Upon the throne of desire.
Slaanesh reclined languidly, propping Their chin on one hand while gazing intently at the portrait of the Savior with an appreciative look.
Certainly, They sensed the jealousy burning within Their servant, Fulgrim, but paid it no heed. In fact, Slaanesh considered it a fine thing.
They even deliberately fostered such an atmosphere, stirring up the Fallen Phoenix's covetous heart.
Slaanesh adored the feeling of Their servants vying to serve Them.
If Eden were here, he would likely see through it all at once, then tell that "super hunk" Fulgrim:
"Wake up, you worthless sheep! You're being totally played!"
Alas, Fulgrim was far too deeply ensnared, incapable of telling right from wrong—or rather, his mind, already fallen, had long since been reshaped in Slaanesh's image.
That is the price of falling to Chaos: the utter loss of self.
Glancing once more at his master and that portrait of the Savior that held Their rapt attention, Fulgrim's expression darkened.
With a grand, swirling flourish of his luxurious pinkish-purple cloak, he slithered away with a serpentine twist of his body.
The proud Phoenix refused to remain in that humiliating atmosphere; he would co again another ti.
Slaanesh continued gazing at the Savior's likeness. Indeed, They were interested in this man.
After all, he was the beloved favorite of the Accursed One—the one that being protected closely.
And nothing is more exhilarating than conquering such an existence, bending him to one's will.
As for subjugating the Accursed One himself, well, Slaanesh had entertained the idea, but it was out of reach.
The grisly outco of Tzeentch's torture at the hands of the Accursed One remained vividly in Their mory, instilling in Them a well-founded apprehension.
Then again...that prospect could also be appealing?
A slight shiver ran through Slaanesh's body, and They were montarily tempted to try.
To Slaanesh, even the most excruciating tornt can be a form of bliss.
Yet reason prevailed, forcibly suppressing that terrifying and absurd notion.
For the Accursed One was a fatally dangerous being.
Better to focus on first conquering that Savior—They simply could not wait to lure him into the palace for so serious "reeducation."
Suddenly, Slaanesh's eyes flashed, locking onto the portrait as if noticing sothing hidden.
Toward this Savior, They felt a faint sense of familiarity.
Long ago, They might have t him once?
Slaanesh sifted through Their mories.
Their realm receives billions of debauched supplicants every day—common folk, pleasure-seeking nobles, mighty warriors, even lofty governors and grand lords.
Too many left impressions behind.
Locating one particular individual in the vastness of that recollection would not be easy.
But soon, Slaanesh found it:
It was on a lush green plain. A dark-haired young man extended his middle finger, cursing at the top of his lungs:
"Slaanesh, go f*ck yourself!"
Imdiately after, a radiant light enveloped him, extracting him from Slaanesh's domain...
So it was him!
Slaanesh's shapely pink figure gave a slight jolt, and Their interest deepened.
That kid had been rescued by so strange power, and even Slaanesh could not stop it.
Once he departed, Slaanesh tried multiple tis to call him back, to search for him, but could not get hold of him again.
He even managed to cut off Their link entirely.
After that, Slaanesh lost this forrly blessed follower once and for all, forfeiting a portion of Their invested power in the process.
Slaanesh let out a cold snort as a dense pinkish mist spread throughout the palace, causing the assembled daemons to shrink back in fear.
That fiasco had enraged Them, leading Them to whip Fulgrim and Lucius severely back then.
Of course, to Fulgrim and his ilk, that "punishnt" practically felt like a reward.
In truth, Eden was just worried at the ti and used the "Little Sun's" power to block every "channel" in the Warp connected to Slaanesh.
It prevented him from ever being snatched back into Slaanesh's palace again—aside from the occasional provocative dream.
Not only did Eden block Slaanesh, but he also effectively got to "freeload" the blessing that Slaanesh had once bestowed, ending up an absurdly charismatic hunk in the process.
To Slaanesh, such despicable behavior was like soone "zipping up and refusing to acknowledge anything afterward."
They had borne that grudge all this ti.
Who would have guessed that just over a decade later, this fellow would suddenly turn into the Accursed One's cherished favorite, the galaxy's only Savior, the Daemon-Eater?
Well, at least They had found him again!
With new and old resentnts intertwined, Slaanesh regarded this Savior with incomparable intensity.
No matter what, that forr disciple would be dragged back to the Palace of Excess, to be lashed day and night!
Of course, at present that Savior's psychic projection was shielded by the Accursed One, leaving Slaanesh no way to force him into submission.
They could only take action in the material realm.
A figure like that surely would not hide away forever—he would eventually erge, traveling the galaxy.
By then, there would be nowhere to run!
Slaanesh seared that into mory, raising a hand to disperse the image of the Savior.
Then They settled back upon the throne:
"Savior, you cannot escape the grasp of your own desires..."
The Prince of Excess had decided: once They tracked him down, They would personally enter the fray to tempt him.
They would grant him the most transcendent, ultimate pleasure imaginable.
As for now, They had the patience to wait quietly for his eventual appearance.
Soon enough, peace returned to Slaanesh's palace.
The daemons continued in their revelry.
But rumors about the Savior—the Daemon-Eater—kept spreading:
They said that not only was this being terrifying, but he was also more captivating than any fallen Primarch or that self-proclaid Phoenix Daemon Prince, and that he had thoroughly caught the Great Prince of Excess's fancy.
Such whispers made many a Daemonette or Fiend in that realm stir with anticipation.
...
The Realm of Nurgle.
Grandfather Nurgle's Garden—an expanse ford by manifestations of unclean life: jungles, forests, swamps, and stands of greenery.
All of it a festering mass of rampant disease.
Disease-ridden sludge and squirming worms litter the warped pathways; the air is thick with fog and buzzing black swarms of flies.
Decaying bones rise from stagnant, rotting mire, while plague-ridden brush, swollen fungi, and madly blooming flowers crowd together.
Even the faintest, laziest breeze seems to sigh as if in pain.
Yet amid these grueso rotting sights is an air of tranquility and warmth. The daemons of Nurgle romp, sing, and dance among the trees.
They relish their cozy monts.
At the garden's heart, a huge cauldron gurgles with green bubbles.
That is the Plague Cauldron, large enough to hold the oceans of every world in the galaxy—a colossal receptacle.
Within it roil all the diseases of existence, its rising fus shrieking in protest.
A single whiff would likely transform a mortal into a horrifying daemon of Nurgle on the spot.
Loving Father Nurgle stirs that cauldron of thick stew with a ladle crawling with maggots, carefully blending each virulent plague.
Slowly, He lifts His head, looking upon the Great Unclean Ones at His side with tender affection:
"He is a good child..."
Kugath Plaguefather paused, and Rotigus the Rainfather showed a curious look.
They, of course, knew who the kindly Grandfather was referring to:
That Savior. The Daemon-Eater.
It seed they were on the verge of welcoming a new mber into the family.
None of the Great Unclean Ones objected; they were all quite happy at the prospect of a new "brother."
Nurgle offered no detailed explanation, only lowered His head again, continuing to concoct plague after plague.
All of it was for the Savior's sake.
He could sense the vibrant lifeforce in the Savior's projection. If that child ever embraced rot and disease—
He would beco the mightiest Nurgle daemon in all of history.
...
The Realm of Khorne.
Within the Brass Citadel, the gathering of mighty Bloodthirsters had dispersed. The colossal silhouette of blood and shadow sat quietly upon the Skull Throne.
Khorne, too, was contemplating this Savior.
Yet He had no intention of recruiting the intruder who had once dared step into His domain.
The bounty had been issued, and Khorne eagerly awaited the day His warriors would bring Him the Savior's head.
In the vast hall, Ka'bandha once more tore apart another imposing daemon, displaying his prowess to the legion under him.
Thus did he fully dominate the newly acquired army.
He was plotting how best to strike back at the Blood Angels. As for the Savior, he preferred not to cross paths with him again.
Even if Ka'bandha had beco far stronger and was confident he could crush that mortal, the wounds inflicted upon him by the Accursed One still lood large in his mind. Whenever he thought of the Savior, his heart would quiver.
But Ka'bandha did not yet realize that the portrait he had "retouched" was swiftly making the rounds through the Warp—
And stirring up more trouble than he could have imagined.
Most of Chaos had now heard of this Savior, the Daemon-Eater, a new and formidable figure erging in the galaxy.
In another hall, a crimson miasma of slaughter hung thick in the air. It was transmitted via a ritual circle from sowhere in the material realm.
A Greater Daemon of Khorne was in the midst of being summoned by worshippers from so remote world.
Filled with excitent for another bloody rampage, the daemon suddenly heard part of their chant:
"I, the Savior, beseech the advent of the Great One..."
Savior?
The mont that word triggered his mory of the Daemon-Eater—and Ka'bandha's disastrous encounter—his fury erupted:
"Tricky, deceitful Daemon-Eater, do you think to fool ?!"
The Khorne daemon slamd the ritual gateway with a massive iron hamr.
The blow annihilated the portal and smashed the Khorne cultists around it into pulped gore.
The gate was sealed, and those pitiful worshippers died never knowing why the Great One they revered had suddenly slaughtered them.
They never guessed that the word "Savior" had provoked the daemon's wrath.
In truth, the galaxy was full of individuals claiming to be saviors, as nurous as schools of fish.
They had simply placed their hopes in the wrong entity.
Had they chosen to call upon Angrath, or so other bloodthirsty daemon out to claim the Savior's head, things might have turned out quite differently.
...
Matila, Royal Plaza.
Once the crisis was resolved, Eden imdiately returned to the material world—there were too many matters demanding his attention.
He exhaled a long breath. "At last, I'm safe."
Hmm?
Before Eden could fully relax, a strange sensation welled up inside him...
(End of Chapter)
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