulgrim's soul.
Even as the chambers of his last heart began to be opened by the sacrilegious metal he managed to maintain a face filled with the need to finish the mission, to Banish or kill this Daemon Prince.
Yet in his fallen son's face laid a smile.
The psychic might of Fulgrim couldn't battle his father's now.
But if things were so simple, he'd been killed already. His flesh could endure too. And it had the strength to act in the same manner as this Knight could.
The Emperor mentally commanded the soldiers of Nube to retreat to the mountain's chambers yet again, as quickly as they could.
For Alke was then struck by Fulgrim's tail, its tip puncturing his abdomen, ripping him in half.
The future wasn't clear for him to divide, and the fog of lust hindered him, yet the Emperor felt sorrow at this, for he had failed, trusting too much on his own aide when he'd already failed.
Following this, he still tried everything he could, so the pure power inside the man exploded as he poured more once the man's soul began being eaten by Slaanesh's cloud of desire, causing the half-serpent to be knocked back, letting the soldiers close the doors before they could be hunted by Fulgrim.
Now, he could see that above him, the God looked at him, this time with such a shit-eating grin that he felt the need to manifest himself into the warp to just explode himself and bring the abhorrent deity down with him.
But before any exchange could happen between the two. He was called by his soul to look into his own chambers on the Golden Throne.
There he did the unthinkable, for his might immediately pulled his Companions, their bodies being swung like puppets into a scenario, surrounding the visitor.
All for they had come upon his planet.
A wave of air broke the ceiling of the Palace itself as the Emperor's wrath prepared to collapse the souls of his Custodes into a piercing strike to eternally erase this speck of the Gods of the Inmaterium, forever weakening them for their grave mistake.
They had slipped through the hole that he himself was protecting.
Manifesting in the form of a rotting skeleton, a sign of Nurgle; wearing armor from the times of the long gone Crusades, a sign of Khorne; and holding a scroll full of text from languages only remembered by him, a token of Tzeentch
Thus he noticed.
For the three Gods had come not because they wanted to damage their only threat.
No.
The power he'd been using to try and stop Slaneesh, to finally have his soul and be so aware of himself, was because they dropped their power right into him; patching him up. Probably a plan from the God of scheming precisely to stop this madness if it ever came to be.
They had come because they knew what would happen once the lusting God laid its claws upon what was hidden on that mountain.
He knew that too.
If it wasn't for that, they'd be banished already.
No words were spoken.
And a treaty was signed.
Just like the olden days where the Emperor of Mankind threw himself at the warp, led by the kings of the Inmaterium, killing the rebellion of Minor Gods clamoring for more power; in exchange for the knowledge to make the Primarchs, his beloved project to learn how to uplift his species.
This time, the matter was more pressing than a mere plan for humanity, it was the factor that decided the outcome of the Great Game.
If they acted quickly enough, they might be able to stop one God from finally achieving true control of existence.
Would he not take this opportunity, when he knew what would happen if that horrid event came to be?
He didn't care if Terra was destroyed after this because the eternal enemy betrayed him, and the Imperium fell as a consequence. For even then, humanity would still have an opportunity to rise up on the fringes of existence and push them back.
Allowing Slaneesh to win would mean the perpetual enslavement of everything. There'd be no opportunities.
Even if the Gods took this very moment to kill him, Guilliman would keep things going.
There was hope in action.
Thus, following the deal. He stood from the throne.
His body was again with himself.
The sky didn't fall upon mankind, physics breaking, and flesh raining upon Terra.
The Skeleton they had inhabited now laid upon the Throne, maintaining it.
They had kept their promise.
So now it was time for him to stop this madness.
No seconds were wasted on vanity, or on the people that kept his side by the throne marveling upon the revival of the Master of Mankind.
Chaos had given him the power to stop the Galaxy from turning into Slaanesh's game.
His soul was now fully recovered, as was his body.
Now he had to focus in that planet again, and do whatever he could to stop things.
.
.
There were endless corridors, each one holding information lost to time. Computers, AIs, old registries.
Fulgrim quickly realized that this wasn't a shrine, or a lab, or anything really.
This was more akin to the rooms where guidance computers for a ship's weaponry were held.
But on each one of them, he could feel the scent.
It caused his lungs to be filled with the aroma he'd come to be used to on the countless orgies in his Master's palace. The same smell he'd faintly tasted a minute before.
The language to mark each of these sites was on the same letters they used to write in High Gothic, but the words were from languages he understood only from poetry he'd come to read.
He carried the body of one of the Nubean soldiers to open each of the doors, in the search for anything, while on his back, no other demon followed, for the aura on this site was so heavy that they got instantly erased, and turned into energy that Slaneesh would reabsorb.
It was a place that corrupted in a way not dissimilar to his Lord, but with a twist so heavy that not even the nasty yet beautiful demons that accompanied him could endure.
Maybe it was his hidden human nature that let him walk through the sites.
But that didn't explain how the mere humans trying to gun him down could even walk while feeling such corruptive air.
Personally, he blamed it on the fact that humans were naturally receptive to these kinds of auras.
Eventually, the smell of degeneracy became clear enough for him to trace it down the maze.
Yet there was a heavy psychic cloud on this place, as if the sinning treasure he was searching for right now kept a heavy grasp on whoever landed on its eternal trove.
And as enjoyable as it was, it meddled with his judgment.
One single soldier of Nube appeared in front of him, and shot directly at his eye, all too quick.
What's more, her Lasgun's bolt was enough to directly hit his right eye, moreover, it blew it off, menacing his brain.
He had to duck, dropping the guard with the identifications to open the doors.
Follow-up bolts hurt, not as horrid damages, rather, as if needles tried getting through his thick skin.
This was his father's doing. He could see the string attached to her, the power aiding the laser to hurt in such a way that should be impossible, with aim and speed that couldn't be from a human.
Before another hit could damage him further, he coiled, turning around so that the next bolts struck his armored wings. He then pushed himself to drive his lance right onto the poor woman, who was severed from groin to head. As it seemed, while her soul and weapon were strengthened, her body wasn't.
Now in control of himself, he could propel himself, accelerating through the corridors, following the scent of madness.
The guards that defied him plundered hell on his skin.
The weapons had such force that they might as well be an Eldar Titan's main cannons.
Every time they struck, even if it was painful, he could feel his Lord's acquiescent, loving hands, as he poured in some of his dear caress, enticing him to forth, enjoy the time, enjoy the hindrance of these foolish mortals, for the Climax was near.
He danced, his arms holding various blades, or even his dear nails turned weapons, in order to quickly quell the cries for release of the children of Nube.
With each of them that died, and he strolled further, he could feel how the scent of lust mixed with Slaanesh's desire, and fueled him forth.
It was such a power that at some point, when his flesh was already torn apart, losing half of his face to the mangling of the accurate enemy fire; he began regenerating in such a way that not even the False God's imbued attacks managed to leave a mark.
Was this how Horus felt when he was empowered by all of the warp?
No. Fulgrim could feel it. This was so much more.
Whatever was in this underground, it held what was the emotion of an entire species, all contained, pressured, ready to release, in such a way that the birth of his lord would pale in comparison to the splendor of delight.
Whispers came to his ears, foretelling him about the wonders inside of the deepest chamber of this storage bin.
He was close. So close.
So much that he was blinded by his triumph, and forgot that while the bodies of soldiers piled when against him, they served to again fog his perception.
For he couldn't feel his energy.
Worse, he could do nothing when he uttered his true name.
All the empowerment he'd gotten was gone; while his true name might've been enough to banish him, this world had such a warp-presence now that it was as if the Eye of Terror had expanded upon here; he endured it.
That wasn't his intention though, he knew that it alone wouldn't work.
It was too late to just do that. One week too late.
Instead, Fulgrim's head was grabbed, then, it struck the ground, pushing his demonic skin to touch the granite behind the walls of this relic of Hedon.
Soon, he felt how his skin was again broken, muscles torn, neck cracked as his head was kept against the rocks while he was moved forwards.
The entire floor was left open, with the mark of the Daemon's body that was just used to cleave it.
Next he was thrown with such violence that he knew he was out from the mountain, his recently-regenerated eyes opened to see the burning sky of Nube.
Flying upwards, untarnished by any more attacks, he could use his mastery of the warp to at least sense how was his father here.
So he saw how rising from the mountain, to face the still blocked army of Slaanesh, was a single Custodes.
Or that was the body, at least. For covering it was an apparition of the Emperor.
With one slash of the Guardian Spear imbued on his might, the Marines, the Daemonnettes, and even the ships above: burned.
His tail was also turned into ashes.
Oh, so close, but so far.
Art, pleasure, they were all to be enjoyed by everyone.
He fell on the ground, next to the carcass of a Baneblade broken half an hour ago.
Surrounding him were the defiled corpses of at least a hundred soldiers.
The smell of sperm spread over would usually not mean anything impressive for him.
But once he stood up, and felt the warmth of the Emperor nearby, its cleansing flame; and then looked at how the pleasure extruded from his God's might... He smiled.
The scent of sin was still pouring, coming from the chamber and into the atmosphere again.
His body was broken, but he could regenerate, more when he knew his efforts would prove themselves soon.
He only had to get access to whatever was on that chamber, and the Prince would do all that was needed.
For he could see now that above him there was no more army, no more navy.
This was the Hail Mary.
The arrival of the Emperor allowed a slight breach in the material veil to appear.
All of Slaanesh was focused.
Right into him.
Fulgrim's torso was broken by a single blow from the Emperor, who'd run at him with such speed that air around them began to burn.
The force that wasn't imparted into his body became a shockwave that broke the Baneblade behind them into a thousand pieces that flew away like shrapnel.
But he stood.
A second blow eviscerated his jaw.
But he stood.
One of his arms was taken, pulled, ripped from his body due to the horrid force used on him. And with that same arm he was hit, forced upon the ground.
And now he only kept a smile. Not on his face, but on his soul.
His father then proceeded to slowly erase his soul with each hit.
He couldn't just be broken like he did with Horus. Not this time. Maybe if he were present, but as a mere apparition; he'd have to try.
The speed with which he struck was immaculate. Fulgrim might be the best swordsman out of his brothers, but he knew that in every way he paled to his Father.
Such a pleasure to see him kill him.
If only his father wasn't so desperate he'd notice what was transpiring now.
As the Golden Soldier was about to impart the last piece of justice upon him, he was stopped.
An arm made out of pure warp power presented itself.
His God hadn't abandoned him.
The rift allowed for his power to concentrate.
He was the perfect vessel, as he was the perfect being too.
With his other arm he punched his father's avatar.
Following he lashed out his tail before having to evade in a blur the spear thrown at him.
Then, they exchanged punches, Fulgrim having to use the four arms he'd regenerate to block the powerful strikes of his father.
All the while the Imperial reinforcements came, their ships already dawning on the sky above.
And as the scent kept pouring out, invigorating the Serpent.
With his wings he dashed to his left, rolling before lashing out a chain with which to pull one of his father's legs, and try to stab it, only to be welcomed by a holy-fire-bathed swing from a knife held within the Custodes' armor.
But he used this.
Because his father fought for the hope he had to lead humanity out of sin.
Yet in the Grim Darkness of the Forty Second Millenium, there now would be only pleasure.
With one of his arms he took out the knife from his body as he was again being plummeted by his father.
And he threw it to the mountain.
His strength was such that he could do this before his ascension to demonhood. But now, it was precise enough.
The slice was perfect. As if he'd worked a chisel through it.
With it, the chamber was free.
A beacon of pure hedonistic desire then permeated the area.
"STOP THIS!" - Screamed the Custodes, his father's voice echoing after it.
Slowly, the armies of Slaanesh began reappearing, while the sky darkened, this time not with embers, but with a connection to the Inmaterium.
"I WIN, FATHER!"
The Emperor replied with all of his psychic power.
It was as if his whole soul was put into a single point, a void, a singularity of unregulated power that shook the universe so much that the world began to crack.
If he wasn't being inhabited by his God right now, he wouldn't be able to survive this prescence.
But now?
He used the same arm he'd thrown the knife with, and prepared an electric bolt.
His father couldn't allow this.
While he did this, he sent the most powerful wave he'd ever produced.
He was going to destroy the whole system if necessary.
Anything would be a small price to evade this.
But for the first time.
Humanity could do nothing.
His soul was erased.
Yet as he disappeared from existence, he tasted the delight of the future.
Colors disintegrated, all atoms nearby collapsed into radiation.
The warp, expanding here, stopped for a moment, all as the power of the Emperor tried to stop that bolt of electricity.
And it almost got it.
When a group of electrons managed to get into the Dark Shrine of Hedon, its name was unveiled.
Rule 34.
Then, the other sets of machines in the complex flared too.
E621.
XVideos.
PornHub.
4chan.
Pixiv.
Nhentai
And worse of all... Twitter.
With just one pulse, the computers of the Mechanicus held deep within Mars, and on the most important sites of reverence; got messages that then expanded into their local servitors, databases, targeting computers, comms systems, and even the displays of cybernetics.
Eldari trying to communicate would get infected by the images, so would the Necrons living under humans, getting these files their machines would decrypt, showing them artwork that no one was to ever see.
Even Orks saw this as the beacon of sin shined through their souls.
Echoes of this managed to even shake the Hivemind.
Slaanesh had unleashed the lust of the entirety of Mankind before the fall of its civilization.
Sins of the past. Ringing now.
For all of existence to suffer.
.
.
.
The Emperor opened his eyes.
In front of him there wasn't a ceiling.
Instead, there was a purple sky, for the warp had ripped the place apart, and its influence had tainted everything before time passed; he was stuck in the precise moment before the downfall was to set upon the Galaxy.
Luna, the Moon, bore the mark of pleasure.
Around him, there were still pillars of his palace, but now painted in the tones the Prince loved.
The golden was gone. Replaced by lilac and mauve.
What was once the skulls, perpetual remembrance that humanity was beautiful, even in its barest form, were turned into iconography of phalluses and depictions of mating.
At least on the walls, those that remained at least, were paintings, beautiful like none other.
On his ears, sounds so delightful that they called his memory to bloom the times when orchestras brought pleasure to all denizens of Earth.
His Custodes?
Gone.
At least he was happy, that the powers of the Prince of Pleasure were never to taint them. Death would be always preferable.
There wasn't even a feeling of the other Chaos Gods. They had fallen, surely killed, for Slaanesh had acquired the ultimate power.
But he? He was left to sense how the decay had turned his planet. His entire life.
He felt the scenes that were to happen, the rapes, the enslavement for pleasure, the robberies, the cannibalism, incest, zoofilic acts, and all kinds of horrid crimes.
Yet Time was stopped in front of him. In a second, things would devolve truly into a hedonistic everlasting fest, an eternal orgy, all over the universe.
He had failed.
Fists clenched, he fell to the ground, kneeling.
He sobbed.
The anger, the sense of determination that had filled him, was now gone.
Existance had fallen.
Replaced by the eternal gift of enjoyment.
He was about to scream before someone stopped him.
"Oh, Anathema~!"
In none other than his throne was...
"Oh dear, I'm sorry that I stuck you in this little time pocket, but I wanted you to suffer a little bit."
Body so curvaceous. It was an image of fertility.
If he wasn't so filled with despair and hate he'd seen it as arousing.
Breasts so full, hips so wide.
Lips ready, humectated.
A smile that killed, eyes leering with tender care instead of the real emotion they felt.
A body humanistic, yet so exotic.
All finished by a lovely voice that he'd swear it was from an Angel of old Terran Religion.
The Prince of Pleasure, not a woman, not a man, for the groin of this beast held only whatever was necessary for the viewer.
No clothes, no one near Slaanesh.
It was only the two of them.
The Emperor slowly turned to face him.
"Now, I'm sorry that you aren't happy. I know you had to kill your son, and that your Empire is gone, and that you hate that everybody will fuck until their bodies go limp, die, and then are used as toys for the pleasure of those who endured the first rounds. But you've gotta think!" - He proudly declared, as if correcting the Emperor, laying his hands on his shoulders as he approached and the poor human couldn't do anything. - "After this, and the souls of those who don't wanna submit fall, they will all begin doing all kinds of artsy things! And obviously rape, mutilate, choke... Those kinds of good things too. You should try it one day."
Pure mockery.
He wanted to frown, but his body was fighting against him. He might be adored as a God, but he was a human deep within, and the soothing touch of the Prince was getting the worst out of him.
"So, before I twist your soul and I begin perforating your prostate with all the violence to make you scream while the entirety of this planet hears you, do you want to say something?"
It was all lost.
Slaanesh was in the material realm, for the sudden rush of lust in the whole galaxy empowered him beyond belief.
But then, something came to his ear, carrying the tone of Tzeentch.
Manipulate his lust.
The last message.
Of course, the bastard knew about all of this, this was surely one of his plans for if shit hit the fan, or if he felt especially kinky.
Fucking Chaos Gods.
Luckily there was no one to see this... Bar maybe Cegorach.
Forgoing his pride, he had to use the joy clouding the Prince's judgment. His mind quickly raced through all the skills he'd gathered since the first time he spoke.
Just like Eldars created Gods, the effects of the beliefs of humanity transcend just powering gods. Thus, the contained imagery on Nube had a scent of its own, one that while similar to Slaanesh, held a real connection to his species.
So, he used this, to twist it into love for humanity. And he knew how to wrangle a bitch.
He swallowed his saliva first, for he was absolutely not proud of what he was going to say.
With his words, the fate of his species was sealed.
"Can I top first?"
Slaanesh's eyes went wide immediately.
It wasn't for a lack of sexual deviancy to accept it, rather that no single being had ever said this, ever. He was always the one to be on top, and the times it wans't like that, it was because he changed roles, not because any of his servants dared say such a thing.
But now he had the Anathema asking to fuck him? Even if it was the lamest sex ever, he'd accept it, no fucking way he was saying no.
The surprise was such that he immediately felt something akin to a blush forming on his body and he screamed. - "YEEEEEES!"
The Emperor was about to question his reaction, but then he remembered that he was talking to a literal embodiment of emotions rather than a concise being, so he just took it.
He then threw himself at the floor, shoulders and palms touching the violet carpet while his hips threw themselves up and his legs separated, showing off the two holes he knew the Emperor would know all too well.
Then, he enthusiastically declared: "Come on, jam it on me, no lube, whichever you want! Do it as hard as you slapped Horus, I can take it!"
Ignoring the horrid comment he took this as the triumph of the first step.
Next, the most complicated one.
Trying to edge and coerce the God of Pleasure.
"Actually, could we please just cuddle for a while before that?"
His whole head turned to face him.
"What."
"You heard me right."
"Ye-uh... You want to cuddle."
"That's what I said."
"You aren't going to jam your godlike dick into me so we have the raunchiest sex ever before I plunge the galaxy into a deep-web porno?"
"I'll do it. Can't you just be a little patient? You have literally the rest of time for all other things."
He snapped his fingers. - "Good point Anathema!"
From literal nothingness a bed appeared, Queen size, purple covers.
There the two appeared, side to side. As it seemed like Slaanesh didn't want to lose time. The prince laid on his right side, looming over the now bare body of the Emperor, who was weirdly reminded of the power the new governor of existence now held.
The Emperor then sighed, and breathed heavily, trying to sound defeated as he mentally prepared for this.
As he did this, Slaanesh's hands slowly tried to get a hold of his manhood.
But he was a devout... Atheist! So he wasn't going to fall into pleasure just like this.
He surrounded Slaneesh's shoulders with his left arm and pulled him closer so that they were hugging each other.
This felt so fucking awkward.
Yet it served to quell the God for a little, as his other hand now went and slowly began caressing the Daemon's lower back, trying to sometimes slid some fingers a bit lower as to not bore out the now all-powerful being.
He could feel how the God was about to just jump at him, how just this amount of touch was enough to elicit such joy because of the mere fact that this was the Master of Mankind doing such unimaginable things with him.
Was this how Nurgle felt with Aisha?
Well, he could eat shit, Slaneesh now had the Emperor for himself!
Meanwhile, he thought: This is not gay, I'm doing this for Humanity.
"Now... Big-E... You... Ehem..." - Of course, a daemon used to rape was obviously not good at bed talk. - "You're cute."
This assortment of half-assed attempts at dialogue from a being so lost in its own power that it took time to mentally torture the only being capable of challenging it was the proof he needed.
He had successfully trapped him in the worst way humanity had devised, ever. A warm embrace with caresses.
Capable of melting the hearts of even the biggest killers ever, and adopted by other species like the Aeldari, who used it very effectively with his son, Roboute Guilliman.
But he had to keep the charade going.
"Your form is too of prime excellence, despite you not being a human I must admit, you do make a delight to the eye."
Thank the nonexistent God that no one heard him say something nice to a Daemon.
"Owwww, so formal! You make me feel like you are talking to your Boss."
"You skipped all the steps, so... Now I think you are." - The Emperor answered, a forced hint of sadness in his voice.
"Wait, skipped steps? What do you mean?"
He took the bait.
The Emperor had won already.
"You know how it goes, if you were to win, it'd be because you pushed my forces away enough, brought enough humans to lust so that your armies drove to Terra, and I'd have to fight you in the steps of the Golden Throne, all to then fall into your arms before you began mounting me a-"
"We can totally do that right now if you want!" - Slaanesh excitedly said, cutting him off because of course he didn't notice he was being manipulated.
"But where would the fun be on that? We know that independently of whoever won if we reenacted it, you'd end up being filled with..." - He couldn't muster himself to say the word, so he chose one less hedonistic, though more damming. - "Love..."
"I can totally unfreeze your Empire and attack you with my armies though, it'd be the same, and your people would even join willingly... And I could play out rapes in your worlds... Oh the thrill of a game where we both try to one-up each other while we know what the outcome will be!"
He'd bought the idea too.
"That's the problem, I'd still lose no matter what, there is no incentive, no real thrill, no pleasure on doing that."
As the Emperor said this, his left hand slowly moved to begin caressing the nipples of the Prince, taking careful slides on his breasts to begin soothing him, sending waves down his spine.
Slaanesh let out slight moans, looking up without saying any words for a few seconds before answering the Emperor.
"Uhm, and what if I boosted your forces? At least to maintain the impression, we could play the long game... Or act a stalemate... Where I slide into your palace... And you fuck me while your people die to try and stop their bodies from being defiled... And we do it... For the rest of time..."
The horrid idea was a clear sign that the Prince was totally enthralled.
So to finish this off, his other hand slid a few fingers to enter the faux womanhood of the Prince, playing with care with his inner walls.
This caused him to slide a heavy 'Ah~!' before he looked at the Emperor with longing.
Who'd tell that the Horny God had an easily triggered clam dip.
Then, as he knew that this little horny beast would do whatever in order for him to continue... He played all his cards.
"That sounds better, but humanity isn't that powerful, no matter what, and your demons or followers would get rowdy and screw it"
She who thirsts giggled at the pun before letting out many more gasps as he tried to gather the will to answer.
"No-no! Humanity is... Good... You are so... Beautiful... Stalwart... You don't fall so easily like the Eldars... You're more driven... And so-so-fucKING GOOD at-hmff~iiiingering."
There it is.
He then pushed his entire index and middle finger up inside him, still keeping that continuous and careful toying, while the grasp on his breasts turned heavier, with harder massages.
"Oh-oh-oh~ Keep going..."
"You think so?" - The Emperor closed his head to the horns of the Daemon, caressing them as he passed his right cheek over them. - "Are we a bunch of righteous, strong people?"
"Mhmm..." - He let out in approval.
"That's why you let me do this? Because you want humanity to fall from its great place, and pleasure their new King?"
"Haa~Aha..."
"So, will you surrender to a bit of deep human massages?"
After the Emperor said this he pushed the Prince to make him lay on his stomach, surprising him, but before he could do anything to stop him, the Emperor positioned himself so that his groin was pushing right between the little horndog's ass.
He heard no protest after this, yet he could feel how there was only expectation now.
This was his tacit 'yes'.
He pushed a little bit forward, so that his prick merely rubbed against his upper entrance.
Oh, he could hear how the whole room, imbued with Slaaneshi desire screamed at him, pleading for him to fuck him relentlessly.
The Prince was so close to cumming.
This was the moment.
If he failed now... He didn't know what to do.
"Good. Because I'm not giving you any."
"Huh?"
Then, he stood up from the bed, and smiled.
A dumbfounded God stared at him with distress.
He hoped this was a reckless joke. A taunt to pleasure himself before they fucked.
It had to be that.
Right?
"I'm not having sex with someone who doesn't deserve it. We humans have strived for too long, to be strong, smart, and faithful enough. And you come trying to just make me fuck you? No. Go fuck yourself."
"Wh-WHAT!?"
Spikes formed on the room, all threatening to turn the Emperor into mincemeat if he didn't explain himself in this very moment.
Yet he remained calm.
"I deserve a rival, you hold so much power; but you ruined everything. Now the game doesn't exist. You'll eventually get tired because this will forever be your kingdom, there's no change. Eventually, you'll do all that you can, and you will never find joy on things anymore. You shat on everything. This is why Tzeentch always did something stupid to screw over himself if he was winning."
Normally the Prince would just rape this imbecile, force him to suffer for all of eternity, plus some torture in which his servants saw him getting defiled.
But the charm of the human had managed to woo the human-loving essence now within the God.
It craved for affirmation, for love, for realization, for approval, for the ecstasy these people knew how to provide.
Ideas of the species being the best thing out there sat on Slaanesh.
On how the Emperor was what he wanted now.
How he now over everything desired for things to be real, thus the pleasure coming from it would be the peak of her dominion.
"THEN I WILL KEEP YOUR STUPID LITTLE GAME. I'LL SHOW YOU THAT YOU'LL FALL TO ME EITHER WAY, BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE, YOU HEAR ME, ANATHEMA?"
"So what, you're going to leave humanity alone to defy you? While you control the rest of existence, making them pieces of lust to fuck all of humanity? I like those odds. If you win, I'm yours. But if I win..." - The Emperor then decided to do what would seal victory. A promise. - "You'll be mine."
Such prospect, dominion over the other, was so enticing...
Thus. The Prince smiled.
He would have his climax.
Just that now, there was a bigger game for it, more joy to be had; he'd have to empower humanity, and make the Galaxy hunt them, just as the Emperor wanted.
He'd use what he'd seen on human iconography to fill this game.
And the eternal pleasure would come.
.
.
The Emperor opened his eyes again.
To see how despite the Moon still being marked with Slaanesh's symbol, and how his palace was still broken... Humanity was still alive.
Around him, his Custodes asked themselves what happened, and why their lord now stood.
None shall ever know, but he had done what was necessary to save his species.
Now, he had to prepare everything, for this was only the beginning of the last chance he might have.
.
.
.
.
A squad of eight Guards was all that was left.
While those attacking the Eye of Terror saw their foes retreat, the units deployed to fight other species, like the greenskins, had to keep on fighting.
Over them there was no air support, it had been called off due to the massive assault Warboss Attila had launched upon the capital Hive City.
Their trench was the last one that held Hill 665, holding a long-range artillery piece to disrupt the encampments of xenos away from the frontlines.
A mere minute ago a soldier with a flamer managed to create a firewall to let this last squad take arms and prepare to meet their end.
Bayonets fixed, lasguns primed.
They expected them to come raging immediately after, but a mist had covered all of them.
It poured deep into their lungs.
What injuries they had seemingly recovered. They felt much better now, their morale was up again despite the loss of their Commissar.
Like they were being blessed by the Emperor himself.
Let the greenskins come, they'd defeat them.
But from the fire jumped a smoke-cladded figure, then countless others.
The shouts of the upcoming WAAAGH rang on their ears.
It was as horrid as ever.
Though some noticed that it carried a slightly calmer tone to it. Or at least it had something... Sweet in it.
Then, they landed.
In front of a man from Balle Prime was a figure with the same green on the skin.
Tusks with blood tainting them, metal strapped onto them, weapons on every cubic meter of such a mass. All the while the height of such beast was that of a Tank.
Yet all he could see between all of those muscles, was that this seemed to be... A woman.
Breasts dangled right in front of his eyes. Barely held together by a strap of scrap iron.
Even the hair-squig these orks used was now imitating a more covering style reminiscent of human hairdressing, something that also happened with all those who jumped into the frey against the ordained sons of Mankind.
Such a horrid sight. He had to fight this!
Before he could shoot his gun though, he was grabbed by the enormous hand of the woman.
"This one is mine!" - He heard before being pushed into her cleavage, like he was a doll.
His sight was cut off, but he could hear the ephemeral battle that ensued before all of his squadmates were taken too.
Worse. He wasn't killed, his gun was only stripped, and then he felt how they began moving, all the while orks nearby fought, apparently for control of the recently-captured humans.
"Don't worry humie! I'll be sure to break you only after the fourth round!" - He heard from his jailor.
He gulped.
Might the Emperor protect them.