My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 491: A One-Day Tour of Slaanesh's Palace
Pride of the Emperor
. . .
Amid the blare of triumphant horns and beneath a sea of dazzling golden lights, the handsome Fulgrim stood upon the stage. His head was held high, and in his downward gaze was reflected the figure striding steadily toward him.
Jet-black, towering armor. A massive scythe dragging across the floor, throwing sparks. A featureless mask marred by savage cracks.
Unicorn strode into the theater. The nobles in the audience gasped and rose from their seats. Beside the Primarch, Lucius and Eidolon drew their swords and stepped forward, one on each side, loyal hounds guarding their master.
"Stand down," Fulgrim spoke calmly.
He stood elegantly upon the stage, yet deep within his eyes, unseen by all, madness churned. The corners of his lips curled upward in a smile of irrepressible satisfaction.
Lucius turned sharply, staring at the Primarch in disbelief. But Fulgrim was not looking at him. All of the Primarch's attention was fixed upon Unicorn.
Seeing that his guards did not move, Fulgrim frowned.
"Stand down, my children," Fulgrim spoke again, softly.
"Leave this place."
Questions caught in Lucius's throat. He tried to speak, but his body no longer obeyed him. Sheathing his sword, he cast one final glance at the Primarch's radiant silhouette, glowing against the light.
As if in a dream, Lucius left the stage and sprinted toward the stern of the Pride of the Emperor.
Nor was he alone. All of the Emperor's Children were retreating toward the rear of the vessel.
Yet the theater remained lively.
"You should have come sooner."
Fulgrim looked at Unicorn, speaking with a trace of reproach. Standing atop the stage, the Primarch drew the sword at his waist.
Unicorn ignored him. The usually noisy Eldar around him remained uncharacteristically silent.
When his words received no response, Fulgrim tilted his head and looked at a grand noble standing on a nearby stairway, hesitantly holding a crown.
The Primarch let out a mocking laugh. Reaching out, he snatched the purple-gold crown from the noble's hands and placed it upon his own head.
+Applaud me!+
The Primarch's voice echoed throughout the grand theater aboard the Pride of the Emperor. Below the stage, the audience members—each displaying different expressions moments before—suddenly turned as one toward Fulgrim.
They rose to their feet.
They applauded.
They cheered.
Fulgrim strode down from the stage. Amid the thunderous applause, the spotlight followed him wherever he went.
With every step he took, ripples of violet spread beneath his exquisitely crafted boots. Waves of unrestrained desire radiated outward, cloaking the magnificent theater in a sultry, oppressive heat.
Space itself began to warp.
At the boundary between the Warp and realspace, the veil was torn apart. This Gloriana-class battleship began to sink, descending into the Realm of Chaos itself.
Strange decorations and motifs, unmistakably Eldar in style, emerged around them.
+Come, my beloved.+
Fulgrim smiled. Darkness stained his eyes. His grin split wider, revealing gleaming white fangs.
The Primarch halted, raising his sword and pointing it directly at the slowly approaching Unicorn.
+Come~+
Unicorn bit down hard on his tongue. Endless screams echoed in his ears. The reverberations of that ancient psychic shriek still lingered within the Six Circles of Slaanesh's realm, refusing to fade.
But that also meant one thing:
This place was now completely bound to Slaanesh's Palace.
"A mere puppet. Hardly worth mentioning," Unicorn spoke coldly.
Within his heart, he desperately called upon the Lord of the Underworld. Behind him, his companions activated summoning rituals. Within the circles, shadowy figures could be seen praying.
But it was not enough.
Unicorn knew it.
He raised the great scythe he had never truly mastered, determination blazing in his eyes.
For Asuryan.
For Cegorach.
For the Eldar.
For vengeance.
And for... Hades!
A tremendous surge of psychic energy exploded around him. Frost crept across the blade of his scythe.
"For Hades!!!"
Unicorn launched himself from the ground, soaring through the air in a graceful arc. Twisting his wrist, he spun the enormous curved blade and brought it crashing down toward the Primarch.
Fulgrim looked up.
His eyes, utterly consumed by ecstatic madness, watched the Harlequin. An elegant smile played across his lips.
In that instant, the Primarch casually raised his hand. His sword flashed with deadly light as its tip thrust upward toward the airborne Harlequin.
Slash!
Blood spattered across the Primarch's beautiful face. Fulgrim extended his tongue and licked the blood from his skin with satisfaction.
He pulled the Harlequin closer, the Eldar now skewered upon his sword and too weak to struggle after a single strike.
Yet the brave Eldar still fought on.
Look at him—he had sacrificed his life, his soul, his faith...
The Harlequin coughed up blood. Broken and dying, he laughed wildly and hurled vicious curses.
"We've already won, puppet! You and your master are finished! Hades has come! And you've been stained with my blood!"
As the Harlequin spoke, the theater shook violently. The deafening applause that had filled the hall seemed to recede into the distance. Black-and-white fissures spread from one corner of the great doors, rapidly extending outward.
"You can't escape!"
Even now, he was still struggling.
Brilliant psychic light erupted around him, adding one final sliver of hope to their plan...
How moving.
Then, in the middle of his furious tirade, Unicorn suddenly froze.
The Primarch embraced the Harlequin as though greeting an old friend. His tongue brushed near the Eldar's ear, whispering words born from the Warp itself.
+My dear children,+ said the Youngest Queen.
+Thank you for your gift.+
Fulgrim reached into Unicorn's chest and tore out his heart.
The Eldar in his arms ceased struggling entirely. Behind the mask, his eyes widened, as though in his final moment he had realized a truth so horrifying that it eclipsed death itself.
+My dear child,+
Fulgrim swallowed the bloody flesh.
+Come.+
He looked toward the darkness surging toward him.
His pearl-studded boot lifted.
Calmly—and yet with eager anticipation—he strode directly into the darkness.
. . .
Slaanesh's Sixth Circle
You lay amidst layers of silk curtains and gauze.
The music and dancing had stopped.
Your favorite dancer hesitated, frozen in fear. The silver bells that pierced her ankles fell silent as well. Their clear ringing echoed twice more through your vast palace before fading like the cries of ghosts.
He had come.
You had already chosen your offering.
The sacrifice with which you would purchase supreme ecstasy.
You let out a lazy yawn.
Yet beneath the mask of indifference you displayed, your true self was anything but calm. Hot, sweet, trembling with anticipation, your innermost being cried out in feverish excitement.
You felt that cold, greedy, utterly emotionless gaze sweep across your exposed spine.
A pleased sigh escaped your lips.
The beast had arrived.
He had arrived.
He lingered beyond the borders of your domain, studying you with the eyes of a predator.
He paced before your door.
Death and Oblivion walked beside Him
After the skirmish upon Cadia, you already knew how this would unfold.
The beast had marked you.
He remembered your scent.
As your servants cowered—none of them seeking true extremity as you did—they shrank themselves as much as possible, desperate not to be noticed by the Lord of the Underworld.
Slowly, you rose from your soft and yielding bed, exposing yourself to the gaze that drove you mad.
You remembered Him.
Death.
True death.
You could no longer restore what He had devoured. Every effort you made fell into those dark waters of the underworld and disappeared without a sound.
A beast that brought permanent death.
You trembled.
The Youngest Queen's delicate fingers rose unconsciously to caress her own face.
Come.
Come.
Come.
Dance with the beast.
Every step of the dance must be perfect.
Failure would bring eternal sleep.
Again you began to tremble.
From delight.
From anticipation.
+Come here,+ you whispered softly.
+Eat me.+
The response came from above.
The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling suddenly dimmed.
He had entered.
Slaanesh released a satisfied sigh.
At last, your enemies—and fellow gods—who delighted in watching your discomfort finally withdrew their scrutinizing gazes.
The game had begun.
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Note:
Slaneesh, about to be eaten: "Harder."
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