Datch came up with 108 potential uses for a succubus. Just imagine: a shrine maiden with white hair, red eyes, and ceremonial garb; or a girl with green hair and golden eyes, dressed in a school uniform—who comes up with a squid girl like that? Then there's a gentle, adorable fox-eared girl with a fluffy tail… Capturing a succubus was akin to acquiring an entire harem, and even imagining it filled Datch with bliss. Each day would be different, never repeating. Datch decided that after his first playthrough, he'd go online and look for a cracked version of the game, build a love laboratory in the Warhammer universe, treat Slaanesh like a dog, and relentlessly whip her with a little leather lash. Having just turned eighteen, Datch was determined to utterly destroy Slaanesh.
He then checked the details of his newly acquired item.
[Item: Michael Jackson's Crazy Dancer Outfit]
[Set Effect: The wearer gains Grandmaster-level dance proficiency.]
Every bodily motion could be transformed into highly infectious dance steps. If the wearer receives enough applause, a non-rhythm zone may form. Within this zone, all things are compelled to move to the wearer's rhythm or are consumed by an uncontrollable urge to dance.
[Note: "Instead of fighting or killing, let's dance wildly and move our bodies!"]
"This equipment is hilarious," Datch nodded at the description, then examined the prop's appearance more closely. It was a dazzling, retro stage outfit adorned with shimmering tassels and metallic sequins, topped with a slightly tilted silk hat. Wearing it, he looked downright flashy. Datch's grin widened—had it not been so over-the-top, he'd never have worn it.
"Nameless Lord!" Voldus waved his hand in front of Datch's eyes, pulling him back to reality.
"I will seek out Crowe," Datch accepted the mission.
"Here, take this for now."
Under the astonished gazes of a few Grey Knights nearby, Voldus drew out a silvery-grey seal inscribed with sacred runes and the brotherhood's sigil, handing it to Datch. The seal itself was plain, but exuded a solemn aura, marked by countless oaths, sacrifices, and secrets, and enveloped in a subtle psychic energy. The Grey Knights present all knew what this meant: the seal of the Supreme Grandmaster and the eight Brotherhood Grandmasters. This was not just proof of identity, but the ultimate key to the core secrets of their martial order, granting access to forbidden knowledge and holy relics. Within lay the weapons prepped for facing the darkest threats and the most arduous duties each chapter bore.
Had the great leader gone mad? How could he entrust such a vital artifact to an outsider? This thought flashed through more than a few Grey Knights' minds, but strict discipline and absolute trust in Voldus kept them outwardly silent.
Datch saw the gold exclamation mark floating over the seal. Knowing it was a main mission item, he grabbed it.
"With this, if Crowe is still alive, he will trust your identity and know you represent my will," Voldus said gravely, emphasizing the weight of the trust the seal carried. Datch nodded silently. He also noticed a gold question mark floating over Voldus' head, indicating a mission was available. After the seal was handed over, its color faded to grey, marking the quest as in progress. With the task accepted, Datch went quickly to work.
He drew his teleporter gun and, right in front of everyone, casually pulled the trigger atop the rune-inscribed floor.
Zzzzt—BAM!
A familiar green portal opened for just a second. Datch leaped into the glowing cave and vanished. The portal snapped closed as if it had never existed. All that remained were a few Grey Knights, casting disbelieving, shocked glances at each other, caught in stupefaction.
…
Sandava III, Labos Hive City
Passing through the warp gate, Datch arrived on a city street. The sight before him made him halt for a moment. Where once the Hive City district had been lively, it had now turned into a nightmarish, blasphemous execution ground. As far as the eye could see—streets, squares, even the ruins of collapsed buildings—there stood an unbroken forest of crosses. Most were rusted, stained deep brown, twisted, and deformed. Each one impaled at least one human body. Pitiful victims had their hands, ankles, chests, and abdomens pierced by sharp, half-melted metal spikes. They were frozen in the most contorted, agonizing poses.
The most horrifying part was the way some corpses thrashed violently, muscles spasming unconsciously against the spikes, as if they were still locked in endless torture. Dried, blackened blood stood out against the fresh, sickly-colored viscous fluid oozing from their wounds. Clearly, this was not chaotic slaughter, but a deliberate, ritualized display—a twisted art of terror nurtured by malice over decades. All of this was but one piece of an elaborate scheme, a tragic climax meticulously prepared for Garran Crowe, doomed to repeat in cycles.
"Thank goodness this is just a game," Datch muttered. Even knowing these bodies were just streams of code and data, he still felt a twinge of sorrow for the way they were rendered to resemble humans. He felt their pain as if it were his own. Had they been real people, he would surely have suffered a mental breakdown—this was just too horrible.
Datch used a Pokéball to summon Spirit Life. As soon as this spirit of life appeared, vibrant life burst forth across the befouled ground. From each tortured corpse rose a soul glowing with holy white light. They gave thanks to Datch and Spirit Life, then disappeared. Following his minimap, Datch weaved through these hellish streets, arriving at the mission waypoint. Climbing up to a high vantage point, he looked down onto a huge plaza below, where countless Daemons of Slaanesh had gathered.
At the clearing's center, two figures faced each other:
On one side stood a Grey Knight clad in silver-grey Terminator armor, battered with scars and scorch marks—none other than the missing Lord Garran Crowe. He held a strange black sword, standing ramrod straight as a pine tree, but his breathing was uneven, his psychic aura dim, all evidence of a long, brutal struggle. On the opposite side stood a terrifying, warped being—the Daemon Prince Mnay'salath. Though vaguely keeping a woman's silhouette, it was nearly four meters tall, its sickly white, pearl-like skin veined in sinister purple. Of its four arms, two wielded a whip and a sword embedded with tormented souls; the other two posed elegantly, like a deadly dancer. Its hate-filled glare was locked on Crowe.
"You swore to save us... In the end, you slaughtered my entire people. Why... why did you do that?"
The Daemon Prince's voice carried agony and unspeakable grief. Before becoming a daemon, they had had another name—Windle Grass—daughter of the governor of Seydvar II, Supreme Commander of the planet's defense forces, a general famed for her courage and wisdom, who led her people until the bitter end. Her fate had been to be buried amid the collapsing ruins in the final battle.
Garran Crowe, accompanied by his mentor, journeyed to Seydvar II searching for chaos and allied with Windle's local forces. Together, with much effort, they destroyed the source of the incursion and won victory. But as they searched the surface afterward, they found not a single living soul. The poor victims had long since become mindless puppets—mere empty shells.
By the doctrine of the Grey Knights and the Emperor's rigid law, to prevent the spread of Chaos taint, the extermination order was given. As Windle, by sheer force of will, crawled from the debris, she expected cheers of victory, but witnessed instead a rain of annihilation from the sky—spear after spear, burning her homeland, everything she had sworn to protect, and her people, to ash.
In that moment, her unwavering loyalty to the Emperor shattered, and her very soul was twisted. Despair and hatred fermented, goaded by the whispers of the Warp, until—under Slaanesh's seduction—she was transfigured into the Daemon Prince Mnay'salath, vowing revenge on the Grey Knights, the Imperium, and Crowe.
All of Labos Hive was prepared with excruciating care, just for Crowe.
"They're already dead, Windle," Crowe' tired voice rang through his helmet, but it was still resolute. "The final flames gave them rest—and halted the spread of corruption. Those 'living' you see are nothing but puppets, manipulated by the Dark Prince. Explaining this to a daemon is foolish, but... I owed the former Imperial hero a straight answer."
"Like your Emperor, nothing but lies!" Mnay'salath roared, her whip-sword flashing as she lashed out, "All this pain, returned in your blood!"
Crowe did his best to parry her blows with his black sword. But he was spent, no match for a daemon prince who had plotted for so long.
CLANG—!
Weapon collided; Crowe' black sword was knocked from his hand, and he was knocked to the ground.
Datch's eyes lit up. It was finally his turn to enter the stage. The beloved Grey Knight was in desperate need of a hero's rescue.
"Die!" Mnay'salath swung her whip-sword, aiming for Crowe' neck.
Datch threw out the Emperor transformation card, instantly turning into the Golden Emperor. In the next instant, he used his Blink skill to appear before Crowe, blocking the attack with his sword. Though the transformation didn't grant him the Emperor's actual power, the Emperor's aura emanated from him, and all the observing daemons were thrown into terror, screaming.
"The Cursed One is here!"
"Run!"
Even Mnay'salath herself was left stunned, momentarily hesitating to attack again.
Next moment, the entrance to the Room of Requirement opened behind them—a seasoned Dark Angels squad charged in, swiftly locking onto the foe. Mordachi and his followers laid into the Daemon Prince, leaving her battered to the point she doubted her own existence.
BAM—!
Datch whipped out his Super Shotgun, blew a hole through the foe's head, killing her instantly and erasing her soul. Mnay'salath was not a pure succubus, so Datch felt it easier to simply eliminate her rather than try to collect her.
Crowe, lying on the ground, stood there in sheer stupefaction. It all happened so quickly, he barely had time to process it. The Grey Knight had always collected portraits of the Emperor. Now, a man identical to the Emperor himself had appeared and saved him. But he knew well—this was not truly the Emperor. He felt the Emperor's aura, but not his power.
Datch holstered his shotgun, crouched, and picked up the black sword beside him, ready to hand it back to the NPC for goodwill points. This action shocked Crowe.
"Don't touch that!"
That was Blade of Antwyr—the most dreadful weapon created by Chaos. Even being near it, let alone touching it, risked corruption.
Datch, picking up the sword, paused, glanced at the blade briefly, then tossed it aside.
Crowe' eyes widened further. He just threw it away? Was he not tainted or corrupted by it? Crowe, though shocked, walked over and picked up the sword himself.
"Your foolishness is known to all; you're hurtling toward doom. If you don't wish to die, submit to me."
Antwyr's voice echoed in Crowe' mind, endlessly attempting to tempt him. Yet the sword was intact—so why was this person completely unharmed?
"I know this is presumptuous, but please accept this sword from me," Crowe offered the blade to Datch with both hands.
Datch looked perplexed. What is up with this NPC? One minute you won't let me touch it, the next you're handing it over!
Whatever. There's a golden exclamation mark over your head; I'll let it slide.
Datch accepted the sword, feeling nothing. Seeing Antwyr go silent and even the sword's horrific presence vanish, Crowe instantly understood. For some reason, the daemon Antwyr feared this person before him.
"Thank you for saving me." Crowe reclaimed the black sword, at which point the daemon's whispers resumed.
"Begone now, monster. Or you will fall into my slavery."
"Run! Flee as far as you can!" Crowe ignored the voice. Just as he was about to ask who Datch was, or why he wore the Emperor's guise, Datch drew the Voldus seal.
"I was sent by Voldus. You've been missing so long everyone feared you died in battle—there are also concerns that Blade of Antwyr was lost."
Upon seeing the Grandmaster's seal and the guarantee from the Dark Angels, Crowe believed Datch's words.
He still wanted to ask how Datch had made it here. Sandava III had recently been swallowed by a terrifying warp rift and now existed on the border between warp and reality; entering here was no simple feat. But Datch ignored Crowe' questions, silencing any inquiry as soon as it came up. In the past, this had left the Grey Knights' champion so exasperated he'd nearly coughed up blood.
That aside, solving the issues on Sandava III took priority.
Mnay'salath's defeat did not end Sandava III's nightmare. The conspirator behind the repeated invasions and Windle's corruption had still not been eliminated. Endless legions of Slaanesh Daemons continued to descend on the planet, seeking to fully corrupt it into a daemon world.
Crowe summoned a gunship and took Datch and the Dark Angels back to Scoria—the world's last hive city. Datch's arrival shocked the Grey Knights remaining there. His glorious figure gave newfound hope to the despairing refugees. Spirit Life, the spirit of life, once again blanketed the land with plants, releasing suffering souls. These miracles only made people all the more convinced the Emperor's salvation had come.
Cardinal Lecater Mihawk and Hive City's governor, Kalab Vester, led the surviving nobles to welcome Datch. Datch ignored them, simply followed the story character Crowe, skipping and hopping through the crowd. With no response from the bishop or governor, all they could do was kiss the ground where Datch walked and the newly blessed land, as a sign of piety.
In truth, when the Great Rift tore the Milky Way and consumed the Sandava III system, Scoria's fall was inevitable. With the help of warp energy, daemon numbers truly became endless, and their assault was a ceaseless tide. Even the sturdiest Imperial defenders, being flesh and blood, would eventually tire and wane. The enemy's aim was not to obliterate Scoria fortress in one stroke, but to break it for a grander, darker ritual—to turn the dying defenders' final struggles into a song that would delight the Dark Prince.
"To end all this, we must stop the music woven by the traitors," Crowe rallied his surviving comrades. Defense was not the best strategy—futilely holding the line would only bring defeat. Victory required initiative.
Datch said nothing, merely jumped around, occasionally punching the air. When Crowe and the Grey Knights set out, Datch followed them.
…
Elsewhere, in a fallen city now overrun by Daemons…
Several Emperor's Children Chaos Space Marines, clad in ornate purple armor, decorated with human skin and skulls, had gathered around a massive musical instrument. The device, with a central spiral coil over 50 meters tall, was woven from countless twisted brass pipes of varying thicknesses, writhing around each other. As killing, suffering, and madness spread through the city, the instrument played, its music growing ever more intense.
Every time the crucified victims twitched, the giant machine vibrated, giving off a beautiful yet sinister melody. Throughout the city and in the mounds of corpses outside, bodies—some impaled, some already dead—twisted and writhed in sync with the music, as if dancing a grand, unending death waltz.
"Glory to the Dark Prince! The final movement of the symphony is near completion!" one Chaos Marine whispered ecstatically.
In the ultimate climax of pain and ecstasy, Sandava III would journey, guided by this tune, to its predestined fate…
"And then, the truly splendid, eternal ball fit for the gods will begin!"
As the Emperor's Children revelled in their ever-ascending symphony of heresy,
BOOM!
Two battered Imperial gunships dove down like avenging eagles, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. Hovering erratically at low altitude, their side hatches suddenly snapped open.
Grey Knights and Dark Angels rained down like meteors, firing at the Chaos Space Marines before even hitting the ground.
"For the Emperor!"
Thunder crashed, mixing with exploding bombs.
Datch joined the assault, and the moment he appeared, all the daemons were routed. Whether the cursed one was real or not, there was nothing they could do but run. Who would dare act arrogant before such a presence, unless aided by the gods themselves?
The Chaos Space Marines, wrapped up in their artistic orgy, were caught off guard, and several were killed instantly—two others taken prisoner. With the instrument destroyed and the music silenced, daemon resistance plummeted.
"Get something out of them," Datch told the Dark Angels, gesturing at the two prisoners—they were veterans at this. Mordachi and his men quietly accepted the task and hauled the two captives off.
"Heh… Foolish lackeys of the false Emperor. Do whatever you want to inflict pain on us devotees of the Prince of Pleasure," one captive sneered, "Under the Prince's blessing, every lash, every burn, every shattered bone is supreme rapture—a symphony of ecstasy."
Pain would not make them scream, only moan in delight.
The captive marines, unfazed, seemed to look forward to their coming interrogation.
The next day, Mordachi emerged from the interrogation chambers, handing Datch a report.
"Both traitors confessed to being Fallen Angels."
"What's more, they revealed that Sandava III is just a small part of a much larger plot—a grander masquerade is about to take place in the Angrieve star system."
"And behind this glorious ball is a cunning, evil enemy known as the Masque of Slaanesh."
...
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