Here's another omake for the pile. It's a bit of a prequel to Amberley Vail's file on Twilight Sparkle, detailing how she became a Daemon Prince.
Twilight's Ascension (MLP: Iron Hearts/CCWC Crossover)
The last time Twilight was in the warp, it felt like it took her hours to find what she was looking for. This time, it felt like mere moments before she'd reached her destination. Almost as if she was being actively drawn to it. But she had no time to concern herself with the implications of that possibility; she had a Champion of Nurgle with a spiteful streak to kill, and friends to save.
Under any normal circumstances, she'd probably be equal parts fascinated and horrified by the warpscape surrounding the Palace of Slaanesh, but again, she was too preoccupied to pay attention to the monuments of excess she was streaking past. It felt like barely a few heartbeats of time had passed before she was at the gates of the Palace of Pleasure.
"SLAANESH!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, rearing up and shoving the doors open with her front hooves. "I'VE COME TO BARGAIN!"
"I am aware. You wouldn't have made it this deep into my realm if I wasn't." The Chaos God's voice echoed out from the darkness beyond, and Twilight was nearly driven to the floor. "Would you like to parlay outside? Experience some of the sights and sensations you missed on your way-"
"Don't have time for that!" Twilight snapped back, rallying herself and pressing forward. A chill washed over her form as the shadows closed in around her, almost caressing her with their very presence, she paid them no heed.
"We're in the warp, sweetheart. Time has no meaning here." Ahead of her, the darkness resolved into a form vaguely reminiscent of an Alicorn, clad in a positively scandalous dress. "But then again, if you truly desire to get straight to business, who am I to deny you?" The form advanced, gently sweeping the edge of one of its wings over Twilight's own. "What is it you desire?"
"Power." Twilight declared, bluntly. "The power I need to strike down Typhus. To save my friends."
Slaanesh, or rather the androgynous, alicorn-esque form it was presenting to Twilight, was silent for a long, long moment. "...that's all?"
"...being able to kick the Death Guard out of Equestria would be nice, too." Twilight added.
"I can offer you more…" Slaanesh informed her, their voice dropping to a sibilant, almost husky whisper. "So… Much... More…"
"Not interested. The only reason I'm here is because Tzeentch laughed me off, Nurgle's the whole reason all my friends need saving and reviving—again—in the first place, and Khorne's Daemons wouldn't even let me in the realm."
There was a full ten seconds of silence.
"Very well then. Khorne never did get over his aversion to "girly shit". His loss, if you ask me. Your wish is granted." Slaanesh finally said, and Twilight let her guard drop.
For all of half a second.
"But I must warn you…" Slaanesh's voice rang out once again, and Twilight's ears drooped, all the tension she'd just let out flooding right back into her. "Power from the Gods always comes as a price."
"What kind of- AAAAUGH!" Twilight's question gave way to a screech of pure agony as raw, undiluted warp energy slammed into her like a freight train moving at the speed of light, making the response of the last Daemon she'd tried to bargain with seem like a barely-noticeable itch by comparison. This time, she did collapse, so overwhelmed with pain she could barely even think.
"M-M-MOTHERBUCKER!" She somehow managed to choke out. "YOU PROMISED-"
"And that promise still holds. You asked for power; this is how you get it." Slaanesh's voice whispered to her once again, still clearly audible even over the roaring in Twilight's ears.
Figures… Twilight grumbled to herself as another wave of agony crashed into her. This is what I get for trying to bargain with the ruinous powers… again…
And then the memory of what she'd done the last time came back to her. And had she been able to facehoof, she would have. Why the BUCK didn't I check if their souls were freefloating in the warp first?! They're probably getting mobbed by who-the-buck-knows how many daemons right now! And here I am, throwing myself at Slaanesh's hooves! What the BUCK is wrong with me!
"Give in, pledge allegiance to me, and it will all be over…"
"No." Twilight hissed through gritted teeth, mustering every ounce of willpower she could and pushing herself back up. "Not… yet. Not… until… my friends… are… safe…"
Slaanesh's eyes widened, but Twilight barely noticed. She was too preoccupied drawing in as much energy from around her as she could, weaving together a spell she'd used countless times before, to care about the fact that the being that it's worshippers referred to as Slaanesh was feeling something approaching surprise for the first time in uncountable millennia, or all the perfectly valid reasons why she felt that way right now.
"...wha-" And then Twilight was gone, the teleport carrying her away and dumping her in the Formless Wastes, right in front of a pulsating, vaguely humanoid mass of cantankerous flesh.
"Oh, this soul's not dead yet." The Great Unclean one intoned, its voice sounding like the slurping of whole rivers of filth. "No matter. It will join all the others in our pilgrimage to the Garden of-"
"BUCK. THAT." And with that, Twilight's psychic presence expanded, throwing currents of magic into the surrounding Warp. Spells that would have been cast in seconds, one at a time, and taken considerable concentration all rolled out of her in an instant, cascading into place at the speed of thought. The Unclean One's three eyes widened, its own array of magical formations flickering into existence around her, possessed of speed and intensity that would have torn Twilight's own magics to shreds and made mincemeat of her soul in a matter of moments under any normal circumstances.
But Twilight had yet to swear herself to Slaanesh. Thus, she still had a direct connection to Slaanesh, and that wasn't even mentioning the Prince of Pleasure's raw, undiluted energies, still being pumped directly into her soul via said connection. And with all that backing up her immense psychic abilities, the Great Unclean one would have been better off coming at her with an improvised flail made out of a two-inch diameter dust bunny, a one-inch long piece of string, and a two-foot long rolled up newspaper soaked in water for a week.
Which wasn't to say that the Great Unclean One didn't put up a fight. Twilight may have dominated the psychic battle that had followed, but this particular type of Greater Daemon was very well-known for its toughness. Still, at last, it let loose a wail of mortal terror as its very being was shredded, the pool of souls in its belly dumped into the warp. Daemonic spirits descended through the tides of the Immaterium, snarling hungrily… and then noticed the nascent Daemon Prince that Twilight was becoming, and promptly decided to go hunt for souls somewhere else. Not all of them were fast enough to avoid getting smashed into spiritual pulp by the protective barriers she was throwing out.
Something came to Twilight in that moment, something one of her friends had said a while ago, about practicing discretion when fishing souls out of the giant pit of evil that was the Warp. She tossed it aside; she had enough power to revive the entire 38th Company, the whole population of Equestria, and the whole population of the Protectorate and then some, yet channeling all that power was only making the already near-debilitating pain she was feeling worse. She could figure out which soul was which later.
Tendrils of magic shot out from her form, reaching out for the countless glowing motes of light around her. Some embraced it, recognizing the benevolent intent of their source. Others took offense at the power of Slaanesh lacing those tendrils, recoiling from them. Twilight snatched them up anyway: knowing Silver, Solon, and some of the other now-former Nurglites among the 38th Company, their souls were probably among the ones avoiding the tendrils.
And speaking of Slaanesh…
"H-how?" The sound of Slaanesh engaging in a little inelegant blubbering reached Twilight's ears, distant yet no less audible for it. "Even Fulgrim gave in before this point… What are you?"
"Twilight Sparkle… Princess… of… Friendship…" Twilight shot back as she began to rise up, toward the materium, even as the pain began to become too much and her grip on her consciousness began to slip. "And friendship… is… magic…"
And then the Princess of Friendship fainted.
The floor was cold. That was the first thing she noticed, upon awakening; the cold, slimy concrete pressing onto her skin, chilling right through to the bone.
Disgusting. Makes me wonder how Nurgle became the chief deity of the 38th Company in the first place… Twilight almost sobbed with relief as Serith's voice echoed through her head. Her desperate ploy had worked; her friends were safe.
For the moment, at least.
She propped herself up, doing her best to ignore how sticky the ground beneath her was. Her swimming vision slowly cleared, revealing the sight of the Black Commissar, staring at her and trying (with moderate success) to suppress a look of terror and confusion. It was the first time she'd seen the man look even remotely perturbed.
"...what?" Twilight couldn't help but flinch at the oddly amplified sound of her own voice as she climbed to her feet... and in doing so discovered that she was now inexplicably a good ten times taller than Cain. Her newfound height allowed her to see the expressions of his companions; the USA soldiers were blushing and averting their gaze, Malicia, Jurgen, and the rest of the Element Bearers were all wearing expressions of barely-contained terror, and Krystabel was staring at her with undisguised… lust?
There's really no easy way to break this to you, but… Twilight… Daniel's disembodied voice trailed off into silence, at a loss for words. It seemed the same could be said for anyone with a physical presence in the room.
Fortunately, the same couldn't be said for Solon and Silver. "You made a deal with the Whore God, didn't you?" Solon's voice grumbled.
"Yeah..." She responded, wincing at the Transhuman warrior's furious tone of voice. "How'd you guess?"
"We can see what you look like from in here. And you look. Like something. Out of. A porno slate." Silver snarled, breaking the news to her with all the same tact and subtlety displayed by Typhus as he stormed into Ferrus Dominus and demanded that Solon kneel at his feet. "A SLAANESHI porno slate."
Twilight glanced down at herself, and promptly noticed what everyone seemed to be staring at, whether they wanted to or not. "…oh. That's what."
A long round of coughs filled the chamber that had once been the Canterlot Throne Room, emanating from several ponies locked up in a filth-drenched cage suspended from the ceiling. Wheezing, repetitive, noisy coughs.
Typhus, Champion of Nurgle, swallowed a snort of frustration. Bless Grandfather Nurgle and the gifts he'd given those ponies (especially that one arrogant little brat who knew far more swear words than someone that young should), but the symptoms of those gifts could sometimes make it hard to hear his underlings clearly. Especially considering that lisps, rasps, and other speech impediments were endemic amongst the beings he interacted with. Literally.
The Champion of Nurgle glanced up at the cage and the rather noisy plague victims contained therein. The buzzing of wings reached his gene-enhanced ears as several centipedes crawled out of one of the many apertures in his armor, sprouted wings, and flew up to the cage. As one of them settled on the muzzle of a pale pink foal, her wings twitched, half lidded eyes focusing on it as she opened her mouth to speak. Typhus couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but he knew that xeno bitch well enough to guess.
"Oh, buck yo-" before she could finish the insult, the centipede curled itself around her snout, mirroring the movements of the others as it clamped her jaw shut. The coughing immediately gave way to the marginally less disruptive sound of several ponies choking on their own mucus, their already-impaired breathing further impeded by the centipedes that were holding their mouths shut and keeping them quiet.
Typhus wasn't worried; even if he gave half a crap about whether they lived or died (he didn't) so far not a single one of these equinoid xenos had died during his rule despite all the plagues his followers had been spreading and the slavemasters' spirited efforts to work them all straight to death, and he doubted that a set of living insectoid gags would be enough to overcome whatever power allowed the creatures to live on a couple insects a week, water so foul it had the consistency of slime, air that was about 99% pathogens and bacteria and 1% oxygen, and a grand total of one hour of sleep every month.
Typhus turned back to the beastman-like creature standing before him. "You were saying?"
The cloaked Caribou shuddered; whether from the terror he was feeling regarding the subject he wished to speak with the Chaos Champion with, or discomfort at how the equinoid xenos were being treated, he couldn't say. He doubted it was the latter, though; Typhus had seen what his Caribou allies did to their female slaves. "Our people's shamans experienced a disturbance." The caribou repeated, apparently too terrified to raise his voice. "There was screaming about something new in the threads of reality… and then they all fainted in horror…"
"So a new daemon was born. Which happens every five minutes." Typhus growled, his patience quickly wearing thin. Not that it wasn't already thinner than parchment to begin with. "Why should we care?"
"The high priestess lasted longer than the others… long enough to say something about a violation of the natural order…"
"Oh, so you're all wigging out about the fact that this newly-ascended Daemon considers itself to be of the fairer sex." Typhus grumbled. "Unless said Daemon decides to pick a fight with me, I don't see the problem."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the wave of warp energy hit. A sense of nausea washed over the Champion of Nurgle as the parasites within him, suddenly cut off from Nurgle's energies, let loose a chorus of death-shrieks, unable to survive without Nurgle's energies empowering their forms. W-what?! Typhus found himself thinking as he fell to one knee, the winged centipedes that had been keeping the prisoners gagged falling to the floor behind him, having gone the same way as the warp-fueled parasites he'd been playing host to. Only a Daemon Prince of immense power would be capable of drowning out Nurgle's influence like this! But why-
"...she comes…" The caribou whimpered, staggering back from the door to the throne room as tears of mortal terror streamed from his eyes.
And then the doors flew open, and something that looked like it came straight out of a Slaaneshi's wet dream walked in. And for the first time since… well, since he could remember, Typhus felt true, absolute, undeniable fear.
Its shape was vaguely humanoid, but its hooves were cloven-hoofed, and its skin looked to be covered in purple fur. Feathered wings extended from its back, the plumage a deep, dark indigo in shade. Swirling galaxies of countless indescribable colors were visible in it's eyes; said eyes were ringed by circles of cyan warpflame in vague imitation of a set of glasses, and a coiling horn of equally-cyan warpflame jutted from the being's head. Its body shape was slender, finely wrought, and possessed of more curves than seemed physically possible, barely contained by an absolutely slutty dress colored the same shade of deep indigo as its wings. The sight would have left Typhus blushing if all the blood hadn't already drained from his face.
"Congratulations. I was already angry with you to begin with, but now that you've indirectly forced me to turn into this?" The being gestured to itself. "Now," The being's fingers curled, its claws glinting in the light. "I'm bucking PEEVED."
Typhus's mind, paralyzed by pure terror, could only muster two lines of thought. The first is that he should prostrate himself before this thing and plead for his life and soul. The second is an intrusive and nonsensical assessment regarding the classification of that last word in this xeno race's dictionary, largely based on the half-noticed gasps the prisoners in the cage had emitted upon hearing it. His transhuman mind, subconsciously shying away from the shame and humiliation pleading for mercy would entail, ended up running with the second line of thought.
"You creatures consider the word "peeved" to be profane?! Are you kidd-?!"
And then the Daemon threw itself at him, and all Typhus knew was the sort of pain he was usually on the "giving" end of.
AN: Yep, Twilight did the same thing Cain did over in Daemon of the Imperium, and never technically agreed to swear her soul to Slaanesh. Hence how she's so powerful right off the bat.