#Isstvan

[wh40kartwork]

Loyalist World Eater

by Konstantin Void

[ddeserteagle]

I'm still traumatized about the "new" version.

[the-random-hamlet]

Not Mine. Thought to Share.

[sapphicstarscream]

Fulgrim the Terrible.

[tagedeszorns]

He must die! Otherwise he will kill you! Fulgrim looked down at his defeated opponent and saw his own reflection in the mirrors of Ferrus’s eyes. In an instant that stretched for an eternity, he saw what he had become and what monstrous betrayal he had allowed himself to be party to. He knew in that eternal moment that he had made a terrible mistake in drawing the sword from the Laer temple, and he fought to release the damnable blade that had brought him so low.

McNeill, Graham. Fulgrim (The Horus Heresy Book 5) (S.486). Black Library. Kindle-Version.

The demon not giving a rat's arse for Ferrus and Fulgrim's feeling for his brother is the most intense thing in that book.

[martialeagle]

An excerpt from Flight of the Eisenstein, by James Swallow

Context: The fourth book of the Horus Heresy series. At the Drop Site Massacre, traitorous Space Marines release virus bombs over the planet Isstvan III, to kill the remaining loyalists in their legions.

Temeter and Huron-Fal were at the shallow ridge before the bunker’s steel hatch, shouting at their kinsmen to run and run, to run and not look back. Temeter felt a pang of fear, not for himself, but for his men. They had responded perfectly to his command, falling back in good order and surging away from the enemy along the trench lines they had already cleared. Hundreds of them were already in the bunkers, sealing themselves in to weather the imminent bombardment, but there were many more he knew would not live to make it to the doors. He looked up again at the sickly sky and Temeter became torn inside. Who betrayed us, he asked himself, echoing the aged Dreadnought’s question? Why, in Terra’s name, why?

‘Ullis!’ barked the old warrior, stomping to his side. ‘Get in there! We have only a few seconds!’ ‘No!’ he retorted. ‘My men first!’

‘Idiot!’ growled Huron-Fal, throwing protocol to the wind. ‘I will stay! Nothing will be able to crack my hide. You go, now!’ He shoved Temeter with his colossal manipulator claw. ‘Go inside, damn you!’

Ullis Temeter stumbled back a step, but his gaze was still on the sky. ‘No,’ he said, just as flickers of brilliant light turned the day a glittering white.

At high altitudes overhead, the first wave of the virus warheads detonated in series, a wall of airbursts instantly unleashing a black rain of destruction. The viral clades, capable of hyper-fast mutational change and near-exponential growth rates, feasted on native airborne bacteria. The thin, dark bloom of the death cloud rolled out over the Choral City, just as the second wave fell. The shells did not explode until they hit the ground, bursting to smother city districts, open fields and trench lines with tides of destructive haze.

The life eater did as it had been engineered to do. Where a molecule of it touched an organic form, it spread instant, putrefying death. The Choral City, every living thing, every human, animal, plant, every organism down to the level of microbes was torn apart by the virus. It leapt boundaries of species in a second, burning out the life of the planet. Flesh rotted and blood became ooze. Bones shredded and turned brittle. Isstvanians and Astartes alike died screaming, united in death by the unstoppable germs.

Temeter saw the warriors running towards him, dying on their feet. Figures fell to the mud as their corpses turned to a red broth of fleshy slurry, viscous fluids seeping from the chinks in their power armour. He knew that he had dallied too long, and he shouted with all his might. ‘Close the hatch. Close it!’ The men in the bunker did as he told them, even as he tasted blood in his mouth and felt his skin prickling with budding lesions. The metal door slammed shut and hissed with a pressure seal, locking him out. Temeter hoped they had been quick enough. With luck, they would not have taken any of the virus inside with them. He managed two stumbling steps before he fell, the muscles in his legs singing with agony.

Huron-Fal caught him. ‘I told you to run, you fool.’

The captain flung off his helmet with a final, agonised gesture of defiance. It was useless now, the virus having moved effortlessly through the breather grille and into his lungs. His hand flailed at the metal flank of the Dreadnought and traced a runnel of dark fluid. Even through the pain, Temeter understood. There was a small fracture in the old warrior’s ceramite casing, not enough to have slowed him on the battlefield, but more than the virus needed to reach inside the Dreadnought’s hull and savage the remnants of flesh inside. ‘You… lied.’

‘Veteran’s prerogative,’ came the reply. ‘We’ll go together then, shall we?’ Huron-Fal asked, embracing Temeter’s body to him, moving swiftly away from the bunker.

It took every last effort from Temeter to nod. Blinded now, he could feel the tissues of his eyes burning and shrivelling in his head, the soft meat of his lips and tongue dissolving.

Huron-Fal’s systems were on the verge of shut-down as he stumbled to a safe distance, skidding to a halt. ‘This death,’ rasped the voder, ‘this death is ours. We choose it. We deny you your victory.’

With a single burning nerve impulse, the mind of the warrior at the heart of the Dreadnought uncoupled the governor controls on his compact fusion generator and let it overload. For a moment there was a tiny star on the battered plains outside the Choral City, marking two more lives lost within a maelstrom of murder.

[the-consortium]

What was the most EXTERME surgery you had to do?

Like, under what circumstances, or most immediate?

A dismissive wave. A brief snide pulling down the corner of his mouth. Hard lines in his face deepen for a second. He reaches for his silver case and removes an accurately rolled cigarette. Folds the case back shut with a dry snap and places it with care on one of the stacks of papers that share space on his private desk with various datapads and books bound in human leather.

Without lighting the cigarette, he just plays around with it, letting it dance across his slender fingers with the dexterity of a practised surgeon.

"Extreme …. No, extreme doesn't interest me. My art is always just a means to an end. What I want to create is what matters. Not the circumstances in which it is created. I have worked under every difficulty imaginable and drama is a constant companion in my field of work. I have closed the eyes of good friends and taken their gene-seed. And I have brought brothers back from the brink of death at the last second under fire."

He shrugs. The Chirurgeon makes soft, metallic noises. A mechanical whisper.

"The thing that will probably always stick in my mind as the first step beyond demarcated boundaries is Quin's death on Isstvan. Or, of course, bringing him back. I don't know if he's still angry with me for that. And, admittedly, I don't care. He was the first. And whether the ones that followed were a good idea? Well, thankful none of them were. Eidolon is still sulking like a toddler now. It's his own fault that his healing took longer because he didn't follow my medical advice. No sympathy. In any case, Quin was a milestone for me. Not saved at the last second, but forced back. The standing up to what simple minds probably call fate. That's something that drives me a lot. And in Quin's case, it was accompanied by a significant improvement in his personality. In that respect - certainly one of my more remarkable works."

He smiles narrowly and without modesty.

[thethronezone]

Perturabo had never cared for his son. He had known from the moment the child had been born that Maximus was flawed. A disappointment like the rest of his legion. Perturabo had done his best to refine the boy, to turn him into a worthy astartes, but he wasn't a miracle worker. He couldn't fix something that was broken from the very beginning.

Despite this, Perturabo had kept Maximus close, even when once the boy had officially joined the Iron Warriors as another space marine. He reasoned it to be out of shame. Better keep an eye on the boy and make sure he didn't embarrass Perturabo any further. After all, that was his blood, flowing through his veins. His genes which had crafted this flawed specimen. He had to take some sort of responsibility, he supposed.

So why does he feel like both his hearts have just been ripped out?

The Battle of Isstvan V had been more difficult than initially assumed. The loyalists had fought back remarkably well, considering the fact that they had been caught completely off guard. But it was almost over now, just a couple of stragglers and minor skirmishes left. Clean up. The worst of it was supposed to be over now.

Perturabo had not expected to find Maximus skewered on a loyalist's sword, rapidly growing paler by the second as he bled out.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" Maximus whispered under his breath and when he saw his father approach, his expression twisted into one of genuine remorse and shame. "I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't hold the line, I let my guard down, I failed you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Perturabo said nothing as he knelt by Maximus side, said nothing as he inspected the fatal wound that had pierced through several of his major organs. Dying. Perturabo's son was dying.

Small. Perturabo had always thought his son had been too small but it felt so viscerally wrong now.

The Primarch looked Maximus in the eyes and instead of seeing a wounded astartes, he saw the little boy that once had gotten hurt during a training exercise and begged his father for forgiveness for not being good enough. Back then, Perturabo had sneered and told him to stop pleading, that it made him look weak and pathetic. Maximus had taken those words to heart as he had never done it again. Until now, that is.

Maximus wheezed. "I'm sorry father, please don't hate me."

Normally, Perturabo would have felt disgusted by this blatant display of weakness. Of the lack of discipline. But any condemning words he had died before they could even reach his lips. He didn't feel disgusted, like he ought to. Instead he just felt so very empty.

"I don't hate you" Perturabo finally said and felt a detached form of surprise when he realized he was speaking the truth. Maximus started at him with wide, glassy eyes and Perturabo felt the need to say... Something. But he didn't know what. Praise felt hollow. Reassurance false. Words just didn't feel like enough, so instead he grabbed his son's hand in his own. "I don't hate you, Maximus" he repeated, more to himself this time. Again, the truth of the statement surprised him.

Had Perturabo not spent all these years loathing his son? Cursing his weakness and the shame he had brought him as a father? Perturabo knew hate, was intimately familiar with the feeling, so he knew that was what he had been feeling. But if WASN'T towards Maximus, who had it been meant for?

A wet cough from Maximus snapped him out of his musings. His son (stars, his SON) clenched his armored hand weakly and Pertufound himself leaning closer, his other hand reaching for Maximus shoulder as if to steady him.

Maximus' expression of despair eased by a fraction and his body relaxed. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before opening them once more and looking his father directly in the eyes. He cracked a sad, remorseful smile.

"I'm sorry I failed to make you proud, father."

And then he was gone. Perturabo saw the light leave his son's eyes, heard his hearts beat one last time before coming to a full stop. Yet he could not accept it. Maximus could not be dead. Not really. He was alive just a moment ago, talking, looking him in the eyes. It wasn't right. IT WASN'T FAIR!

Perturabo wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to tear open a hole in his chest and rip out the pain and grieg that was overwhelming him. But he did none of that. Instead he just kneeled by his son's body, still holding his hand.

Finally, he knew what he should have told his son when he had still had the chance. "It was I who failed you, Maximus."

But it was too late now.

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

something that doesn't come up very often in the How Bad Is Emps discussion is that he's. he's really old. millennia old. there's no way his sense of time isn't flagrantly broken. i mean look at him! every time we get an immediate perspective on him the dude is making plans with thousand-year timeframes. all of his buddies (well, ex-buddies) are perpetuals. emps has more in common with the eldar or the necrons when it comes to sense of time than he does with literally any non-perpetual, and that includes the primarchs.

just think about it. the primarchs are, what, three centuries old at Ullanor? they're BABIES. ok, maybe they're not babies, they're clearly old enough for simple tasks like systematic genocide and aggressive expansion, but c'mon, they haven't even reached their first millennium. of course emps isn't going to burden them with adult concerns like the encroaching threat of Chaos, or the potential dangers as humans evolve into a psyker species, or the existential challenges imposed by their warp-entity-wearing-flesh natures. they're kids! let them be kids! their brains are still growing, probably.

so yeah, emps holds off on some big conversations. and yeah, he ducks out of the crusade to go work on the webway by himself, what's wrong with that? it's just a few decades! he's spent more than a thousand years uniting humanity, surely he deserves a little time to himself. from emps's perspective, he's just spending an afternoon building a treehouse in his workshop. the kids are old enough to know better than to stick forks into electrical outlets, they'll be okay for an evening. horus you're a responsible guy, you're in charge.

but then like five minutes later magnus fucking bursts through the wall like the kool aid man screaming bloody hell about horus and then the hole he made starts puking daemons everywhere and yeah emps loses his temper and yells but he was gone for FIVE MINUTES. and now there's daemons all over his workshop! magnus what the fuck! only magnus fled as soon as emps started yelling without explaining a damn thing. also the hole is still puking daemons. ok, ok, emps will stay in the workshop and try to fix the hole before everything is covered in daemons, but he still needs to figure out what the hell is going on. leman, you're an obedient kid, hell you're always boasting about it, surely YOU'LL listen. go get magnus--yeah, i know you don't get along, this isn't the time--go get magnus and bring him here so he can explain himself.

emps goes back to the hole and--leman did WHAT? magnus did WHAT? HOW DID THEY FUCK UP BASIC INSTRUCTIONS. hang on, what's this about an isstvan. horus is rebelling? fucking HORUS??? nine legions????? HALF THE ARMY????? wtf wtf wtf oh shit it's chaos isn't it. emps looked away for five minutes and chaos got its claws in his boys. it's been six years. that's like a bathroom break. how did the boys break everything in SIX YEARS???

[ilisteria]

Saul Tarvitz on Isstvan III, circa M31

[mortallyperfecttimemachine]

he is up posting shit like this when I haven't even caught up on the chapter yet

"Is the Horus Heresy any good?"

That depends. Good in a writerly sense? Yes. Good for my mental health? As I am stress-cleaning my room to escape the events happening on Isstvan, I'm tending towards no.

[wh40kartwork]

The Phoenician

by David Ok

[chemos-factories]

fulgrim coming to his senses on isstvan v

[johanarchy]

So in the Fulgrim HH novel, at the battle of Isstvan V, Julius Kaesoron cuts a random Iron Hand's head off, picks it up and kisses him on the mouth. Which is in itself an absolutely iconic moment that I will never get over.

But the fact that this moment occurs just a few short scenes before Fulgrim decapitates Ferrus ??? It haunts me. I know it's unlikely to have been done on purpose, but holy shit, the parallels.

[nevesmose]

Separation 11347

This was, by Trazyn's infallible reckoning, his eleven thousand three hundred and forty-seventh divorce from Orikan. The Diviner, on the other hand, was adamant that it was in fact only their eleven thousand three hundred and forty-sixth. This dispute was what had caused the current divorce.

At first he had settled contentedly into his usual divorce routine, entering his meticulously-preserved time loop of a "Happy Divorce" party plucked from the Terran city-state of Nova Yoruk in early M3 as the Imperium kept its years.

As had been the case so many times before, the Lord of Solemnace basked over and over again in the reassurance of the assembled middle-aged humans that he was indeed so much better off without that asshole in his life, rounding off the festivities with a cake depicting a miniature confectionery figurine of Trazyn using a guillotine on a similarly-constructed sugar-based effigy of Orikan.

It was all very gratifying, and he was certain that when the amusement faded he would return to find Orikan waiting for him apologetically, his eminently bullyable faceplate resembling a weeping juvenile felid.

It was, however, not to be. He returned to the Galleries to find no trace whatsoever of Orikan. He was so disconcerted that he even briefly considered retrieving his much-prized clone of the primarch Fulgrim from stasis, but decided against it. It had, after all, only been a few subjective decades since he had placed the clone into a detailed diorama of the genuine being's final battle with his erstwhile companion Ferrus Manus for enrichment purposes. He had been thoroughly pleased with himself for coming up with entertainment of such realism and, judging by his mute tears of joy, so too was the clone.

What a wonderful caregiver I am, he had thought, jauntily walking away. Perhaps he and Orikan should adopt, which when used by Trazyn the Infinite is a word which means kidnap, an Astartes or Aeldari together.

Time passed and with no sign of Orikan's return, Trazyn felt it justifiable to seek other outlets for his multifarious urges. After exhausting every category on Cronhub and getting banned from Nemesorindr, he arose to find that the necrodermis of his lower limbs had spontaneously reformed itself into the shape of a baggy, ill-maintained example of the Terran garment known as sweatpants.

This could not stand. He resolved that he would start A Project, an undertaking of such majesty and glory that no one, least of all that cycloptic fool Orikan, could deny him the attention he deserved.

After brief forays into stop-motion animation and painting miniature Space Marines (accomplished by shrinking normal Astartes through arcane technosorcery and ignoring the resulting high-pitched noises as he applied pigment of a much too viscous consistency to their battleplate) his thoughts returned once more to his display of the battle between the primarchs on Isstvan V.

Theirs was a tragic tale of heartfelt companionship severed by corruption and betrayal. He himself had mentally projected several hundred phaeronfics about them to the great repository of the Necron race whose name, although untranslatable into any other language, was best rendered as The Sarcophagus-Belonging-To-Us-Alone, and some of them had even received multiple scarabs of approval from the discerning audience entrapped there forever.

Surely, he reasoned with the confidence of a being who had long since activated the developer console of his necrodermis body and manually increased its confidence, intelligence and charisma variables to 100, this meant that no one other than he could restore their friendship.

And so, in single-minded pursuit of compassion and friendliness, the Archaeovist and his forces wrought a swathe of destruction across the galaxy.

A foray into the Eye of Terror itself resulted in the capture of Fulgrim through the use of a vast two-pronged stick to pin the writhing daemon prince to the ground where he had been basking one day, while the sacrifice of his entire collection of ancient Terran doujinshis to the haemonculi of Commorragh itself had given him forbidden knowledge sufficient to wrest back the very soul of Ferrus Manus himself and place it into a suitably prepared necron host body via the biomorphic resonance of the necrodermis which had coated his hands in life.

Finally, the moment of glory came. The daemon Fulgrim and the metallically resurrected Ferrus Manus were placed into the same containment chamber and -

It was not at all what Trazyn had hoped. After a monumental bout of hand-to-hand combat lasting for hour upon hour, the two primarchs had settled into an uneasy stalemate, in the sense that Fulgrim was currently coiled around a light fixture on the ceiling and Ferrus had run out of objects to throw at him.

"You're even uglier now than you were when you had flesh," Fulgrim hissed venomously.

"And you were more of a snake then than you are now," Ferrus shot back, the frozen inexpressiveness of his necrodermis faceplate matching the famously stone-faced countenance he had displayed in life.

Fortunately Trazyn, who never made a mistake of any kind whatsoever, had prepared for such an eventuality. A concealed slot opened in the ceiling of the containment chamber, dislodging Fulgrim from his perch, and through the opening there descended a vast garment of woven silver-metallic fabric, emblazoned with inscrutable Necron symbols and sized in such a way as to accomodate the bodies of both primarchs.

"This is your get along shirt," Trazyn said, his voice amplified throughout the containment chamber. "You will wear it."

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The thirst to subjugate (Part 3)

Summary: In the midst of the battle, the Alpha Legion finally takes you for themselves and subjugates yo u whole.

Corvus Corax/fem!Reader, Alpharius and Omegon/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, drugs, manipulation, dubcon

Word count: 2204

Song: Hatari, CYBER - Hlauptu

@kit-williams, @moodymisty, okay in the last days everyone remembered about Alpha Legion so... I hope we will talk about them more

Corvus was so afraid of losing you. Lose sight. He kept you in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes. But at the same time, closer to yourself. And this was quite dangerous with Horus' betrayal. Escessaily because Corax was supposed to come to Isstvan V to punish the primarch.

“I never loved him. Ever since the day he put my Legion in danger. He didn’t have the charisma to deceive me.” - the man gently puts his head on yours and kisses your hair. - “We are the majority. Soon my brothers will pay for their betrayal.”

He told you about this with dark fury and a touch of melancholy. His massive body lay on your bed, his arm wrapped around your waist like a wing. You involuntarily pressed yourself against him, grabbing his clothes. Afraid that he will leave. That he will leave you.

And instead of the primarch whom you loved, to whom you opened your heart... he will be replaced again by that same monster. Which will devour your flesh, break your bones and consume your soul. Touch, comfort and breathe into your ear, breathe, breathe.

“The Alpha Legion will be with us.” - the man almost whispers and you hide under his armpit. You still remember the primarchs of the primarch because of whose attention you ended up here. In a cage. - “Don't worry, you're safe here. They won't find you."

"Found."

Human. Man. In this room. Not Corvus. Someone else. How many years has the Primarch of the Raven Guard kept you captive with him? Probably for a very long time because your reaction to a stranger was, to put it mildly, inadequate.

You are sitting in bed, covered with a blanket from head to toe. It's like you're in a cocoon or like a child hiding from a monster. You can’t squeeze out a sound, opening your mouth like a fish. Did you want to call Corvus to save you? Or did you want to ask Alpharius to take you?

You don't see his face. He's wearing a helmet. But it's him. The man takes a step towards you, encouraging you to press deeper into the blanket. You whine, hiccup, choking on tears. You will be offended. They will take it, tear it to pieces and make it their own. So it was with Corvus, so it will be with the primarch of the Alpha Legion.

“Ooh, little one, aren’t you glad to see me?” - the man mockingly strokes your back. - “It seems our brother doesn’t know how to treat nice ladies at all. It’s fine, we’ll be gentle with you~”

You only squeeze harder when they lift you up. "We". Surely. You're not crazy, it didn't seem like it to you. There were two of them. You told Corvus about this, you warned him. But those who sit in the shadows cannot know all the secrets. He cannot fully see and realize what is difficult to understand, but what is in sight. But you can.

And you pay for it.

***

Hydra is different. You don't like it here. Everything unfamiliar and frightening, other people, other Space Marines. Crowds, crowds of people scurried around while you were carried along the board. Noisy. Too loud. You're already unaccustomed to this. Previously favorite sounds now are disgusting. And light. There is too much light here. It's almost blinding.

You wanted everyone to shut up, so that it would become a little darker. Nest. You wanted to return home, where everything is familiar. Where you will be safe in the arms of the monster. But that's why. That's why you didn't want to come back.

The primarch clearly noticed your condition. Therefore, before leaving you in your new chambers, he made sure that you would not hear any extraneous sounds. And there will be less light in the room so that you don’t squint in pain. The gesture was... nice. You were not forced to live in a new way, you were not thrown into a new place without preparing you. And he made sure that you were comfortable.

Corvus wanted to be so caring. But he didn't succeed.

You were treated like a savage. The food was brought out carefully. They were given a change of clothes and washing supplies. The serfs were clearly ordered to establish contact with you. Talk to you, touch you. So that you remember what it's like. To be a human among people. Have you really gone wild?

And you studied. Communicate again, touch again. But in small doses. You still didn't trust. You were in danger. This is not your home, your primarch is not around. And you feel this most acutely when two men came into your room one day. With the faces of primarch. Absolutely identical in everything. Facial features, facial expressions, gestures, height. Even the voice.

“Are you feeling better now little one? We were so worried.” “But you look more like the prior you we once saw. It’s already better.”

You back away from the clones, hiding in the far corner of the room. The darkest one you can hide in. You can dissolve. Almost like Corvus. Just let them leave you alone. Let them not mock. The “twins” sensed your fear and smiled. Eerily identical.

"Who is who?"

"What?" - You look from one to the other in confusion.

“The first time you met Alpharius. Then we didn’t pay attention to you.” - the one on the left spoke first, until the man on the right continued after him. - “For the second time you saw Omegon. Have you noticed that we are different? So tell us again~”

"Who is who?" - the men again ask the question in unison, flashing their white teeth. Taunting. Mocking. And at the same time, encouraging and inviting to play their perverted game. - “Who is Alpharius? Who is Omegon?

Your legs begin to shake and you sob quietly. You look at the faces, at the movements, at the identical, but so different natures. Short sighs turn into weeps, and then into sobs. Let them stop making fun of you. You don't see them. You can not see.

Hysteria takes over you and you start hitting yourself on the head. Feeling the gaze of the “twins” and something else on you. You scream at the top of your lungs, it seems like a little longer and you will never be able to speak.

"NOBODY! NOBODY!" - Tears and snot are flowing down your face, and in your attempts to wipe them away, you only smear them more. - “Alpharius is not here. There is no O-omegon. You are not them, I don't know you. No one, no one, no-.”

“She's amazing,” a deep voice echoes in your brain, keeping you rooted to the ground. What?

“She doesn’t even realize how much.” - you can imagine how the man’s lips break into a smile from what he sees.

You forget how to breathe. The uncontrollable hysteria suddenly stops, and the heart beats like a rabbit. You look in horror at the “primarchs” in front of you. They smile silently, looking somewhere behind you. To where the voices came from.

You didn’t have a single chance to do something, to somehow resist. One arm grabbed you from the back, pressing you to your broad chest. You didn’t even have time to breathe when you felt a sharp pain in the form of a needle in your neck. And a sweet bliss passes through the body.

The mouth fills with saliva, and either heat or sweet bliss passes through the body. Eyes were clouded with fog and tears. And you begin to feel even more strongly someone else’s hand squeezing your right breast like a toy. And you see a figure approaching you, a little larger than its copy. Alpharius smiles as if everything is fine and flicks you on the nose.

“Don't cry, honey. But this is necessary for you to enjoy it too.”

“But it won’t hurt you” - Omegon inhales the smell of your hair, pressing your supple body harder. - “And we want to be very, very gentle for our first time with you~”

You really wanted to be in the saving darkness. In a place where you can hide. But strangely enough this did not happen. You were in a fog, in a semi-conscious state. But at the same time clearly saw how they began to take off your clothes. They made you watch.

You won't even be given a chance to turn away.

***

It was unbearably hot. You felt disgusting and at the same time so good. For some time now, sweat has been dripping down your flesh. Your body was soft, terribly pliable and sickeningly sticky. Just like your brain turned to jelly after drugs.

There was no resistance despite all your desire, buried somewhere in the depths of your consciousness. The only thing you wanted was to survive. Because the primarch still couldn’t leave your cunt alone. Fingers slowly widened the entrance while the tongue licked and sucked the tender skin.

Maybe in the back of your mind you were screaming in horror and disgust. But you couldn't resist. And besides... it was amazing. Your thighs rest loosely on the man’s shoulders, sometimes squeezing around his head when he touches particularly tender spots. His light chuckles echo in your head.

As well as the cooing of his half-soul brother, nestled on the bed with you. The man caressed your hands, gently supporting you while you moaned loudly. Everything was blurry and yet you clearly saw his mischievous smile and growing arousal.

“Do you like it, honey?” - the voice from above bursts into laughter when it hears your uncontrollable, hypergasmic moan in response. - “I see you do. Do you see how caring and gentle we are?”

“We not only take, but also give~” - the voice from below sounds seductively promising until he begins to forcefully attack your sex. Something in you is shifting.

You scream as if you are being cut, fidgeting on the bed. Your strength returns a little and you scratch the primarch sitting above you. He giggles at the sight. How parents are touched by their children, and how they are cherished their pets.

Your legs fall onto the bed and you hear, feel how he adjusts. Adjusts near your hips. No, no. They brought you to the peak so much, but it’s still not enough for them. A little more and the unwanted pleasure will turn into pain.

“D-don’t”

“Little one, this is why we prepared you. Dealing with two primarchs is not an easy task.” - man's hands stroke your sides, squeeze your lower abdomen, enjoy the soft and pliable flesh. - “This will be even better, then you yourself will ask us about it.”

“Be a good girl and take us in.” - someone else's hands grab your breasts from above. You feel something sticky and musky running across your face, leaving marks on your forehead, nose and lips. - “You liked it, didn’t you?” No effort is needed, just relax, we will do everything ourselves.”

“But I’m tired, Alpharius,” you whine from powerlessness. The primarchs stopped abruptly and you froze along with them, but this time from fear. The men looked at you, surprised, you knew they were surprised.

And with desire which they began to splash out with renewed vigor, touching and biting every part of the body. Taking turns contorting themselves in awkward positions to kiss you on the lips with their tongue. Subjugating.

Oh, they weren't going to wait forever. They had enough courage and confidence to take you and not break you. And despite their secrets... they weren't going to hide this desire.

“Even in this state, you can see~” - Alpharius strokes your head, carefully wiping away your tears. - “I wonder what needs to be done to confuse you.”

“One day we will find out,” Omegon abruptly invades you and you groan from his cock. Your walls tighten and you hear the primarch himself let out a moan of satisfaction. Before you even had time to think, your mouth was immediately unceremoniously invaded. You are choking on saliva and a foreign object inside. - “Come on, honey, let it go. We see that you want this.”

Let it go.

Relax.

Submit.

The words flowed at you in a flood, echoing in your head. The sounds of flesh on flesh and moans filled the chambers. It seems at some point you finally opened up. It wasn't the substance coursing through your veins that made your body relax. But at your will. And it was wonderful.

How your walls clenched around the invading cock, how your throat managed to swallow more of the other. How someone else's hands and eyes caressed you. And not just the eyes of the primarchs. You knew you were being watched. They were ready to join if ordered. Not hiding in the shadows because they knew what you would see. They wanted it.

So that the secret is cracked open like a nut and its contents are taken out. And your tired consciousness allows them to reshape themselves in a different image. They will cherish you in their perverted understanding, without hiding your true essence. And you were more than happy with that.