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Warhammer 40,000: Underhive

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It is the 41st millennium, and the constant war for the galaxy between the Imperium of Man, Chaos, and the many Xeno races continues. Our story is not about that. Instead, let us focus on a particular planet: the hive world of Megalen. Like all hive worlds, it is home to billions of people, many of them grouped into gargantuan, towering structures known as hive cities, which are grouped into hive clusters. Housing millions upon millions of people, millennia of industrialization from the hive cities have turned the surface into barren wastes inhabited by those who do not live in the cities, masters unto themselves, those who fight tooth and nail just to survive. 

Do not think for a moment, however, that the hive cities have it any better. The societies within are largely structured the same, each of the massive sectors separated by the class they were born, and will very likely die, in.

The Spires - The highest level of the hive, this is where the nobility resides, and as such, are the only ones in the hive who are exposed to the surface's air, filtered so that they may breathe.

The Upperhive - Located just beneath the spires, this is where the hive city's bureaucrats and various people important to politics and economy are located. Life is not as good as the spires, but it is certainly better than the lower levels, with abundant space, and power free for all.

The Lowerhive - The majority of a hive city's population lives here, and this sector is home to the hive city's power generators. The population is certainly far poorer than the Upperhive, but it's certainly better than what lies below.

The Underhive - The lowest of the low, the Underhive is a filthy decrepit slum where the poorest of those, as well as exiles from the upper levels live. There is no law aside from "survival of the fittest", with life being brutish and short. This is the setting of our tale.

Basically a throwback to 1980s sci-fi and action films taking place in the universe of Warhammer 40K, this new lit from yours truly follows a group of Imperial citizens in the Underhive of an unnamed city on the world of Megalen. Their only goal: survive.

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.

Edited by jjsthekid
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Pilot

 

“Down here in the Underhive, no one cares for you; not even the Emperor Himself. We’re born here, we scavenge for our very existence here, and we die here. The only people you can trust are yourselves.”

 

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The old man was preaching again. Holding an Imperial Aquila and a book of prayers, the elderly priest of the Ecclesiarchy railed against the filth and corruption of the Underhive, his voice carrying, echoing off every wall. He was completely unafraid, undaunted by the dirty looks he was receiving.

 

“The Emperor is disgusted by what He sees here, children! The Holy Lord of Terra has turned His gaze away from you, and you have only yourselves to blame! Repent! Repent!”

 

“Shaddap.” muttered a young man, tossing a piece of scrap metal at the priest’s head. He was dressed in a shoddily-made armor, made up of whatever he could find. Underneath it were dirty brown rags covering his taut body. The man, named Blake, was a human of about young adulthood, with black hair and brown eyes. He had been born right here in the Underhive and managed to survive via his wits and weaponry. With a sigh, he looked around him, the towers of rotting industrialization reminding him that he would die here eventually. “You were exiled here for whatever reason, so there’s no point in preaching to us. Just try and not die, OK, old man?”

 

“Actually.” a female voice spoke from behind him. “We are here to ensure he doesn't.” Blake turned around to see a rather attractive female Inquisitor, followed by her male companion.

 

The female said, a remarkable amount of contempt in her voice, “I am Thuria Braxton, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, charged to root out heresy within this filthy city, as well as keep the priest alive, as he is doing the Emperor’s work.” Blake rolled his eyes dismissively, polishing his pistol; it was a broken old thing, scavenged from one of the many junk piles lying around. Thuria bristled at the blatant hostility. In a split second, she had him pinned against a nearby wall, her elbow at his throat. Blake let out a choking gasp, futilely trying to pry Thuria’s arm off of his windpipe.

 

She asked, loosening the pressure on his throat, “Are you aware of what my duties are, street rat?”

 

“To hunt for heretics?”

 

“Yes. Such blatant hostility against an Inquisitor of Holy Terra could be considered heresy, and is grounds for immediate execution. However, as I am feeling generous, I will let you off with a warning this time. Do not make this mistake again, scum.”

 

She let him go. Blake took in mouthfuls of air, the color coming back to his face.

 

“I don’t want to be here either, friend.” said Bartholomew. “But we were assigned here by Lord Freder.” Figured a noble from the Spires would pull a move like this. Thuria had executed his youngest son as punishment for daring to give her orders. As far as she was concerned, there was no one in the Imperium whose will she would follow, save that of the Emperor. Bartholomew, however, was a bit more worldly: for all intents and purposes, Lord Freder had exiled them into the Underhive to perish.

 

Due to their...contrasting viewpoints, their partnership had raised many eyebrows within the Inquisition. They also differed greatly in methods. Thuria was a psyker, and was not hesitant to use both mental and physical torture to gain the information she needed. She would execute family members, burn down homes, and ruthlessly beat suspects until they broke. Bartholomew, on the other hand, was far more reasonable, only using the far more brutal interrogation methods as a last resort. Due to this, people tended to be more terrified of Thuria.

 

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Assigned? I only came here because of how heretical this place is. I can feel it, and it makes my skin crawl.”

 

“I don’t believe in heresy.” said Blake. “In fact, I don’t believe in the Emperor. No one does.”

 

Thuria turned to look at him. She didn't say a single word, the only indication of her emotions being that her fists were clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Blake was lucky her retinue was elsewhere in the Underhive at that moment, as the several members of the Adepta Sororitas that were part of it would have shot him dead on the spot. Bartholomew looked at him, and sighed.

 

“You aren’t making a good impression on her.”

 

“I know that. And why should I?”

 

Thuria replied, “Because I've killed more people in my career as an Inquisitor than live down here.”

 

Blake wasn’t impressed. “You can’t convince me to believe in the Emperor as a god. I gave up a looong time ago.”

 

Thuria looked over his shoulder, raising a hand. “Don't shoot him, Celeste. He isn't worth the bolter shell.”

 

“...Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

The Battle Sister of the Our Martyred Lady Order reluctantly lowered her bolter. “Very well. I will not kill this heretic...yet.”

 

Thuria said, “Now, street rat, take us to wherever the local scavengers and criminals spend their free time. I have a few questions I would like answered.” Blake nodded, and led them to a decrepit tavern, created from scrap like everything else. Inside were many Underhive dwellers, a majority of them mutated from the thousands of years of industrialization. Thuria observed this from the outside, before strolling inside casually. Celeste followed her, bolter loaded and in hand. Bartholomew and Blake followed. While Thuria was not wearing any Imperial symbols on her person, save for a necklace bearing the Aquila, the long coat and hat she wore almost instantly identified her as a ‘Witch Hunter’, as Inquisitors of her order were called in most Hive cities by those aware of them. The mutants noticed this, but ignored her in favor of drinking their swill.

 

Thuria sat down at the bar, taking out a pipe, filling it with tobacco, and lighting it. She looked around the room, her expression flat as she exhaled smoke. Celeste stood by the door, keeping on her guard in case fighting broke out. Blake sat at another end of the bar, ordering some unknown drink. Bartholomew sat next to Thuria. The bartender, a toothless pachydermous mutant about the size of a young Ork grunted irritably. “Wutcha want?”

 

Thuria said, her expression remaining stoic and unreadable, “Information.”

 

“...Wut kind?”

 

“I want to know who runs things in this area. Who do all the heretics, petty criminals, and street scum around here answer to?”

 

The bartender thought about this for a moment, then said, “You’ll wanna look for the D’large gang. Them’s fancy boys, they is. But them’s crazy too. Talkin’ about what they calls ultraviolence.”

 

Thuria nodded, getting up. “Thank you.” The bartender nodded. Blake, meanwhile, was meeting with an associate of his. This particular fellow was a member of the D’larges, dressed in a suit that all but said he was connected to one of the noble houses in the Spire, for which the gang was named...or rather, their leader.

 

“So,” Blake asked, taking a swig of his beverage. “How’re the boys doing, Marlow?”

 

“Everyone is a bit more on their toes now that there's Inquisitors in town.” Marlow replied, looking around nervously.

 

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry. Lord Freder more or less exiled them down here. They only have whatever wits came with them and the clothes on their backs.”

 

“You don't know these two like the bosses do. Or, rather, you don't know the lady Inquisitor like the bosses do. Among all of the Witch Hunters roaming the Imperium, she's known as the Witch Hunter.”

 

“I’ll buy that malarkey when that Sister by the door lets me fuck her.” Blake said with nonchalant sarcasm.

 

Marlow laughed nervously. “Believe me, you don't want to sleep with one of the Sisters. It's like trying to fuck burning cardboard.”

 

“And how would you know, umnik?” Blake asked, using the code language the gang often used. To one born in the long-ago Dark Age of Technology, they would recognize it as Russian. But to the D’larges, it was simply local slang.

 

“A troop of Sisters came into the Underhive about five years ago. A group of men tried to drug and rape their leader. We were still finding bits of them about a year later. The Sisters had cut them into ribbons and spread their body parts around the city.” Blake only gave an impressed whistle, unafraid of the mental images.

 

“In any case, we’re meeting for a reason.” Blake said. “I believe ol’ Aleksandr’s found a treasure trove of weapons.” He then narrowed his eyes. “What’s he plan to do with ‘em?”

 

A female voice spoke from behind him, the tone flat and uncaring, “If he is wise, he will hand them over to Inquisitor Thuria. If he is not wise, he won't be alive by this time next week.” Blake slowly turned to see Celeste staring at him. She could not have looked more unamused and hateful if she tried. It was not her who had spoken, however. There was another woman standing next to her. She wore a black, sleeveless dress, a necklace bearing the Imperial Aquila, and dress shoes. Her expression was flat, though contempt was clear in her eyes.

 

“Forget what I said about the Sister.” Blake muttered, nudging Marlow. “Now this woman is a fine piece of tail.”

 

Marlow laughed nervously once again. The woman looked harmless, but looks could be very deceiving. He had learned that the hard way. The woman in black said, her expression unchanging, “You touch me, you lose your hands.” Blake stared back, having expected she didn’t hear him.

 

“Who the shit are you?”

 

“My name is irrelevant. I am an Imperial Assassin, trained and honed by the Officio Assassinorum. We do not determine the guilty; we do not decide the punishment; we are merely the cold instruments of the Emperor's vengeance. There is no form of death unknown to us; there is no form of terror beyond our means; there is no enemy outside our reach. We are the blade that hovers over the throat of the traitor; we are the bullet that awaits the heretic's skull; we are the poison in the throat of the alien.”

 

“Well, Irrelevant,” Blake said, deciding to call her that since it would be easier. “That doesn’t matter here in the Underhive. While you’ll have a far easier time here than the lot of us, in the eyes of the Imperium, once you’re down here...you’re nothing.”

 

“You're a fool if you believe that Lord Freder exiled Inquisitors Thuria and Bartholomew, along with their retinues, down here. Inquisitors do what they wish, when they wish. Given sufficient cause, they can give orders to the High Lords of Terra. They, like me, are tools of the Emperor, bringing His holy wrath down upon the heads of traitors and heretics.”

 

“That may all be true, but let me tell you something, Irrelevant. Down here in the Underhive, no one cares for you; not even the Emperor Himself. We’re born here, we scavenge for our very existence here, and we die here. The only people you can trust are yourselves.”

 

She replied, completely unfazed, “And let me tell you something: The only reason that you are still alive, in spite of the heresy you speak, is because you still have uses, however meager they may be. The moment those uses run out, I'll cut your throat.”

 

“Whatever flies your ship, Irrelevant. I stopped caring about others years ago.”

 

She drew a knife, and drove it in between his fingers, the blade less than an inch from his hand. “Don't call me that.”

 

“I’ll call you whatever I please. But I’ll play your little game. If I lead you to the weapons, give me something in return. I don’t care what it is.”

 

She then put the blade against his throat, digging it in enough to draw blood. “Lead me to the weapons, and I will leave you with your life.”

 

“You don’t scare me in the slightest. But whatever, you named your price. I’ll lead you to the weapons...as soon as Marlow here tells me where they are.”

 

Marlow had apparently grown a spine since they had started speaking, as he refused to say a word. The assassin, who had been dubbed ‘Irrelevant’, sighed. “I had hoped this would remain civil.”

 

She sent a message off to Thuria, using a device on her wrist. The Inquisitor returned less than five minutes later. She, without a word, grabbed Marlow by the throat and dragged him into another room. After two minutes of silence, he began screaming. Blake merely shrugged. “Well, it was a good try. I’ll find those weapons somehow.”

 

Irrelevant said calmly, “You step out that door, I'll castrate you. Inquisitor Thuria will have answers soon enough.”

 

After about ten minutes of screaming and pleads for mercy, a gunshot echoed, and Marlow went silent. Thuria stepped out into the room again, covered in blood, the corpse of Marlow leaning against her. She laid him down on the bar and said to the bartender, “Nail him above your door as a warning to others.” The mutant nodded, and dragging the body in one hand and holding a hammer and rusted nails in the other, did so.

 

“Did you get what you needed?” Bartholomew asked.

 

“I did. He lasted until the fourth Action before his mind broke, and I got what I needed out of him. After that, the torture was just punishment for lying to an agent of the Inquisition.”

 

“Well, that’s the easy part done with.” said Blake. “Getting into Aleksandr’s base is going to be a bit more difficult.”

 

“What do you suggest?” Thuria asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the bar.

 

“You, Irrelevant, and that Sister over there disguise yourselves as whores. Your buddy and I will pose as members of the gang.” He then saw the horrified looks on their faces. “...Yeah, I know it’s unorthodox and shameful, but it’ll be easier if he thinks you three are servicers.”

 

“While I agree it is not only shameful, but stupid as well, there is merit in that plan.” said Bartholomew. “It’s obvious that this Aleksandr fellow, even under Inquisitional threat, won’t give up easily. So, why not appeal to his more carnal side?”

 

Thuria considered it, as, ultimately, the decision fell to her. “I don't like this, but I will go along with your plan. That said, you grope me and I'll disembowel you. Slowly.”

 

Blake nodded, and looked at Bartholomew. “Come on, Bart. Let’s get you fancied up.” Bartholomew, having come from Imperial aristocracy, was no stranger to being ‘fancied up’. Soon, they came back, the only difference being Bartholomew dressed in a fancy white suit and dress shoes.

 

The three women, on the other hand, looked much different. Thuria wore nothing but her undergarments, which amounted to little more than a red bra and panties, along with a corset, and her Aquila necklace. Celeste, looking like she would rather be fighting Tyranids hand-to-hand, wore a white robe that left very little to the imagination. Irrelevant was wearing nothing at all, save for her shoes. Blake and Bartholomew instantly became aroused, their bulges showing. “Well, this is embarrassing.” Bartholomew said.

 

Thuria rolled her eyes. “It's nothing you haven't seen before, Bartholomew. Most of the time, we both sleep nude.”

 

“...That is true.” said Bartholomew, blushing heavily. He admired Thuria, not only in the position of Inquisitor, but romantically as well. Thankfully, at least from his viewpoint, she was unaware of this. Thuria walked over to him, before kissing his cheek and whispering in his ear, “I'm glad we're partners, even though you're too damn nice for your own good.” Bartholomew smiled awkwardly.

 

“...Is it too late to say I love you?”

 

She kissed his lips gently, before pulling away and smiling a bit. “Is that answer enough?”

 

“Yes. Now let’s go.”

 

They left, traveling to the hideout of Aleksandr. The three women acted the part of whores, laughing and staggering about as if they were drunk. The building itself was a repurposed warehouse, heavily fortified with all sorts of weaponry and guards. The building itself stuck out like a sore thumb, the gray hulk rising above this section of the Underhive’s already gargantuan buildings. The guards stared, absolutely enticed by the three ‘whores’.

 

Blake, playing the role of Bartholomew’s servant boy, told the guards that these three were to be appointed into Aleksandr’s already large harem. The guards informed Aleksandr, and the group was led in. Bartholomew looked at Aleksandr, a 25 year old man who was far younger in terms of appearance, looking as if he were in his mid teens. He had long black hair and pale skin...and was short at about 4-5 feet. “You two.” he said to Thuria and Celeste. “Come with me. And refer to me as ‘master’ from this point forward.”

 

“Yes, master.” The two women responded, still playing the part of drunk, giggling whores. They followed him as he left the room.

 

“As for you,” said Bartholomew in an effort to stay in character to Irrelevant. “Come with us.” With a wink, Blake and Bartholomew led her away from the remaining guards, and began searching for the weapons.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was sitting on Aleksandr’s lap, running her hands all over him. He grinned, his large cock exposed. Looking at Celeste, he muttered, “Titjob.” Obeying, the Sister of Battle heaved her large bosom over his shaft, rubbing the flesh against it. Aleksandr then pulled Thuria into a kiss, their tongues intertwined. Thuria hated him with every fibre of her being, and decided that she would burn him on a stake as soon as she got the chance. Still, she had a part to play, and kissed him back fervently. Celeste continued giving him a titjob as he unhooked Thuria’s bra and groped her perversely. She acted as if she enjoyed it. Pretending he was Bartholomew made it easier. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a third girl: a young lady not much older than Blake, with frazzled red hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in a black bra and panties, and had a look in her eyes that had said she’d given up on freedom long ago. Her name was Quinn, and she looked at Thuria longingly.

 

Any and all carnal feelings Thuria had went away at that moment, replaced by cool, unquenchable rage. The girl was a child, and yet Aleksandr violated her anyway. Thuria believed that the Emperor loved children above all, and that He hated those who would harm them above all others. She bore many scars, similar to Thuria herself, but they were not from a lifetime of combat. They were from a lifetime of abuse. Celeste could see the look in Thuria’s eyes, but mouthed, “Wait until he climaxes.”

 

Thuria mouthed back, “No.”

 

With that, she shoved Celeste back, before drawing a knife from her panties and cutting off Aleksandr’s penis in one fluid motion. She put her hand over his mouth to muffle the scream she knew was coming. Celeste grinned, enjoying the look on his face. With a yell, she jumped at Aleksandr and slit his throat quickly, nodding towards Thuria to free Quinn. Thuria, however, had pulled her hand back enough that the throat injury was non lethal.

 

“No. This is too quick. We are going to burn him as a heretic when morning comes.” Thuria said, before going to remove the chains binding Quinn. She hugged Thuria close, burying her face in her bosom and crying softly.

 

“T-thank you…”

 

“Do you believe in the Emperor, child?” Thuria asked gently.

 

“Yes, mistress…” Oh dear...it was worse than Thuria could have imagined. The fact that Quinn referred to her as ‘mistress’ showed that the abuse ran deep.

 

“No. Do not call me mistress, child. Call me Thuria, or, if you absolutely insist on titles, Inquisitor. Not mistress. Never mistress.” She said, her tone gentle, yet firm.

 

“...Yes, Thuria.” she said, holding her close. Thuria slipped off her necklace, before putting it around Quinn’s neck and muttering in High Gothic, “The Emperor Protects…”

 

“No, He doesn’t…” Quinn said, crying softly as Celeste tortured Aleksandr for the fun of it.

 

Thuria whispered in her ear, “Who do you think sent us? He loves you, child. He loves all of His children.”

 

“Will you keep me safe and love me?” Quinn asked. Thuria closed her eyes as painful memories came back. Memories of hope and blood and a mother screaming. She pushed them away.

 

“I'll love you like you were of my own family.” She said softly. Quinn then kissed Thuria softly, not being familiar with the idea of familial love. While Thuria grudgingly admitted to herself that the kiss was enjoyable, she pulled away.

 

“I don't intend to take you as a lover, child. I intend to treat you like a little sister.”

 

“A...sister?”

 

Thuria sighed. This would take work, she knew. “I'll keep you safe, I promise. He won't hurt you again.”

 

Quinn’s only response was to hug her more. Celeste, meanwhile, taunted Aleksandr.

 

“Does baby want to suckle from this bosom?” she growled, punching the hole where his penis once was...then clawing out his testicles. He howled in pain, futilely trying to stop her. “Now, you will tell us why you have weapons in your fortress.”

 

“I'm not telling you shit, you crazy bitch!” Aleksandr responded. As far as he knew, Thuria and Celeste were simply prostitutes who were more than a bit insane.

 

“...You will tell us, lest the Emperor smite you.” Oh shit. These were Imperial women.

 

“You...you're...oh, shit...oh, fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck…”

 

“You know, if it weren’t for my Inquisitor partner over there, I’d still be giving you a titjob.” Celeste said, wanting to not only torment him physically but mentally as well. “If I guess correctly, you would have wanted a threesome at some point.” She then licked her lips seductively, just to twist in the knife further.

 

“What did I do? What was it I did that pissed off that rotting corpse you worship?” He groaned.

 

“You exist, you perverted sack of shit.” Celeste said. “Now, tell us: Why. Are you. Keeping weapons. In your fortress?!” She then smacked him, drawing blood from digging her nails into his face. “TELL US, DAMN YOU!”

 

“Why is I have weapons? Have you paid any attention to where we are? I'm hoarding weapons so my rivals don't raid this place and kill me in my sleep.”

 

“A noble intention, yes...but the weapons you hoard are heretical.”

 

“How? How are the guns I've gathered heretical?!”

 

“Thuria?”

 

Thuria stood, before saying, her tone filled with hatred and contempt, “They are heretical because you have plans for them that are considered heresy. Instead of using them to fight the Emperor’s enemies, you are using them to serve your own cowardly interests.”

 

Aleksandr groaned in pain again,  not responding. Thuria used the communication device on her wrist to contact another member of her retinue. She was a Sister of Battle from the Orders Hospitaller, a non-militant Order of the Adepta Sororitas dedicated to healing and the provision of medical care. Her name was Luciana, and she had worked with Thuria for many years. The message was simple: ‘Come to my location.’

 

‘I'm on my way.’

 

Ten minutes later, Luciana arrived. She wore body-fitting armor emblazoned with elaborate patterns of gold and red, with a black cloak slung over her shoulders, the hood down. She also wore a belt around her waist that contained various medical tools. She took one look around the room, before asking Celeste, “How long have you been torturing him?”

 

“Oh, a while, dear sister. I had to degrade myself to him, giving him stimulation via mammary.”

 

Luciana nodded, replying nonchalantly as she began taking medical supplies out of the belt she wore, “You do have a nice set, sister.”

 

Celeste expected this sort of comment from Luciana, and replied, “As do you. I enjoy seeing the look on this fool’s face as he imagines us suckling from one another.”

 

Luciana beckoned her over, before beginning to play with Celeste’s breasts, fondling each one in turn as she began working on Aleksandr. She moaned, breathing heavily from the stimulation. Luciana was a pervert, yes, but one Celeste could tolerate. The schmuck the former was working on, however, was to be burned for heresy...as well as being an intolerable pervert.

 

Luciana, of course, was quite familiar with the female breast, and rubbed where she knew Celeste would feel the most pleasure. She enjoyed hearing her fellow Sister of Battle moan, and could feel Celeste shifting her legs as she grew more aroused. Celeste was indeed aroused, partly due to how much Aleksandr was tormented by this display of female-on-female action.

 

Luciana asked, not bothering to avoid sounding crude, “You like having your massive tits groped, don't you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Luciana turned to her, before pulling Celeste into a sloppy kiss, exploring the latter's mouth with her tongue. Celeste kissed back, moaning as she wrapped her arms around Luciana. Luciana, after a minute, moved away from Celeste’s lips, kissing her jaw and neck. Celeste moaned louder and louder, pulling Luciana’s hood back. Luciana purred, trailing kisses down Celeste’s torso. She kissed the valley between her breasts, before taking Celeste’s left nipple into her mouth. For Celeste, this was absolute pleasure. For Aleksandr, this was hell. Luciana continued suckling like a hungry puppy, purring. Celeste noted how she could engage in lesbian sex and operate on Aleksandr at the same time with absolute accuracy. Nonetheless, she moaned, petting Luciana’s head. Luciana bit down lightly on her lover’s nipple, continuing to purr. Celeste gasped in pleasure, squirming and on the verge of orgasm. Luciana bit down harder, before she licked the hard nipple she held between her teeth.

 

“I am close, sister…” Celeste moaned out.

 

Luciana smirked, before sucking hard on Celeste’s nipple, swirling her tongue around it. With a yell, Celeste orgasmed, panting softly when she came down from the experience. Luciana rubbed her fingers along Celeste’s dripping slit, before bringing them to her mouth and licked the juices off her fingers. Celeste merely smiled, still stroking Luciana’s hair.

 

Quinn and Thuria had been watching the events proceed, the former absolutely dumbfounded. “D-does she always have sex while operating…?”

 

“Usually, yes.” Thuria replied.

 

“Does the gender matter?”

 

“She prefers women.”

 

“Ah. Is that normal for people like her?” And no, it wasn’t...well, it depended on the Sister.

 

“That depends, really. Many Sisters of Battle are too focused on purging heresy to worry about sex. That being said, during the long stretches of time between some campaigns, some of them find comfort and enjoyment with each other.”

 

“Like those two?”

 

Thuria nodded. Luciana had started eating Celeste out, swirling her tongue around her lover’s clit. This sex-operation continued on for a while, until Alexsandr was fully healed...and then taken into custody to await execution. Luciana, after finishing with him, went off to spend some alone time with Celeste. Meanwhile, Blake, Irrelevant, and Bartholomew had found the weapons hoard, and seized its cargo. Irrelevant looked over its contents. There were thousands of weapons inside, of all varieties. Bolters, chainswords, Tau battle rifles, Eldar weaponry…

 

“By the Emperor…” she muttered. “There are enough weapons here to supply a small army.”

 

“Good ol’ Aleksandr…” Blake muttered, momentarily distracted by Irrelevant’s body. “He’s prepared, that’s for sure.”

 

She noticed where he was looking. “You like my ass, street rat?”

 

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, sure…”

 

She shook it a bit to taunt him. It was obvious he was more focused on the weapons, however. Bartholomew pondered what they would do with all of them. Thuria entered the room, having put her usual garb back on.

 

“Good work, you three.” She said.

 

Before Bartholomew could respond, he saw Quinn tagging along, still dressed in her bra and panties. “...Huh…?”

 

“She was one of Aleksandr’s prostitutes. I freed her.”

 

Quinn waved. Bartholomew awkwardly waved back. “What do we do with these weapons?” he asked.

 

Thuria considered it. “What do you think we should do? I want to hear your input.”

 

“Give the weapons to the Guard.“ Bartholomew replied.

 

Thuria nodded. “The Guardsmen could use them. Very well. That’s what we will do.”

 

She admired the Imperial Guard above all other factions in the Imperium, even more than the Space Marines or Inquisition. The Guardsmen fought with more bravery than anyone else, due to having nothing more than weaponry and wits to fight the enemy. A gift of weaponry this massive would do nicely.

 

She said nonchalantly, her thoughts still focused on the Guard, “I had several posters of Ciaphas Cain in my bedroom as a young girl.”

 

“The Hero of the Imperium?” Bartholomew said. “Personally, I felt his tales too formulaic.”

 

“I always admired him. He is what every Commissar should aspire to be. I also always admired Amberley Vail.”

 

“Of course you would.”

 

“Amberley is quite a woman.” Thuria said. “She was the reason I joined the Inquisition to begin with. She is an old friend of my family, actually.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Thuria nodded. “Yes. I always called her ‘Auntie Amberley.’” Bartholomew snorted before kissing her. She kissed him back, a bit surprised, but pleased, nonetheless. Blake looked at them, and coughed awkwardly.

 

“You know...I think we should use this fortress as a base.” he suggested.

 

Thuria was too focused on the kiss she and Bartholomew were sharing to respond. It was out-of-character, certainly, but she didn’t really care at that moment. She pulled him close, feeling happy for the first time in a long while. Quinn watched nervously, unsure of what to do. After another minute, Thuria pulled away.

 

“That was…”

 

“Amazing?”

 

“Yes.” Bartholomew hugged Thuria. She hugged him back, before pulling back and turning to Blake. “Your idea has merit.”

 

“It does?”

 

“Yes. My retinue will take up residence here.”

 

“Good.”

 

She turned to Bartholomew, before saying, gesturing to Quinn, “Get her some clothes, will you?” Bartholomew nodded, and got a tunic for Quinn, who put it on. Thuria nodded in approval.

 

The next day, Aleksandr was burned at the stake. All of his guards burned along with him. Aleksandr’s entire harem, along with hundreds of others, attended. Before they were executed, Thuria addressed them.

 

“I, Thuria Braxton, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, by the power vested in me by the most holy God-Emperor of Terra, judge you guilty of heresy against the Imperium of Man. The sentence for this crime is death. May these cleansing flames purge you of sin. Do you have any final words before the flames of holy judgement are lit?”

 

One of the guards spat at her. “Self-righteous cunt!”

 

Thuria said nothing. His petty insults didn’t bother her in the slightest. She looked at Aleksandr.

 

“Anything you wish to say?”

 

“I never did get that threesome.” he said dryly.

 

Thuria couldn’t help but snort. “You don’t fear death, do you?”

 

“I don’t. No one in this shithole does.”

 

“Is there anyone here who worships the Emperor? Or have you all rejected His light?”

 

None spoke, until one of Alexsandr’s girls spoke. “I worship the Emperor.”

 

“Good. His light can guide the soul at the darkest of times. I am sure you can attest to that.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“He won’t harm you again. No one will.” Thuria said. “I promise you that.”

 

“BURN HIM!” roared the crowd.

 

“Just know…” growled Aleksandr. “There are consequences to your actions.”

 

“Oh? Like what?” She asked mockingly.

 

“The nobles...they will have your head.”

 

“Which nobles are you referring to? Most members of nobility like their power too much to cross an Inquisitor.”

 

“Erm…”

 

Thuria had heard enough. She turned to Celeste. “Light the pyres.” The Sister of Battle nodded, and struck a match, tossing it at the pyre’s foot. The tiny flame was enough, setting the wood ablaze. The flames crept up the pyres, beginning to burn Aleksandr and his guards alive.

 

“CURSE ALL OF YOU!” Aleksander screamed as the flames consumed him.

 

Thuria made the sign of the Aquila. “The Emperor Protects.”

 

“FUCK YOOOOOU!” And those were his last words. The stench of charred flesh and smoke drifted over the whole area. Thuria stood stoically, her expression flat. She had burned hundreds upon hundreds of heretics; Aleksandr and his guards were no different than the rest in her eyes. The crowd of scantily-dressed men and women stood there...and cheered. The elderly priest was trying to get the crowd to sing a hymn, to no avail. They cheered for quite a while, before piling into Aleksandr’s former base. Thuria’s retinue had to shoot ten of them dead before they finally got the hint and left. The crowd dispersed, Bartholomew and Blake following the retinue.

 

Luciana treated Celeste, who had been wounded trying to drive the crowd away. She held her close, kissing her lover softly. Luciana worked on stitching up Celeste’s injuries as they kissed, purring. Their tongues wrestled in a passionate embrace, wrapping around each other. Celeste was topless, which Luciana took full advantage of, gleefully groping her lover’s breasts. Celeste let out impassioned moans, muffled by the kisses. Luciana rolled Celeste’s nipples, pulling on the hardened nubs playfully. This only caused her to moan louder and more lewdly, a blush painting her cheeks. Luciana, due to the fact that Celeste was sitting on her lap, could feel how wet her ‘patient’ was getting. Celeste briefly broke the kiss and whispered, “Take me…”

 

Luciana tugged off Celeste’s undergarments, as she had told Celeste to wear nothing but when she began treating her wounds, and began rubbing her lover’s clit with a thumb, teasing her. Celeste held her close and let the ‘doctor’ do her work.

 

“Tell me what you want me to do, lover, and I'll do it.” Luciana purred.

 

“I want you to suckle from me. Grind against me...make me orgasm until I can feel nothing.”

 

Luciana smirked, before beginning to suckle from Celeste’s left tit, swirling her tongue around the hardened nipple. Celeste held her head, softly stroking her hair. Luciana slid two fingers into Celeste’s wet slit, fingering her as she continued rubbing her clit. Celeste kept moaning, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Luciana licked her lover’s nipple, squeezing Celeste’s right breast with her free hand. Celeste, on the verge of orgasm, panted fervently.

 

“Cum for me, Celeste.” Luciana purred, curling her fingers and biting down on the nipple she had been suckling from. Celeste obliged, squirting an entire load. Luciana purred again, licking her fingers clean, knowing it would make Celeste blush. “I love the way your juices taste.”

 

“...Thank you…”

 

Luciana grinned, taking off her own armor and undergarments, before placing Celeste’s hands on her breasts. She squeezed them on instinct, rubbing Luciana’s nipples. The medic purred. “Yes...just like that…” Celeste kept squeezing, and soon began suckling softly on Luciana’s breasts. Luciana moaned softly, holding her head.

 

“Yes...suckle on my tit, lover...that feels so good…” Celeste merely obeyed, reasoning that it was ‘doctor’s orders’. Luciana kissed her head.

 

“Keep going, Celeste. I'm so damned wet…” she gasped, legs squirming. Celeste continued suckling, then began fingering Luciana, returning the favor. Luciana moaned louder, her climax approaching. Celeste stuck her index finger straight into Luciana’s vagina, rubbing her g-spot. Luciana shuddered, her orgasm overtaking her as the pleasure she felt reached its peak. When she came down from the intensely enjoyable high, she panted.

 

“I think I love you…” She whispered to Celeste, continuing to pant.

 

“I think I feel the same way…”

 

Luciana grinned, kissing her. Celeste blushed, and kissed back. The two of them eventually fell asleep together. Thuria, meanwhile, stood in front of the members of Aleksandr’s former harem, her hands linked behind her back. She was considering what was to be done with the girls. All of them had been provided with tunics and shoes, as well as food and warm baths. Her stoic expression proved to be very unnerving to the already nervous group of former prostitutes and whores. Perhaps they would serve as Guardsmen. Thuria looked them over again.

 

“Do any of you know how to fight?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Not even how to use a gun?” She asked, incredulous. “I thought everyone in this wretched city knew how to do that.”

 

“Not us.”

 

“So, what can you do?”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Is that all?” the Inquisitor asked dryly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Unbelievable. Just how long had you been serving Aleksandr as whores before I arrived?”

 

“Years for some of us.”

 

“I'd like to hear from more voices than just yours. What did he do to get you all to not attempt escape?”

 

“He treated us well.” one male spoke up.

 

Thuria said softly, her tone cold, “Don't lie to me. Lying to an Inquisitor can get one branded as a heretic, and I kill heretics.”

 

“...He threatened our livelihoods.” a woman of 30 said.

 

“Oh?” She said, raising a brow. The woman nodded.

 

“Explain.”

 

“He said if we didn’t service him, he’d slaughter us and our families.”

 

“Well, that threat is being repaid as we speak. I sent an assassin in my service after his family.”

 

“...He’s connected with nobility…” the woman realized.

 

“I am an Inquisitor, charged with hunting and exterminating the traitor, mutant and heretic.  Lofty titles and family names mean nothing to me.” Thuria said firmly.

 

“Prepare for unforeseen consequences…”

 

Thuria’s response was calm and to the point, “Anyone who comes after me down out of some misguided sense of vengeance dies.”

 

The others understood perfectly. Thuria could see they were still afraid despite this.

 

“What are you all so afraid of?”

 

“You.” they answered.

 

“Me? Why?”

 

“You’re an Inquisitor.” said Bartholomew, appearing beside Thuria.

 

“Yes, but I am not as extreme as others of our order. Usually.” Thuria said.

 

“Still, they fear you.”

 

“Fear can be good. With the universe as hostile as it is, with every other race trying to kill us, being afraid is a perfectly reasonable response.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Of course, they also know that I'll start being a lot less nice if I suspect any of them of heresy. Oh, who am I kidding? I suspect everyone of heresy.”

 

Bartholomew laughed.

 

“Even you.” Thuria said, lip twitching a bit, the ghost of a smile on her face.

 

“Absolutely true.”

 

It was clear from the way they spoke that they had worked together for many years. Thuria trusted Bartholomew more than anyone, save for Amberley, who she looked at like an aunt. He merely grinned stupidly. Thuria snorted, turning back to the girls.

 

“I'm not going to shoot any of you, so quit shaking.” They didn’t. Thuria sighed.

 

“What do I have to do to alleviate the terror you feel? Fear of the universe at large is healthy. Fear of your liberators is not.” No answer. Thuria sighed again.

 

“Very well. Be as afraid of me as you like. You all are free to stay here, or go elsewhere, at your leisure. The choice is yours, but if you leave this fortress, I cannot guarantee your safety.” The girls only nodded. Thuria turned on her heel, leaving the room. She noted as she passed the other members of her retinue just how many of them were Sisters of Battle from various orders. This, naturally, led to many within the Inquisition and Imperial Guard calling her retinue the Bolter Bitch Brigade. Thuria found the nickname amusing. Most of the Sisters did not.

 

She went looking for Blake, curious as to what he had gotten himself into in the short time he had been in the fortress, and eventually found him. He was browsing the archives, amazed at Aleksandr’s knowledge. Thuria began doing the same.

 

“For an abusive womanizer, he certainly gathered a surprising amount of knowledge on the profane and arcane.” She said.

 

“Especially when it comes to the Prince of Pleasure…”

 

Thuria went through the archive. She took out the tomes that could prove to be useful to the Ordo Malleus, then had the rest burned. She could not allow any of the tomes that the Inquisition didn't need to survive, as they could lead to problems down the road. Blake studied the surviving tomes, perusing for any interesting information. There wasn’t much, at least none he cared about. The Inquisition would find it very useful, as it would help with hunting Daemons and Chaos cultists.

 

Thuria lit her pipe, exhaling smoke, her thoughts drifting. She wondered briefly where Amberley Vail had ended up, as the Inquisitor in question was a member of the Ordo Xenos, which concerned itself with different quarry than the Ordo Hereticus. She hoped her ‘aunt’ was doing alright.

 

“What are your plans now, street rat?” She asked, blowing a smoke ring.

 

“Not sure.”

 

“May I offer you a bit of advice?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Life is short, harsh and brutal. Make it meaningful, for tomorrow you may be dead.”

 

“Why should I? Like you said, I’ll be dead any day now.”

 

“Which is why you must do what you can with the time you do have. You may live to be one hundred. You may live to be fifty. You may not even live to be twenty five. But, regardless, you must make the time you live meaningful, even if the galaxy at large will not remember it.”

 

“So be like Aleksandr, a douchebag hedonist?” he joked.

 

“I'll force you to your knees and put a bolter shell through your skull if you do what he did, so, no, not like Aleksandr.” Thuria replied dryly.

 

“It was a joke.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You have no sense of humor.”

 

“You want to hear a joke? Fine. How many Inquisitors does it take to change a light bulb?”

 

“None, because heretics are the light bulb.”

 

“...Damn it, you've heard that one before. Though, the punchline is that it actually only takes one. One to accuse the light bulb of heresy and set it on fire.”

 

“That’s far better.”

 

“You don't like me very much, do you?”

 

“Do you like me?”

 

“You are...tolerable.”

 

“The feeling is mutual.”

 

She snorted. “You've got stones, kid. I'll give you that.”

 

“Same to you.”

 

“Most people wouldn't say they ‘tolerate’ an Inquisitor. They're too busy trying to draw as little attention as possible.”

 

“And if they do say it, they’d be accused of heresy.”

 

“Inquisitors are agents of the Emperor’s will, come to purge the heretic, cultist and xeno with holy fire. Most we encounter are afraid we have come to judge them, so they say as little as possible.”

 

“And given your actions, is it any surprise?”

 

“As hard as it may be to believe, I am actually not as extreme as many in the Inquisition.”

 

“You aren’t?”

 

“No, I'm not. A large number of other Inquisitors would have burned you at the stake as a heretic already because of your defiant nature.”

 

“True.”

 

“You may tolerate me, but you also wish to sleep with me. Correct?”

 

“I...I never said that…”

 

“You don't have to. I've noticed you staring.”

 

“Erm…”

 

Thuria snorted. “I'm not going to kill you. In fact, I'm actually flattered. It's not often people look past my Inquisitor persona and see the woman underneath.”

 

“...Both physical and personality-wise.”

 

“Exactly. People, with good reason, see me as an unflinching agent of the Emperor’s will, by there is more to me than just that. I have hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares, just like everyone else.”

 

“So do I.”

 

“Yes, but you can afford to make mistakes. I have billions of lives resting on my shoulders, which makes it vital I don't slip up.”

 

“...Wanna relieve that stress?”

 

Thuria walked over to Blake, before pulling him into a kiss. It was forceful, her tongue exploring his mouth. Blake kissed her back, his tongue wrapping around hers. She purred, pressing herself against him, her hands running over his body. He began groping her, moans muffled. Thuria reached down, beginning to stroke his stiffening manhood. Blake’s eyes rolled back, himself absolutely encapsulated with pleasure. She continued stroking him, a smirk on her face. Blake began to strip her, admiring her figure. She purred at the attention, cupping her breasts.

 

“Do you like what you see?”

 

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

 

“Thuria. Call me Thuria, at least in private.”

 

“Yes...Thuria.”

 

She pulled him into another kiss. Blake kissed back, playing with Thuria’s breasts as he held her close. She moaned softly, going back to stroking him. He moaned, starting to cum. She purred, the spurts of cum covering her stomach and chest. He began suckling on her breasts, biting the nipples fervently.

 

“Gentle, lover...be gentle.” Thuria whispered. “I prefer those I sleep with to be gentle.” His bites softened, replaced by nibbling and licking. This caused Thuria to moan, holding his head. He kept this up, nuzzling Thuria’s cleavage. She moaned louder, growing very wet. He reached into her robes, fingering her quickly. She shrugged them off, allowing him better access to her slit. He continued fingering, and eventually went down on her. She gasped, holding his head. His tongue explored her folds, her sweet-tasting nether juices coating it. Her moans grew steadily louder, culminating in a shriek as she climaxed. Blake drank her juices, then snuggled against Thuria.

 

“By the Emperor...that was…” Thuria said, panting.

 

“Fantastic?”

 

“Yes... “ Blake grinned, kissing her.

 

“I’m not getting any ideas. We’re strictly fuck buddies.”

 

“Do you want to be more than that?” She asked curiously.

 

“Maybe at a later point, once we know each other more.”

 

She nodded, before kissing Blake again and getting on top of him. “We're not done yet.”

 

“We aren’t, are we?” He smirked.

 

She shook her head, rubbing her slit against his cock. Blake slowly grinded against her, moaning. She moaned with him, pulling Blake into a passionate, sloppy kiss. Blake moaned again, thrusting into Thuria as he did. She moved with him, her hips gyrating, moaning and gasping in pleasure. Blake continued pushing his large, hard cock into her, trying to make the experience gentle yet milking as much pleasure from her as possible. She purred, kissing his neck as he fucked her. Blake stroked her hair, holding Thuria close to him as he hit her most pleasurable areas. She approached her climax, her moans growing steadily louder. Blake moaned, pulling her off of him as he came, the warm semen oozing down the sides of his penis. Thuria came at the same time he did, her juices flowing out of her moist slit, a satisfied moan escaping her lips. Blake snuggled against her, purring. She kissed him again tiredly, before falling asleep in his arms. Blake carried her into a bedroom, and stayed with her the whole night...or it might’ve been day; it was hard to tell in the Underhive, if not impossible.

 

Meanwhile, far above in the Spires, the sun shone down on the noble houses, the bright blue sky adding to the facade of peace. Lord Freder, the de facto ruler of the hive city, reclined in a chair, sipping the finest wine. The man certainly thought highly of himself, considering he thought nothing of giving orders to Inquisitors. The fact that Thuria would likely shoot him in the head after leaving the Underhive never crossed his mind. He had exiled her, after all. So, to him, there was nothing to worry about. Of course, he hadn't exiled her, or her retinue. Inquisitors were the Emperor’s agents of justice, and took orders from no one. To most, they were unshakeable harbingers of wrath and retribution, beings to be feared and respected at all costs. To Freder, they were merely political officers who thought too highly of themselves, and didn't have the power to back up their threats. Freder, lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice a messenger arrive.

 

“Lord Freder...I have an important message for you.” The man said.

 

“Yes? Make it quick.”

 

“It is from one Inquisitor Amberley Vail. She wishes to meet. Now.”

 

“...Fine.” Lord Freder said, getting up. Amberley met him in the gardens of his manor. She wore light combat armor with a short, red cape. Her back was to him when he arrived. “What do you want?” he grumbled disrespectfully.

 

“Do you greet all of your guests this rudely, Tomas?” She asked, her tone one of dry amusement.

 

“...Oh…” Freder said, fear in his voice. “...What is it you seek, Inquisitor…”

 

“Ah, my use of your first name unnerve you a bit?”

 

“Y-yes…”

 

“Relax. I'm not my niece. I don't torture people unless I have to.” Amberley said, still not facing him.

 

“What is you seek, Inquisitor?”

 

“Where did Thuria Braxton and her retinue go?”

 

“...I cannot say.” he lied.

 

“Maximus? Cassius?” She said, addressing the two Guardsmen who had come with her.

 

“...I EXILED THEM INTO THE UNDERHIVE!”

 

“Exiled? You believe you exiled them? By our Holy Emperor, you are a fool.” Amberley replied, laughing a bit.

 

“They killed my son!”

 

“She likely killed your son because you tried commanding her. Giving an order to an Inquisitor is a monumentally stupid idea, even for the mightiest of lords.”

 

“She still killed him! She wishes to carry out the Emperor’s word, then let her do so in the Underhive!”

 

It was at that moment that Amberley, known to many as a kind woman, got angry. She turned around, before driving her knee into his stomach before he could react. Freder gripped his stomach in pain, falling into the dirt he stood on.

 

“Thuria has gone through more suffering than you will ever know. Do not insult her in my presence again.” Amberly said, her voice cold.

 

“You plan to rescue her from her fate? Good luck…” Freder said, laughing weakly.

 

“I do. After all, I have acted as her mother for many years, and what mother would leave their child to face danger and death alone?”

 

She walked away from him, but not before speaking to the two Guardsmen. “You have five ,minutes. Beat him as much as you like, but leave him alive.”

 

“You cannot treat a noble this way! If you go down there, then you will be exiled just like that whore!”

 

Amberley froze, her fists clenching. “Say that again.”

 

“You. Will. Be. Exiled. Just. Like. That. Whore.”

 

Amberley was glad Ciaphas wasn't with her. He would have been quite shocked at what she did after Freder finished speaking. It would be said after that the screams carried across the Spire. When his servants found him, Freder was blind, deaf and without his tongue. He would now be an effective outcast, his servants having to govern the hive in his place.

 

It came as a surprise to Thuria, after she had woken up, when Amberley was waiting for her in one of the many dining rooms of the fortress. The younger woman dropped the cup of tea she was holding in shock, the porcelain mug shattering.

 

“A-aunt Amberley?” She said, her eyes wide.

 

Amberley smiled. “Hello, Thuria.”

 

“Ah, hello, Amberley.” said Bartholomew.

 

“Hello, Bart. How are you?”

 

“Well, given our current situation.”

 

“Good.” Amberley replied, just as Thuria hugged her tightly. Amberley hugged her back. Blake, sitting nearby, waved.

 

“Hello!” he greeted Amberley warmly.

 

“Hello!” she replied, just as warmly.

 

“You must be Amberley. I’m Blake, or as Thuria here calls me, ‘street rat’.”

 

“It is nice to meet you, Blake.”

 

“Your niece and I are lovers.” This caused Bartholomew to choke on his food.

 

“You what…?” Bartholomew asked.

 

“We’re lovers. Does that bother you?”

 

“N-no, but…”

 

Thuria promptly swatted the back of Blake’s head. “OW!”

 

“Did you have to be so tactless about it?” She asked.

 

“If by ‘tactless’, you mean ‘honest’, then yes.”

 

Thuria facepalmed. Blake ignored her, making small talk with Amberley. Amberley was a very pleasant woman, and was easy to get along with.

 

Celeste, meanwhile, napped. Luciana laid beside her, gently stroking her hair. She moaned in her sleep. The medic smirked, holding her close. The Sister awoke, smiling gently.

 

“Hello, lover.” Luciana said.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Sleep well?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.” Celeste kissed her. Luciana kissed her back, purring.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.” Celeste stroked her lover. Luciana continued to purr. “Will we...ever escape from this horrid place?”

 

“We are not trapped here. Lord Freder is a fool if he thinks he can command us.” That reassured Celeste, if only a little. Luciana held her close.

 

“Don't be afraid, my love. I will be with you.”

 

“I know…”

 

“I've loved you for quite a long time, you know.”

 

“You have?”

 

Luciana nodded.

 

“Since when?”

 

“Oh...since the first time we met.” The medic replied sheepishly.

 

Celeste kissed her playfully. “Ah, the old cliche…” she laughed.

 

Luciana laughed as well. “Well, what can I say? The first time I laid eyes on you, I was...well, I was entranced. I fell fast, and I fell hard.”

 

“And working with you has been a...pleasurable experience, especially when you perform surgeries.”

 

Luciana smirked, before gently beginning to remove the skirt and leggings Celeste was wearing. “I think that I need to perform an oral operation on my favorite patient…”

 

“Please do, Sister…” Celeste purred. Luciana smirked at her once again, before she began eating Celeste out, her tongue swirling around her lover’s clit. Celeste held her head, moaning loudly. Luciana purred, continuing to pleasure her fellow Sister with her tongue. Celeste kept moaning, growing louder until she climaxed all over Luciana’s face. Luciana purred, cleaning off the juices that had landed around her mouth with her tongue.

 

“My, oh, my...you are quite the squirter, Celeste…” Luciana whispered, grinning.

 

“I am, aren’t I?”

 

“Oh, yes. Now…”

 

Luciana removed her own clothing. “...it is your turn to pleasure me.”

 

“Gladly.” Celeste said, going down on her lover and eating her out. Luciana gasped softly, stroking Celeste’s hair. She explored every inch of Luciana’s womanhood, tasting every last place of flesh. Luciana moaned, leaning back and groping her own breasts to increase the pleasure she felt.

 

“Yes...just like that…” Celeste obeyed her lover’s whims, sticking her tongue straight into Luciana’s g-spot and licking around it. Luciana gasped loudly, rapidly approaching her climax. Celeste knowingly stretched out her last lick of the spot to maximize Luciana’s orgasm. Luciana moaned loudly as she came, her juices drenching her lover’s face.

 

“B-by the Emperor…” she panted. Celeste grinned, and kissed Luciana’s dripping womanhood before licking the juices off her face. Luciana continued to pant.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did. You are very talented with your tongue.”

 

“Oh, stop. You are too kind.”

 

Luciana chuckled. “It's true!” Celeste snuggled into her, lightly sucking at her bosom. Luciana stroked her hair, purring softly. Celeste soon fell asleep, her mouth on one of Luciana’s nipples. Luciana continued stroking her hair, falling asleep not long after.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, stood on a balcony, smoking her pipe. Blake and Bartholomew followed her, gazing at the shantytown beneath them and the expansive wasteland beyond. Thuria was silent, the smoke-filled exhales being the only sound she made.

 

“You know what they called this in the pre-Imperial books?” Blake asked.

 

“Hell.” Bartholomew answered. “Hive cities remind me of an Old Terra genre known as ‘post-apocalyptic’, both on the surfaces of the planets and in an Underhive like this.”

 

Thuria still didn't speak, instead choosing to focus on smoking. “She’s beautiful, you know.” said Blake. “You’re a lucky guy, Bart.”

 

“So are you, seeing as you’re her lover now.” he laughed.

 

“Hey, we’re on a strictly ‘fuck buddy’ basis.” Blake retorted.

 

“I'm standing right here.” Thuria interjected, her tone flat.

 

“Oh, sorry.” said Blake sheepishly, making a hasty exit as Bartholomew stared, bewildered.

 

“He is certainly forward.”

 

“Allow me to be clear, Bartholomew. He and I are not lovers. I only slept with him because I needed a bit of stress relief. I do not love him in any sense of the word.”

 

She walked over to him, taking his hands in hers. “It is you that I love, old friend.”

 

“I had a feeling you did.” he said. “And besides, I think from Blake’s end, the feeling is mutual.”

 

She nodded, before relighting her pipe. Bartholomew took it, smoked it briefly, then handed it back. Thuria snorted.

 

“You like the taste?” she asked, amused. “This pipe is filled with the best tobacco in the Imperium.”

 

“...Were you expecting anything less? You know I like a smoke every now and then.”

 

She offered him the pipe. “Smoke away.”

 

“Smoke on the water.” he quipped, before taking the pipe and taking a long deep puff. “It’s great.”

 

Thuria chuckled, before looking out over the shantytown again. “By the Emperor, we have known each other a long time, haven't we?”

 

“Yes. Why do you bring it up?”

 

“I am in a mood for reflection. Remind me: how did we meet?”

 

“I believe I was interrogating a Slaaneshi priestess.” Bartholomew recalled. “She seduced me, and I was nearly fucked to death.”

 

“That's right! We were both acolytes at the time. I was in the area with the Inquisitor who was training me. We came across you and the priestess you were being seduced by, and I shot her in the head.”

 

“That was far from a fun experience, and a terrible way to lose my virginity.”

 

“After that, the two of us began training under the same Inquisitor, you having transferred to the Ordo Hereticus. Thoros Greyscarr, his name was. A grumpy old bastard, but a wonderful mentor.” Thuria replied.

 

“Nice old chap. I recall when he and I would prank call the Administratum.” Bartholomew laughed. Thuria chuckled.

 

“Ah, yes. You both succeeded at pissing off a lot of bureaucrats.”

 

“Except one fellow. Hugh Jass, I believe his name was. Good sport about it.”

 

“Until I shot him for selling Imperial secrets to Chaos cultists.” She replied dryly.

 

“Ah yes. Nonetheless, good sport about the prank calls.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“I also recall how I met Ciaphas Cain. HERO OF THE IMPERIUM!”

 

Thuria paused, slowly turning towards him. “You...you met…”

 

“Yes.”

 

Thuria blinked. “He's been dead for decades. How did you manage to meet him?”

 

“Well, I was on a Daemon World for training…” he began, then saw the look in Thuria’s eyes. “Was it something I said?”

 

“Ciaphas Cain is one of my heroes. I would have killed to have been able to meet him!” Thuria responded.

 

“Erm...I also first met your aunt through one of my prank calls. Albert Coholic. Yes, that’s who I wanted to speak to.”

 

Thuria snorted. “Aunt Amberley undoubtedly found that amusing.”

 

“You are being sarcastic, no?”

 

“No, I'm not. She is a very humorous woman, and she loves to laugh.”

 

“Albert Coholic...I could’ve gone with Amanda Hugandkiss.”

 

Thuria chuckled. After this, a comfortable silence fell. Amberley, meanwhile, was talking to Blake.

 

“You’re pretty nice, Inquisitor Vail.”

 

“Please, there is no need for formalities. Call me Amberley.”

 

“Alright...Amberley. I have a friend who says he knows you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Seymour Butz.”

 

A brief pause, then Amberley snorted into her tea. “Very funny.”

 

“Indeed. I learn these jokes from books. Knowledge is the best kind of food.”

 

She said, sipping her tea, “Knowledge can also be very dangerous. Inquisitors know that better than most. Reading the wrong book can drive you mad.”

 

“I see…” said Blake. “Tell me, Amberley. Have you ever heard of a show called Mighty Transforming Power Armor Guardsmen?”

 

“Yes, I've heard of it. It is quite popular amongst young children.”

 

“I still watch it, you see. The battles between the monsters and the heroes are amazing. What I prefer, however, is the characters themselves.”

 

“You know, the creators of the show actually based two of the characters off myself and...Ciaphas.”

 

“You mean…”

 

Amberley looked off to the side, wiping the tears away before they fell.

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

“I'm alright. Continue your thought.”

 

“You mean you knew Ciaphas Cain?”

 

This made Amberley tear up even more, sniffling a bit.

 

“Knew him?” she asked softly. “I loved him.”

 

“O-oh...I’m sorry…”

 

Amberley took a shaky breath, sipping her tea. “Ciaphas was one of the best men I have ever known, and is an example of what every citizen of the Imperium should aspire to be. Despite this, he always thought himself a coward, only surviving through sheer luck and the help of others. It made me sad to read his memoirs, knowing that I would never be able to tell him how I truly felt. I fell in love, not with Commissar Cain, the hero, but with Ciaphas, the man...and what a wonderful man he was…”

 

“And the creators of the Power Armor Guardsmen based a character off of him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Commissar Collin Anders.”

 

“The mentor to the Guardsmen...amazing.”

 

She nodded, smiling sadly. “I made copies of Ciaphas’ memoirs, so the writers of the show could read them and get an idea of what the Hero of the Imperium was really like.”

 

“And that’s why Anders is such a fantastic character. My only gripe with the show is with the Emperor Titan they use in every episode. An Imperial Titan isnt made up of six color-coded individual parts. I’ve seen Titan wrecks. I should know.”

 

“The show isn't exactly known for being realistic. How else can you explain a team of less than ten Guardsmen lasting as long as they do?”

 

“Fair point. Another common complaint is why more than one monster isn’t sent at a time.”

 

“It depends on the monster. The average Daemon usually isn't that hard to kill. A Daemon Prince, on the other hand…”

 

“Yeah...that must be why the Daemon Prince who’s the main villain never gets up from his throne.”

 

She nodded. “Now, care to take a guess which character they based off of me?”

 

“Was it the Yellow Guardsman, Thuy? Or Amy, the Pink Guardsman?” Blake guessed.

 

“Amy was based off of me. Thuy was based off of Thuria.”

 

“But Amy’s more...girly. You aren’t.” Blake replied.

 

“They took a few creative liberties. Besides, I'll have you know that I can wear a dress well.”

 

“And, honestly, you don’t look much older than your niece.” Blake said.

 

“Thank the rejuvenat treatments.” Amberley said, chuckling.

 

“She is...hot, to put it in a way.” Blake said. “Tactless, I know.”

 

“Oh, you are hardly the first to say it. Thuria rivals many of the Sisters of Battle in the beauty department.”

 

“Ah.” said Blake. “Getting back on track, my favorite Guardsmen is David, the blue one. He’s very...open about his homosexuality.”

 

She nodded. “Sexuality actually matters very little in the Imperium, as long as you are not sleeping with xenos or heretics.”

 

“...And if I may say, you aren’t so bad looking yourself.”

 

This caught Amberley by surprise. After a brief pause, she said quietly, “Thank you, Blake.”

 

“It’s no problem. Ladies such as yourself should be complimented.” Blake replied, but he took note of her tone. “You thanked me quietly. Why?”

 

“The last person to give me such a sincere compliment was Ciaphas.” Amberley responded.

 

“Ah. I apologize for any feelings I may have dredged up.”

 

She waved her hand dismissively. “No apology necessary. I genuinely appreciate the compliment.”

 

“Well, you’re welcome.”

 

She noticed him looking her over. Amberley grinned a bit, leaning back in her chair and sipping her tea. “I am glad I am so appealing to you, Blake.”

 

“Oh! Ummm...uhhh…”

 

His stammering made her giggle.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“You! By the Emperor, your tongue must be tied in knots!”

 

“Yes it is. What’s it to you?”

 

Amberley giggled again. “What? You've never stared at a woman you thought was attractive before?”

 

“Other than the whores that Aleksandr provided me when he was alive, no.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“You are rather attractive, though.”

 

“I gathered your opinion on that due to the staring.”

 

“Uhhhh...can we change the subject?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

“Is it incredibly awkward to know I slept with your niece?”

 

“No. Bartholomew has done the same in the past.”

 

“Ah. I think you and I will be great friends.”

 

“As do I.” Amberley said. “In this grim, dark galaxy we live in, one can never have too many friends.”

 

“Agreed. You never know when you’ll need a friend to back you up on a life-or-death mission.”

 

“Or to lean on for support in the darkest of times.”

 

“Heh, heh...support.” Blake then blushed. “...Sorry.”

 

Amberley snorted. And so, the two of them just stared at the horizon.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was sitting with Bartholomew, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.” he finally confessed.

 

Thuria kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Bart.”

 

“Hey, Thuria?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you know a woman named Anita Bath?”

 

“Yes. She's friends with Hitchi Crack.” This caused Bartholomew to snort and laugh. Thuria grinned.

 

“Another question.” Bartholomew said. “Do you know a woman named Mary Mi?”

 

Thuria blinked, looking at him in surprise.

 

“Well, do you?” he asked, grinning.

 

“...Yes.” Now it was his turn to stare and blink at her in surprise.

 

“D-did you just say…”

 

She nodded. Bartholomew hugged her tightly. She hugged him back.

 

“I know you meant it as a joke, but we really cannot afford to wait if we wish to be wed, can we?”

 

“We can’t.” he agreed. “Should we...altar the speed?”

 

Thuria groaned at the pun. “Emperor have mercy…”

 

“Oh, come now. That’s punny.”

 

“Just shut up and kiss me, you fool.” He did. She purred, kissing him back.

 

“Wanna know something funny? I’ve been wanting to propose for a while.”

 

“Have you, now?”

 

“Yes. I’m a nervous wreck when I get near you, usually.”

 

“Is that why you never told me how you really felt until recently?”

 

“Yes. I was, as the chefs of Holy Terra term it, ‘nervous pudding’.”

 

She chuckled, gently stroking his cheek. “Are you nervous now?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good.” Thuria said, before gently kissing him. He kissed back, squeezing her hand. She purred, pulling him close. Grinning through the kiss, he began to disrobe. She did the same, slipping off her clothes slowly, giving him a show. He grinned, clearly enjoying it. She teased him, grinding her hips and ass against his stiffening member. Bartholomew gasped, a small bit of pre-cum leaking out of his tip. Thuria grinned, continuing to grind against him. He kept moaning, growing louder by the second.

 

Before he could climax, Thuria pulled away, still grinning.

 

“You tease…”

 

Thuria chuckled. “Tell me what you want me to do, Bart.”

 

“So...many...options…” he panted. “Mammary stimulation?”

 

“By the Emperor, don’t be so formal!”

 

“OK, titjob then.”

 

Thuria obliged, putting his cock between her breasts. She then, after lubricating his member with spit, began moving her tits up and down his shaft. Bartholomew grinned, stroking her hair as she pleasured him, his satisfied moans indicating that she’d done well. She continued doing it, gradually speeding up. He quickly climaxed, painting her tits with his cum. She purred, smirking at him.

 

“You certainly haven’t forgotten how to please me.”

 

Thuria snorted, pushing him on his back, before gently sitting on his face. Instinctively, he began to lick at her genitals, tasting her sweet, fleshy ambrosia. She moaned softly, throwing her head back. He kept licking every inch of her pussy, running the underside of his tongue over the roof. Her moans grew louder as she approached her climax. Taking one last slow lick of her g-spot, Bartholomew lightly pressed his tongue against it. This pushed Thuria over the edge. With a loud moan, she climaxed. Bartholomew obliged her by drinking the ensuing juices.

 

Thuria panted, closing her eyes. Bartholomew grinned. She got off of him. “Fantastic.” he said. “As always.”

 

She grinned as well, laying down next to him. “I love you.” he whispered.

 

“And I, you.” Thuria replied softly, before closing her eyes and falling asleep. Bartholomew stroked her hair, and prayed to the Emperor that she be protected. She snored softly, snuggling against him. He snuggled back, and soon joined her in slumbering.

 

From a nearby rooftop, a cloaked figure watched them through a scope. He whispered, his voice rough and quiet, “Soon, Inquisitors...soon…”

 

With that, he stood, and leapt off the roof, disappearing into the city below…

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Carnival of Fear

 

Previously on Warhammer 40,000: Underhive…

 

Thuria Braxton and her Inquisitorial partner Bartholomew found themselves in the Underhive, where they met a young street rat named Blake. Discovering a hoarded cache of weapons belonging to the D’Large gang, Thuria killed its leader, the perverted Aleksandr, and rescued a girl named Quinn, who immediately attached herself to Thuria in gratitude. Along the way, Amberley Vail, the legendary ally and lover of Commissar Ciaphas Cain, reunited with Thuria in a joyous display of familial love. Now using Aleksandr’s base of operations for themselves, the group swears to purge heresy from the Underhive wherever it may be...or die trying. Meanwhile, a mysterious cloaked figure watches from the shadows. Who is this mystery person, and what do they want? Find out in this exciting installment, “Carnival of Fear”!

 

----

 

She could hear the humming again. As Thuria limped along, her damaged bolt pistol hanging at her side, the woman hunting her continued to hum, the sound soft and deceptively pleasant to hear. The Inquisitor, out of options, hid behind an upturned table in the corner of the room. She panted softly, doing her best to keep quiet. The humming grew louder, and louder, and louder...then stopped abruptly. Thuria waited, before turning, gazing towards the door. That was when she heard a chuckle come from behind her.

 

“Got you…” a female voice whispered. There was a scream, the crack of a shot, the whine of a whirring saw, then silence. The only sound that could be heard was the humming.

 

----

Three days earlier…

----

 

The interrogation wasn't going as well as she had hoped, Thuria noted. The person she was attempting to extract information from was a member of the D'Large gang, a burly man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was...uncooperative, to say the least. Thuria was getting frustrated.

 

“I will ask again, scum, before I start using more impolite methods to get you to talk: Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

 

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, cunt.” he hissed. “Now lemme go.”

 

Thuria lit her pipe, exhaling smoke in his face. “No, I don't think I will. I think you know more than you're letting on, and you're not leaving until you tell me what I want to hear.”

 

“...I. Ain’t. Squealing.” he said defiantly. She sighed, before lighting another match and sticking it in his eye. He screamed, his eye set on fire. “OK, OK, I’LL TELL YA WHO I WORK FOR!”

 

“Good.” She said, flicking the match away. “Start talking.”

 

“I work for...her. She calls herself the Ringmistress. She runs a carnival a bit further in the Underhive.” he replied, covering his burnt eye.

 

“And I assume she won't take kindly to you telling me about her?”

 

“You don’t say. She’ll flay me alive.” he said, shuddering in terror.

 

“Oh, you poor man. I assume you'd like me to shoot you?”

 

“Anything to escape punishment from her…”

 

She called Bartholomew into the room. He pulled out his rifle, looked at the man, and asked, “Any last words before I blow your face off?”

 

Thuria took his rifle out of his hand. “Oh, we're not going to kill him. I'll leave his punishment to the Ringmistress. Rewarded as a traitor deserves, and all that.”

 

“What will we do, then?” he asked. “Are we just going to let him go?”

 

“Yes. I want you to escort him to this...carnival, and make sure he doesn't kill himself along the way. Don't let anyone there see you.” Bart nodded, dragging the man away. Once he was gone, Celeste entered, checking to see if everything had gone well. Thuria leaned back in her chair, continuing to smoke.

 

“Oh, it went swimmingly. He works for someone who calls herself the Ringmistress. She runs a carnival.” Celeste looked at her flatly.

 

“You’re joking, right?”

 

“I wish. He seemed terrified of her, said she'd flay him alive if she found out he'd talked.”

 

Celeste looked into Thuria’s eyes. “I fear that this ‘carnival’ may not be everything it seems.” Her tone was hushed and serious.

 

“Are you afraid, Celeste?” Thuria asked.

 

“Yes. You are my best friend, Thuria. Did I ever tell you that?”

 

“No.”

 

“You are, and that is why I am wary about this ‘carnival’. I’m afraid you may be hurt, or worse.”

 

“...Have I ever told you that I once had a daughter?”

 

“You? But you look so young and beautiful.” Celeste replied, shock on her face. Thuria nodded, a sad smile on her face.

 

“I may not look it, but I'm actually 37, you know.”

 

“You are quite a looker.” Celeste replied, smirking wryly. Thuria was still smiling sadly.

 

“So, yes, I once had a daughter. My sweet little Abbie. Oh, what a lovely little girl she was!”

 

“Amberley must have loved her.” Celeste replied.

 

“Oh, you have no idea. Aunt Amberley doted on Abbie. Bartholomew was the father. We had a one-night stand, you see, because we were both so stressed, and...well...we both forgot contraceptives.”

 

“What happened to her?” Celeste asked.

 

“I fucked up, that's what happened. I assumed she was out of the reach of a Chaos Cult I had been hunting. I was wrong.”

 

“I’m so, so sorry.” Celeste said, hugging Thuria, whom she noticed was holding back tears. “Shhh...it’s going to be alright.”

 

Thuria hugged her tightly, softly weeping. “They...they killed her. My sweet little girl. She wouldn't even harm a fly…” Celeste instinctively kissed Thuria’s head, stroking her hair comfortingly. After a few minutes, the tears stopped, and Thuria stepped back, sniffling.

 

“Thank you, Celeste. I needed that.”

 

“It is no trouble, Thuria. That’s what friends do.” Celeste replied, smiling. Thuria smiled back at her.

 

Meanwhile, the woman known as the Ringmistress regarded the man in front of her. She wore a dark purple dress with long sleeves and an ankle-length skirt. Her hair was platinum blonde, her face covered by a white mask, resembling a human face. On her hands were gloves of the same color. She wore no shoes. The Ringmistress continued to look at the man, saying nothing. “Please…” he begged. “Spare me…”

 

She put a hand on his cheek. “Oh, my dear, sweet Adam. Do you remember the promise you made when you joined me?”

 

“Yes, dearest Ringmistress…” he said. “I promised I would serve you in battle and in pleasure.”

 

“And you have done both faithfully, sweetling. Alas, there was another part to that promise, wasn't there? A part you seem to have forgotten.”

 

“What?” he asked, afraid.

 

“Oh, do not tell me your memory has failed you. What. Was. It?”

 

“I would not betray you…”

 

“I wonder, Adam, how easily you broke. How much pain you were willing to suffer before you squealed like a stuck pig.”

 

“They burned my eye, mistress…” he groveled. “Please, don’t kill me. I will do whatever you ask.”

 

“Oh, they burned your eye. You poor thing.” She said mockingly.

 

“Please, mistress...in the name of Slaanesh, I beg you to spare me…” he whined. “I will continue to serve you loyally…”

 

“You do not know pain, Adam. You have not felt the true, sweet kiss of agony. Allow me to introduce you to it…” He winced, finally ready to face death. It came to him not swiftly and quickly, but long and ardent. When she finished, he had been flayed alive, as he himself had feared. The Ringmistress hummed, hanging his skin out to dry. She cleaned her knife as her underlings disposed of the skinned body. The body was hung, on display, in the carnival’s funhouse.

 

Back at the base, Blake had his head on Amberley’s lap, content to spend time with her. The two had grown a bit closer, with Blake enjoying how free-spirited and humorous the Inquisitor was. She seemed to take everything with a lighthearted approach, and he enjoyed that. He shared an equally irreverent sense of humor, always managing to work a pun or two in their conversations. Where Blake’s real passions lay were in reading and music. Amberley didn't love him in the romantic sense, as no man could truly replace Ciaphas Cain in her eyes, but she did enjoy being around him, all the same. He sensed this, and had told her that he was far from being a worthy replacement for Cain. He was humble and had a strong sense of empathy, at least.

 

Thuria strode past them, pausing briefly to raise a brow.

 

“Don’t mind us.” said Blake. “We aren’t doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking, Thuria.”

 

Thuria snorted. “Good. I have enough nightmares without thinking about you two sleeping together.”

 

Blake looked at Thuria, then Amberley, then back at Thuria. “Your aunt is very attractive, but I don’t think she and I would ever have intercourse.” He then smiled sheepishly at Amberley. “No offense meant to you, Inquisitor.”

 

She waved a hand dismissively. Thuria continued on her way. Quinn was sitting in a chair, relaxing. Thuria stopped, before sitting down next to her. “Hello, Thuria.” she said.

 

“Hello, Quinn.”

 

“How are you?”

 

“Fine. You?”

 

“Fine. Where are you going?”

 

“I am going to the carnival nearby. I wish to see it for myself.” This immediately got Quinn’s attention, and she stood up straight.

 

“A carnival?” she asked. “May I go with you?”

 

“Certainly.” Thuria replied. Quinn got up, and walked with her. They went to the Ringmistress’ Carnival together. Quinn marveled at all the sights and sounds, oblivious to its true purpose. And, on the surface, it resembled a typical carnival, filled with games and attractions. Thuria tried her hand at a shoot-the-bottle game, winning easily. Quinn tried her hand at a test-your-strength machine, but didn’t win. Thuria tried it, but didn't win, either. Quinn continued looking around, the back of her mind sensing something unsettling about the entire place. Thuria felt the same way, which was why she refused to accept any offered food.

 

“Don't trust anyone here.” She whispered to Quinn. “This place is not what it seems.” Quinn nodded, continuing to wander until she found something rather innocent: a tunnel of love. She considered going on it, but chose not to. The man at the gates to it noticed her hesitation.

 

“Come on, little lady. Step right up and venture down into our Tunnel of Romance! You and your partner will love it, guaranteed!” Quinn thought about it. This was tempting...but would she go on it? Thuria made the choice for her, dragging Quinn away.

 

“Awww, but Thuria…” she pleaded. “You’re no fun…”

 

“We go down that tunnel, Quinn, and neither of us leave this place alive.”

 

“They’ll kill us if we go down the tunnel? But it’s a tunnel of romance…”

 

“Yes, but this place makes me feel uneasy. We should get out of here as soon as possible.”

 

“No. I don’t wanna.” Quinn whined like a child. Thuria paused, before sighing.

 

“You know what? Fine. Let's go down this damned tunnel.” She grumbled. And so, they did. Things started out fairly normal, until Quinn began feeling a bit moist. Thuria looked at her.

 

“I’m...wet…” she moaned softly, beginning to pleasure herself. Thuria knew what was happening. She could smell it in the air. Pheromones had been released, causing arousal in those who smelled them. And she was becoming affected too. She held the effects back through sheer willpower, biting down on her thumb hard enough to draw blood, the pain dulling the arousal. Quinn kissed her suddenly and forcefully, now under the pheremones’ effects. Thuria pushed Quinn away before slapping her across the face. Hard.

 

“Remember yourself!” the Inquisitor snapped.

 

“Ow...that hurt…” Quinn said.

 

“Good. Pain can dull arousal.” Thuria said.

 

“I’m horny, Thuria...and I know you are too…” Quinn said. “We need...to get out…”

 

“I feel nothing.” Thuria said truthfully. “I've dealt with this scent before.”

 

“You have?”

 

“Yes. That wasn't fun. We need to get out. Now.”

 

“How?” Quinn asked.

 

Thuria drew her bolt pistol, firing three rounds at the wall. They exploded, ripping the wall apart and creating an exit. Thuria promptly walked out through the hole. Quinn followed her. The Ringmistress watched them from her tent nearby, set up on a makeshift hill. She was silent and impassive, her mask displaying no emotion. They had resisted her Tunnel of Romance. She summoned the woman who had designed it. She was dressed in traditional Slaaneshi robes, bowing before her. The Ringmistress looked at her.

 

“You told me that the Tunnel of Romance was impossible to escape from.”

 

“I did.”

 

“They escaped from it. Care to tell me how?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

This didn't satisfy the Ringmistress, who rose, grabbed the woman by the hair, pulled her head back, and slit her throat. She fell, dead. The Ringmistress cleaned her knife, turning to the men keeping watch outside her tent. “Dispose of the body, then gather my inner circle.” They did as she ordered, gathering the inner circle of the cult. They were all dressed like how people who run a carnival would be expected to dress, either as clowns, food vendors, ringmasters, or game hosts.

 

“Why have you gathered us?” a clown asked.

 

“I assume you have all heard the news that there are Inquisitors in town, yes?”

 

“Of course.” a food vendor replied.

 

“One of these Inquisitors arrived here a short time ago, with another woman, and ventured into our Tunnel of Romance. Unfortunately, they both got out.” She said, two men bringing in the body of the tunnel's designer, setting her in the chair she would previously occupy.

 

“They deny themselves the pleasures of Slaanesh.” a game host said. The Ringmistress drove a knife into his hand, pinning it to the table.

 

“That is not the problem, you fool. That Inquisitor could end up destroying everything we have accomplished.” She said, pulling the blade free.

 

“What do we do, mistress?” a ringmaster asked. She sat back down, steepling her fingers.

 

“Is our Dancer of Death here at the moment?” she asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Bring her to me.”

 

A clown nodded, calling for the Dancer. She entered. The Dancer of Death, named for her deadly grace in both battle and pleasure, wore a blood-red sleeveless dress, a long shawl, black shoes, and white gloves, just like her mistress. She had jet-black hair, dark blue eyes and pale skin. She knelt in front of the Ringmistress, who gave her a mission: Infiltrate the retinue of the Inquisitors, and do whatever it took to make sure neither they, nor their allies, would cause problems for the cult. She nodded, rising.

 

“It shall be done.”

 

With that, the Dancer took off, leaving the carnival. She ran across rooftops, heading towards the fortress where the Inquisitorial retinue was dwelling. She leapt down in front of the gates, beginning to approach them. Celeste opened the door, looking at the Dancer.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello.” The Dancer said, her tone a low purr. “My name is Dinah. I came here to offer my assistance to the Inquisitors. I feel my knowledge of the layout of this city, along with my combat skills, may prove useful.”

 

“Come inside. I will have you speak to Inquisitor Vail.” Celeste said, a hint of arousal in her voice. They began walking together, ‘Dinah’ walking just behind Celeste, groping her breasts and ass. Celeste gasped, a quick moan escaping her lips. The Dancer pulled the Sister of Battle into a heated kiss, continuing to grope her. Celeste groped the Dancer in return, swept up in the passion. They moved into a nearby closet, before the Dancer began peeling off Celeste’s clothing. Once she was fully nude, her massive chest on display, the Dancer, whose name really was Dinah, purred.

 

“My, my, my...are these real?” she asked, giving the pair of breasts a rough squeeze. Celeste nodded, moaning louder. Dinah grinned.

 

“Tell me: How do you like lovers to play with your tits, hmm?”

 

“Rough.” Celeste answered. “I also like when my nipples are sucked on.”

 

Dinah kissed her again, roughly slapping her breasts. Celeste kept moaning, grinding against her as she added her tongue into the kiss. Dinah pinched and rolled Celeste’s nipples as they kissed. Celeste grinded faster against her, her responses muffled. She broke the kiss for a brief moment, panting. Dinah grinned at her. “You are a fantastic kisser.” Celeste said.

 

“I try.” Dinah said, before taking her lover’s left nipple into her mouth. Celeste gasped again, stroking Dinah’s hair as she sucked. Dinah smirked, continuing to suckle, groping the other breast with her right hand. This caused Celeste to moan louder, a blush painted on her face. Dinah smirked wider, before reaching down and pinching Celeste’s clit with her free hand. Celeste immediately orgasmed, panting once she finished. Dinah was still smirking. Celeste managed a smile, her tongue sticking out.

 

“That was fantastic.”

 

“Good. Now, we should probably get moving again.” Dinah said, heading towards the closet door. Celeste redressed herself, opening the door. They went to meet with Amberley Vail, who was sitting in a comfortable armchair by a fireplace, holding a cup of tea.

 

“Hello, Celeste. Who is this?” she asked.

 

“This is Dinah. Dinah, meet Inquisitor Vali.”

 

“It's ‘Vail’, dear.” Amberley corrected, smiling.

 

“Oh. Sorry.” Celeste said. “Where is Blake?” She then looked at Dinah and added, “Blake is Amberley’s friend.”

 

“He said he was going out into the city to have a few drinks.” Amberley replied. That was when Thuria entered, took one look at Dinah, and promptly drew her gun.

 

“On your knees, heretic.” The Inquisitor growled. Celeste got in front of Dinah, staring Thuria down.

 

“She is no heretic.”

 

“Tell me, Celeste: Does your head feel a bit light? Is your vision blurry?” Thuria asked.

 

“No, you bitch.” she growled. That was going a bit far, judging from how Celeste reacted to her own words.

 

Thuria snarled, “Fine, Celeste. I will not ask you to move. As your superior, I order you to move.”

 

Celeste hesitated, before defying orders and not moving. “How do you know she is a heretic?”

 

“Because I've met her before.” Thuria said simply before firing over Celeste’s shoulder, the round hitting Dinah in the shoulder. She staggered backwards, clutching her bleeding shoulder and grunting in pain. Celeste rushed to her, looking concerned. She then turned to Thuria and hissed two words:

 

“Fuck. You.”

 

“Have you forgotten your loyalty to the Emperor so easily, Celeste?” Thuria asked. “Have you forgotten your loyalty to me so easily?” Celeste stared at her.

 

“I have not forgotten. But have you forgotten common sense, Thuria?” she asked. “Accusing someone who wishes to side with us of heresy is wrong.”

 

“She is a servant of Slaanesh.” Thuria said. “I've met her before. She stabbed me in the back, both literally and figuratively.”

 

Celeste looked at Dinah. “Is this true?”

 

That was when Dinah smiled, before stabbing Celeste in the shoulder with the dagger she had been hiding behind her back.

 

“Yes. That is true.” Celeste looked at her, betrayed.

 

“...Why?” she asked, struggling to get up. Dinah yanked the knife free, leaping away from her just as Thuria opened fire, the sound of gunshots echoing throughout the fortress. Celeste was shot as a result, falling to the floor in near-death. Amberley rose, before casually smashing Dinah across the face with her chair. The assassin fell to the ground, unconscious.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, knelt next to Celeste, taking her hand and saying, “I have a way to heal you, but it may sting a bit.”

 

“Please...anything...I am sorry for all I said…” Celeste groaned. Thuria pulled out a syringe, filled with rejuvenat fluid, and jabbed it into Celeste’s neck, pressing the plunger. Celeste yelped in pain, but instantly felt revitalized afterwards. Her injuries healed almost instantly. Getting up, Celeste smiled gratefully at Thuria. “Thank you…”

 

“It is no trouble.” Thuria said. “Sorry for shooting you.”

 

“I should be apologizing to you. I owe you my life. I am in your service, and will do as you ask; no matter what it may be.”

 

Thuria clasped her shoulder. “You keep me honest, Celeste. If I ever do something that is truly immoral, truly heretical, I want you to stop me. Alright?”

 

“Alright.” Celeste said, her hormones still affected by Dinah’s seduction. She turned away, and went to look for Luciana. Luciana was more than happy to provide the relief she sought. Thuria, meanwhile, went to interrogate Dinah, bringing Bartholomew along. Bartholomew was nervous, recalling what he had said about Slaaneshi women not long ago. “Besides...why am I starting to recall memories of Abbie?” he whispered, his voice breaking.

 

“It was a Slaaneshi cult that...that…” she said, her voice failing her. Bartholomew held her close, crying himself.

 

“I miss her…”

 

“So do I…” Thuria whispered. They both decided to put off the interrogation for a little while.

 

In the city, Blake and Irrelevant (he had still not bothered to learn her real name) were having a drinking contest. The Imperial assassin was no light-weight, easily keeping pace with him. Blake was starting to get drunk, having lost count of how many drinks he had. Irrelevant noticed a group of men approaching them. Much to her irritation, they were checking her out.

 

“Hello, gorgeous…” the leader of the group said. “What’s your name?”

 

The assassin ignored him, downing her drink. One of the other men grabbed her arm.

 

“The boss asked you a question, lady.” he said. She didn't react. He tried to force her to look at him. She reached out, grabbing a bottle on the bar counter, before smashing it into his face, knocking him backwards.

 

“Her name’s Irrelevant.” Blake said. “Don’t fuck with her. She’s an Imperial assassin.”

 

“My name is Sasha, idiot.” She said dryly, before putting her legs around the stool, launching herself into a mid-air flip, and smashing the stool over the head of the same man she had hit in the face with a bottle. He promptly fell to the floor, passing out from the pain.

 

“Your name is Sasha?” Blake asked. “...Better than Irrelevant.”

 

She ignored him, turning to the other men in the group. “Any among you who actually manages to beat me in a fight gets to have their way with me.” One of the men, not much older than Blake, cracked his knuckles.

 

“Bring it.”

 

She got into a fighting stance, gesturing for him to come at her. He charged at her, fist extended. She caught his fist in her right palm, before slamming her free hand into his stomach. He tried kicking her after stumbling.  She caught his foot, smirked, then flipped him into a table, his weight instantly shattering it. The other men stared and said nothing.

 

“I would like to try.” said Blake. “Just to see what it’s like to fight you.”

 

Sasha grinned, getting back into a proper stance. “Come on, then.” Blake got into a fighting stance as well, but did not make the first move. What followed was an intense staring contest, both of them silently goading the other to attack first. Blake jumped at Sasha with a yell. She backflipped out of the way just as he landed, the two-fisted blow meant for her impacting the bar counter instead. Blake ended up breaking several fingers on each hand, yelling in pain. The fight was over before it really began. Sasha walking to him, before gently moving the bones in his fingers back into place.

 

“There. Is that better?” she asked.

 

“Yes.” he answered.

 

“Good.” Sasha replied, before beginning to walk towards the exit. “Come on. This place is boring me.” Blake nodded, following her. He stumbled a bit, but was otherwise fine. Sasha whistled to herself as she walked, idly twirling a knife. They returned to the fortress, Blake stumbling into his room. Sasha went back out into the city. She wanted to find some excitement. And she did. In the form of the carnival.

 

“Step right up!” shouted a busker. “See amazing sights, play amazing games, and eat amazing foods!”

 

Sasha looked around, taking in the sights and smells. There were various food stands, ranging from Old Terra cuisine to modern Imperial foods. She looked over the various stands, her stomach growling. A man offered her what was called a ‘hot dog’, free of charge. She accepted it, before taking a small bite. It tasted good, and was unlike anything she had eaten before. The man watched her intently, grinning. “Ya like it, eh?” he asked.

 

“Yes.” She said. Sasha was no fool. She had tasted the sleeping drug, which validated her decision to only take a small bite. She tossed the hot dog in a trash bin before continuing on her way. Something caught her eye: the Tunnel of Romance had a hole in it. She cracked a smile, shaking her head. Thuria had been here already. That meant that this carnival was an obvious front for a Chaos cult. And yet, despite the air of danger, the music and lights kept luring people in. She wondered how many corpses were being used as decorations for the various attractions. She got her answer upon entering the funhouse.

 

“Well, this cult has been busy.” She muttered. The funhouse was littered with dead bodies. Some were flayed, others decapitated. A few were even turned inside out. The various sub-attractions within the funhouse were equally disturbing. Sasha promptly exited. She had seen many horrifying things in her lifetime, but the dismembered corpses of children with animal heads sewn on took the cake for her. She had to get out, and fast. She did, shoving her way past vendors and visitors alike. She almost made it to the gate, before a hand clasped her shoulder. The Ringmistress stood next to her.

 

“Come now, friend. Why are you leaving so quickly? Don't you want to have fun? Come on, come with me! We have games, animals, music, food! What more could you ask for?” she said, addressing the crowd around her just as much as Sasha.

 

“NOTHING!” screamed the crowd. “GAMES, ANIMALS, MUSIC, FOOD! GAMES, ANIMALS, MUSIC, FOOD! GAMES ANIMALS MUSIC FOOD GAMESANIMALSMUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOOD-

 

Sasha shoved the Ringmistress away, but the masked woman caught her hand before she could run, pulling her close and jabbing a needle into her neck. Sasha instantly felt light-headed, collapsing. The last thing she saw was the Ringmistress kneeling next to her, stroking her cheek and beginning to hum softly. Then, darkness.

 

She awoke groggily, tied up, and with a Slaaneshi female kissing her passionately. Sasha blinked, her vision blurry. She noticed that she was in a pitch-black room, the only light coming from a few candles near the chair she was bound to. She also noticed, to her embarrassment and horror, that she was naked. The Slaaneshi pulled away, grinning wickedly.

 

“Ah, you’re awake. Comfortable?”

 

“Go to Hell.” Sasha spat.

 

“Oh, I did once. I didn’t like it.” she said. “Did you enjoy the kiss, Sleeping Beauty?”

Sasha responded by spitting in her eye. The Slaaneshi cultist continued grinning, as a familiar figure emerged from behind: the Ringmistress.

 

“Ah, hello, mistress, my love.”

 

“You have done well, Adeline. I presume you've enjoyed her.” The Ringmistress responded.

 

“I did.” Adeline responded, making a V-sign and sticking her tongue through it. The Ringmistress chuckled.

 

“Good. Now, I would like to speak with our guest alone. Leave us, Adeline.” She said, pulling out another chair and sitting in front of Sasha. Adeline nodded, winking at Sasha.

 

“I’ll be back later, sweetling.” she said before exiting.

 

“Why am I here?” Sasha asked. “What do you want?”

 

“You are here because I couldn't allow you to leave my carnival, darling. You would run off and tell the two Inquisitors you follow all about what we are doing here, and I can't allow you to do that.”

 

“So you intend to keep me here as a fuckgirl? Typical Slaanesh cultists.”

 

“I cannot restrain the impulses of my followers, assassin.” The Ringmistress said simply. “They did not join my cult to be told that they cannot act on their desires.”

 

“...I will not resign myself to the fate of a common slut. Release me.”

 

“No. You see, the Imperium doesn't rule here. I do. So, do not expect anyone to come save you.” The Ringmistress replied, rising and heading for the door. Sasha watched her go, struggling against her bindings. The door opened, then shut. Sasha knew it wouldn't be long before Adeline returned, so she began going over possible escape plans in her head. Adeline returned, smirking playfully.

 

“There is no use in escaping, sweetling. I will fuck you so much you will enjoy it, and never want to leave.”

 

Sasha spat at her. “If the training instructors of the Officio Assassinorum couldn't break me, I doubt you will, either.”

 

“Kinky.” said Adeline, kissing Sasha as she groped her left breast. Her tongue slithered into Sasha’s throat, tickling the sides. Sasha decided to play along, letting out a convincing moan. Adeline began to finger Sasha, lust in her eyes. Sasha continued to moan, growing wet. She wasn't enjoying it, and was faking the moans, but her body acted against her will. She crossed her legs a bit, a blush springing across her cheeks. Adeline continuing fingering until she felt Sasha was wet enough, and undressed, revealing her biggest secret: she was a hermaphrodite. Sasha shoved Adeline away with her feet, before revealing a secret of her own: She had a dagger built into her left shoe. She clicked her shoes together, before slashing the blade across Adeline’s throat. Adeline fell, blood spilling onto the floor. Sasha managed to get her shoe off and use the dagger to cut her bindings. She stood, spitting on Adeline’s corpse, before looking through the woman’s clothing, seeing if she had anything useful, like a weapon. She found several, including more daggers. She took the daggers, along with a rather-crude revolver. A word was carved into the side: Bloodletter. She took the holster, as well, slinging it over her back, attaching the daggers to it and sliding the revolver into its slot. She would only use the gun as an absolute last resort.

 

Sasha headed for the door, finding it unlocked. She stepped out into the hallway, looking around. There was no one around, at least on the surface. She decided to be slow and quiet nonetheless, sticking to the shadows.

 

The Ringmistress, meanwhile, sat with her second, the member of the cult who answered only to her. Her second was a man named James. He was gaunt, and deathly pale with stringy black hair and wide, sunken eyes. The Ringmistress handed him a glass of wine.

 

“Greetings, James.”

 

“Greetings, mistress. How are things?”

 

“Things are going well, my darling. How did your little mission go?”

 

“Excellent, my love.” It seemed everyone was in love with the Ringmistress. Most couldn't help it; she was very seductive, her tone a constant flirtatious purr.

 

“Good. So that means the new leader of the D’Large gang has agreed to meet me?” she asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.” She said, rising. “I leave the carnival in your hands, James.”

 

With that, she left, heading into the city. She hummed to herself, twirling a knife as she walked. James was now nervous. Incredibly, incredibly nervous. What was the reason for this nervousness, you may ask? The carnival was in his hands. And, as far as he knew, he had never run it on his own before. It really wasn't as daunting a task as he thought. All he had to do was punish any failures on the part of his underlings and make sure the carnival ran properly.

 

The Ringmistress, meanwhile, approached the seedy club where the new D’Large leader was staying. His name was Georgie. He had been Aleksandr’s cousin, and sent down into the Underhive by his own gang in the Hive City itself when Aleksandr’s death had reached them. The Ringmistress knew all of this. She was a well-connected woman, with fingers in many pies, so to speak. She had spies everywhere in both the Hive City and Underhive. She entered the club, instantly being greeted by loud music. Georgie sat in the far back, drinking a concoction known as Moloko Plus. The Ringmistress looked around. She saw strippers, both male and female, all varieties of both drinks and drugs, people having sex in a corner...all that she expected by that point from an Underhive club.

 

It didn't take long for people to notice her, and begin backing away out of sheer terror. Georgie merely smirked.

 

“Hello, Georgie.” She called, beginning to cross the room, walking towards him.

 

“Ah, the Ringmistress.” he said, sipping his drink. “How are you?”

 

“I am well.” She said, taking a seat across from him. “The carnival is attracting so many guests, I almost don't know how to handle it!”

 

“Congratulations, my dear. Would you like a drink?”

 

She shook her head, tapping her mask.

 

“Oh. Right. Apologies.”

 

“It is no trouble. Tell me: Does my mask scare you, Georgie?” He shook his head.

 

“No, not at all. Though I am curious as to why you wear it.”

 

“I wear it for two reasons: It would ruin the mystery if everyone could see my face, and most of my underlings are scared of it. As are many of yours, I notice.” She said, before looking at the strippers. She looked each of them over, before beckoning a young busty girl in black lingerie to come to her. She did, smiling seductively.

 

The Ringmistress pulled the girl into her lap, before whispering in her ear, “Dance for me.”

 

The girl nodded, wrapping her legs around the Ringmistress and removing her top, letting her breasts free. The Ringmistress watched, her mask betraying no emotion, and yet, the lust she felt was clear, nonetheless. The girl continued to dance, placing the Ringmistress’ hands on her breasts. The masked woman stood, before carrying the girl into another room, telling Georgie she would return soon after. This room contained a luxurious bed and little else. The Ringmistress then began removing her own clothing, before finally removing her mask. The girl stared, her mouth agape. After they made love, the two of them emerged from the room, hand in hand. That was when the Ringmistress noticed that there were more than a few men in the room aiming guns at her. “What’s going on?” the girl asked.

 

“Ah, I see you've decided to betray me already, Georgie.” The Ringmistress said.

 

“Yes. I cannot have you interfering in my plans.”

 

“Indulge me for a moment before your men kill me: What are your plans?” she asked.

 

“I am going to kill the Inquisitor who murdered Aleksandr.”

 

“Ah, you seek revenge. A rather simple motive for a killing, wouldn't you say?”

 

“Yes. You mock my simpleness, yes?”

 

“Indeed. I knew what you had planned before you ever arrived down here. My spies are everywhere, Georgie. There is nothing in either this city or the one above it that escapes my notice. I knew you would try to kill me a week before I sent my associate to arrange this meeting.”

 

“You will not interfere in my plans. But enough talk; it is time for you to die.”

 

That was when the Ringmistress snapped her fingers, and all of his men turned their guns on him.

 

“TRAITORS!” he hissed. “I will have you all executed for this!”

 

The Ringmistress chuckled softly, her mask appearing to grin. “No, they won't. Tell me, boys: How has your boss treated you since he took over?”

 

“Terribly, ma’am.” a man said. “If Aleksandr was bad, Georgie’s worse.”

 

“And how does your mistress treat you? Am I as kind and merciful as you hoped?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She turned back to Georgie. “Do you know what you remind me of? A rat. A repulsive, disease-ridden, pathetic little creature, not worth any attention, save for the effort it takes to crush you underfoot.”

 

“Screw you, whore.” he growled, before firing at the Ringmistress and her lover. The Ringmistress casually sidestepped, shoving the girl she had just slept with to the side so she wouldn't get shot. She then crossed the room in less than three seconds, jabbing a syringe full of sedatives into Georgie’s neck. He fell into her arms, and she took him to the carnival.

 

The rest of the night was quiet. Sasha ended up sleeping in an empty barrel, and managed to rest for a solid eight hours without being noticed. Her absence was not noticed back at the fortress, as she was seldom seen there, anyway. The Ringmistress spent the rest of the night with her new lover, the two of them dancing together under the cover of darkness. When morning came, the carnival came to life again, and the crowds poured in. The Ringmistress watched them from her tent. Her lover sat beside her, lazily suckling at her exposed nipple. The Ringmistress idly stroked her hair, purring softly. James had seemed relieved upon her return the previous night. He disliked running her carnival, she knew. It hardly mattered. She had handed the unconscious Georgie over to him, telling her second to do as he pleases with the crime boss. He grinned, and Georgie slowly awoke only to find James’ cock in his ass. She could hear the screams from across the carnival, but she was the only one who knew the true cause. Those visiting the carnival thought nothing of it, assuming it was part of some attraction. Her lover continued suckling, enjoying the taste of her nippleflesh. The Ringmistress continued to purr, stroking her lover’s hair gently.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was getting ready to interrogate Dinah. The Inquisitor was looking over various torture tools, trying to determine the best way to make the Slaaneshi break. She didn't have access to a sensory deprivation chamber, so she would have to make due with what she had. She entered the room where the Dancer of Death was being kept, sitting in a chair in front of the prisoner. Dinah grinned seductively, purring low.

 

“Hello, Dinah.” Thuria said flatly.

 

“Hello, Thuria.” she replied, before doing the tongue-in-V-sign gesture. “How are you?”

 

“Fine. How's your head?”

 

“I could be giving it, if I wasn’t being interrogated by you…” she snarked. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes.

 

“You are not going to arouse me, so you might as well not even bother trying.” Thuria said, noting that Dinah still spoke with a seductive purr.

 

“Oh, come now...you’d like it, wouldn’t you?” she said. “Just like your daughter did before we dragged her away…” Bartholomew, had he been there, would have realized how foolish Dinah was. And he wouldn’t have stopped Thuria from attacking, anyway. Thuria, never one to display mercy and restraint towards her enemies, drew a knife, before stabbing Dinah in the vagina. She let out an orgasmic moan, enjoying the new heights of pain she was experiencing. “Yes...yes!”

 

Thuria, disgusted, cut off her clitoris. This only caused her to moan louder. Breaking her would be most difficult. That was when Thuria stopped relying on physical methods. Instead, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and entered Dinah’s mind.

 

“W-what are you doing?” she asked.

 

“Exploring your mind.” Thuria said simply. “Now, you can either answer these questions verbally, or I will rip your mind apart trying to find out myself: Who is the Ringmistress? What is she planning?”

 

“I cannot say who she is. As for what she’s planning...games, animals, music, food! Games, animals, music, food! Games, animals, music, food! Games animals music food Games animals music food Games animals music food Games animals music food GAMES ANIMALS MUSIC FOOD GAMESANIMALS MUSIC FOOD GAMESANIMALS MUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOODGAMESANIMALSMUSICFOOD-”

 

Thuria had heard enough. She dove into Dinah’s mind, looking through her memories. She saw...her daughter, little Abbie...being...being...by the Emperor, it was too horrifying for words. Then, she came across a memory revealing the identity of the Ringmistress. She promptly screamed, the sound loud and piercing, before falling in a dead faint. Bartholomew immediately burst in, wondering what had happened. Thuria was unconscious on the floor, clutching her head. He picked her up and carried her to Luciana hurriedly, fear and sadness in his eyes.

 

“You need to help her, Luci…” he said. “She needs a diagnosis…”

 

Luciana normally would have made a snarky comment about him referring to her as Luci, but she could see the terror on his face. She immediately got to work, moving Thuria to a bed and making sure she was alright physically. After a few minutes, Thuria woke up, saying weakly, “Bart...you have to stop her. The Ringmistress, she...she...has plans. Dangerous, evil plans…”

 

“But who is she?!” he very nearly yelled. “What does she want?!”

 

“She...she is…” Thuria began, her words quiet. “...Abbie. Our daughter...is the...Ringmistress.”

 

“No...she can’t be.” Bartholomew said. “She’s dead, remember…?”

 

Thuria didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, and she was snoring softly. Luciana said, “I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Bartholomew. She needs rest.”

 

“Understood...I’m going to the carnival to stop this ‘Ringmistress.’ I might not come back...take care of Thuria for me if I don’t…”

 

She nodded. “I will. You have my word.” Bartholomew saluted her, then made his way to the carnival. The place was as busy as ever. Not long after he entered, a clown walked over to him, handing him a note. He read it. He then crumpled the note, ignoring all who came his way as he marched his way into the Ringmistress’ tent. She was alone, sitting in a comfortable armchair and staring into the fire.

 

“...Greetings, Ringmistress. You wished to talk?” His tone was flat and nonhumorous, far from his usual goofy self. She nodded, her gaze unmoving. The color of the flames reflected eerily off her mask, giving it a strange orange hue. “Talk, then.” he said.

 

“Tell me, Bartholomew: Do you like my carnival? Or does it scare you?”

 

“I am an Inquisitor, Ringmistress. Nothing scares me when it comes to Chaos.”

 

“Really, now? Have you seen the funhouse yet?” she asked, chuckling darkly.

 

“Don’t try and distract me, Slaaneshi whore! MY DAUGHTER WAS KILLED BECAUSE OF YOUR CULT!”

 

She laughed harder at this. “Killed? No, no, no...they didn't kill me.” Realization hit Bartholomew slowly, but hard like a wall.

 

“A-abbie…?”

 

She turned toward him, removing her mask. “Hello, father.” She looked just like her mother, he thought.

 

“What did Slaanesh do to you, dear child…?” he whispered.

 

“Oh, do not act like you care, father.” She hissed. “You were never around before they took me. Neither was mother.”

 

“You’re lying to yourself, Abbie. We were good parents, as young as we were when we had you.” Bartholomew growled.

 

“Oh, I've heard this all before from the dumb bitch you hired to watch me. ‘Your parents are young, dear. They're doing their best.’” Abbie said dryly, idly cleaning her nails, having removed her gloves.

 

“Amberley adored you...and you betray her like that…”

 

“Oh, I am not talking about Amberley. I loved Auntie Vail. No, I am talking about the old hag that watched me when Amberley couldn't. Do you remember her, father?”

 

“Ah, yes. She was a neighbor, I think.”

 

“She irritated me, which is why I didn't feel sad when the cultists arrived and cut her throat.” Abbie replied.

 

“...Why, Abbie? Why go through the effort of setting up this carnival, in an Underhive of all places, just to satisfy your pleasures?”

 

Abbie giggled, standing up and spreading her arms. “Why? Why not? Do you know how many people my carnival draws in everyday, father? It has the facade of being a happy, carefree, joyous place, and I don't have to do much to draw in the crowds.”

 

“...But it’s nothing but a facade where you can engage in depraved, disgusting things without getting caught…” Bartholomew’s body, to use a euphemism, reacted to Abbie’s resemblance to Thuria in a way he did not intend. She noticed this, and smirked.

 

“My, my, my...is that for me?” she purred. Bartholomew’s eyes widened as he tried covering himself. This was that Slaaneshi priestess all over again, only it was worse. Much worse, considering it was his own daughter inciting this reaction.

 

“I...I have no idea what your talking about…” he lied.

 

“Oh, do not try and deceive me, father. I can see it clear as day.” Bartholomew only grew harder with every word she spoke, much to his displeasure.

 

“...Do not do what I think you are going to…” he attempted to reprimand her, despite how she was no longer a child. She walked over to him, before cupping his balls and beginning to gently stroke his cock. He let out a moan, enjoying it. “P-please, daughter, stop…”

 

She noted how his cock just kept growing longer and stiffer, his balls plump and fat. Abbie merely continued jerking him off, still smirking, only pausing briefly to remove his trousers, freeing his manhood. Bartholomew looked at her, still trying to not give into his pleasures. “What are you going to do…?”

 

She didn't answer. Instead, she continued stroking him, gently rubbing his balls with her other hand. His penis was now fully erect, at a whopping 8.5 inches. No wonder Thuria was attracted to him. Abbie stood, beginning to slowly remove her own clothing. As she did, Bartholomew attempted an escape, only to find he was hindered. She shoved him back into his seat, before placing his hands on her now exposed breasts. He instinctively groped her, his fingers rubbing her nipples. Abbie moaned at this.

 

“Oh, yes…” she purred, going back to stroking his cock. He kept rubbing, moaning as he did. She pushed his head against her breasts, inviting him to suckle. He did, taking a nipple into his mouth. She moaned again.

 

“You like that? You like having your daughter’s nipple in your mouth?” she asked with a purr. Bartholomew hated to admit it, but he did. He continued suckling, tasting her flesh.

 

“Mmm…” came the response. Abbie pulled away from him after a moment, before sliding his cock between her breasts. Bartholomew stared for a moment, before moaning again. Abbie grinned, before beginning to move her breasts up and down his manhood. Bartholomew’s moans grew louder as he finally gave into pleasure, smiling at his daughter. She smiled back. Their incestuous, carnal union lasted another hour, before they were both exhausted. They had moved to Abbie’s bed, and that was where they lay when they had finished fornicating. Abbie looked at her father, grinning tiredly. “That was fantastic.” said Bartholomew.

 

“It was.” She said. Bartholomew kissed her softly, snuggling up to her.

 

“I wish I could do this forever.”

 

“As do I.” She said, before stuffing a wet rag under his nose, a rag with a funny scent. Bartholomew fell unconscious, barely noticing anything. He woke up sometime later, chained in mid-air inside a dark room.

 

“W-what the-where am I?!” he asked, struggling to get out.

 

Abbie’s voice spoke, echoing inside the room, “Welcome to the Dark Place, father. This is where particularly troublesome people go.”

 

“Why am I here, Abbie?!”

 

“How foolish do you think I am? I knew you were going to run back to mother as soon as I fell asleep after we fucked. Well, I couldn't let you do that, father! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TWO TO DESTROY EVERYTHING I HAVE BUILT HERE!”

 

“I am sorry, daughter...I am still an Inquisitor, and I have a job to do. Bartholomew said, struggling even more. That was when he heard it: The whirring of a saw. “What are you doing, Abbie?! NO, PLEASE! I BEG OF YOU!”

 

However, it soon became clear it wasn't him the saw was moving towards. A light turned on nearby, revealing Georgie, chained in the same position as Bartholomew.

 

“Oh, hello.” Georgie deadpanned. “I see you’re in the same situation.”

 

“How are you not panicking?!” Bartholomew asked, recognizing him as a D’Large gang member.

 

“Very simple, Inquisitor. A D’Large faces his death with dignity.” Georgie replied, putting on a brave face for his last moments. The saw emerged from the floor beneath him. It was massive, a huge, serrated blade, caked with dried blood. The whirring from it was deafening. It slowly moved upwards, towards the area between Georgie’s legs. Georgie said nothing, still keeping a stoic expression. Then, the whirring blade bit into his crotch, castrating him instantly. He reflexively screamed, his howls echoing in the Dark Place.

 

“What was that about dignity?” Bartholomew said dryly before vomiting heavily. When he had finished, he shuddered at the thought of the same thing as Georgie experienced happening to him. The saw had stopped after the castration, still whirring. He stared, unmoving. “What will you do to me, Abbie? Castrate me? Convince me to join Slaanesh?”

 

Abbie didn't respond. After another moment, the saw began moving upwards again, cutting Georgie cleanly down the middle. Upon reaching the center of his stomach, it stopped again. Bartholomew winced, looking away. Abbie, who was watching through a surveillance device, was grinning madly as Georgie screamed. He screamed until he could no more, dying from heavy blood loss. Silence, until Bartholomew finally broke, crying for Thuria. The saw retracted into the floor, having cut Georgie completely in half. Abbie’s cold, cruel laughter was the only answer Bartholomew received. He continued struggling, and yet there was a vague feeling in the back of his mind, one he was not fully aware of. A feeling of wanting to stay, and give himself to pleasure. His chains loosened, before they detached from him completely. Physics dictated that he would fall to his death. With a few quick maneuvers, however, he did not, and landed on the floor. A door opened nearby.

 

“You can leave, father.” Abbie said, two men entering to remove the bisected corpse. Bartholomew didn’t move, as much as he wanted to. That vague feeling demanded he stay. So, he just stood there, motionless. Then, in his mind, a whisper, Thuria’s voice, an echo of a time long since gone by, “Don't ever leave me, Bart…” That snapped him out of his trance, and he ran as far as possible away from the carnival and to the fortress. Thuria was awake when he returned. It was now late evening. He ran into her arms and kissed her fervently. She kissed him back.

 

“Oh, Bart. I was worried sick.” She said once she broke the kiss. He stared at her awkwardly, the fact that he had slept with their daughter still fresh in his mind. Thuria knew this, and took his hands in hers.

 

“I'm not angry with you.” She said softly. “I was just scared you wouldn't return.” He stared at her, confused.

 

“I know you slept with Abbie, Bartholomew.” Thuria said.

 

“How-oh, right, you’re a psyker.” Bartholomew replied, though he was still panicked.

 

“Like I said, I'm not angry. I was scared you wouldn't make it back.”

 

“...You’re not angry?” he asked. “Really?”

 

“I've said it twice now.” Bartholomew hugged her, crying once more.  She hugged him back, and the rest of the night passed uneventfully. The only thing of note was Dinah, who had escaped, returning to Abbie.

 

The next morning, Blake was telling Amberley of how he’d tried to fight Sasha so he could sleep with her. Granted, that was not his original intention, but it was worth telling Vail what the assassin was offering. That was when Amberley realized something.

 

“...Where is she, anyway?”

 

“I...don’t know, actually.” Blake said. “Should we go look for her?”

 

Amberley nodded. The two of them walked through the fortress, calling Sasha’s name. Blake knocked on her room door. Common sense dictated if he knocked, she would be there. The door creaked open, the assassin standing on the other side. She was exhausted, her stance and expression reflecting that.

 

“You OK, Irrel-I mean, Sasha?” Blake asked. “You don’t look too good.”

 

“I don't feel it, either.”

 

“What happened?” he asked, concerned. “Does it have anything to do with that carnival?”

 

“You could say that.” Sasha muttered.

 

“Never mind, then.” Blake said. “You go rest. I’ll challenge Amberley to a fight to see if she’ll sleep with me.” he jokingly added, forgetting Amberley was right next to him. When he realized this, he looked at her awkwardly. “Erm…”

 

Amberley was blushing a bit, smiling, the expression also awkward.

 

“I was joking…” Blake said. “Though if you honestly want to sleep with me, that’s fine…”

 

“I don't.”

 

“Oh, right. You only have eyes for one man.” Blake said. His tone was joking, but Amberley sighed sadly, nonetheless. Blake smiled, and held Amberley’s hand. She smiled, too. Sasha closed the door, going to bed. Amberley pulled Blake into a gentle hug. Blake was not surprised at how affectionate she was. In fact, he thought she was desperately wanting to see Ciaphas one more time. “I promise on the Emperor’s Golden Throne, we will find him.” he whispered.

 

“Who? Ciaphas? He's dead. He's been dead for many years.”

 

“Mortally, he is dead. But spiritually, he is not. No one is.” Blake replied. “If I must, I will venture into the Warp, just so you can see him again.”

 

“Thank you, Blake.”

 

“Why are you thanking me?”

 

“You are willing to sacrifice much to make me happy.” Amberley replied. “For that, I am thankful.”

 

“It’s no trouble, my dearest.” Blake said. He just called her ‘his dearest.’ Odd. He was in love with her, Amberley knew. He just hadn't outright said it yet. Nor did he seem to realize it, either that or he was hiding it. In any case, he was young, foolish and in love with the most attractive Inquisitor in the galaxy. Amberley couldn't help but smile. This reminded her of how Ciaphas had acted when their courtship began. She would never return his affections, of course, but Fate was a funny thing. She pulled away, still smiling.

 

“Come, Blake. Let us look into this mysterious carnival.” Amberley said. Blake nodded, pulling out a pocket knife.

 

“Just in case things get ugly.”

 

Amberley grinned, pulling a slender chainsword off her back. “Just in case things get ugly.” She echoed. When they got to the carnival, not much had changed, aside from the Tunnel of Romance being repaired.

 

“This is...alright.” Blake said. Amberley nodded, looking around. That was when Blake noticed the Tunnel of Romance, staring at it peculiarly. There was something...off about it. It unsettled Blake, but also enticed him, not knowing about Quinn and Thuria’s experience. Suddenly, Abbie, the Ringmistress, emerged from a nearby tent, wearing her mask once again.

 

“Welcome, one and all, to my carnival!” she shouted.

 

“Hello!” Blake greeted. Amberley was silent. The Ringmistress regarded them both. Abbie recognized Amberley instantly, but her mask hid the brief expression of surprise that flickered across her face. Amberley noticed her staring, her eyes narrowing. Blake also looked at the Ringmistress warily. She cocked her head.

 

“Do you need something?” Amberley asked. Abbie turned away, beginning to walk. Blake followed the Ringmistress, ignoring whatever warnings Amberley would give. Abbie didn't acknowledge him, continuing on her way without breaking stride. He continued to follow her, until he found himself in her tent. Abbie was kneeling in front of the fire, moving the burning logs with a poker. She continued to ignore him.

 

“Hello?” Blake asked. “Where am I?”

 

Silence, save for the crackling flame.

 

“Answer my question.”

 

“You are in my tent.” Abbie replied simply.

 

“OK…” he said, slowly attempting to walk out. Abbie turned around, her mask as eerie as ever.

 

“Sit down.” She said. It wasn't a request. He did. Abbie sat down in a chair acrid from him. He stared at her, blinking once or twice. Abbie stared back at him.

 

“My mask scares you, doesn't it?”

 

“Yes.” he answered. “Very much.”

 

She reached up to her face, before removing it, setting the mask aside.

 

“Better?”

 

“Holy shit, you look just like Thuria.” he said, surprised. Abbie smiled.

 

“Well, I am her daughter.”

 

“She had a daughter? But she looks so young…”

 

“She was 17 when I was born.” Abbie said.

 

“17...by the Emperor...how?!” he asked.

 

“How do you think?”

 

“She and Bart had se-ewww, gross! I don’t need that image in my head!”

 

After a moment of silence, Abbie said, “They weren't around much. Their training to become Inquisitors took up most of their time. I saw them once a month if I was lucky.”

 

“So, what made you join this damned Slaanesh cult?” Blake asked incredulously.

 

“I was taken in the middle of the night not long after my sixth birthday. The cultists weren't gentle, but they weren't cruel, either. They looked after me until I hit puberty, then helped me as I explored my own sexuality.”

 

“So, why exactly am I here?”

 

“You followed me, you fucking moron.”

 

“No, why are you telling me all this?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“...” Blake didn’t answer, just staring at her body.

 

“It's not like you'll be able to tell anyone.”

 

“That is true. I’ll keep quiet.”

 

“That's not what I meant.”

 

“You’re going to kill me.” Blake guessed.

 

“Close.” She said, right before James suddenly spun Blake around and punched him in the face, knocking him out instantly.

 

“Thank you, James.” Abbie said.

 

“You are welcome, mistress. Are we to castrate him as well?”

 

“No. At least, not yet. Take him to the funhouse and chain him up in one of the back rooms, away from the guests.” James nodded, and obeyed. When Blake awoke, he instinctively began to struggle. The room was empty and quiet, the only sound being distant music and laughter.

 

“HELP!” he screamed. “SOMEONE, GET ME OUT!”

 

Someone groaned, before Amberley spoke, “B-Blake?”

 

“Amberley? They got you too?”

 

“Yes. Someone hit me over the head with a hammer when I was looking for you.”

 

“Was this someone pale and absolutely skinny?” Blake asked.

 

“I didn't see who did it, but now that you mention it, I was being followed by someone pale and skinny.”

 

“That was the person who knocked me out! We have to escape.”

 

She nodded. “Any ideas on how?”

 

“No, sorry.”

 

Amberley nodded again, looking around the room. “Hmmm...so we are both bound to chairs, but not to the floor. Alright.”

 

She began rocking her chair back and forth, but before she could tip her chair over, a key could be heard turning in the door. She stopped moving just as it opened. Blake kept absolutely still. Amberley looked towards the door, thinking she knew who was coming in. It was James. Amberley showed no emotion. He didn't scare her one bit.

 

“Why are we here?” she asked, her tone almost bored.

 

“You are here because of the mistress.”

 

“Ah, the mistress. Everyone in this damned place seems to worship the ground she walks on. Why?”

 

“I cannot say. She has a charm about her.”

 

“I assume you plan to rape me.” Amberley said, her tone still flat and bored.

 

“No.” James said. “The mistress has plans for you both.”

 

“Which you can't tell us about.” She said dryly. “So, why are you here now?”

 

“I am here to take you two to the mistress.”

 

And that was exactly what he did. Abbie was waiting in another part of the funhouse, not bothering to put on her mask.

 

“Ah, good work, James. Have they been cooperative?”

 

“Yes, mistress. They are at your beck and call.”

 

She nodded, before saying, “You have earned a reward for your service. Take the boy along with you, James. He is yours to use for your own pleasure.”

 

“Oh, Emperor...NONONONONONOOO-” James dragged Blake to a dark corner of the funhouse.

 

“Abbie…” muttered Amberley.

 

Abbie grinned. “Hello, auntie! I'm glad you recognized me.”

 

“Dear, sweet Abbie…” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “What happened to you?”

 

“The cult found me, and raised me better than mother and father ever could. They opened my eyes.” Abbie said. “Unlike the Emperor, my God is alive, and my God rewards those who serve Her faithfully.”

 

“Your ‘God’ is a hedonistic demon.” Amberley said flatly.

 

“And your ‘God’ is a rotting corpse.” Abbie retorted. Amberley growled.

 

“...Take. That. Back. Heretic.”

 

“No.” Abbie said, childishly sticking her tongue out. “You can't make me.”

 

“I can, and I will, insolent child.”

 

“How?” Abbie asked.

 

Amberley managed to remove her chains  and retrieve her chainaxe with ease. “Like this.” she said, charging at Abbie. Abbie drew a pair of daggers, meeting Amberley in the middle of the room, the two of them clashing blades. “Come back into the Emperor’s light, child! He loves you!” Amberey shouted as her blade whirred against Abbie’s daggers. Abbie held her ground, keeping Amberley at a standstill.

 

“The Emperor is dead, auntie. The Imperium is a rotting carcass, holding onto the last, shattered remnants of the glory it once enjoyed.”

 

“...Liar...at least we haven’t plunged headfirst into hedonism like you have.”

 

“What do you want me to do, auntie? Admit the error of my ways, apologize to the Emperor, and go home to mummy and daddy?” Abbie asked, beginning to push Amberley back.

 

“I would like that, yes...because we still love you.”

 

“I still love you, auntie.” Abbie admitted.

 

“Then step away from all this evil…” Amberley begged.

 

“That is tempting, really...but I must decline.” Abbie replied, slashing Amberley’s hand with one of her daggers. Amberly slashed at her niece with her chain-axe, trying to pull through the pain. Abbie rolled, dodging the swing. She backed away from her aunt, licking the blood of the dagger, a smirk on her face.

 

“I will do anything you ask.” Amberley said. “I don’t want to fight you, honest.”

 

Abbie then pulled her aunt into a forceful kiss. Amberley tried to pull away, but she did say “anything”. So, she kissed back, as much as it disgusted her. As if on instinct, she added her tongue into it, letting out a soft muffled moan. Abbie purred, adding her own tongue to the sloppy kiss. Amberley felt it wrap around hers; long and serpentine, she noted. She rubbed her niece’s back, realizing that she was now, indeed, a woman. Abbie ran her hands over Amberley’s body, rubbing her back, legs, stomach and thighs, avoiding her breasts in order to tease the older woman. Amberley did the same, but did not avoid Abbie’s breasts. Instead, she ran her hands over them slowly, as if inspecting cargo or weaponry. Abbie moaned softly, closing her eyes. Amberley noted her exposed nipples, and playfully twisted them. Abbie moaned louder, kissing Amberley again. Amberley briefly pulled away to breathe, and noticed how wet she was. By the Emperor, she hadn’t felt that way for a woman in years, it seemed.

 

“You are actually starting to enjoy yourself, aren't you?” Abbie purred.

 

“Yes…” Amberley admitted. “They say pleasure is no crime. Is that true?”

 

“It is, indeed, no crime. How can it be? If it makes you feel good...how can it be bad?”

 

“You have a point.” Amberley said as she began to strip. Abbie did the same, removing her dress. She wore no undergarments. This made Amberley even wetter, and the same vague feeling Bartholomew had earlier returned, only this time, she could faintly hear Slaanesh’s voice. Abbie walked over to her, beginning to kiss her neck, running her hands over her aunt’s breasts.

 

“Suckle from me…” Amberley gasped, surprised at her own words. Abbie grinned, doing as she was bid, latching onto Amberley’s left nipple and beginning to suckle. Amberley let out a moan, stroking her niece’s hair, blushing heavily. She was clearly not used to being pleasured by a woman, Abbie noted as she continued to suckle. She could feel Amberley’s juices on her legs.

 

“Do you like this, auntie?” she asked, briefly pulling away from the red, puffy, hardened nipple. Amberley nodded. Abbie went back to suckling, before moving one of her hands down to Amberley’s slit and beginning to finger her. Amberley moaned, shuddering as she attempted to hold in her orgasm. Abbie smirked, rubbing her aunt’s clit with her thumb. Amberley shuddered, before orgasming loudly. Abbie’s smirk widened as she licked the juices off her fingers. Her aunt panted, smiling.

 

“I love you.”

 

Abbie kissed her again, before replying, “I love you too, auntie.”

 

After that, they truly began making love. James, meanwhile, was having his fun with Blake.

 

“You know, having a dick in my ass is pleasant.” Blake half-snarked. James was stroking Blake’s cock while fucking him in the ass, nipping at the latter’s neck. He moaned, stroking James’ hair.

 

“Is this your first time with a man?” James asked him, his balls slapping off of Blake’s as they fucked.

 

“Yes.” Blake admitted between moans. James grinned.

 

“Ya like it?” he asked, beginning to go faster.

 

“YES! YES! FASTER! HARDER!”

 

James obliged him, thrusting faster into Blake’s ass and continuing to stroke his cock. Blake came, the hot fluid oozing out of his penis. James pulled him into a forceful kiss, continuing to thrust. Blake kissed him fervently, running his hands all over the man’s bony body. With a low moan, James climaxed. Blake grinned at his lover, kissing him more. James broke the kiss after a moment, before moving down, taking Blake’s cock into his mouth. The two of them would be busy for a while.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, laid with Amberley back in her tent, the two of them kissing gently. Amberley was still nude, rubbing Abbie’s back. Abbie had out her dress back on, though her breasts were still uncovered. Amberley smirked, playing with them. “My, my, you’ve grown up so fast…” she observed.

 

The voice of Slaanesh still whispered in her mind, tempting her to greater excess. Then, something remarkable happened: A very familiar voice, a voice she never thought she would hear again, spoke in her mind: “What are you doing, Inquisitor Vail? Amberley, why are you acting this way?”

 

“Ciaphas…” she muttered, stopping her incestuous fondling suddenly. It was, indeed, incestuous in every sense of the word, as her sister was Thuria’s mother.

 

“Yes. The Emperor sent me. Now isn't that something? This old Commissar, one of millions upon millions, attracted His attention.” The voice of Cain said, chuckling a bit. Abbie was looking at Amberley suspiciously, wondering why her aunt had stopped what she was doing.

 

“Where are you, and why are you speaking with me now?”

 

“I am in a place I couldn't describe if I tried. It's...paradise. Far better than anything I deserve. The only thing missing is you, Amberley. As for why I am speaking with you, like I said, the Emperor sent me. He wanted me to stop you from making a terrible mistake.” Ciaphas said, his voice starting to fade, before his presence faded from her mind, leaving behind a pleasant warmth that radiated over her whole body. Amberley stared at Abbie, and redressed. Abbie sighed, tucking her breasts back inside her dress.

 

“I had hoped this would go well.” She muttered, before pulling a rather primitive blowgun out from under her pillow, shooting Amberley with a dart. The poison within was nonlethal, but would cause paralysis in the person injected with it. It was slow to kick in, so Amberley wouldn't feel the effects for a few minutes. She retrieved her chain axe, but before she could do anything, she fell. Abbie got out of bed, walking over to Amberley and kneeling beside her.

 

“You can't speak, but I know you can hear me. Good. You will want to know what is going to happen next. You, my dear aunt, are going to be part of the show. If you had been good, played along, and given into your urges, you could have been one of the performers, but alas, you resisted our God, and for that, you will know pain. But chin up! It'll still be fun, I promise.” Abbie said, standing up and walking away. A moment later, a large man entered, throwing Amberley over his shoulder and exiting the tent. After walking through most of the carnival, he entered another tent, where a round board sat, mounted on a stand. He put Amberley against it, before tying her wrists and ankles to the board with rope, stretching her arms and legs out diagonally. Amberley, though paralyzed, dryly observed that this was something out of a cheap holodrama. The man left, and she was left alone in the dark, silent tent.

 

Meanwhile, Thuria was searching for Blake and Amberley in the fortress. She hadn't seen either of them in a while, and was worried. Bartholomew suspected that they had gone to the carnival. As did Thuria. She went to speak with Luciana and Celeste, trying to find out if either of them could confirm this suspicion. Celeste nodded, then realized what she just confirmed.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

Luciana, who was in the same room, nodded. “Yep. They've likely been taken by the Ringmistress. Or the Pale Man.”

 

Thuria sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Great. They're likely in the hands of my homicidally insane daughter. That's just swell.”

 

“We’ll get ‘em back.” said Bartholomew. “Don’t worry.”

 

Luciana was staring at them. “...Wait, the Ringmistress is your daughter?”

 

Thuria nodded slowly. Celeste blushed.

 

“I knew already…”

 

Now it was her Luciana was staring at. “How?”

 

“Thuria told me.”

 

“Ah.” Luciana said, turning back to what she was doing. Thuria paced, considering the best way to free Amberley and Blake. Bartholomew paced with her, the vague feeling of excess growing louder in his head. Thuria sensed this in his mind.

 

“Bart, you're going to stay here.” She said.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“I can hear the Dark Prince whispering in your mind. The last thing I need is to worry about you turning on me in order to please both the God of Hedonism and our daughter.”

 

“I...ummm…” Bart said, stuttering.

 

“I'm not debating with you. You're staying here.” Thuria said firmly. He pouted like a child.

 

“Fine.”

 

She headed out, but before she could leave, she found a note attached to the inside of the gates. She read it. ‘Mother and father, you will come to my carnival, alone. If anyone else in your little group shows up, Auntie and Blakie die.’

 

She went back inside, handing the note to Bartholomew. “It looks like you're coming after all.” Bartholomew nodded, elated he would see his admittedly-attractive daughter once more. Thuria looked at him, her expression flat and serious.

 

“Bart, I love you. Truly. However, I'm no fool. You turn on me, I will shoot you.”

 

“I will not. I promise on the Emperor’s Throne.”

 

“Good. I'll hold you to that.”

 

Bartholomew took her hand, smiling. “I will.”

 

They set off together, heading for the carnival. It was quiet when they arrived, the crowds having left. She entered cautiously. Bartholomew armed himself, taking out and silently loading his rifle.

 

“Be vigilant.” Thuria said, looking around. Bartholomew nodded, looking around as well for any sign of danger. The carnival, unsettling enough when in operation, was even more eerie in the dark. Bartholomew heard humming in the distance. Abbie…

 

He felt a wave of lust over himself, but tried pushing this back. Thuria slapped the back of his head. “Thank you.” he muttered.

 

“No problem. Do you recognize the song she's humming?”

 

“No, Thuria. Do you?”

 

“It's the song we used to sing to help her sleep.” Memories came back to Bartholomew like a tidal wave. He suddenly began crying, lowering his rifle. It was a sweet, gentle lullaby,  that song. Thuria had come up with the words herself. She began to cry, as well.

 

“I thought for so long that our little girl was dead, Bart…”

 

“...She is dead, Thuria...not physically…but mentally.”

 

“I don't believe it.”

 

“You don’t? How do you explain her fall to Chaos, then?” His tone was angered, straightforward.

 

“She is humming that bed-song, Bartholomew.”

 

“That may be true, but that doesn’t change the fact she is dead, as far as I am concerned.”

 

“That certainly didn't stop you from fucking her, did it?” Thuria spat.

 

“...SHUT UP, THURIA!” Bartholomew yelled, briefly losing his temper. She glared at him then. It wasn't her usual annoyed look, the look that said, ‘You are irritating me, so shut up.’ This was her Inquisitor look, the glare she reserved for heretics, witches and rogue psykers. This was the same disgusted, angry gaze that the countless thousands she had ordered shot or burned at the stake had received. Bartholomew instantly regretted what he had said, but did not speak.

 

“You son of a bitch…” she said, her voice a low hiss.

 

“...I-I’m sorry, Thur…” he said, attempting to save face by using the nickname he used on occasion. “I didn’t mean it…”

 

“You slept with our daughter, our precious little girl, not long after finding out she was alive, and then you tell me to shut up when I get angry about it?” He didn’t answer, letting Thuria continue her rant.

 

“You weren't there when the cult hideout was found, Bart. I was. I saw the blood, the altar, the knives…” He still did not speak.

 

“I thought Abbie was dead. How could she not be? Oh, there was blood...so much blood…”

 

“Seriously...shut up, please…”

 

Thuria ignored him. “Now, after it turns out she is alive, you wish to give up on her.”

 

“I said. Shut. Up.”

 

Thuria looked at him, before saying simply, “No.”

 

“Yes. I said so.”

 

“And why should I listen to you?”

 

“Because I am your partner and lover.”

 

Thuria glared at him again. “So, since you're the man of the relationship, I have to listen to you?”

 

“In this case, yes.” he said dryly. Thuria chuckled.

 

“I could legally shoot you for that comment.”

 

“You could, but are you going to?”

 

Thuria didn't. Instead, she backhanded him. Hard.

 

“OW!” he screamed. “THAT HURT!”

 

“Good.” She said coldly. He glared at her, now giving her his Inquisitor look. Thuria was unimpressed.

 

“Am I supposed to be unnerved?” she asked dryly.

 

“Yes. I don’t use this look often, you know.”

 

“You don't have to. I reserve mine for the people I sentence to death. You don't kill unless your life is at risk. I don't think you've ever executed anyone, or even ordered an execution carried out.” Thuria said.

 

“But I am just as much an Inquisitor as you.”

 

Thuria, despite her anger, grinned. “Oh, I know. You are dangerous in your own right. You are better suited to manipulating those you interrogate into telling you what you want to know.”

 

“Why thank you.” Bartholomew said. “Let’s keep moving.”

 

She nodded, before whispering in his ear, “You ever presume to command me again, I'll cut off your manhood with a dull scalpel.”

 

Thuria then began walking again without waiting for a response. The humming continued, growing steadily louder as she moved through the silent carnival. Where was it coming from? Where was Abbie hiding? Bartholomew was overcome with emotion, remembering when Thuria had told him she was pregnant. He had been 16, near Thuria’s age at the time. They had both been in the middle of Inquisitorial training at that time. The two of them had slept together in order to relieve stress, and in the heat of the moment, contraceptives had been forgotten. Bartholomew, young aristocrat he was, had not expected to be a father so soon. Thuria had been born to a family with a long history of prestigious positions in the Imperial Guard. Her mother, Sarita Vail, was Amberley’s younger sister. Thuria herself grew up with little, her family’s wealth very modest. She had wanted to become an Inquisitor in order to follow in her aunt’s footsteps. She and Bartholomew were in essence opposites.

 

The birth of Abbie was, far and away, the happiest moment of Thuria’s life. Holding her daughter in her arms, after a long and grueling pregnancy, was something she would never forget. Being forced to spend so much time away from Abbie was one of her greatest regrets,  and she could hardly blame her daughter for hating her for it. Bartholomew, thinking about this now, began asking himself why. Why had he chosen to become an Inquisitor in the first place? His family, that was why. His father was...overbearing, to put it lightly. ‘Was’ being the operative word. Thuria had shot him in the back of the head five years prior to their arrival in the Underhive, due to him collaborating with the Tau in order to further his own influence. Bartholomew witnessed the whole ordeal, and regretted nothing.

 

Thuria finally located where the humming was coming from: The funhouse. Bartholomew entered slowly, rifle raised. Thuria followed him inside. Once they were both in, the doors slammed shut behind them, locking. “I swear, Abbie relies too much on cliches…” Bartholomew muttered. “Though it is effective.”

 

“She is clever, I'll give her that.” Thuria said.

 

Bartholomew nodded, walking through the funhouse. Lights turned on as they walked, displaying the gruesome ‘art’ decorating each room. Bartholomew was outright horrified. There were headless bodies on makeshift horses, dead, flayed children on eerie playgrounds, gutted Imperial priests leading a service of skinless worshippers, decapitated corpses with animals heads sewn on. Each room was more macabre and sadistically creative than the last.

 

“ABBIGAIL BRAXTON-CUBBINS, REVEAL THYSELF!” Bartholomew roared. “IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR, YOU ARE ACCUSED OF HERESY!”

 

Abbie simply continued to hum, the sound echoing throughout the funhouse, making it unclear where, exactly, she was. Bartholomew continued yelling praises to the Emperor.

 

“Father?” Abbie finally said.

 

“Ah, you’re here.” Bartholomew said. “Surrender, Abbie.”

 

“No.” She said, before a revving noise could be heard. She leapt from the shadows, slashing Thuria across the back of the leg with Amberley’s chainsword. Her mother screamed, the sound piercing.

 

“THURIA!” Bartholomew screamed, firing at his daughter. One of the shots caught her in the shoulder. Abbie hissed in pain, tossing down the chainsword and fleeing into the darkness. Bartholomew helped Thuria up, bandaging her injuries. “I will handle Abbie. You need to go find Blake and Amberley.”

 

“On it…” she said, staggering a bit before steadying herself. “Go. Find her.” Bartholomew nodded, running after Abbie. He continued firing, praying to the Emperor that he wouldn’t be seduced again.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, searched for Amberley and Blake. She limped along, looking through empty rooms...until she finally found the latter, along with James. “Hello.” Blake greeted, kissing the Pale Man. “Care to join us for a threesome?”

 

Thuria promptly threw up, vomiting the contents of her stomach all over the floor. “Come now, Thuria. Don’t act like you aren’t turned on.” said Blake.

 

“I'm not.” She said, before shooting James in the stomach. Blake stared at her before his gaze softened. He held onto her after she helped him up, and whispered, “Thank you…”

 

She didn't respond, walking over to James and placing her gun against his temple. “You'll live, heretic, though you may yet wish for death. Tell me: What is your mistress planning?”

 

“Games...animals...food…” he whispered. Blake stared at Thuria.

 

“May I do the honors?”

 

“No.” She said, before stomping on the bleeding stomach of James. “What. Is. She. Planning?”

 

“I am not telling you anything…” he laughed, blood spilling out.

 

She looked inside his mind, before muttering, “You mean to tell me she doesn't have a plan? She is just doing everything for shits and giggles?”

 

“Of course. Why should pleasure be anything more than that?”

 

Thuria shot him in the head without another word, limping out of the room. Blake spat on James’ dead body and said, “Thuria’s a far better lay than you.” before following her. They moved through the funhouse, trying to find Amberley. He noted she was blushing, as if she’d heard what he had said. Thuria had, indeed, heard him, and was blushing a bit, but didn't say anything, as she had bigger things to be worried about at the moment.

 

“Do you know where Amberley is?” she asked after a moment of silence.

 

“She was dragged off somewhere...I’m worried for her.”

 

“As am I. I assume you know by now how violently unpredictable Abbie is.”

 

“Yes I do. Honestly, I think I’m in love with Amberley.” Blake said.

 

“Oh, I know. I'm pretty sure she does, too.”

 

“...You mean to say she’s in love with me?” Blake assumed. “Because I cannot replace, nor am I worthy of replacing, Ciaphas Cain.”

 

“Oh, no. I meant she knows you are in love with her.” Thuria corrected gently.

 

“Ah, I see.” he said. “I saw you blushing earlier. Why?” Blake asked.

 

“I heard what you said to the corpse of the Pale Man.”

 

“Oh.” Now he was blushing. “Well, it’s true. You were amazing the one time we had sex, and I still consider you a fuckbuddy.” He knew she loved Bartholomew, and this didn’t bother him in the slightest. He considered Thuria a friend with benefits, and he was sure that while she didn’t feel the same, that was all that mattered. The two of them continued on their way, still searching for Amberley. They found her, still tied up. “...This is something out of a bad holodrama.” Blake observed, echoing Amberley’s own thoughts on the situation. That was when lights turned on inside the tent, the two of them having exited the funhouse. Thuria winced, blinded for a moment.

 

“Welcome, one and all, to the show!” Abbie’s voice resounded. It was clearly just a recording. “I am your host, the Ringmistress, and today, I have something exciting in store for you!”

 

That was when the board Amberley was tied to began to spin. No longer paralyzed, the Inquisitor swore loudly out of surprise. Blake looked at Thuria, ready to follow orders so that her aunt would be rescued. Before she could speak, knives began flying at the board, embedding themselves inches from Amberley. Someone was throwing them. Blake looked around. It was one of the clowns. Thuria promptly shot him, before freeing Amberley. Blake threw his arms around her, grinning. That was when a low, deep chuckle began. A man stepped out of the shadows, continuing to laugh. It was James.

 

“Holy Emperor, how did you survive?” asked Blake. There was a gaping wound on the back of his head, but the Pale Man hardly seemed to notice.

 

“My Goddess is generous, Blake.” James said, grinning madly. “I have caught Her eye, and She has granted me a wondrous reward.”

 

“What? Another penis?”

 

“No.” James replied, drawing a long knife, the wound on his head closing. “Rebirth.”

 

“Aw, crap.” Blake said, still holding himself close to Amberley. “We’re dead.”

 

Thuria promptly shot James in the face. He staggered, the round having gone through his left eye. She  continued shooting until her gun was empty, leaving James on the ground, covered in wounds. They quickly began to heal, the Pale Man sitting up and glaring at her.

 

“We should run.” She said calmly, before quickly limping out of the tent. Blake followed, but not before forcefully kissing Amberley in the heat of the moment. Amberley quickly followed him. James smirked, whistling as he began pursuing them.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was running from Bartholomew, her bleeding shoulder slowing her down. He soon caught up with her, smirking.

 

“Heretic season…” he said gravely. “...Fire.” He then shot at Abbie with a deadly accuracy. Another round hit her, this time in the arm. She hissed in pain once again, before throwing a knife at her father with her other arm with the same deadly accuracy. He winced, slowly drawing it out of him and wrapping the wound. “There’s no escaping this, daughter.”

 

Abbie stopped, before turning back towards him. “I know. Which is why I'm not playing anymore.”

 

“Not going to seduce me like a coward? Good.” he said, before firing again. The round didn't hit Abbie. Rather, it ricocheted, impacting a nearby wall. Abbie had blocked it with one of her knives. “Clever, just like your mother.”

 

“She isn't clever. She's brutal.” Abbie said, beginning to approach him.

 

“...She may be brutal, but I love her nonetheless.”

 

“Didn't stop you from fucking my brains out, did it?” she taunted.

 

“Stop trying to seduce me…” he growled.

 

“I'm not. Honestly, you bored me after a while.”

 

“...” He said nothing.

 

“James is a much better lay. He knows how rough I like it.”

 

“I could say the same about your mother. Or Amberley.”

 

She laughed. “You expect me to believe you've slept with Amberley?”

 

“I did.” Bartholomew replied.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I. Did.”

 

“When?”

 

“Erm…”

 

“Got you.” She said before stabbing him in the shoulder. He screamed, falling. She bent down, gently kissing his cheek, before standing up and walking away.

 

“Ow...ow...ow…”

 

Silence fell, Abbie having left that part of the funhouse behind. Bartholomew struggled to get up. Abbie, meanwhile, went back to her own tent, calling one of her underlings to tend to her wounds. The girl, Mira, healed her mistress, suckling on one of her nipples as she did. When she was finished, Mira bowed towards her mistress. Abbie pulled Mira into her lap. Mira grinned. Abbie kissed her forcefully, purring. She returned it, moaning softly. “Mmm...oh, mistress…”

 

Abbie smirked, groping Mira as they kissed. Mira loudly moaned. Abbie continued groping her, beginning to kiss Mira’s neck. Mira kept moaning, growing wetter. Abbie was growing very wet, as well. She pulled Mira’s dress off, before taking one of her nipples into her mouth. Mira smirked.

 

“Returning the favor?”

 

Abbie nodded, continuing to suckle. Mira stroked her hair. The sounds of the lovemaking that followed could be heard across the carnival. Mira was a screamer, much to the disgust of Thuria and Amberley. Blake was into it, though. Amberley swatted the back of his head. The rest of the night passed quietly, until Thuria, the pain in her leg proving to be too much, passed out. “Holy crap…” muttered Blake. “We need to get her back to base.”

 

That proved to be impossible, as the gates were sealed shut. The carnival didn't open that morning; the crowds never arrived, and the attractions stayed still and silent. Blake, in the meantime, had confessed his feelings to Amberley, knowing they wouldn’t be returned. Amberley, surprising, kissed him gently on the lips, before pulling away. “You just kissed me...even though I know you aren’t interested in me…”

 

She said, blushing a bit, “That was to pay you back for the kiss you gave me last night.”

 

“Oh. Well, thank you.” Blake said, smiling.

 

“I don't know if I will ever love you romantically, but I would be more than happy to love you like family.” Amberley told him. Blake hugged her, burying his face in her chest. She hugged him back. Thuria, meanwhile, had managed to get up, and had gone looking for Bartholomew. He still lay in the funhouse, groaning in pain.

 

“T-Thuria?”

 

“I'm here.” She said, kneeling next to him.

 

“You came back for me…” he said weakly. “And after we fought, no less.”

 

“Of course I came. I love you, Bartholomew.”

 

“I know.” he said, smiling. She helped him to his feet. He held onto her shoulder to support himself. Thuria stumbled a bit, his weight throwing off her already precarious balance, but she soon regained her footing, beginning to walk out of the funhouse. Bartholomew walked with her, carefully looking out for any signs of danger. The cultists, wherever they were, had hidden themselves well. Abbie herself was in her tent, sitting with Mira and Dinah. They were both making out with each other for their mistress’ pleasure, with Mira stroking Dinah’s hair. Dinah had been severely punished for her failure to carry out her task. Due to her being a Slaaneshi, the punishment wasn't torture; rather, it had consisted of locking her in a dark room with nothing to do for hours on end. For Slaaneshi, it was torture, yes, but it was merciful compared to the Imperium’s sensory deprivation chambers. Dinah considered herself lucky for that very reason. She was still left with the knowledge that her failure had greatly lowered her value in the eyes of her mistress, and that Abbie would likely kill her when her usefulness ran out. That was torturous, even more so than the dark room. For now, however, she would enjoy her pleasures as much as she could.

 

Abbie watched the two of them, a glass of wine in her hand. Her face, far from displaying arousal, showed deep, uncaring boredom. Mira looked at her. “Is something the matter, mistress?”

 

“Oh, nothing. Aside from the fact that watching you two is about as arousing as watching grass grow.” Mira frowned, looking at Dinah. Dinah looked afraid, which was unusual for her. She knew very well how precarious her situation was, and how bad displeasing Abbie could be. She wrung her hands nervously, her head bowing.

 

“What do you want us to do?” Mira asked. Abbie handed her a whip.

 

“Lash Dinah, preferably on her tits and ass.” She said, leaning back in her chair. Mira grinned, before striking Dinah on those areas. Dinah moaned loudly from both the pleasure and the pain. Mira kept it up until Dinah started bleeding. She grinned, kissing her. Dinah kissed her back, before taking the whip and lashing both of Mira’s nipples. She moaned, getting on her knees and fully submitting herself to Dinah. Dinah purred at this, pushing Mira’s head against her dripping slit.

 

“Pleasure me, slut…” Dinah whispered, smirking. Mira slowly licked her dominant’s pussy, moaning as she ate Dinah out. Her eyes conveyed a lust never seen in her before, and she grinned as she pleasured Dinah. Dinah gasped, holding Mira’s head as her submissive licked her pussy. Abbie was aroused now, and was unashamedly groping her own breasts while moving two fingers in and out of her moist slit.

 

“Very good, girls. Very good…” she moaned. “Keep doing that…”

 

“Yes, mistress…” Mira moaned, still licking at Dinah’s nethers. Dinah gasped, approaching her climax rapidly. After another minute, she came, her juices coating Mira’s face. Mira drank them greedily, wiping her mouth when she finished. Dinah panted, patting her head. Mira snuggled into her, smirking at her mistress. Abbie had climaxed herself, and was licking the juices off of her fingers. “Here,” Mira said, getting up and walking over to her. “Let me help.” She then began eating Abbie out. Abbie threw back her head, moaning loudly. Mira stuck her tongue in her mistress’ most pleasurable areas, licking them slowly and gently so that Abbie would experience the most amount of pleasure possible. It wasn't long before Abbie came over her face, gasping and writhing in ecstacy. Mira licked the cum off of her face, grinning widely. “Did you enjoy that, mistress?” she asked playfully.

 

Abbie nodded, grinning widely. “You did well, sweetling. Very well.” Mira kissed her, wrapping her arms around Abbie. Abbie kissed Mira back, stroking her hair. Mira wrapped her own tongue around Abbie’s, sucking on it. Abbie soon broke the kiss, smirking at her.

 

“I love you, mistress.”

 

Abbie didn't reply to that. She merely continued to smirk, looking at Dinah over Mira’s shoulder. The expression was sinister and a bit crazed. Mira looked at her, a bit perplexed. “What is the matter, mistress?”

 

“Would you kill for me if I asked you to, Mira?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good.” Abbie said, drawing a knife and handing it to Mira. “Kill Dinah.”

 

She then tossed a knife to Dinah. “Kill Mira. Whoever remains alive in the end will earn my favor.”

 

Dinah nodded, twirling the knife and smirking at Mira. “Come at me, sister, if you dare.”

 

In the end, neither of them won. Both women were left bloodied and exhausted, and Abbie was left satisfied. They were both more than willing to kill for her, which was what she had wanted to find out by ordering them to fight to the death.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was still supporting Bartholomew as they walked through the carnival, searching for Abbie. “Do you really believe our little girl is completely gone, Bart?” she asked.

 

“Yes.” he said. “She is beyond gone.”

 

“I still don't believe it. I can't. I love her too much.” Thuria said, holding back tears. Bartholomew held her close, shushing her. She calmed down after a few minutes, and they began walking again.

 

“Better?” Bartholomew asked, smiling at his fiancee. She nodded, smiling back at him. The carnival was still empty, the normally busy attractions shrouded by a deadly, calm silence. That was when it came again: The humming. Abbie was near. Bartholomew loaded his rifle, keeping watch. The humming continued, before she began singing.

 

“The darkness comes for thee, sweet child.

The hungry wolves howl in the night, in the wild.

Death comes for thy weary soul.

All thou hast done, takes its toll…”

 

Bartholomew began pointing his rifle, looking around. Abbie continued to sing, the echoing sound making it unclear where she was.

 

“Thy end is near, child dear.

They come for thee, all you hate and fear.

They hunt thee down, across thy sacred ground.

And when you fall, never will you be found…”

 

Abbie sang beautifully, which made the words all the more eerie. Thuria looked around, still having no idea where her daughter was.

 

“It wasn't exactly a happy song we sang to her, was it?” she muttered. “Or has she changed the lyrics?”

 

“It wasn’t very happy.”

 

“I don't blame her too much for hating us. How can I? We were almost never around, and when we were, we never played with her or did anything a child would enjoy. All we did was talk about our fucking jobs.” Thuria said bitterly.

 

“I wish we were never Inquisitors, then.” Bartholomew said. “That way, we could have spent time with our little girl.”

 

“What else could we have done? Idle hands breed heresy, Bartholomew. We couldn't just sit around and do nothing.”

 

“That is true, but still…” Bartholomew said. “I just wish we could have spent time with our baby…”

 

“As do I. Do you ever wonder, now that we know that she is alive, what her time with the cult was like? Do you ever wonder if they were better at raising her than us?”

 

“I don’t want to think about it. What I do want to think about is having another child. So we can start fresh.” Bartholomew said. This was not the right time nor place, he knew that. But he wanted to get it off his chest. Before Thuria could respond, the humming resumed, the sound much louder now. “Shit. We’ll discuss this later.” Bartholomew said. “Now, we fight.”

 

“Fight?” Abbie said, stepping out of the shadows. “Please. This won't be a fight.”

 

Bartholomew readied his rifle. “It won’t be.”

 

Abbie began slowly walking towards them, a wide grin on her face.

 

“What are you doing, Abbie? Stay still so I can shoot you.”

 

“Why would I let you shoot me, you fucking moron?” she asked dryly.

 

“Because you are a heretic.”

 

“Oh, who fucking cares? I'm a heretic according to a flawed belief system. I'll add it to my long list of sins.” Abbie replied.

 

“What are you doing, then?” Bartholomew replied. She swiftly knocked his rifle out of his hand. Thuria tried to shoot at her, before Abbie disarmed her, as well. The younger girl grinned, drawing a knife. Bartholomew stared at Thuria, out of ideas. Abbie separated them, before shoving Bartholomew towards a nearby tent, where Dinah and Mira were waiting.

 

“Have fun, girls!” she called, smirking.

 

Mira smirked. “Hello, big boy…”

 

Bartholomew stared at her, then Dinah. Dinah pulled him inside the tent. She looked him over, purring.

 

“My, my, my…” she said. “You are well built, aren't you?”

 

“Get your hands off of me, Slaaneshi scum…”

 

“Ooh, feisty…” Mira said. Dinah giggled, running her hands over his back.

 

“So, tell me, handsome: You ever been with two girls at once before?”

 

“No, and I do not want to.” Bartholomew said, spitting at Dinah. She giggled again.

 

“You didn't care about our mistress being Slaaneshi when you bedded her, did you?”

 

“No…I also didn’t care she was my daughter.”

 

“You still want to bed her, don't you?”

 

“Yes.” Bartholomew admitted. “I want to give in to my deepest, most depraved pleasures.” Mira kissed him, removing his clothes and placing her breasts around his cock.

 

“Well, then...tell us what you want.” she purred.

 

“I want you two to kiss and give me titjobs…” he moaned as Mira did as he asked, motioning for Dinah to come sit by her. She licked her lips before kissing her partner, moving her breasts up and down Bartholomew’s cock. After a few minutes, Dinah took Mira’s place, beginning to move her breasts up and down his cock, the two girls continuing to kiss. Bartholomew kept moaning, the two girls now placing one breast each around his penis and continuing to stimulate, making out with each other all the while. Bartholomew eventually came, his hot jizz splashing on Mira and Dinah’s breasts. Mira broke her kiss with Dinah, smirking. She grinned, pulling Bartholomew into a tongue-filled kiss. Bartholomew moaned, rubbing Dinah’s back and stroking her hair.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, had been pulled into a similar situation with two men. She was far more resilient than Bart, having at first refused. The men got to her though, and now she was giving them blowjobs, moving from one dick to another. Thuria was biding her time, however. She was about as wet as sandpaper, but had convinced them that she was horny and desperate for sex. She wished nothing but death and agonizing pain on both of them. One of the men had finally came in her mouth after a while, as did the other. So now there was a rather large hot glob of sticky fluid in her mouth. Dare she swallow, one of the men taunted her. She stood, before spitting the warm cum in his eye. He growled, drawing a knife.

 

“Now, you die, slut.” he growled. She snorted, before snapping his arm, taking the knife, and slashing his throat. The other man came at her as well, only to suffer the same fate. Now she had two knives. It was better than nothing, considering she had lost her bolt pistol. She gathered her clothes, got dressed, and exited the tent. She looked at Bartholomew’s mind...and felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal and disgust at what she saw. He didn’t want to leave, and had threatened her if she intervened. He had given into his pleasures, suckling on the breasts of those Slaaneshi whores. Thuria ignored his threats. She calmly strode over to the tent he was in, walking inside.

 

Bartholomew growled. “Don’t come closer…”

 

She smiled at him. “Oh, dear. Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Yes. My time with my new loves.”

 

Thuria’s fists clenched, her left eye beginning to twitch. “Your what?”

 

“You heard me. My new loves.” he replied.  Thuria smiled again...before walking over to Dinah, pulling her head back, and slicing her throat wide open. Bartholomew growled, grabbing his rifle and shooting Thuria in her bad leg. Mira added to the damage further, grabbing a poison dart and throwing it in the wound. Thuria continued smiling.

 

“I see twenty years of being my partner means absolutely nothing to you, Bart.” She said calmly.

 

“...” Bartholomew said nothing, merely kissing Mira. He shot Thuria’s leg again. “Get out.” he muttered. She didn't scream. She didn't beg him to reconsider. Instead, she sighed.

 

“You know something? Aunt Amberley thought for certain that you and I would wed and start a family. I guess she was wrong, eh? Her trust in you was certainly misplaced.”

 

“I said, get out.” Deep down, Bartholomew did reconsider, although it was muffled by the voice of Slaanesh. Though, really, how much of this could be blamed on Slaanesh? The Chaos God was only bringing thoughts he had had before to light. Bartholomew reported Dinah’s death to the Ringmistress. He was fully on his daughter’s side now, it seemed. Such a shame. Thuria rose, limping out of the tent, leaving him and Mira alone. As she walked, the humming grew louder. That was when she heard it: The saw. She ran as fast as she could, her deranged daughter in pursuit.

 

----

Now…

----

 

Thuria woke up, after her encounter with Abbie in the room she had tried to hide in, strapped to a chair. She looked around the room. It was dark and bare, nothing much to see. All that could be heard was whirring. She wondered what Abbie had in store. Hopefully, it would be more than a bad holodrama scenario.

 

“If you think I'm intimidated by this, Abbie, you're wrong.” She said loudly. No response. Several Slaaneshi cultists emerged, though Thuria could barely see them. She could, however, sense them. Thuria laughed.

 

“Oh, dear. Which of you plans to rape me first?” she asked, her tone more amused than scared.

 

“I will.” said a woman. “Prepare yourself, Inquisitor.”

 

“Give it your best shot, cultist.” Thuria replied defiantly. The cultist did, before getting gored by the saw. Pitiful, really. Abbie had told the cultists before they entered that, in order to earn the right to have their way with her mother, they had to avoid the moving saw. Apparently, she noted, the woman had forgotten that. The cultists stared at Thuria. She grinned, looking at the moving saw.

 

“Any of you want to follow her example?” No one answered. They all wanted to violate her, however. There was no denying that. Another woman managed to avoid the saw, treating it as if it were a hologame level. She smirked at Thuria before forcefully kissing her. Thuria bit down hard on the woman’s tongue, even though she knew it wouldn't do much good. The woman only let out a moan, grabbing Thuria’s breasts and squeezing them. Thuria didn't moan in return. Instead, she began praying to the Emperor, both mentally and verbally. The Slaaneshi cultists hissed.

 

“Merciful Emperor, mighty Lord, guide my soul through this time of tribulation. Keep me on the right path, and grant me your light so that I may see the proper way. God-Emperor of Terra, hear my prayer…” Thuria whispered.

 

The Slaaneshi backed away, repelled by the Anathema being prayed to. Abbie sighed irritably. Now it was just her and her mother. Abbie strode forward, resisting the influence of the Emperor, the energy burning her skin, before gagging her mother. The cultists returned, ready to have their way with her. The female from before dodged the saw once again before resuming her groping of Thuria. Thuria could do nothing but scream, the sound muffled by the gag. The woman grinded against her, moaning.  Thuria continued screaming, not feeling any pleasure at all from the act. The woman grinded harder and faster, kissing Thuria’s cheek before lifting her garments and sucking on her breasts. Thuria whimpered at this. “My, my…” the woman said. “Your nipples taste delicious.” She then continued suckling, grinding harder and harder. Thuria managed to get the gag off for a brief moment. The Slaaneshi orgasmed, her yells filling the tent. Thuria began to scream.

 

“Abbie! Please, stop this! I'm your mother, and I love you! This isn't right! Please, please, just stop!”

 

Abbie closed her eyes as she heard this, holding back tears. She felt a sudden wave of guilt, and she didn't know how to handle it. She broke down crying, walking away from the screen she had been watching. She paced inside her tent, sobbing loudly, not caring if anyone heard it. The cultists turned to the screen, watching silently. There was a screen in the tent where Thuria was. They could all see Abbie clear as day, wailing. Thuria didn't know what to think of this. A silence fell over the crowd, as they listened to Abbie’s cries. What, exactly, did the cultists think of their mistress sobbing like this? Thuria was curious, so she peered into each of their minds. A majority were indifferent, others wanted to pleasure Abbie to make her feel better, and still others were disgusted. Abbie exited her tent, walking to the tent the cultists were gathered in. She entered, no longer crying, but her eyes were red and puffy. The cultists stared at her, those who sympathized with her bowing and offering pleasure, sexual or otherwise, to make her feel better. Those who were indifferent didn't move, while those who were disgusted glared at Abbie and spat obscenities. Those who sympathized promptly eviscerated them. Abbie smiled.

 

“Thank you. Now, all of you, come forward.” She said. Those who sympathized did. The indifferent majority merely blinked, but came forward as well. Once they had moved forward, Abbie looked at each of them.

 

“Now, I want the one who was raping my mother to step forward.” The female cultist did, being indifferent. Abbie reached out, gently stroking the girl’s cheek.

 

“Am I in trouble, mistress? I was merely following your orders.”

 

Abbie didn't answer. Instead, she hummed softly, continuing to stroke the girl’s cheek. The girl looked at her, fear in her eyes. Abbie smiled, before shooting the girl in the kneecap with a pistol she had drawn with her free hand. The girl fell, experiencing a rush of ecstasy. Abbie straddled the girl, before drawing a knife and starting to stab her in the face. She brought the blade down again and again and again, stabbing the girl so many times that she became drenched in blood. By the time Abbie finished, there wasn't much left of the girl’s face. And all the while, the girl kept moaning at an increasingly loud rate. Now bloodied and deformed, the girl climaxed. Abbie slit her throat open, the spray of blood completely drenching the Ringmistress. She stood, cleaning the knife and looking at the others. The majority shrugged, not caring. Those who sympathized with Abbie were both horrified and elated. She walked through the tent, shooting cultists at random, in order to incite fear in the survivors. It worked.

 

Bartholomew, meanwhile, had been making love to Mira again. They could both hear the gunshots coming from the nearby tent. Bartholomew looked to see where the sound was coming from, and witnessed Abbie massacring her cultists. Mira watched as well.

 

“I wonder what that's about.” She said.

 

“I am not sure.” replied Bartholomew. Abbie soon exited the other tent, her expression hard and angry. Bartholomew looked at her, confused. Abbie didn't notice him, too focused on whatever was bothering her. Bartholomew held Mira close to him, going back to the tent where he and Mira had been before. Mira wasn't as into the lovemaking this time, however. Something was bothering her. What was it? She was concerned about Abbie. As was Bartholomew. Abbie, meanwhile, sat with James. He was cuddling and kissing her, stroking her hair. She was crying again, tears streaming down her face.

 

“Do not cry, my mistress. I am here for you.”

 

“I know. You always have been here for me, my dear, sweet Pale Man.”

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“Yes.” She whispered. “Yes, I do.” James kissed her. Abbie kissed him back. He grinned, breaking the kiss. She purred, pulling him close. The two of them then began to make love, the act rough and carnal.

 

Blake, meanwhile, was going through something similar. He and Amberley had been ambushed by cultists. She had fled, at his insistence, while he was captured. Now, a male cultist was blowing him. They seemed to enjoy having males fuck him. He enjoyed it too, oddly enough. The cultist was much more gentle than James, gently gripping Blake’s hips as he sucked on his long, firm cock. Blake stroked his head, moaning as he came. The man drank down his cum, grinning. After that, he kissed Blake, rubbing their penises together. Blake kissed him back, moaning. The man began stroking Blake’s cock, feeling, to his surprise, that it was still growing more erect. Blake was surprised by this too. Once it was fully erect, his manhood was an impressive 9.5 inches. Blake was amazed that he was hung like that. As was his lover, who smirked.

 

“What do you want me to do?” the man asked.

 

“Suck on it.”

 

The man shook his head. “No, no, no. I just did that.”

 

He promptly shoved his penis into Blake’s mouth. The latter blew him obediently, licking up and down his shaft. The man moaned, stroking his hair. The door was kicked in a moment later, before a a gun cracked, and half of the man’s head disappeared. He promptly slumped, and someone pulled the corpse of off Blake. Luciana was standing there.

 

“Hello, Blake.”

 

“Hello, Luci. I apologize for my current indecency.”

 

She snorted, helping him up. “Don't apologize to me. It'll be Thuria you'll have to explain yourself to.” Blake nodded.

 

“Where’s Amberley?”

 

“Right here.” The Inquisitor in question replied, entering the room. She was holding a bolter rifle, and was dressed in battle armor.

 

“Ignore my massive boner. It isn’t helping that you look hot in that battle armor.”

 

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You were just being pleasured by a man, Blake. I think I know why you are aroused.”

 

Blake nodded, redressing. Sasha entered the room, as well. She was dressed in her usual attire.

 

“Greetings, Blake.”

 

“Greetings.”

 

“Is it safe to assume my dress isn't helping get rid of your erection?” she asked dryly.

 

“Yes.” he responded, just as dryly. Sasha snorted. “Let’s find Thuria and Bart, then get outta here.” Blake said. Luciana and Sasha nodded. Upon exiting the room, it became quite clear why Thuria’s retinue was nicknamed the Bolter Bitch Brigade: the entire retinue had assembled outside, and, indeed, the vast majority were Sisters of Battle. This only made Blake’s erection grow worse. Luciana walked over to Celeste.

 

“Are we ready to go?” she asked. Celeste nodded.

 

“Good.” Luciana replied. “SISTERS, MOVE OUT!” The Sisters marched in formation. Blake followed, hugging Amberley. She grinned, marching with the Sisters. The carnival soon erupted with chaos, gunfire and explosions echoing for miles. Bartholomew took cover, knowing they would be looking for him. The cultists were dug in deeper than anyone thought. The fighting was ferocious, with both sides taking casualties. All the while, Abbie observed passively, sipping wine. She cared very little about most of her cultists. The few she did care about included James and as of now, her father.

 

“James?” she said.

 

“Yes, mistress?”

 

“Do you think we will win this fight?”

 

“We will.” James said, kissing her gently. She kissed him back.

 

“I hope so.” Abbie whispered after breaking the kiss. James smiled.

 

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

 

“Because I am happy to be near you.”

 

That made Abbie smile, too. “You always know the right words to make me feel better.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

She turned back to the array of screens in front of her which displayed the ongoing battle in all of its grisly glory. The Sisters of Battle were moving through the carnival slowly, going from attraction to attraction and killing every cultist they found. This was easier said than done, as the defenders were entrenched behind elaborate networks of defenses. Bartholomew fired at the Sisters, panicking. This led to confusion, as being shot at by an Inquisitor was not something the Sisters expected. Bartholomew was quickly disarmed and cuffed. Luciana tended to his wounds, as he had been shot several times in the scuffle. She was not happy to see him when he was brought into her makeshift clinic.

 

“...Are you going to fuck me as you heal?” he snarked. Luciana wasn't amused. As she worked on sewing his wounds shut, she was completely silent, a far cry from her usual humorous and friendly personality that had earned her the moniker ‘The Good Doctor.’  Bartholomew narrowed his eyes.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Luciana looked at him. “You are extremely lucky Thuria and Amberley are so fond of you. Most of the Sisters in this retinue would have shot you if the choice was theirs.”

 

“Says the woman who has sex with her female patients as she heals them.”

 

She glared at him. “I don't betray the oath I made to the Imperium of Man when I pleasure my patients. Can you say the same about your little affair with the Slaaneshi cultists?”

 

“Be quiet.” he hissed. Luciana snorted.

 

“It's not a good idea to irritate the woman treating your wounds, Inquisitor. After all, if my hand should slip…”

 

Bartholomew said nothing, watching as Luciana healed him. She worked quickly, removing the bullet from each wound and sewing it shut. “Do ever pleasure your male patients?”

 

Celeste, who had walked in at that very moment, growled. “No.”

 

“Awww...I figured a slut like her would pleasure me…” Bartholomew mock-whined. Celeste screamed. Loudly. For several minutes. Luciana had merely smiled, before her hand, holding the sewing needle, ‘accidentally’ slipped. Bartholomew yelled, glaring at her.

 

“She is no ‘slut’, traitor.” Celeste said. “Yes, she sleeps around, but she has not betrayed the Imperium like you.”

 

Luciana said, “Why would I? I am a member of the Sisters of Battle. None of us have ever fallen to Chaos. I am not eager to be the first.” Celeste kissed her, and began dramatically acting like she was injured.

 

“Oh, Sister! I am in need of healing! When you are done with this traitor, will you please cure me?” Bartholomew continued glaring. Luciana put a hand to her chest.

 

“Oh, I would be honored! Treating the wounds of one such as yourself would be my pleasure!” Celeste grinned, teasing her a bit by showing Luciana a nipple. Luciana smirked, reaching out and twisting it. Celeste let out a gasp, moaning. Luciana, once she finished with Bartholomew, pulled Celeste into a kiss. Celeste kissed her back, slipping her tongue into the medic’s mouth. Luciana purred at this, groping her lover’s breasts. Celeste groped back, running her fingers over Luciana’s nipples. The medic gasped, breaking the kiss briefly to strip, before beginning to make out with Celeste again. Bartholomew was dragged away as he tried to get at the two, an erection showing. Celeste made out with Luciana, before breaking the kiss briefly to speak.

 

“Perhaps I should sleep around with women of the Imperium.” she joked. Luciana snorted.

 

“No, lover. You're mine.” The medic replied.

 

“I was joking. Though, I will admit, Thuria does attract me…” Celeste said, then noticed the look Luciana was giving her. The medic pulled her close.

 

“You are my favorite patient, you know. And I think I may love you.”

 

“I know you love me. But I do not mind you pleasuring your patients. In fact, I encourage it.” Celeste replied, kissing her cheek. Luciana snorted.

 

“Good, because some habits are too hard to break.”

 

“Now, where were we?” She said, before kissing Celeste again. Celeste kissed her, continuing to grope her lover. Luciana laid her lover down on one of the beds, before beginning to eat her out. Celeste held her head, her loud gasps and moans filling the medbay. Luciana grinned, continuing what she was doing. Celeste’s moans grew louder and louder for everyone to hear until she came. Luciana lapped up her juices. Celeste came down from her orgasm, panting softly. Luciana smirked.

 

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked, kissing her lover’s neck.

 

“Very much.”

 

“Good.” Luciana said, before sitting on her face. Celeste ate her out, her tongue massaging Luciana’s inner walls. Luciana moaned loudly at this, grinding against Celeste’s face. Celeste went deeper into Luciana’s vagina, probing her most sensitive areas. Luciana came with a gasp, panting. Celeste drank every last drop of her juices, enjoying the sweet taste of the female ambrosia. Luciana continued to pant.

 

“H-holy shit…” she gasped. Celeste smirked. Luciana stroked her hair.

 

“Did you enjoy that?” Celeste asked.

 

“Oh, yes.” Luciana purred. Celeste snuggled into Luciana’s bosom, kissing her breasts. Luciana purred again, holding her head. Celeste licked a nipple, then began to suck on it. Luciana moaned softly, stroking her lover’s hair. Celeste continued sucking, biting on the nipple. They stayed like that for a while.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, had been rescued, and brought back to a safe area. She sat with the medic working on her leg, her expression flat. “Is something the matter?” the medic, a Sister of Battle like Luciana, asked.

 

“No. I'm alright. I'm just deep in thought.”

 

“Oh? Do tell, I am here to listen, Inquisitor.” the medic said.

 

“I thought, for so long, that Bartholomew and I were in love. It's funny how that works, isn't it?”

 

“Yes.” the medic said, continuing her work. “It is very funny.” Her tone was flat, almost disbelieving. Thuria snorted.

 

“You don't believe that, do you?”

 

“No, not really. Would you believe that I once studied under Luciana?” she replied. “Though I don’t pleasure my patients unless they ask, and even then only after I’ve finished patching them up.”

 

Thuria chuckled. “Yes, after hearing that, the fact that she trained you isn't surprising.”

 

“Why she pleasures her patients during operations, I will never know.” the medic, known as Ashleia, replied with a snort.

 

“Maybe to keep their minds off the pain?”

 

“Perhaps.” Ashleia replied, looking at Thuria with a hint of wanting as she continued her work. “I was once pleasured by Luciana after a battle. It was amazing.”

 

“I'm sure.” Ashleia continued working on Thuria, and when she was finished, she smirked. Thuria looked at her.

 

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

 

“I'm not interested.”

 

“What?” Ashleia asked innocently. “What are you not interested in?”

 

“You.”

 

“Ah, OK.” Ashleia said, nodding. Thuria exhaled.

 

“Good. I was afraid you'd be offended.”

 

“It’s no trouble.”

 

Thuria nodded, rising to her feet. Her leg still ached, but she could walk again. She limped towards the door, stumbling a bit once she reached it. Ashleia opened the door for her, smiling. Thuria nodded in thanks before exiting the room.

 

Celeste saw her, and waved. Thuria waved back.

 

“Where is Bartholomew being kept?” she asked.

 

“In there.” Celeste replied, pointing to a heavily guarded room.

 

“Thank you.” Thuria replied before walking over to the room. She looked at one of the Sisters guarding it.

 

“Has he been cooperative?”

 

“He tried to rape us. What does that tell you?”

 

Thuria sighed, rubbing her temples. “I'm going in there. If he tries to attack me, shoot him.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s been restrained heavily.”

 

“Good.” She said, entering the room. She noted that Bartholomew had been hooked up to an excruciator, a device used by Inquisitors in the field to interrogate suspects. Hundreds of fine wires extended from the device, placed against his skin. These wires connected to his nervous system, and if the device was finely tuned just right, it could cause agonizing pain without damaging the body. She sat down in a chair near Bartholomew.

 

“Hello, Bart.”

 

“Hello, Thur.”

 

“Comfortable?” she asked coldly.

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Good.” Thuria replied, her tone still cold and hostile. “I'm glad you are uncomfortable.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Thuria sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Why did you do it, Bart?”

 

“Why did I do what, Thur?”

 

“Sleep with our baby girl. Turn on me. Betray the Imperium. Shoot me in the leg. Any of those, really.”

 

“Why? The voice in my head told me to.”

 

“Don't pull that bullshit with me. I know you've been having thoughts like this long before any ‘voice’ began talking to you. And, even if these thoughts were created by this voice, why did you give in so easily?”

 

“Why shouldn’t I? I’ve become disillusioned with the Inquisition.” Bartholomew said. “I didn’t even want to join this damned organization in the first place.”

 

“So why did you join?”

 

“You know why. My family pressured me into it.”

 

“And you know as well as I do that the Inquisition won't just let you hand in a resignation and walk away. You'd be branded a heretic and burned at the stake if you tried.”

 

“Exactly. Why risk being branded a heretic for wanting to leave when I can just give in to something that’s tempted me for years?”

 

Thuria sighed again, before replying, her tone sad, “Because that temptation is heretical.”

 

“Says who? The Inquisition?” Bart laughed. “Don’t fool yourself, my dear. You’ve been tempted by pleasure in the past, so don’t talk the way you are.”

 

“Yes, I have been tempted. However, I have never acted on it.”

 

“Why not? Wait, don’t tell me. It’s heretical. By that logic, Luciana should have been burned at the stake long ago for fucking her patients during surgery!” Bartholomew began to laugh madly. Thuria’s eye twitched, before she activated the excruciator. She didn't crank it up too much, the pain he felt being equal to having needles jabbed into every inch of skin, but it got her point across. He screamed, not being used to this kind of pain, unlike a Slaaneshi.

 

“What Luciana does is not heresy. The act of sex, in and of itself, is not heretical. It becomes heretical when those participating in it delve into more...disturbing acts to pleasure themselves and each other.” Bartholomew didn’t answer; he kept screaming from the pain. She turned the machine off. Bartholomew caught his breath, looking at the floor to avoid Thuria’s gaze. It was now abundantly clear why people were terrified of her. She was an Inquisitor, and she meant business. Thuria didn't often display it around her friends, but she was fanatically devoted to the Imperium, the Emperor, and the Inquisition. She spent a fair amount of time each day in prayer, and the thought of devoting herself to Chaos made the Witch Hunter’s stomach turn. The fact that her fiancee, her lover, her best friend was starting down that path disgusted and upset her. Thuria put her hand to the Aquila around her neck, not sure what to say. Bart continued staring at the floor, scared.

 

“Holy God-Emperor, sacred Lord of Terra, Guardian of Mankind, Sitter of the Golden Throne, shine your light on me. Show me the proper path, and share with me some of your benevolent wisdom, so that I may best know how to act. My Lord, most holy God-Emperor, hear my prayer.” Thuria said softly, gripping her Aquila tightly. Bartholomew looked at her.

 

“Yes, pray to your Emperor, Thuria. That will solve everything. Why don’t you go fuck that street rat to ‘relieve stress’, too?” he said with venomous sarcasm. Thuria continued gripping her Aquila, running her fingers over it. They both knew that this was something she did when stressed. “I really do mean it. Go and fuck your street rat. That’s all he’s ever good for, right?”

 

“Shut up.” Thuria said.

 

“No. I will not shut up. You can’t make me.”

 

“I can, heretic.” She snapped.

 

“How cute. Heretic.”

 

“Do you know how many heretics I've killed, Bartholomew?”

 

“Many. We both know this.”

 

“I have sentenced 15 worlds to Exterminatus.”

 

“I know.”

 

“So, do you really think I won't hurt or kill you?”

 

“No, not really. Because I know you won’t want to.”

 

She struck him across the face.

 

“Ow.”

 

“DAMN IT, BARTHOLOMEW! I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO START A FAMILY! WHY DID YOU TURN ON ME?!”

 

“I didn’t turn on you. I turned on the Imperium.” he replied. “I still love you, Thuria. It isn’t too late for you to join me.”

 

Thuria shook her head sadly. “No. I can't do that.”

 

“Yes you can. Just give in to desire.”

 

“The only thing I desire, Bartholomew, is for this whole damn cult to be wiped out.”

 

Bartholomew sighed. There was no use in getting her to listen. Then again, from Thuria’s viewpoint, it was the same.

 

“I also want our little girl to come back from this path she is going down.” Thuria whispered.

 

“I know you do, but it is far too late.”

 

“You don't know that. You don't know anything.”

 

“Neither do you.”

 

“Okay. Tell me what I don't know.”

 

“You don’t know if Abbie can be ‘saved’.” Bartholomew said. “I could, I just don’t want to.”

 

“You don't want to save her?”

 

“No. I want to fuck her.” he deadpanned.

 

“You try, and I'll kill you.”

 

“Go ahead and try.” he challenged. She drew her bolter pistol, placing the barrel against his forehead. He stared. And stared. One twitch, and the walls would be decorated with his brain matter. Bartholomew didn’t move. Thuria inhaled, before putting the gun away.

 

“You're right. I can't.”

 

“Exactly my point.”

 

“I should be able to. Why can't I?”

 

“Because you still love me.”

 

Thuria finally broke, beginning to cry. Bartholomew felt a bit of pity for her, which evolved into crying himself. She leaned back in her chair, continuing to cry. The tears went on for a while. She eventually calmed down, sniffling a bit.

 

“Better?” Bartholomew asked.

 

“No. Not really.” She replied. Bartholomew nodded. Thuria tried her eyes before taking out her pipe and lighting it. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, sighing.

 

“Do you still love me, Bart? Genuinely?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So come back…”

 

“No. I can’t. That would mean still being part of an organization I never wanted to be in.” Bartholomew said. Thuria shook her head before getting up.

 

“Then you'll die.”

 

“Better to die than be part of a fanatical Inquisition.”

 

She smiled sadly. “Then you and I have come to a parting of the ways. I can't protect you from this, Bart.”

 

“I am sorry. Farewell, Thuria.”

 

“Farewell.” She said, exiting the room. She made it about twenty feet before her composure broke, and she fell to her knees, screaming and wailing. Amberley came running, pulling her niece into an embrace. Luciana came as well, and when she saw Thuria, she became very, very angry. She entered the room where Bartholomew was, shaking with rage.

 

“What?”

 

“You son of a bitch.” She said flatly.

 

“I have nothing against Thuria, nor the Imperium at large to a degree. It is the Inquisition I am against.”

 

“Can you hear her? Can you hear her cries?” Luciana asked serenely, the raging inferno inside her displayed only by her twitching eye.

 

“Yes. Can you stop asking rhetorical questions and consider my point, Luci?”

 

“What point? That you have a bone to pick with the Inquisition?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She snorted, taking out a syringe filled with glowing fluid. She idly tapped it, humming to herself.

 

“What are you doing…?”

 

She stuck the syringe in his neck before pushing the plunger. Bartholomew’s eyes closed slowly, and he fell into a slumber. The chemical she had injected was a very heavy sedative. He wouldn't wake up for several hours. When he did wake, he was in a different room. And he was chained. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. “W-where am I?” he groaned.

 

No response came. The candles flickered, their flames faint, but steady. After a few more silent minutes, a nearby door creaked open. Amberley entered.

 

“Oh, hello Amberley.”

 

“Hello, Bartholomew.” She replied.

 

“I assume you’re here to interrogate me?”

 

“No. Well, at least not formally. You already gave your reasons for turning on the Imperium.”

 

“What are you planning to do with me, hmmm?” Bartholomew asked.

 

“I wanted to talk to you, off the record. I wanted to hear it, from you, why you did what you did.”

 

“You mean fucking my own daughter?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why did I do it? Why indeed.”

 

“Don't give me half-answers, Bart. Why. Did. You. Do. It?”

 

“Because. I. Wanted. To. Is. That. Satisfactory?”

 

“So, it was heat of the moment?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Amberley shook her head in disgust.

 

“You fucked her too.”

 

She stared at him. “When?”

 

“...You know when. I can see the hypocrisy in your eyes.” he said. “You acting disgusted when you know you did the same thing won’t help.”

 

Amberley cursed. “You're right. Damn you, you're right.”

 

“What are you going to do now?” Bartholomew asked. “Come on, now, Amb. You must have something.”

 

She was silent for a moment, before taking out a syringe. “This was given to me by Luciana. It's a rather nasty substance, used to mess with the mind of the person injected with it.”

 

“You’re going to brainwash me? Typical Inquisition…” Bartholomew snarked under his breath.

 

“Brainwash? No. It draws out your nightmares.”

 

“My worst nightmares…?” Bartholomew asked, afraid. Amberley nodded. “P-please, no…”

 

She walked over, before sticking the syringe in his neck and pressing the plunger down. Bartholomew screamed, his worst fears flashing before his eyes. What were they, exactly? Burning at the stake. Losing Thuria. His remaining family turning him away. The worst one was Abbie and Thuria both rejecting him.

 

“You don't care about me, father.” Abbie spat. “You only care about taking me to bed.”

 

“I...I don’t...I love you…”

 

“Liar.” She hissed.

 

“I’m not lying, Abbie...please…”

 

“I hope you rot, father. You are nothing but a hollow shell of a man. Nothing but a fraud, a coward, a weakling.”

 

“Shut up...shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

 

Abbie merely laughed, backing away into the darkness. “I am only a mouthpiece for your own thoughts, father. The things I am saying are things you think about yourself.” Bartholomew snapped out of his trance. Amberley had left the room. Luciana had taken her place, tending to him.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was standing near a table, looking at the corpse of Adeline. She was stroking the dead girl’s cheek.

 

“Adeline...you served me well for so long…” she murmured. “I'm going to bring you back.”

 

She then got to work, conducting a dark, profane ritual to do just that. Once it was finished, she stepped away from Adeline, waiting for the latter to wake. She awoke, and immediately ran to Abbie to kiss her.

 

“Mistress… she moaned. “You brought me back.”

 

Abbie grinned. “Indeed. You have more than earned it.”

 

“How may I serve you?” she purred.

 

“I want you at my side, sweetling.” Abbie purred back. “Just like old times.”

 

“Yes, mistress.” she purred, kissing Abbie again. Abbie kissed her back, feeling how hard and wet Adeline was getting. Adeline guided Abbie’s hand, and placed it on her crotch. Abbie began stroking her lover’s hardening penis, smirking.  “Suck on it…” Adeline whispered. Abbie obliged, peeling off Adeline’s clothes and beginning to give her a blowjob. Adeline held her head, moaning softly as she was sucked off. Abbie purred, fingering Adeline’s slit as she sucked. Adeline kept moaning, getting louder and louder each time. Abbie kept sucking until her lover came. Once Adeline had ridden out her orgasm, Abbie rose, wiping her mouth and smirking. “That was fantastic…” Adeline purred.

 

“Good.” Abbie said before an explosion shook the building they were in.

 

“What’s going on?” Adeline asked. Abbie explained the situation. “Shit...we need to leave.”

 

Abbie shook her head. “No. I'm not running. Not again.”

 

“But the Inquisition…”

 

“I'm not scared of my mother. She won't kill me.”

 

“How do you know she won’t?” Adeline asked, indignant.

 

“I'm her daughter. She loves me too much to kill me.”

 

“That’s just what she wants you to think.”

 

Abbie said, “I also have a backup plan to ensure she won't.”

 

When the Sisters finally entered the building where Abbie and her cultists had taken refuge, the Ringmistress was sitting on a makeshift throne.

 

“Welcome, Sisters of Battle!” she called. “Are you here for me?”

 

“Yes.” Celeste said. “You are accused of heresy against the Imperium.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. So was a librarian I once knew for, oh, the horror, not burning books.”

 

“Do not play games.” growled Celeste. “Do you have any last words?”

 

Abbie grinned, reaching into her dress and taking out a detonator. “Only that if you shoot me, you'll also kill everyone in the Underhive. And I do mean everyone.”

 

Celeste paused. “...But there are layers upon layers upon layers…”

 

“My...associates had been planting explosives for months before my arrival here. A pity mother killed Aleksandr. He was a useful pawn…”

 

“So you rule this anarchical shithole, for lack of a better term?”

 

“Yes. All of the crime bosses in the Spire? I pay them. Weekly.”

 

“...I would love nothing more than to escape.”

 

Abbie chuckled. “Some of those crime bosses have said the same thing to people they thought they could trust. Those people, my spies, reported their words back to me, and I promptly punished them. Severely. You see, I have eyes everywhere. There is nothing in this Underhive that escapes my notice. Nothing.”

 

“So, we will never get out, and if we kill you, the entire Underhive goes.”

 

“Now you're getting it. Shall I introduce you to some of my spies? You've already met a few. Such as Fergus the bartender. Come on out, Fergus!” Fergus nodded, grunting.

 

“‘Ey.”

 

Thuria, who had arrived a minute earlier, stared at him, her jaw dropping open in surprise. “But you helped us…”

 

“Yeh, so wha? Th’ Ringmistress provides m’beer.” Fergus said. “Figured I’d do somethin’ in return.” He looked at her.

 

“That I do, my dear man.” Abbie said in response. “That, I do. Now, the next one will surprise you even more. You may remember her as the girl you saved…”

 

Thuria’s eyes widened. “No…”

 

Quinn stepped forward hesitantly. “I’m so sorry, Thuria…”

 

“I recruited her several months ago. You see, she was tired of being treated like an object of pleasure, so she turned to me out of desperation.” Abbie said.

 

“...Thuria, I can explain…”

 

“Oh, please do.”

 

“She loves me. Just like you.”

 

Thuria snorted. “Right, she loves you. Sure.”

 

“She does!” Quinn shouted, stamping her foot.

 

“She probably ‘loved’ that prisoner I released four days ago, as well. Didn't stop her from flaying him alive.”

 

“Oh, you mean Adam? She didn’t love him when he betrayed her.”

 

Thuria put her head in her hands, muttering, “Holy shit…”

 

“What?” asked Celeste.

 

“She's even more naive than I thought…” Thuria said, still muttering.

 

“She is.” Celeste observed as Quinn kissed the Ringmistress. Thuria drew her bolt pistol.

 

“Abbie, I don't want to fight you. You are my daughter, and I love you. However, if you force my hand...I will do what I must.”

 

Abbie pulled away from Quinn, staring her mother down. “I know, mother. You were never one to give into threats of violence. However, I also know you won't kill me, because, as you said, I am your daughter.”

 

Thuria didn't respond, her silence answer enough. Quinn looked between Abbie and Thuria. Thuria looked back at her.

 

“I'm sorry.” She whispered, before shooting Quinn in the leg. She fell, screaming. Thuria had gambled that Abbie cared enough about Quinn to become enraged when she was injured. Abbie barely reacted, though her expression made it clear she wasn't happy. Thuria then shot Quinn in the other leg, and Abbie reacted. She drew a long blade, rising from her throne and charging her mother with a scream. As if on cue, dozens of cultists emerged, heavily armed and screaming madly. Celeste led her sisters into the fray, screaming praises to the Emperor. The ensuing battle was ferocious and bloody. Several Sisters fell. Adeline was killed again, with Sasha finishing her off. The only survivors of the cultists were Quinn and Abbie. James had been impaled by Amberley, slowly dying like a bug on a stick. Blake finished him off, slitting his throat. Abbie screamed, the sound haunting and mournful. He stared at her without pity. Abbie fell to her knees, weeping.

 

“I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU!” She shouted, continuing to weep. Two Sisters of Battle walked over to restrain her. Abbie drew a knife, stabbing one of the Sisters in the throat and the other twice in the lungs. They both fell, gurgling as they bled out.

 

“Get. The fuck. Away.” Abbie snarled.

 

“No.” said Celeste, walking near her. “I will avenge my Sisters.”

 

Abbie laughed, twirling her knife. “Oh, you'll try.” Celeste charged at her, screaming in rage. The two clashed, Abbie holding Celeste at bay with her small blade. Before the two could truly fight, something pricked Abbie’s neck. She felt it, her hand brushing against a dart. She turned and looked at the others. She had been shot with a dart containing sedatives...by Quinn.

 

“...I love you, mistress. But I love my sister Thuria even more.”

 

“You bitch…” Abbie muttered, taking a few steps before falling, her knife clattering to the floor. Then, everything went black, and she woke up a few hours later in a cell. A Guardsman stared at her.

 

“She’s awake, Inquisitor.”

 

Thuria entered a moment later, followed by Luciana and Celeste. She turned to the Guardsmen. “You are dismissed.” He nodded, and left. Luciana sat next to Abbie, who was heavily restrained, and dabbed a wet rag on the cuts on the younger girl’s face, caused by Abbie falling over after being sedated. Celeste idly stroked Luciana’s hair. Abbie snorted.

 

“Aww, how cute. You two are in love.” She said mockingly. Luciana ignored her, continuing to treat the cult leader’s wounds. Celeste glared at Abbie. Abbie grinned.

 

“If you're planning on getting physical, just know it won't scare me. All hurting me will accomplish is bringing me pleasure.”

 

“...” Celeste decided to taunt Abbie, by getting physical with Luciana. Abbie grew very wet very fast, and desperately tried to pleasure herself. Thuria eventually slammed her fist into her chair.

 

“Enough. Celeste, Luciana, restrain yourselves.”

 

Luciana pulled away from Celeste, coughing awkwardly. Celeste pouted. Abbie calmed herself down.

 

“Where is father?” she asked.

 

“He is in another room.” said Celeste.

 

“Rotting in a cell, you mean.” Abbie said, her tone flat and uncaring.

 

“Yes.”

 

She nodded. Thuria noted that her daughter seemed oddly unbothered by where she was. She decided to put that aside for later. Not long after, the three of them left, leaving Abbie alone.

 

Amberley, meanwhile, sat alone, holding a cup of tea. She stared into the fire in front of her, her expression blank. Blake knocked at the door.

 

“Come in.” She called. He entered, and promptly put his head on her lap for seemingly no reason.  Amberley pushed him off.

 

“Sorry.” he said. “Guess I’m not sleeping with you, then?” he joked.

 

“No.” She said, her voice lacking its usual humor. Something was wrong.

 

“What’s wrong, Amberley? Talk to me.”

 

She told him, her voice cracking, what she and Abbie had done.

 

“...You both fucked. So, what’s the problem, aside from the incest?”

 

“That is the problem.” She whispered. Blake looked her directly in the eyes, and stroked her cheek.

 

“No, it isn’t. Incest is common in the Underhive, did you know that?”

 

She pushed his hand away. “I'm not from the damn Underhive, did you know that? I was weak. I gave into my petty urges, and it took Ciaphas talking to me from beyond the grave to bring me back to my senses.”

 

“So what are you going to do about it? Mope around like a sad child? Or overcome it like the brave Inquisitor I know you are?”

 

She sighed. “You're right. Damn it, you're right. Thank you, Blake.”

 

“Anything for a friend.”

 

Thuria, meanwhile, prayed. She was kneeling in her room, clutching her Aquila as she whispered to herself. Celeste entered quietly, and prayed with her. Thuria took Celeste’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

 

“I'm glad you're here.” The Inquisitor whispered.

 

“I am too, Thuria.” she said, before softly kissing her cheek in the heat of the moment. Thuria blushed, her cheeks a faint red.

 

Celeste pulled away, and smiled. “You will always be close to me, Thuria. We will stick together through thick and thin.”

 

“I'm glad you are my friend, Celeste.” Thuria replied.

 

“You are? To be fair, I have been attracted to you even though I am with Luciana…”

 

The Inquisitor was silent for a moment, before replying, “I will admit, I find you attractive, Celeste.”

 

Now it was her turn to blush. “You do? I...I never expected you to reciprocate, Thuria.”

 

Thuria smiled thinly. “I'm full of surprises.” Celeste smiled back, and pulled Thuria into a sloppy kiss. The Inquisitor returned it. Celeste added her tongue, rubbing up and down Thuria’s back. She then groped the Inquisitor’s breasts, squeezing gently. Thuria pulled her hands away, breaking the kiss for a moment.

 

“Let's take it slow, alright? No groping yet.” Celeste blushed harder, nodding.

 

“My apologies.”

 

Thuria kissed her again, rubbing Celeste’s back gently. Celeste did the same, adding her tongue once more. Thuria pulled her close, adding her own tongue to the kiss. Celeste continued rubbing Thuria’s back with a deep massage. Thuria purred at this, breaking the kiss after a moment. Celeste continued the massage with a smirk.

 

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” she purred. Thuria nodded, smirking. Celeste massaged deeper, her fingers working at Thuria’s tightened muscles. Thuria exhaled, leaning her head back.

 

“Yes...just like that…” Celeste continued massaging, stealthily undoing Thuria’s bra in the process. Thuria let her, and soon, the Inquisitor was topless. Celeste began to massage Thuria’s breasts as well, smirking.

 

“This is not technically groping.” she said.

 

“You have a fair point.” Thuria said, her voice a low moan as her nipples hardened. Celeste continued the massage, growing wetter with every moan she heard from Thuria. She then stopped, and began to pinch Thuria’s nipples. Thuria gasped.

 

“Oh, yes…” She whispered, purring. Celeste continued pinching, then began sucking on Thuria’s breasts, taking a nipple into her mouth. Thuria held her head, stroking her hair as Celeste suckled. Celeste then moved her hand downwards as he suckled and found Thuria to be incredibly wet. She began fingering, moaning as she enjoyed the taste of Thuria’s nipples. Thuria moaned loudly, pulling on her lover’s hair roughly. This caused Celeste to moan louder, biting down on Thuria’s nipple in the process of going deeper into her nethers. Thuria’s moans and gasps grew steadily louder, her climax approaching. Finally, Celeste pressed down on Thuria’s g-spot, breaking away from the nipple as she did. With a gasp, Thuria came. Celeste smiled, and whispered three words:

 

“I love you.”

 

Thuria panted, before smiling and whispering back, “I think I love you, too.” Celeste kissed her once more before pulling away. After that, they lay together, enjoying each other’s silent company.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, sat in her cell, humming to herself. She wondered when she would have another visitor. A knock was heard, and surprisingly, it was Bartholomew, who had against all odds managed to escape his cell.

 

“I have very little time, Abbie, so we need to hurry.” he whispered, trying to free her from the restraints. After some jimmying around, he managed to free her, the footsteps of Guardsmen and Sisters approaching. Abbie rubbed her wrists.

 

“Thank you, father.” She said, getting up. “Now, I assume you have a plan of escape? Or are you flying by the seat of your pants here?”

 

“Definitely the latter.” answered Bartholomew, working at a frantic pace to escape. Abbie walked along leisurely, not concerned in the slightest about the current situation. Bartholomew began working faster, until he managed to create a massive hole in the wall via various tools and sheer luck. Abbie had been watching the door, and had broken the neck of a Guardsmen that had entered. Bartholomew ran into the hole, urging Abbie to follow. She did, and the two of them escaped. Abbie continued to walk casually once they were outside, as if nothing had happened.

 

“Ah, it feels good to be free once again.” She said, stretching. Bartholomew stared at her, panicking.

 

“We need to run.”

 

Abbie shook her head. “No, we don't. We're out in the streets of the Underhive. We'll blend right in out here.”

 

She then walked to the bar operated by Fergus, entering and approaching the counter. The bartender had survived the battle between the cult and Sisters, having left before it began.

 

“Fergus!” she said cheerfully, sitting down on a stool. “How's business?”

 

He grunted, “Good. Yeh survived, didya?”

 

“Of course. Did you ever think I wouldn't?”

 

“Nah, Ringmistress. Yer the head ‘round these parts.”

 

“And don't you forget it.” She said. “Now, being in captivity made me quite thirsty. Pour me a drink, would you?” Fergus nodded, and poured her some swill. She downed it, before setting the glass down and motioning for him to refill it. She noticed some of the other people in the bar staring at her.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” a hoodlum asked. Abbie snorted, downing her second drink.

 

“You're not my type, friend.” She replied, chuckling a bit.

 

“I ain’t, huh?” he asked, brandishing a knife. “Come with me and I can show your face a good time.” Bartholomew stared him down.

 

“That is my daughter you’re speaking to.”

 

“So what?” Bartholomew didn’t answer, he just nodded towards Abbie.

 

Abbie said, idly cleaning her nails, “I'm the Ringmistress. Does that name mean anything to you?”

 

The man instantly backed away. “N-no…”

 

She turned away. When she turned back to him, Abbie was wearing her mask. He screamed, loud enough for the entire bar to hear. Abbie smiled behind her mask, enjoying his terror. He got on his knees and begged, before Bartholomew shot him. The round went through his throat, which left him choking and gasping on the floor. After he died, Abbie went over to one of the other hoodlums he had been sitting with, taking off her mask. She then unbuttoned his pants, slid them down his legs, and began giving him a sloppy blowjob. He moaned, holding her head. She massaged his balls as she sucked on his cock, purring as she did so. After he came, she got up, wiped her mouth, and returned to her seat.

 

“Has Dmitri arrived in the Underhive yet?” she asked Fergus. He nodded.

 

“Good. I assume he's assumed control of the D’Large gang, due to the deaths of his brother and cousin?” Fergus said nothing, only nodding as he tried to hide his erection. Abbie rose from her seat.

 

“I think I'll go introduce myself. He's one of the few bosses from the Spire that doesn't report to me.” She said, exiting the bar. Bartholomew didn’t follow, as he knew this was her business alone. Dimitri sat in an upscale (for the Underhive, anyway) tavern, smoking a cigarette.

 

“Ah, the Ringmistress. You are here to see me, yes?”

 

Abbie nodded, sitting down next to him. “Your family tree has been trimmed a fair amount in the past week, hasn't it?” He nodded bitterly.

 

“Yes. My droogs have been...eliminated by you, we shall say.”

 

“Ah, but I did not kill Aleksandr. My Inquisitor mother did that.”

 

“Fucking bitch.”

 

Abbie snorted. “Indeed. She's devoted to her cause, I'll give her that much.”

 

“So, are we going to discuss business, or are we going to bed one another?” Dimitri asked dryly. Abbie laughed.

 

“Ah, the business or pleasure question. I hate to disappoint, but tonight is strictly business.”

 

“Ah, well. I tried. What shall we discuss, Ringmistress?”

 

“In case you are not already aware, most of the crime bosses of the Spire answer to me. Some of them are more useful than others, but all of them have a role to play. I need to know if you will work for me.”

 

“It depends on if I will get anything in return. It is only fair, no?” Dimitri asked.

 

“What do you want?” Abbie asked curiously. She knew how lecherous he was, so the Ringmistress already had some idea what he might ask for.

 

“Drinks, whores, and drugs.” he stated directly. “Give me those three things, and I am at your services.”

 

“I can provide all three with ease.” Abbie replied. “Where will you be residing?”

 

“In this tavern.” he said. “Is that any trouble?”

 

“None at all. I will just need to make a few arrangements. There was also another thing I wished to discuss with you.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I will need you to, shall we say, loan me some of your men for the time being.”

 

“Done.” he said. “Will you be using them for sensual pleasure?”

 

“Yes and no. I will be, but that is not the only reason. I have a...job in mind.”

 

Abbie spent the next few hours explaining this job to him. It would have long-lasting and far-reaching effects, effects which would shake the Underhive to its very core…


 

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A Dance of Knives

 

The night of her escape, Abbie danced. It was a dance of death and blood, of pain and sorrow, of knives and flesh. She slaughtered men in the streets, in bars, in their beds. She slew men and women, boys and girls, adults and children. She was a god, terrible and implacable, to those she killed, and it was glorious. She smiled madly as she moved, gracefully and ominously, bathing herself in blood and guts. Those who survived ran in terror, screaming hysterically about how the Ringmistress had come for them. One of these men ran to the fortress where Thuria’s retinue resided, pounding frantically on the gates. A Guardsman opened the door wearily, having lost sleep in doing his duties.

 

“Hmmm?” he grunted.

 

“Y-you've got to help me, man. She's coming!”

 

“Who is?”

 

“The Ringmistress…” The guard’s eyes widened, and without a word, he ran to Thuria’s room.

 

“Inquisitor, I bear bad news!”

 

Thuria, who had been laying and cuddling with Celeste, leapt out of bed when he entered, due to surprise.

 

“What is it?”

 

“T-the Ringmistress…” he whispered. “She draws near…”

 

Thuria realized he didn't know the identity of the Ringmistress. Neither did most of the people in her retinue, save for those closest to her. As far as they knew, Abbie and the Ringmistress were two separate people. She immediately got dressed, heading to the cell where her daughter had been held. Celeste followed her, bare in the flesh.

 

“...How could she have escaped?” the Sister of Battle asked. Thuria had an idea of what had happened, and she went to Bartholomew’s cell to confirm it. His cell was empty, too. “That smart bastard…” Celeste muttered.

 

“There are two possibilities.” Thuria said. “Either Bart planned his escape meticulously, or he escaped through dumb luck and flying by the seat of his pants.”

 

“Judging by that massive hole in the wall…” Celeste replied, indicating with her thumb. “I can safely say it’s the latter.”

 

Thuria snorted, then asked, “You know you're still naked, right?” Celeste blushed, looking down at her massive chest.

 

“...Shall I go get dressed, lover?”

 

Thuria shook her head. “No. I like seeing them.” Celeste smirked.

 

“You enjoy my large tracts of land, hmmm?”

 

“Yes.” Thuria replied, nodding and smirking back. Celeste grinned, pulling Thuria close and pressing her face against her tits. Thuria took Celeste’s left nipple into her mouth, beginning to suckle. Celeste moaned softly, stroking her hair. After a moment, Thuria came to her senses, pulling away from the tit she had been suckling on.

 

“It might be a good idea to try and find my homicidally insane daughter before we make love again.” She said, smiling sheepishly.

 

“Right.”

 

Thuria went to talk to the man who had shown up at the gate. She sat in front of him.

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

“She came, and started killing...Oh, Emperor...she killed everyone…”

 

“How did you escape?”

 

“...Luck and wits.”

 

“Was she alone?” Thuria asked.

 

“No. There was a man with him. Wearing Inquisitor robes.”

 

She walked away after that, cursing. “Damn you, Bart…”

 

Celeste walked with her, knowing that look. Thuria was angry. Extremely angry. The last time she was this enraged, she had led a witch hunt that lasted for months and resulted in 10,000 people being burned at the stake. Celeste rubbed her shoulders, looking at her. Thuria was eerily calm.

 

“I'm going to kill him. Slowly.” the Witch Hunter said. “But first, I have heretics to burn.”

 

Celeste grinned. “Let us carry out justice, my lovely Thuria.”

 

Over the next few days, Thuria conducted numerous trials. Anyone who was even vaguely associated with Abbie and her carnival was arrested, judged, and executed. Celeste also came clean to Luciana about sleeping with Thuria. Luciana didn't care at all, and had other things to worry about, considering that at the same time Celeste told her that, Thuria was burning 50 members of the D’Large gang on makeshift pyres. The Inquisitor was silent and solemn as they burned, the scent of burning flesh drifting over the whole area. Her rampage across the Underhive had terrified those in power. This Witch Hunter was proving to be more trouble than anticipated. What were they to do? There were no easy answers. It soon became clear Thuria was burning anyone she deemed heretical. Anyone. The only person spared from her wrath was Quinn. Thuria didn't think very highly of Quinn, but she still felt some pity for the girl. Three days after the trials and burnings began, the Inquisitor went to visit her.

 

“Hello, Quinn.” She said as she entered.

 

“Hello, Thuria.” the girl replied, nonchalantly groping herself out of boredom. “How are you?”

 

“I'm alright. Burning heretics on pyres always makes me feel better.” Quinn continued groping herself, smiling idly and humming to herself.

 

“You're lucky to be alive, you know.” Thuria said.

 

“I am?” she asked, stopping her action to look at Thuria.

 

“If I didn't pity you for what you have gone through, you'd be burning on one of those pyres right now. Or hanging from a noose, if I was feeling merciful.” the Inquisitor said, checking her nails and idly picking bits of ash from underneath them.

 

“...Thank you, Thuria.”

 

“Don't thank me yet. There is still punishment in store for you.”

 

“Punishment?” she asked, an unusual exuberance in her voice.

 

“Oh, that's right. You're a Slaaneshi. All pain will do is arouse you.” Quinn pouted. Thuria rolled her eyes.

 

“You're lucky to be alive. I wouldn't pout because I'm not causing you pain.” the Inquisitor snapped.

 

“Fine…” Quinn muttered. “I’m bored.”

 

“Good.” Thuria growled. “You're going to rot in here.”

 

“....I thought we were friends…” Quinn whined.

 

“So did I.” Thuria muttered bitterly. “But I can't be friends with a Chaos cultist.”

 

“...The Mistress loves me…” she whined louder.

 

“Right, right. She'll also kill you when she gets bored.” Quinn ignored her, going back to groping herself. Thuria left, knowing there was no use talking to Quinn.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was bathing. She washed the blood from the previous few days off her skin, the water in the tub she sat in turning a light red. Bartholomew entered, manners be damned. He knew his daughter, being Slaaneshi, didn’t care.

 

“Hello, Abbie.”

 

“Hello, father. What can I do for you?” Abbie asked, washing her hair.

 

“Nothing. I just wanted to join you in bathing.”

 

“Be my guest.” She replied. Bartholomew disrobed, and got into the tub. Abbie grinned, leaning back.

 

“I see you have fully embraced the Slaaneshi lifestyle, father.”

 

“I have. It is far better than Inquisitor life.” he replied, touching himself idly.

 

“Mother has been in a foul mood the past few days. I can see the burning pyres from the balcony.” Bartholomew snorted.

 

“She should just embrace her desires, rather than hide behind fanaticism.” he said, before looking at Abbie’s chest. She snorted.

 

“What, pray tell, does she desire?”

 

“Approval from her dear auntie and the Emperor.” he said. “The latter can’t for obvious reasons.”

 

“Oh, He can.” Abbie said. “The Anathema is more alive than most people realize. He is the sole reason Chaos hasn't overrun mankind yet. Faith and praise to Him help those who serve the Imperium hold the Warp at bay.”

 

“A rather stupid notion.” Bartholomew observed, licking his lips. “Pleasure is the only thing that matters in life.”

 

Abbie nodded in agreement. The night that followed was very passionate. The next morning, Abbie, curious as to how her mother carried out these ‘trials’, decided to attend one, bringing Bartholomew along. They were disguised, at Bartholomew’s suggestion, to avoid suspicion. As Abbie suspected, the trials Thuria conducted could only be called that in the closest sense of the word. They were more like show trials, Bartholomew noted. There was no evidence presented, no defense for the accused. There was only fanaticism, perceived guilt...and execution. The elderly priest that had been in the Underhive for decades railed against those on trial, condemning them and referring to them as scum in the eyes of the Emperor. He was quite effective at whipping the crowds into a frenzy. Bartholomew held Abbie close, holding her hands. She pulled away from him, trying to see who was unfortunate enough to be on trial today. A young pregnant woman, dressed in tattered robes. What was her crime, in the eyes of Thuria? Not praying to the Emperor.

 

“P-please, I beg of you, don’t kill me.”

 

“You have rejected the light of the Emperor, heretic. You lost any right to mercy a long time ago.”

 

“...Screw you.”

 

Thuria didn't bother replying. Instead, she asked the crowd, “Do any of you object to her impending punishment?”

 

“NO!” came the response.

 

“Good.” She said, turning to the Sisters of Battle that stood nearby. “Prepare her pyre.” They nodded, Celeste kissing Thuria’s cheek as she left. Soon the pregnant woman was dragged away, and the next person to be put on trial was brought in. An elderly man, whose ‘crime’ was losing faith in the Emperor as a result of his wife dying. Thuria, who was not completely without mercy, let him go without punishment. He thanked her, walking away. This genuinely surprised Abbie, who had become convinced her mother’s fanaticism was all-encompassing. This surprised Bartholomew as well.

 

“Hm.”

 

“Maybe there is hope for her, after all.” Abbie said. Bartholomew said nothing, just walking away and back to the cult’s base. Thuria, meanwhile, continued her trials, shooting, hanging and burning those she deemed heretical. Celeste aided her.

 

Quinn, meanwhile, watched from a distance. She had been let out, but was to be escorted by Guardsmen at all times. She still groped herself, since it was the only thing she could think of to do. The Guardsmen with her said nothing, keeping their rifles trained on her.

 

“So…” she purred. “Are you boys like my entourage?”

 

“You could say that.” One of them replied flatly.

 

“Well, then…” She began to dance for them. A rather stupid decision. The Guardsmen didn't react. Thuria had chosen the three of them specifically because the seductive actions of Slaaneshi cultists didn't affect them one bit.

 

“Is that supposed to be distracting?” Another Guardsmen asked. “It isn't. It just makes you look rather silly.” Quinn pouted, sitting on the ground with her arms crossed.

 

“No fun.”

 

“We're not here to make sure you have fun. We're here to make sure you don't do anything you shouldn't.”

 

“Awww, but I wanna have fuuuuunnnn-ah…” she whined. It wasn't long before the three Guardsmen were contemplating suicide.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, sat with Amberley and Blake, a cup of tea in hand. She was taking a break from the trials. Blake cuddled up to Amberley, laying his head on her shoulder.  Amberley sighed internally. She was glad they were friends, but she didn't like the cuddling very much. She pulled away from him, moving to a different chair. Blake sighed inwardly. Maybe he was trying way too hard. Thuria noted this without any reaction, sipping her tea with a blank expression. “So…” began Blake. “How are the trials progressing?”

 

“As well an can be expected, considering I executed a pregnant woman this morning.” She replied, noting the brief look of horror that flickered across Amberley’s face.

 

“Y-you what.” Blake replied flatly.

 

“You heard me.”

 

“You killed a pregnant woman...why?!”

 

“She was a heretic.” Thuria answered simply, as if it answered everything. Which to her, it did.

 

“And how was she a heretic?”

 

“She refused to pray to the Emperor.” Blake immediately slammed his head on the table in frustration. Amberley merely sighed.

 

Blake got up, and before leaving, whispered to her, “I’m going to go drink. Care to join me?”

 

Amberley declined. Luciana, on the other hand, was more than happy to join him when asked. Blake drank. And drank. And drank, until he was completely hammered. Luciana noted that he was more composed than most when drunk, so she could still hold a conversation with him.

 

“What's wrong with you?” she asked. “You clearly have a reason for drinking this much.”

 

“Nothing.” he lied. She snorted.

 

“Bullshit.  Come on, Blake. Spill it.” He did. And by ‘spilling it’, he literally poured his booze on Luciana. She sighed, grabbing a rag and cleaning herself off.

 

“Really?”

 

“You said to spill it.”

 

She snorted, before noting where he was staring. The garment she was wearing had been soaked, and the outline of her breasts was plainly visible, her nipples pressing against the fabric. He stared, possibly having deliberately spilled his drink on her for that very reason.

 

“You like my tits, Blake?” she asked, her tone one of amusement.

 

“...Don’t you swing the other way? But to answer your question, yes, I do.”

 

“I do, indeed, swing the other way. I like breasts just as much as most men.”

 

“We have something in common, then. We both enjoy tits.” he laughed. Luciana chuckled, sipping her drink.

 

“Indeed. Now, seriously, what's bothering you?”

 

“Well, I’m disturbed by Thuria’s fanaticism. I understand the Imperium is governed by religion, but she pushes it.”

 

“How so?” Luciana asked.

 

“She killed a pregnant woman.” he replied dryly.

 

“Ah.”

 

“And she’s sleeping with Celeste.” he continued nonchalantly.

 

“...I’m also sexually frustrated.” he admitted. “Amberley won’t sleep with me.”

 

Luciana nodded. “She's deeply in love with Ciaphas Cain.”

 

“I understand.” he said. “Should I just give up my pursuits?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. What do you think you should do?”

 

“Maybe I’ll give up.”

 

“Or maybe you won't.” She replied, finishing her drink.

 

“...How do you know?”

 

“I think you're too in love to give up that easily.”

 

“I am not too in love!” he protested.

 

“Really? You've spent more time with Amberley than anyone else since you met all of us.”

 

“Good point, but does that mean I’m too in love?”

 

“Yes.” She said simply. “You're too in love to give up.”

 

“...Fuck. Shit. Cock. Tits. FUCKDAMNCRAP. You’re right.”

 

“I know.” Luciana replied. He still stared at her breasts. She snapped her fingers, gesturing to her face.

 

“My eyes are up here.”

 

“Oh, hmmm?”

 

Luciana sighed. “Look, you want to impress Amberley? Stop checking her out everytime you two are in the same room.”

 

“Noted.”

 

“Also, don't try and cuddle with her all the time. You make her uncomfortable. Just talk to her, spend time with her, and if she ever seems open to it, that's when you cuddle.”

 

“All right.”

 

Luciana nodded. “She may not return your love, but it is certainly worth trying.” Blake got up, and left. Luciana knew where he was going. He was going to find Amberley. She was sitting in her usual chair by the fireplace, her eyes closed.

 

“Look, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier.” Blake said. “If it makes you feel any better, we can just talk about whatever is in our minds.”

 

She replied, “That would be preferable.” Blake began speaking to her about his fears, his dreams, his hopes. Amberley listened, letting his speak his mind. When he finished, he felt much better emotionally.

 

“Thank you, Amberley. You listened.”

 

“Of course.” She said with her usual warmth. “You're my friend, Blake. It was my pleasure to listen.”

 

“You really mean that?”

 

Amberley nodded, smiling a bit.

 

“I consider you a friend too.”

 

“I figured as much, considering how much time you and I have spent together.” Blake nodded, not speaking. She closed her eyes again, relaxing. Blake relaxed as well. The two of them stayed like that for a long time, enjoying each other’s company.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was in bed with Bartholomew, bouncing up and down on his cock like her life depended on it. He gripped her sides, moaning loudly as he thrusted. He then came, gasping. Abbie panted, getting off of him and laying down at his side. They had been fucking for nearly an hour. She kissed him softly, purring. He kissed back, stroking her hair. She broke it after a minute, resting her head on his chest. Not long after, there was a knock at the door.

 

“Enter.” Abbie called, curious to see who it was.

 

James entered, bowing. “Apologies for intruding, mistress.”

 

“Ah, James. It is no trouble. I trust you are feeling well? That ritual is known to cause...problems for those it brings back.”

 

“No trouble at all, aside from burning piss.” he said.

 

Abbie giggled. “What did you need?”

 

“Would you like to fuck?” he asked.

 

“No. At least, not now.” Abbie replied. “Was that all?”

 

“Yes.” James said.

 

“Good.” She said dismissively, snuggling up against Bartholomew.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was facing an angry crowd. They were jeering and screaming at her, hollering all sorts of nasty insults and colorful threats. The Inquisitor was completely stoic, staring them down without any reaction. Celeste gathered several for heresy and burned them. The shouting continued. Thuria still didn't react.

 

“Why are you all so upset with me?” she asked, almost pleasantly. “Do you believe I am insane for the things I am doing?”

 

“YES! YOU’RE NO HOLY WOMAN, JUST A FRAUD!” a man shouted. Celeste promptly shot him. Thuria, in turn, promptly disarmed Celeste.

 

“Shooting them won't solve anything.” She said, removing the magazine and tossing it aside. She then turned back to the crowd.

 

"You accuse me of being a madwoman. What right have you to judge what is sane and what is not? I have fought with the shadows on the edge of your vision. I have seen the faces that laugh at you in your nightmares. I have smelt the foetid breath that issues from the mouth of hell itself. I have heard the silent voices that make your spine tingle with dread. I have entered the realms between worlds where there is no time or place. I have clashed with creatures the sight of which would sear your soul to the core. I have bested horrors that chill with a gaze and tempt unreasoning terror. I have faced death eye to eye and blade to blade. I have stared into the eyes of insanity and met their all-consuming stare. I have done all of this for you, for your protection, and the guarantee of a future for mankind. And yet you accuse me of being a madwoman, you who have never had your sanity tested so sorely. What right have you to call me a heretic and a blasphemer, a fraud and a charlatan, you who have not heard the whisper of dark gods in your ear? You are weak. Vulnerable. Human in your frailty. I am strong and yet still you judge me. Only the insane have strength enough to prosper; only those that prosper truly judge what is sane."

 

“...GET OFF YOUR DAMNED PEDESTAL AND GO FUCK YOUR HOLY WHORE!” a woman shouted, referring to Celeste. Thuria stared her down.

 

“None of you seem to understand just how dangerous an Inquisitor is. I am endowed with authority by the Emperor Himself. My duty is to uphold the laws of the Imperium, and maintain the security of mankind as a whole. I am charged with hunting heretics, traitors and rogue psykers and mutants. I answer to no one, and am free to annihilate anyone who gets in the way of my mission. So, if you value your lives, stay out of my way.

 

“SCREW YOU!” the crowd shouted. Thuria rolled her eyes, turning to Celeste.

 

“Gather your Sisters, and tell them to retrieve the flamethrowers. Burn everyone here.” Celeste nodded, and not long after, the smell of long pig wafted through the entire Underhive. Celeste snuggled against Thuria, watching the flames. The crackling of flames mingled with with the sound of screaming.

 

“Music to my ears.” Celeste observed. Thuria was standing behind Celeste, playing with her massive tits idly. The latter moaned softly, smirking at Thuria. “I love it when you play with my breasts.”

 

“I swear that every time I see you, they've gotten larger.” Thuria replied, rolling Celeste’s nipples and squeezing her breasts. Celeste moaned louder, kissing Thuria. Thuria kissed her back, pulling Celeste even closer. The latter began groping Thuria back, adding her tongue into the kiss. She broke the kiss briefly.

 

“I love you.” she whispered. Thuria smiled.

 

“I love you too.” She replied. Thuria then pulled away from Celeste.

 

“We will make love later, in a more private place.” She said.

 

“Understood.” Celeste said. Thuria left, and came upon the pregnant woman she had earlier condemned, being tied to a stake. She looked at the young girl, seeing the terror and panic on her face...and in that moment, she saw herself.

 

“Let her go.” She commanded. “Now.”

 

“But Inquisitor…” a Guardsman protested. “She’s a heretic…”

 

“She is also with child. Let her go.”

 

“But…”

 

Thuria turned to a Commissar standing nearby. “If he speaks again, kill him.”

 

“Yes, Inquisitor.” He set the woman free, and she ran as fast as she could, not looking back. Thuria knew what fate awaited most unarmed females who went through the Underhive alone, so she went after the pregnant woman, catching up with her quickly.

 

“Wait up! I'm going to escort you home.”

 

“Don’t touch me.” she growled.

 

“If you go on alone, you'll most likely be beaten, raped, and killed. In that order.”

 

“I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME!”

 

Thuria hadn't, but she backed away, regardless. “I'm more merciful than most Inquisitors, you know. Many of my compatriots would have burned you alive, regardless of whether you were with child. Hell, many of them would have just shot you in the head for your defiance before even putting you on a pyre.”

 

“...So? I just want to go home.”

 

“That is why I'm here. To make sure you get there. I've been in your shoes before.”

 

“No you haven’t.”

 

Thuria reached into her coat, taking out a weathered picture and handing it to the woman. In the picture, a heavily pregnant Thuria sat in a chair, Bartholomew next to her. Neither of them were smiling.

 

“...You got pregnant, but you aren’t happy. Why?” the woman asked.

 

“I nearly died more than once during that pregnancy.” Thuria replied simply. “I got really sick, and the doctors and healers thought I wouldn't make it. I pulled through, obviously, but I lapsed back into illness a few more times before my daughter was born.”

 

“Where is your daughter now?”

 

The question was innocent enough, but after all that had happened, it made Thuria burst into tears. Abbie felt her mother’s pain and distress, and it made the Ringmistress stare at the wall for awhile. Bartholomew stared at her, puzzled.

 

“What’s the matter, Abbie?”

 

“Get the fuck out.” She said bluntly, her tone making it clear she wouldn't debate the matter with him.

 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Mother is upset. I can feel it.” Bartholomew shushed her, stroking her hair.

 

“Don’t worry about that right now, dear.”

 

She pulled his hand away from her head, snapping his wrist with casual ease before holding a knife to his throat.

 

“Get. Out.” Bartholomew winced, and left.

 

“Oh, hello, James.” he muttered as he walked as far away from his daughter’s chambers as possible. James was smoking a hand-rolled cigar, leaning against the wall.

 

“Hello, Bart. Did the mistress kick you out?”

 

“Yes, unfortunately.” he said. “Give me a smoke of your cigar, will you?”

 

“No.” James said, taking a long, deep drag.

 

“Please? I’ll give you a blowjob.”

 

James laughed at that. “Blow me first, then we'll see if it's good enough for me to let you smoke this.” Bartholomew got on his knees and slowly licked James’ shaft while fondling his balls. James held his head, stroking Bartholomew’s hair. Bartholomew took the entire thing in his mouth, sucking softly. James grunted, thrusting into Bartholomew’s throat. He gasped, but still took it all. James continued to thrust, roughly pulling Bartholomew’s hair. Bartholomew sucked even harder, moaning. A few minutes later, James climaxed. Bartholomew drank all of his semen, pulling away when he was finished. James patted his head, pulling his shaft out of Bartholomew’s mouth.

 

“Did I do well, Pale Man?” Bart asked.

 

“Yes.” James replied. Bartholomew took a puff of James’ cigar. James leaned back against the wall. Abbie, meanwhile, paced. She was conflicted. About what, one might have wondered. She contemplated whether what she was doing was worth it. This led to her thinking back on her childhood, which, in turn, led to flashbacks. In the first, she was a little girl again, playing with dolls. Her nanny sat in a chair nearby, knitting.

 

“Nanny Hilda?” Abbie asked. “When are ma and pa coming home?”

 

“Soon, dear. Your parents are young, and they need to train for their jobs.”

 

Abbie frowned. “I miss them, nanny Hilda. I don't have anyone to play with.”

 

“You have your dolls, don’t you?”

 

Despite how sad she was feeling at that moment, this made Abbie smile, hugging her dolls tightly. “You're right! I do have my dolls to play with. Thank you, nanny Hilda.”

 

“You are welcome, Abbigail.”

 

Coming out of the memory, Abbie began to softly sob. She hadn't recalled that event in years. Her nanny had been a kindhearted woman. Abbie had just been too blinded by her rage towards her parents to see it. She walked over to the closet in her room, opening it and taking out a small wooden box. She opened it, revealing her childhood dolls. She was sitting on the bed and hugging them tightly when James and Bartholomew entered a little while later. “Are we interrupting something?” Bartholomew asked.

 

“Yes.” James said, before Bartholomew recognized Abbie’s childhood dolls.

 

“...By the Emperor…” he said instinctively. Abbie stayed silent, continuing to hug the dolls.

 

“I would suggest leaving.” James said. Bartholomew nodded, as the Pale Man stroked his mistress’ head. She leaned against him, sniffling a bit. “It is alright, mistress. I am here.”

 

Abbie didn't speak. She merely continued sniffling, wiping away her tears. James kissed her gently, smiling. She pushed him away. “...I will leave you alone, mistress. Is that what you wish?”

 

“No, but I don't wish to be kissed. I only wish to be held.” James nodded, and held her close.

 

“I love you. Do you know that?” he whispered. Abbie nodded.

 

“I know. I've known ever since you became loyal to me.” He continued hugging her, purring like a kitten. Abbie continued to lean against him, closing her eyes. Soon after, she fell asleep, and sank into a dreamless slumber. James soon did the same, closing his eyes.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, went to speak with Dimitri. She had heard he had allied himself with Abbie, and wanted to learn what he knew about the cult. He didn’t refuse to talk, as expected. Instead he gave her everything she wanted to know. Thuria tortured him anyway, as he was still a criminal. He took it, glaring at her. She released him after her work was done, but not until he was begging for mercy. She returned to the fortress, heading to the room she had turned into her office to go over what she had learned. Celeste opened the door, smiling. Thuria was smoking her pipe, deep in thought. About what, exactly? The cult. Her life choices. Abbie. Bartholomew. Many other things not worth mentioning. She didn't notice Celeste enter. The Sister of Battle sat beside her, smoking her own pipe. Thuria continued to think, before looking at Celeste.

 

“I still haven't given up on Abbie, you know.”

 

“You haven’t?”

 

“No. She's my daughter, and I still love her, despite everything.”

 

“Despite her being a heretic?” Celeste asked, taking another deep puff.

 

“Yes, despite her being a heretic.” Celeste hugged Thuria, smiling.

 

“You are such a good woman, Thuria.”

 

“Tell that to the billions of people I've killed.”

 

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

 

“Every Imperial has a Xeno race they detest the most. For me, it's the Eldar. Can't stand the fuckers.”

 

“For me, it’s the Tau.” Celeste said. “Do you know why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“They claim to be ‘peaceful and working for the greater good’. What a bunch of shit.”

 

“They're more like us than most Imperials will admit.” Thuria said, snorting. “I was once an ambassador to the Tau. And before you say anything, we work with them occasionally because they are the race that is most like us, and we share many of the same enemies.”

 

“I understand, but I still cannot stand them.”

 

“I fought alongside a unit of Tau Fire Warriors once, in order to put down a particularly troublesome cult. Say what you will about their culture, but they know how to fight.” Thuria replied, blowing smoke rings. “Anyway, Abbie. How much have I told you about her?”

 

“Not too much.”

 

“She was a kind, sweet, gentle little girl. She would never harm a fly, and loved to play with her dolls. I loved her, still love her, more than anything, or anyone, else, on this or any world.” Celeste began tearing up. Thuria was looking at her hands.

 

“I hate myself for not being there more. I hate myself for not finding her after she was taken. I hate myself for not noticing how much of a shitbag Bartholomew was. Most of all, I hate him for not trying to help our daughter, but instead, deciding to sleep with her.” She whispered. Celeste held her close.

 

“Shush…” she whispered, silently crying. “You’ll find a way.”

 

Thuria didn't respond. An hour later, she left the fortress alone, heavily armed, intending to put what Dimitri had told her to good use. She approached a building that the cult had taken over, walking up to the door and knocking. She waited, then knocked again. A female cultist stared at her, then hurriedly closed the door in a panic.

 

“SHIT! INQUISITION!” she yelled. The door exploded inward, Thuria entering casually. She strode after the fleeing cultist, whistling. It wasn't long before a large number of cultists were fleeing in terror. They all knew of her. They knew of the Witch Huntress. They were all shot dead, one by one. Thuria didn't even have to put much effort into aiming. She merely cracked off shot after shot, bodies beginning to litter the halls she was walking through. The leader of this particular sect, a male, stared her down. Thuria shot him in the stomach, before drawing a knife and getting to work. It came as quite a surprise when a package arrived at the doorstep of the building Abbie was residing in the next morning. A terrified cultist had brought it. It was brought to Abbie, who called in Bartholomew and James. She opened it. Inside, the man’s head, hands and penis sat. The shaft was sticking out of his mouth, and there a testicle lodged in each nostril. A note sat, neatly folded, in front of the head. The note read thusly: “This is what happens to your cultists. I'm coming for you, daughter dear.”

 

Abbie merely smiled. “Oh, that is how she is going to play? Very well. Let the games begin…”

 

Her laughter carried through the building, the sound unnerving most of her cultists.

 

“M-mistress?” Adeline asked. She had been brought back by the same ritual as James. “Are you alright?”

 

“Oh, yes.” Abbie replied, smirking. Adeline kissed her, grinning. Abbie pulled away.

 

“Fuck me in the ass, love.” She said, stripping and bending over. Adeline stripped, and thrusted into Abbie’s ass. Abbie moaned, her ass cheeks clenching around Adeline’s cock. The latter thrusted, moaning loudly. She thrusted deeper and harder, cumming quickly. Abbie panted, having climaxed herself by fingering her own clit. She moved away from Adeline, getting dressed and heading to her chambers. Adeline followed her, awaiting her beck and call. Abbie ordered Adeline to get on her hands and knees. She did so, grinning all the while.

 

“What do you wish, mistress?”

 

Abbie pulled out a whip. She lashed Adeline across the back. Adeline gasped.

 

“Playful, are we?”

 

“You could say that.” Abbie replied, lashing her again. Adeline screamed, which transitioned into a moan.

 

“HARDER, MISTRESS!”

 

Abbie did it again, cracking the whip harder across Adeline’s ass. She kept moaning, panting like a dog. This continued for a while, Adeline’s moans growing increasingly loud as she orgasmed repeatedly.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, continued her hunt. She was interrogating a cultist, using the most brutal torture methods she could think of. Unlike most cultists, this woman didn't like pain. She was a bloodied mess, her skin having been pulverized into a gooey mush.

 

“P-please stop, I’ll tell you everything!”

 

Thuria complied. “Talk.”

 

“Ask me a question, and I’ll give you an answer.

 

“Where's your mistress hiding?”

 

“Somewhere in the Underhive. That’s all I know. I’m not exactly privy to her information.” she answered, spitting out some blood. Thuria shot her in the head and moved on. Another cultist was a bit more specific: somewhere in another shantytown. She shot him and moved on once again. Another gave a name: Scrapheap. Another execution, moving on for a third time. The last gave a specific location: on the edge of the Underhive’s first layer, in what was once an Imperial Titan. The remains of the Titan had been repurposed, used to make rooms, hallways, walls and ceilings. It was rather elaborate, Thuria was told. She couldn't miss it. She let this cultist go, having barely hurt him. He thanked her, then ran off. Thuria went to investigate the place he had described. In order to get in, she disguised herself as a whore, concealing her weapons in her lingerie. The guards let her in, none the wiser. It helped that her tits were exposed, her puffy nipples hard and red in the cool air of the Underhive. Adeline’s orgasmic moans clued Thuria in as to where Abbie was. She was wearing a hat and mask, which made it unlikely anyone who knew her face would recognize her. This idea was proved correct when she ran into Bartholomew.

 

“Well, hello there.” he purred. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

 

“Avelia.” She replied, the mask altering her voice enough to make it unrecognizable.

 

“Well, Avelia, I apologize for being so straightforward, but how about we fuck?”

 

She took his hand, leading him into another room. He fondled her all the way, grinning like a schoolboy who had gotten into a pornographic holovid stash. Once they were there, he stripped, smirking. She stripped after her finished, slowly removing each piece of clothing. She relished the look of shock and horror that crossed his face when her mask came off. “T-thuria…” he gasped, backing away. “What are you doing here?!”

 

“What do you think I'm doing here?” she asked pleasantly, drawing a knife. “Scream and you die.”

 

“..To kill Abbie?” he guessed. “Or at the very least, destroy everything she’s worked towards?”

 

“What has she worked towards, exactly? I'm curious.”

 

“Pleasure for all.” he answered. “What is wrong with that?”

 

“Pleasure for all makes the Dark Prince stronger. The Dark Prince growing in strength leads to hedonism, anarchy and chaos in the streets. The Imperium would collapse in on itself.”

 

“And it should. Anarchy is about getting rid of all order, but not all order.” Bartholomew replied. Thuria rolled her eyes.

 

“So, all of that talk for years about putting an end to Chaos and keeping humanity out of the grip of darkness was a crock of shit, then?”

 

“Now you’re getting it! Chaos is order. Order is Chaos.” Bartholomew answered.

 

“You're insane.” Thuria said. “Have you forgotten what this cult did to Abbie? Dead or not, they hurt her in ways too horrible to describe.”

 

“Am I insane, Thuria? Perhaps you’re the insane one. Order. Is. Chaos.”

 

“May the Emperor forgive you, Bart. You are lost.” She replied.

 

“Are we going to fuck, or not?”

 

“I wouldn't fuck you if we were the only humans left alive.” Thuria said bluntly before walking over to him, grabbing his head, and driving it down to meet her knee. She felt him slump, and leaned his unconscious body against the wall. She got dressed again and exited. No one suspected a thing. Good. She then ran into James. Luckily for her, he was being pleasured by someone else, allowing her to slip by unnoticed. A guard groped her as she walked, grinning. She ignored him, making her way towards Abbie’s chambers. The loud moans of Adeline gave the location away. She eventually reached the room she was seeking, pushing the doors open.

 

“Oh...aaaahhhh...hello.” Adeline greeted. Abbie turned to look at their guest. As she did, Thuria removed her mask.

 

“...You.” Adeline growled.

 

“Me.” Thuria replied, grinning. Abbie promptly hurled a throwing knife at her head. Thuria dodged quickly, the blade embedding itself in the wall behind her.

 

“Hello, Abbie.”

 

“Hello, mother.” Abbie replied, taking out another knife. The two of them stared each other down. Adeline retrieved a plasma pistol, aiming it at Thuria. Thuria drew a weapon that made Abbie’s eyes widen a bit: A Necron Gauss Rifle. Thuria smirked, taking aim.

 

“You wouldn’t…” said Adeline.

 

“She would.” Abbie said. Thuria nodded in agreement before shooting Adeline in the leg. She screamed, before realizing she could regenerate.

 

“Ha. Your parlor tricks no longer work.”

 

Thuria, without a word, shoved the barrel into Adeline’s mouth and opened fire. She didn't stop shooting until Adeline’s head was a red, melted pulp. It would take a while for her to regenerate from that. Indeed, it would. Abbie, meanwhile, lunged at her mother, knocking the rifle out of her grip. The two of them fought hand to hand, clawing, biting, punching and kicking each other viciously. Thuria ended up smashing a vase over her daughter’s head, which stunned her temporarily. Thuria pinned her to the ground, pressing a bolt pistol she had drawn to Abbie’s temple. Her finger tightened on the trigger, Thuria trying so very hard to shoot and be done with it. She couldn't do it. Instead, she hugged Abbie tightly, sobbing. Abbie, who was as conflicted as Thuria was, hugged her mother back, sobbing with her. This proved to be a strange sight for Adeline after she had regenerated.

 

“...Shall I leave you two for the moment?”

 

Neither of them responded. That was the clearest answer she was going to receive. The two of them held each other for about an hour, before the embrace was broken. Abbie was still sobbing brokenly, Thuria stroking her hair. James, meanwhile, had found and woken up Bartholomew, telling him to go check on Abbie. He did, and was certainly surprised at what he saw. Neither of them paid any attention to him. He promptly walked away, dumbfounded. It took another two hours for Thuria to calm Abbie down, and another hour after that to get her to talk again. Once this happened, the two of them sat in chairs, talking to each other. Thuria eventually left, deciding to leave the cult alone for the time being. Abbie, meanwhile, paced in her chambers. Adeline walked back in, watching silently. Abbie stabbed a knife into the wall, twisting it around.

 

“Damn it, how could I be so weak?” she muttered. “I let my emotions conquer me. Not again. Never again.”

 

“...Not even pleasurable ones?”

 

“Oh, those will continue to conquer me. I was merely referring to more...sentimental feelings.”

 

“Like love?” Adeline asked.

 

“Yes… and no. I quite like love.” Adeline kissed her gently. Abbie returned the kiss, purring. Adeline stroked her back.

 

“I love you, mistress.”

 

“And I, you.” Abbie replied.

 

“Truly?”

 

Abbie nodded. Adeline smiled.

 

Thuria, on her way out, had knocked Bartholomew out and taken him with her as a prisoner. She was dragging him back to the fortress when he woke up. “Hmmm? ...Oh, fuck, not again…” he muttered angrily.

 

“Welcome back to Hell, asshole.” Thuria said cheerfully.

 

“...Fuck you.”

 

“I'll pass on that offer.”

 

“Let me out, Thuria.” he said dryly. “I’ll be a good boy.”

 

“I'm going to kill you when I've learned all you know, Bart.”

 

“Go ahead and try.”

 

That was when a dart went into Thuria’s neck. She pulled it out, then noted dryly, “Huh.”

 

Right after this, she passed out, waking up a while later in a dark room.

 

Adeline smirked. “Hello.”

 

“Oh fuck, it's you.” Thuria said. There wasn't a hint of fear in her voice. If anything, she sounded annoyed.

 

“Yes, it’s me. I missed you, love.”

 

“Funny. I distinctly remember not missing you. Those Gauss rounds feel good?” Adeline grinned wider.

 

“YES! YES THEY DID!” she squealed.

 

“Oh, that's right. I'm speaking to a Slaaneshi.” Thuria said, sighing. “Look, if you want me to feel fear, don't waste your time. The Dark Eldar captured me once, and they scare me more than you ever could.”

 

“Oh? Do tell.”

 

“They are capable of causing pain in ways you couldn't imagine, you daft cunt.”

 

“You’re too kind.”

 

“I fucking hate you.” Thuria muttered. “I'll take great pleasure in burning you and everyone else in this damn cult at the stake.”

 

“...Not if you give into your pleasures.”

 

“I won't.”

 

Adeline licked her cheek. “I will break you…”

 

Thuria replied, “You will try.” Adeline grinned, before kissing Thuria again, groping her. Thuria felt nothing at all from this, not making a single sound. Adeline continued, squeezing harder.

 

“Break...break for me…”

 

Thuria spat in Adeline’s eye. “Eat shit.” The remarkable-and disgusting-thing was that she literally did. Adeline grinned.

 

“That was sure to have turned you on.”

 

“I'm as wet as sandpaper.” Thuria responded flatly.

 

Adeline pouted. Thuria snorted. “Oh, come now...not even a bit turned on?”

 

“Not in the slightest.” The Inquisitor said dryly, before a voice began whispering in her mind. The voice of Slaanesh, perhaps? Indeed, it was. She decided to hear what it had to say out of morbid curiosity.

 

“Give in, dearest Thuria...embrace your deepest and most depraved fantasies…”

 

“Do you wish to know what I desire, False God?” Thuria asked, both mentally and verbally.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I wish for the day to arrive when the Emperor of Mankind will be reborn. My desire is to live to see the hour when He will arise from the Golden Throne, tear open the Warp, and slay you and your wretched fellow Gods with a golden sword and holy fire. My deepest, greatest desire is to save my daughter, and free her from your rotten grip. I FANTASIZE ABOUT INCINERATING EVERYONE WHO WORSHIPS YOU, ALL OF YOUR HERETICAL, DEPRAVED FOLLOWERS AND OFFSPRING, ON A PYRE! MY DESIRE, CORRUPTER OF SOULS, IS TO WATCH. YOU. BURN!

 

Adeline growled. “...I will kill you. Slowly.”

 

Thuria laughed in her face, before putting her psychic abilities to good use, forcing her way into Adeline’s mind. Adeline screeched. Thuria looked through her memories, trying to find out what led her to where she was now. She was raised by the cult, it seemed. Much like Abbie. Thuria pitied her for a moment. She had never had a chance to have a normal childhood. All she knew was pleasure. Thuria contemplated doing something to relieve some of the torturous memories Adeline had to live with. What, exactly, was it? Erasing some of the memories and replacing them with happier ones. That would accomplish at the very least something far saner. She did it, replacing Adeline’s most traumatic memories with more joyous ones. Adeline stared, and whispered, “Thank you.”

 

“It is no trouble.” Adeline set her free. Thuria stood, rubbing her wrists.

 

“Thank you for freeing me.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“So...what will you do now?”

 

“I will stay with the mistress.” Adeline answered.

 

Thuria nodded, exiting. She figured she had about two minutes before Abbie knew she had escaped. Adeline would distract her, at least for the time being. Of course, Abbie wouldn't be pleased when she learned Adeline had let Thuria out. Not pleased at all. Abbie was scary when she got angry. And Adeline would learn the hard way what happened when Abbie got angry. For now, she would distract the Ringmistress. Adeline moaned as Abbie blew her sloppily. That was when a cultist entered, informing Abbie of her mother’s escape. Of course, she was more interested by what he said next: They had recorded Adeline helping her. “FUCK.” she screamed, her eyes widening. Abbie, without a word, drew a knife and castrated Adeline. There was one downside to Thuria rewriting her memories: She removed Adeline’s love for pain. She screamed, hissing violently. “YOU BITCH!”

 

Abbie then cut Adeline’s throat wide open, before ordering James to take her to one of the ‘torture technicians’ of the cult. She wanted to make Adeline resent her ability to heal from any injury. She sat back down on her bed, ignoring Adeline’s desperate pleas for mercy. James dragged her away, grinning sadistically. “YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

 

“I already have.” Abbie said boredly, beginning to file her nails. Adeline continued screaming. Her shouts only grew louder when the torture began.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was drunk. Deeply, unapologetically, undeniable drunk. Yes siree, she was more than a bit intoxicated. She would swear it before the Emperor Himself if she had to. This thought made her laugh.

 

“Hey, Blake. Blake! BLAKE! COME DRINK WITH ME!” She called. Blake entered the room, grinning like a fool.

 

“Did someone say drink?”

 

Thuria nodded enthusiastically. Blake, without another word, began drinking. Soon, he was just as smashed as Thuria.

 

“You know something?” Thuria said, hiccuping a bit. “I really thought Bart and I were in love. Isn't that crazy?”

 

“Sure is. It’s like he cast you off like an old robe to fuck his own flesh and blood!”

 

“Exactly! He tossed me aside so he could fuck our daughter, who we both thought was dead.”

 

“What an asshole. You need a better partner in your life. Like Celeste.”

 

Thuria nodded, raising her glass. “Hear, hear!”

 

“She’s got a nice pair, if you catch my meaning.” Blake said, grinning perversely.

 

“Oh, she does. I would know.”

 

Blake considered asking Thuria about her ‘pair’, but decided not to. He merely continued grinning, before giggling like mad. “Being drunk is wonderful, isn’t it?” he asked finally.

 

She nodded, before noting where he was looking. Snorting, she removed her top. Blake only grinned wider, staring at her breasts intently. “...Nice rack. Good to see it again.” he said.

 

“You can touch them if you want.” Thuria replied, smirking. Blake wasted no time in doing so, gently squeezing them. He kept grinning, massaging Thuria’s breasts firmly yet gently. She purred, moaning softly as he did so.

 

“Do you enjoy this, Inquisitor? I am at your service.” he whispered. She gripped his hair, gently pushing his face to her breasts. He licked at one of her nipples, enjoying the taste. She let him suckle at her tit, enjoying the feeling of his tongue lapping at it. When the two of them woke up the next morning in bed together, Thuria felt satisfied, despite the headache. Blake kissed her gently. “You were amazing last night.”

 

“I'm glad. You were, too.” She replied. That was when Luciana entered. Completely ignoring their state of undress, she looked at Thuria grimly.

 

“You're not going to like this…” she said, gesturing out the window. Thuria got up, wrapping herself in a sheet, before walking over and looking out. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

 

“What’s wrong-OH, BY THE EMPEROR!” Blake shouted upon seeing what was outside. The carnival...was open once again. “Greeeat.”

 

“Fuck.” Thuria said simply.

 

“I am not going in there again.”

 

“The real question is the one I am worried about. How did it reopen?”

 

Celeste entered, blushing upon seeing Thuria. “Did you and he-?”

 

“Yes.” Thuria said bluntly.

 

“No matter. We must investigate the carnival once more.”

 

Thuria nodded. “Be a dear and fetch my Inquisitorial uniform, will you?” Celeste nodded, and retrieved said uniform. Thuria dressed herself, and her gentle, kind side few saw fell away, replaced by Thuria the Inquisitor.

 

“I’m gonna stay in bed today.” Blake said dryly.

 

“Good idea.” Thuria said, loading and oiling her various weapons. “Luciana, Celeste, you're coming with me.” Blake watched them go. Amberley did the same from her room, holding her morning cup of tea. She was suddenly struck by the feeling that she would never see her niece again, and didn't know why. It scared her.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was torturing Adeline. The Slaaneshi woman, no longer resistant to pain, screamed loudly, feeling every wound pierce her. Abbie’s torture tool was a long, slender blade, the metal glowing cherry-red due to the heat within it. “Please, mistress…” Adeline begged. “Stop this…”

 

“Tell me, sweetling. Was helping my mother escape worth it?”

 

“Yes.” she said. “It was.”

 

Abbie paused for a moment. “Why? Why did you do it?”

 

“Because I wanted to stop hurting.” she said. “I wanted to do something for more than my own pleasure.”

 

“Well, darling, I hope you are content with your choice.” Abbie said. “I truly do. Otherwise, the pain that is to come will be even worse for you.”

 

“I am content, mistress.”

 

“Good.” Abbie said, before driving the blade into Adeline’s thigh. She shrieked. Loudly. Abbie’s laughter resounded as well. The torture continued, Adeline’s screams growing in volume.

 

Meanwhile, Thuria, Celeste and Luciana entered the carnival. Thuria noted that the crowds were as large as ever. Celeste only armed herself with an assault rifle, glaring with disgust at the crowds. “Look at them.” she observed. “Walking straight into the Slaaneshi trap.”

 

“Like sheep to the slaughter.” Thuria replied. They soon came across Abbie’s empty tent. Thuria stepped inside, looking around. Her daughter had left many things behind, she noted. She sat down in a chair by the cold fireplace, letting out a sigh.

 

“How did it come to this?” She muttered.

 

“How, indeed.” Celeste said. Luciana looked around the tent, going through the things Abbie had left behind. She found several masks, numerous pairs of gloves, a box of sex toys, various blades and guns, a music box, and a few drawings and pictures from Abbie’s childhood.

 

Celeste looked at Thuria, holding her close. “I understand she means a lot to you.”

 

“No shit. She's my daughter. I  spent nearly twenty years thinking she was dead.” Thuria responded, looking over the pictures Luciana had found. They were from a happier time. One in particular made her eyes moist. Abbie was smiling widely, still innocent and pure. She and Thuria stood together under a lush green tree, located on a beautiful mountain that didn't exist anymore. In the photograph, she held her daughter close, her chin resting on Abbie’s head.

 

“Oh, Abbie…” She whispered. “I failed you…”

 

“You havent.” said Celeste. “She still could be saved…”

 

“Does she want to be saved?” Thuria asked, her voice hollow. “I don't know if she does.”

 

Celeste smiled at her. “Deep down, I think she does.”

 

Abbie, meanwhile, was sitting in a chair, staring at her hands. “James, am I a monster?” She asked, addressing her second.

 

“Do you consider yourself a monster?” he answered.

 

“I think we are all monsters. Monsters are the only people who survive in this world.” She responded.

 

“Then yes, you are a monster.”

 

“Do you have any family?” She asked him. “I realize now I've never asked you that before.”

 

“No. You are my family, mistress.”

 

“And I am glad to be, sweetling.” Abbie replied. Still, she felt very conflicted, her emotions at war with one another. James held her close, rubbing her shoulders. She relaxed against him, exhaling. He trailed several kisses down her neck.

 

“You'd never betray me, would you?” She asked softly.

 

“Never.”

 

“Good.” She replied. He continued his neck kissing as he massaged deeper, smiling softly. Abbie purred, melting into his arms. James reached around, groping her softly. She pulled his arm away.

 

“Not tonight. Tonight, I just want to be held.”

 

He nodded, holding her close, still kissing her. Abbie closed her eyes, relaxing further.

 

“Thank you, my Pale Man…”

 

“You are welcome.”

 

She soon fell asleep in his arms, snoring softly.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, was listening to the music box that had been found in Abbie’s tent. It played a soft, mournful tune.

 

“I don't recall getting her this.” Thuria said. “It bears the marks of her childhood, though. Perhaps it was a gift from her nannie.”

 

“Perhaps.” said Celeste.

 

“I should have been around more. Should have spent more time with Abbie.” Thuria said. “I was a pretty shitty parent.”

 

“You were not. Don’t say that.”

 

“Oh, really? Do good parents see their children once a month, if not less?”

 

“...I see your point, but you’re being too hard on yourself.”

 

Thuria didn't respond. She merely continued listening to the music box. After a few minutes, she said, “I miss her. I miss the young Abbie, the one that lived, innocent and carefree, before all this madness began.”

 

Sasha, meanwhile, sat on a railing at the edge of a balcony, overlooking the city. She wasn't afraid of falling. Death, in Sasha’s eyes, had no sting. She heard the door behind her creak open. It was Blake, who had just finished chatting with Amberley.

 

“Hello, Blake.” Sasha greeted.

 

“Hello there, Irrelevant.” he said lightheartedly, before seeing she wasn’t amused. “Sorry.”

 

Sasha snorted. “It's alright. I've been called worse things.”

 

“How are things?”

 

“Could be better. Could be worse.” She said, shrugging. “I really can't complain.”

 

“Amberley and I are getting along.”

 

“I can tell. I can also sense you wish to take her to bed.”

 

“What was your first clue?”

 

“You can't keep your eyes off her when you two are in the same room.” Sasha said dryly.

 

“Yes, but I can’t just say,  ‘Amberley, I wish to fuck you until you feel numb’, now can I?” Blake retorted just as dryly.

 

“You could say it, Blake.” came the voice of Amberley from behind him. “I'd have to decline, though.” He turned around, blushing heavily, not saying a word. Amberley stood there, a slight smirk on her face. She held two cups of tea, one of which she handed to Sasha, who accepted it gratefully. Amberley kept the other, sitting down in a chair. She had taken off her armor, and was now wearing casual clothing, which consisted of a white blouse and skirt, along with simple black shoes. Blake still stared, mouth agape. Amberley raised a brow.

 

“What?”

 

“...NOTHING!” he shouted before running off. Amberley snorted, looking at Sasha.

 

“He couldn't be more obvious if he tried, could he?”

 

“No, but at least he’s trying to get to know you first.”

 

“Blake is a good man, but I do not wish to sleep with him. Besides, I think he may have feelings for Thuria.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He may not even notice it himself, but I've seen the way he looks at her. That mixture of admiration, respect and affection is the same look Ciaphas would give me.”

 

“I have seen it too. He says they are on a strictly casual sex basis, but there is much more than that, I think.”

 

Amberley nodded. For the next month in the Underhive, things were relatively quiet. Abbie’s cult caused trouble now and again, but were more of a nuisance than anything. Thuria burned heretics, the smoke from all of the pyres filling the sky. Blake aided her, and the two grew closer.

 

Something else began happening, as well. Thuria felt very ill as the month went on. She suffered from constipation, frequent headaches, occasional mood swings, and bouts of dizziness. Her breasts also became very tender. She went to Luciana to see what was wrong with her, once she could take it no longer. Blake came with her. “So, what’s the diagnosis?” he asked.

 

“Have you bled recently, Thuria?” Luciana asked. Thuria shook her head, before realization struck.

 

“Wait...does that mean…?”

 

Luciana smiled, nodding.

 

“Well, then, who’s the father?” Blake asked. Luciana simply looked at him, not saying a word. Blake promptly fainted. He woke up in a bed. Luciana was sitting next to him, holding a towel to his head, wrapped around ice. It was preventing the swelling from getting too bad. “What happened?”

 

“You fainted.”

 

“...Oh, right. I impregnated Thuria, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes.” Luciana replied. “She carries your child within her.”

 

“I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE A FATHER!” he screamed, eyes widening.

 

“Well, you will have to live with it.” She replied. “It is as much her child as it is yours.”

 

“B-but Thuria and I are still on a fuckbuddy basis!” he insisted.

 

“Sure.” Luciana said. “Now, you need to sleep.”

 

She left him to his rest. Abbie, meanwhile, watched James. He was fucking Bartholomew, who Abbie had handed over to him after she grew bored. She pleasured herself as she watched James sliding his manhood in and out of Bartholomew’s ass.

 

“Y-yes…” Bartholomew moaned. “YES!”

 

Bartholomew had resisted at first, but now he and James had sex at least three times a day. Bartholomew, James had discovered, was a very submissive lover, at least when with another man. He continued thrusting, before reaching his climax, filling Bartholomew’s ass with hot seed. Bartholomew’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he panted happily. James rolled Bartholomew over, before beginning to blow him. Bartholomew kept panting, letting out low moans as he did. James continued to suck his cock, idly stroking Bartholomew’s balls as he did. He soon came hard in James’ mouth, sighing in bliss. James swallowed it all, panting a bit.

 

“Satisfied?” He purred.

 

“Y-yes, master…”

 

“Good.” James said.

 

Blake, meanwhile, soon awoke, looking around groggily. Two Guardsmen stood by the door, watching him stoically. “Mmm...wha...oh, right. I’m father to an Inquisitor’s child.” he muttered. One of the Guardsmen gave him a thumbs up, nodding once. “Don’t patronize me.” Blake said dryly.

 

No response from either of the Guardsmen. Celeste kept watch over Thuria. Thuria hated the constant supervision, but knew it wasn't just her that was being guarded. “Thuria…” Celeste said. “Blake is your child’s father. What does this change?”

 

“What should it change?” Thuria responded.

 

“Your relationship with him, for one. He may deny it, but he admires you. Do you admire him?”

 

“...I am uncertain. I admired Bart, and that didn't end well.”

 

“I believe the Emperor has gifted you with a second chance. I advise you not to waste it.” Celeste replied. Thuria didn't respond.

 

The next morning, the trials resumed. More criminals burned, and Thuria bathed in the scent of ash and embers. Blake stood next to her, and smiled. The angry crowds grew larger with each execution, hundreds of Underhive denizens gathering to shout insults and profanity at Thuria and her retinue. Thuria didn't even react to any of them. Instead, she ordered several nearby Sisters of Battle to burn them all. Celeste led the burnings, as Blake gave Thuria a passionate kiss against the backdrop of the flames. She shoved him away.

 

“Not now.” She growled. “Don't distract me.”

 

Thuria then turned back to the burnings, ash landing on her coat, giving it a grey coloring. Blake only watched. Thuria, after the flames cleared, saw a group who had avoided a fiery death. She ordered the Sisters to crucify all of them. Celeste only nodded, and soon, they were crucified. Thuria walked away, ignoring the pained screams of the crucified men and women. The mass immolation, along with the crucifixions, made her infamous in the Underhive. Word spread fast about the event, and people began to fear her.

 

Blake, meanwhile, had finally realized his feelings for Thuria, and confessed. “I love you.” he said.

 

“I know.” was her reply. He took the chance, and kissed her. Thuria kissed him back, finally giving into her feelings. Blake’s tongue wrapped around hers, and he held Thuria close to him. She leaned against him, closing her eyes.

 

The next morning, she gave Sasha a mission: Find out where Abbie and her followers were hiding. Sasha nodded, returning to her quarters and retrieving her armor. Sasha had a secret: She had been trained by the Culexus Temple of the Officio Assassinorum, and was a Pariah, or Blank. Her very presence was highly painful for psykers, which was why she and Thuria were rarely in the same room for very long. Even for normal human beings, her presence would often incite hostility. This was why she spent most of her time alone. She finished putting on her armor, and strapped a belt of Psyk-out Grenades across her back and chest. She needed no guns or blades; her innate abilities would be enough. She opened the window wide, setting out across the city.

 

Blake looked at Thuria. “I hope she’ll be OK.”

 

“She's never failed me.” Thuria said. “She'll be fine.”

 

Sasha made her way across the Underhive, interrogating people for information. It didn't take much prodding to get them to talk; being in the presence of a Pariah was torture enough. She eventually learned where Abbie and her followers were, and made her way to that location. Once she reached the entrance, she turned off the device in her helmet that dampened her negative psychic aura. Immediately, the cultists inside began feeling the effects. Bartholomew was barely affected, but James began to scream. As did Abbie, thrashing around in her bedroom, howling in pain.

 

Sasha entered the building, releasing bolts of negative Warp energy, stripping every cultist near her of their psychic abilities, before she drained their very life force. She moved through the building, continuing to do this to each person she encountered. She eventually entered the room where James and Bartholomew were, pausing briefly in shock at what she saw within. They were...well...to put it bluntly, sucking each other off. It seemed James had managed to resist the effects of her presence enough to resume having sex with Bartholomew. Sasha noted this as she drained his life force, relishing the terror James felt as she did. After she was done, his limp corpse fell off the bed, thumping to the floor. She looked at Bartholomew, her helmet betraying no emotion.

 

“Hello, Irrelevant.” he said dryly.

 

“It is most fortunate you are not a psyker, Bart. You'd have gone mad from the pain of my presence by now.”

 

“I suppose I would have. Now, are you going to kill me?”

 

“No. I'll leave that to Thuria. She's pregnant, by the way.” Sasha responded.

 

“By whom?” Bartholomew asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Blake. Her favorite street rat.”

 

Bartholomew briefly looked enraged, but quickly calmed himself. “I’m over Thuria. I’d much rather be with the Ringmistress, my own daughter, than with her.”

 

Sasha went quiet for a moment, before calmly replying, “You worthless, depraved, cowardly, treacherous shit.”

 

“Am I all that?” he retorted, his tone still flat. “I think of myself as liberated and worthy of the mistress. Depraved, yes.”

 

Sasha chuckled. “Your ‘mistress’ is screaming. Can you hear her?”

 

“Yes. It isn’t pleasurable either, but I can live with it.”

 

Sasha left him there, after tying him to the bed, and headed for Abbie’s bedroom. She entered, and found the Ringmistress curled up in a ball, weeping.

 

“Please...please….don't kill me...I don't want to die...I want to go home.” Abbie said softly, sobbing. Sasha pitied her, and turned the nullification device in her helmet back on. Abbie relaxed a bit, no longer looking to be in pain.

 

It came as quite a surprise when Sasha arrived at the gates of the retinue fortress, Abbie walking beside her and Bartholomew being dragged along by a rope. A duo of Guardsmen let them in. Blake was unhappy at the sight of Bart and Abbie.

 

“Well, look what the assassin dragged in: filthy pieces of trash.”

 

Abbie ignored the insult. “Where is my mother?”

 

“In her quarters, resting with her unborn child.” Celeste interrupted. Abbie looked at her.

 

“Ah. One of the Corpse-God Whores. Excellent.” she said dryly. She didn't even bother to dodge Celeste’s backhand.

 

“Do not be hypocritical, worshipper of the Prince.” the Sister of Battle growled, reaching for her flamethrower. Abbie grinned, standing up again, licking the blood off her upper lip.

 

“Yes, I am a whore. However, my God, unlike yours, does not make any demands of Her followers, save one: Express your desires freely. And, in case you have forgotten, one of my agents seduced you with ease, Celeste, daughter of Selara. Who is the hypocrite now?”

 

Celeste’s face twisted into something unrecognizable, and she began spitting vile curses in every language that she knew offhand. If there was one thing Abbie was good at, it was manipulating people, either into doing what she wanted, or simply becoming enraged. Abbie wiped blood off her lips and jaw idly, grinning as she watched Celeste rant. After several long, excruciating minutes, Celeste managed to get herself under control and went to see Luciana. She needed healing. Badly. Luciana was more than happy to provide it.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, had woken up, and gone out into the courtyard where Abbie and Bartholomew were. “Oh, here’s the expectant mother now.” the latter snarked. “Hello, Thuria. How are things?”

 

“Your pyre will be prepared within an hour.” Thuria replied. Her voice was completely empty of emotion, save for contempt. It was then he realized he no longer meant anything to her; to Thuria, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, he was just another traitor to be burned. Some part of his brain, one that deeply regretted turning against her, muttered, “I never meant it to end up this way, Thuria. I will take my burning like the man I used to be. The Emperor deems it fitting.”

 

Thuria continued to watch him. Once, she would have never even considered executing him as a heretic, never would have considered him capable of betraying her in such a deep manner. Alas, that was before. Now? She felt nothing for Bartholomew but hatred. And he knew it. Blake, he could see, would be a fresh start for her. And it was obvious she loved him.

 

Abbie, however...she wasn't sure what to do about her daughter. On one hand, Abbie was a heretic, and Thuria knew very well the fate meant for heretics. On the other hand...she thought there was still hope for Abbie. She looked at her daughter, before gently embracing Abbie. Abbie, after a bit of hesitation, hugged her mother back. It was then that the walls Abbie inside herself had built came crashing down. The Slanneshi cult leader vanished, and Abbie was once again the scared little girl who had been taken so many years ago. She broke down crying, hugging her mother tightly. Thuria held Abbie close, rubbing her back. Blake, who had walked out for a quick smoke of a self-made pipe, immediately walked back in as not to interrupt.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…” Abbie sobbed.

 

“Shhhhh...it’s alright.” Thuria replied. “I'm sorry, too. I should have been there to keep them from taking you…”

 

This went on for about twenty minutes, with Bartholomew able to do nothing but watch. Abbie  eventually calmed down, falling asleep in Thuria’s arms. Thuria carried her to a bedroom, before walking back out to Bartholomew.

 

“Go ahead, bitch. Torch me.” he challenged. Thuria obliged, but not in the manner he expected. She went back inside, retrieving a canister of fuel. She walked back out to Bartholomew, and began splashing it on him. He kept a stoic expression throughout. Thuria took out her pipe, and a match. She lit her pipe with the match, exhaling smoke.

 

“Any final words?” She asked him.

 

“Yes. ...I am sorry, Thuria. For everything.” His words would not be heeded, however.

 

“I am, too.” Thuria said. “But I am an Inquisitor, charged with hunting the mutant, the traitor, and the heretic. I must punish these things...no matter how much it hurts.”

 

With that, she closed her eyes and looked away, before flicking the still-lit match onto Bartholomew. He lit up like a tree, his screams echoing throughout the Underhive. She kept her eyes closed until the screaming stopped, then looked at where he had stood. Smoke wafted off his charred corpse, his face contorted in a silent scream. Thuria walked away from him, leaving the Guardsmen to dispose of the body.

 

Abbie, meanwhile, continued to sleep. She was woken, rather rudely, in her own opinion, by the door creaking open. Someone had entered. Celeste. She was not at all happy to see her again.

 

“What do you want?” Abbie asked, stretching.

 

“Let us speak, you and I. I wish to know you.” Celeste was much calmer than before.

 

“Very well.” Abbie said, yawning, before sitting up. “What do you wish to know?”

 

“I wish to know Abbigail. Not the Ringmistress.”

 

“Hmmm...fine. Ask me anything, Celeste.”

 

“What do you enjoy doing?” she asked. “As in hobbies?”

 

“Aside from the kinky things, I enjoy reading, singing and chess.” Abbie replied.

 

“Chess, hmmm? I never knew you played.”

 

“Come, now. I manipulate my followers like puppets. Of course I play chess. What's your next question?”

 

“Shall we play a game of chess? Perhaps even a wager?”

 

“No. You wished to know about me, and I am willing to answer questions. We can play chess later. Ask me what you wish to.” Abbie responded.

 

“Do you miss your mother, even after all these years?”

 

“Of course I do. Why do you think I'm not trying to kill her?” Abbie whispered.

 

“Because you love her.” Celeste whispered back, pulling the woman into a hug. Abbie hugged her back, before pulling away.

 

“Next question, please.” She said.

 

“What books do you enjoy?”

 

“Oh, my tastes vary. Romance. Poetry. Mysteries. Erotica.”

 

“Adventure, perhaps? I prefer what those in the Age of Terra called ‘pulps.’” Celeste said.

 

“I don't.” Abbie said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I have read a few of those. Not very enjoyable.”

 

“It takes a certain audience to enjoy the escapist nature of pulps.” Celeste said. Abbie nodded in agreement.

 

“I never felt any need to read stories like that. I didn't need to escape. I was too busy enjoying the very real sex I was participating in.”

 

“So you say.” Celeste said flatly. “Have you ever written?”

 

“No.” Abbie replied. “I had about...oh...thirty cultists at any given time plotting to assassinate me. I couldn't afford to be distracted by writing a book.”

 

“Ah. Are you trying to seduce me?” Celeste asked bluntly, understandably suspicious.

 

“What gave you that idea?” Abbie asked.

 

“You mention erotica frequently.”

 

“I am the leader of a Slaaneshi cult. I sleep with dozens of people a week.”

 

“But are you trying to seduce me?”

 

This made Abbie snort. “No. No, I'm not.”

 

“Good.” Celeste replied. Abbie nodded. They talked for a good while. Celeste bid her farewell, before returning to her quarters. Abbie left her room, beginning to explore the fortress. She hummed to herself, idly running her nails along the walls. She wondered who she would encounter next. The next encounter, strangely enough, was with Quinn.

 

“Who are you, then?” Abbie asked, a slight purr in her voice. She knew perfectly well who Quinn was, but decided to play with her a bit.

 

“It is I, your humble servant Quinn.” she purred back.

 

“Ah, yes. The freed slave. How are you, my dear?” Abbie asked.

 

“Well, mistress. I have been sitting here, trying desperately to pleasure myself.”

 

“Trying? Oh, dear. What is stopping you?”

 

“Them. The non-believers. I cannot get aroused in their presence.”

 

“This simply will not do.” Abbie responded, approaching Quinn. She sat in the girl’s lap, before beginning to kiss her neck. Quinn held her, moaning softly. Abbie ran one hand through Quinn’s hair, the other gently squeezing and rubbing her breasts. She moaned louder, running her hands up and down Abbie’s back, closing her eyes. She could feel Abbie’s hands move, beginning to unfasten the straps of Quinn’s dress.

 

“Yes…” she whispered, grinding against her. “Fuck yes…”

 

Abbie chuckled, removing her lover’s dress in one fluid motion. Quinn kissed her with a passion, adding her tongue into it. After a long, sloppy kiss, Abbie pulled away, turning her attention to Quinn’s breasts. The nipples were red and puckered from her touch, waiting to be suckled on. Abbie did this gladly, taking Quinn’s left nipple in her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. Quinn moaned loudly, stroking her mistress’ hair and grinding against her. Abbie purred, continuing to suckle, her other hand rubbing Quinn’s slit. Quinn moaned louder, her inner walls soaked with her juices. Abbie suckled for a bit longer, before getting off of Quinn and disrobing. After this, she began grinding her slit against that of her lover, kissing Quinn’s neck again. Quinn groped Abbie, grinning as widely as she could.

 

“My, my...you’re certainly busty.”

 

“My thanks for the compliment, sweetling.” Abbie purred, continuing to grind against Quinn. Quinn grinded harder, on the verge of orgasm already. Abbie continuing what she was doing. She knew many things about the human body, which included that women, unlike men, did not have a waiting period, so to speak, after each climax before they could become aroused again. So, she kept grinding, wanting to make Quinn orgasm as hard as possible. She did, practically screaming. Abbie grinned. After a minute, she laid Quinn down on the floor, before squatting over her face.

 

“I let you climax, sweetling. Now, return the favor.” Quinn nodded, and went down on Abbie, obediently licking at her pussy. Abbie gasped loudly, throwing her head back in pleasure. Quinn smirked playfully.

 

“Do you enjoy that...sweetling?” she purred.

 

“Oh, yes.” Abbie replied. She was quiet at first, but grew louder as she approached her climax, culminating in an ear-piercing scream when she finally came. This startled the Guardsmen and Sisters of Battle, who briefly thought they were under attack. Thuria, who was praying at a shrine to the Emperor, only paused briefly to make sure nothing more happened before resuming her worship. Abbie panted, getting off of Quinn and laying down next to her. Quinn kissed her, holding Abbie close. They fell asleep together, naked and satisfied.

 

Thuria, meanwhile, prayed to the Emperor. “Oh, merciful Emperor, undying Lord of Terra, Master of Mankind, grant me sight. Show me what I need to see, and grant me the wisdom I need to do what needs to be done. Make me a stone, oh mighty Emperor, stalwart in my duty, steadfast in my faith. Merciful Lord, hear me now. Grant me sight, if it pleases You.” Blake knocked softly on her door. She rose, walking over to the door and opening it.

 

“Am I interrupting something? Whatever it is, may I join you?”

 

“I was praying, Blake. I was under the impression you had little love for the Emperor.” She replied. As much as he would deny it, this was still true, and they both knew it.

 

“I don’t deny it, but I have been rethinking my position on the Imperial Cult. It’s very diverse in belief, from what I understand.”

 

“You have no idea. The Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus revere the Emperor as their Omnissiah. The warriors of Fenris call Him All-Father. Some worlds revere Him as a symbol of peace and light, while others kill in His name, thinking of the Emperor as a God of war.”

 

“I believe the Emperor is divine now, yes. But I also believe He ascended when He died, becoming a disembodied force. Not like that Chaos shit, no. But a disembodied, divine, force of nature.”

 

He seemed oblivious to the fact that calling the Emperor dead was heresy. Thuria let it slide, however. It was very minor, all things considered. She said, “I have always viewed Him as the guiding hand of Mankind. He shows us all the right way to go; We just need to heed His words.”

 

“Exactly my point. The Force that is the Emperor guides us, even if we cannot see Him.” He’d certainly put a lot of thought into coming to his conclusions. Perhaps, Thuria wondered, he’d had a prophetic dream? She put the thought aside for now.

 

Meanwhile, in another part of the fortress, two Tech-Priests were carrying out their work. One of them, a heavily augmented man by the name of Zabesh, was praying to the Omnissiah, asking the Machine God to bless his work. He was a bit unhinged, which meant it fell to the other Tech-Priest with him to keep Zabesh from wandering too far into his own mind. She was named Zhara, and was the straight woman to his...oddness, to put it bluntly. After he finished his prayer, Zabesh resumed his previous work. He was examining a rather fascinating piece of technology: A computer console from the Age of Terra. He had no idea how it was still intact, but it was, and he was very gentle with it, lest he offend the long-lived machine spirit within.

 

“Hmmm…” he mumbled, looking closely at this wondrous machine. “How did you last so long, enduring spirit? Most of your kin died long, long ago...hmmmm…”

 

Zhara observed it, noticing it said MICROSOFT on the side. Perhaps this Microsoft was a prophet of the Machine God? Perhaps. Zabesh turned to her.

 

“Oh, I did not realize you were still here.” He said, like he did every time he became absorbed in his own thoughts.

 

“I always am, Zabesh. Do you see that word on the side? Help me decipher its meaning?”

 

“Hmmm...Microsoft...perhaps a long-dead prophet? Or, perhaps, the name of the machine spirit inside this wondrous contraption? Hmmmm…”

 

“Both valid theories. We will need to study further, yes?”

 

“Indeed. You have become very wise, you know.” He replied, smiling at her, his daughter. She called him by his name at his request. Being called father made him feel old, though she still did it sometimes.

 

“Thank you...father.” she said, hugging him. Zabesh hugged her back, before pulling away and clapping his hands.

 

“Now, shall we see what secrets this machine holds?” He asked her.

 

“Yes. Let us get to work.”

 

They did just that, spending many hours attempting to learn what the machine they had in front of them was meant to do. They didn’t reach any conclusive evidence...yet. Soon enough, however, a far more interesting opportunity would present itself to the two of them. Dark forces were stirring, and a very old machine was rising in the Underhive, lurking in the shadows until it's time came.

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