Femarchs

Writefaggotry

Fulgrine's Guilty Pleasure

"Here you go Fulg-err, Ma'am! Enjoy!'

Fulgrine smiled politely to the waitress at the diner she had found herself in. The padded seat of the booth was cramped and tiny compared to her glorious form, but the serving staff and patrons seemed to be unaware of who she was. A simple pair of tracksuit pants and her favourite purple hoodie pulled over her head seemed to be all that was required to conceal her identitiy. Truly, the simple disguises were the best.

She looked down at the monstrosity that was on the plastek tray in front of her. They called it The Empress. It was a burger, if the title could be properly applied to something like this. It consisted of two half-pound patties still glistening with the fat from the griddle, both with a square slice of processed cheese half melted, half adhered to them like some vague attempt to hold the patties together. layered between them was a mound of slick, limp caramelised onions and bacon that somehow managed to be both crispy and chewy at the same time. above this stack was a layer of crispy, deep-fried onion rings, all sandwiched between two toasted sesame seed buns slathered with a spicy mayonnaise and pierced through with a wooden skewer in an attempt at structural integrity. A paper cup of curly fries and a large strawberry milkshake stood beside the tower, at the ready to assist in the consumption of this monstrosity.

After taking a moment to plan how she would handle this mountain of grease, protein, and carbs before her, Fulgrine gingerly picked up the burger with both hands before opening her mouth as wide as she could before biting down.

Instantly her tastebuds were assaulted by a wave of grease, charred meat, and deep fried batter. Sweet throne, this was what she was missing!

All those high society dinners, with their overly complicated hors d'oeuvres that couldn't satisfy a gnat that she was sunjected to attend were grating thin on her nerves. Those pretend women in skirts and gauche finery wouldn't dream of knowing a proper meal as this! Fulgrine let out a stifled moan of pleasure and she felt her toes curl inside her sneakers as she began to chew. Savouring every burst of flavour that washed over her tongue before languidly sliding down her throat. She lingered on every bite, chewing slowly so she could enjoy every last mouthful of her burger, stopping occasionally to take a sip of her milkshake, adding the artificial mixture of strawberry and dairy cream to break up the onslaught of grox and bacon.

Before long, she looked down at her hands, the fingers covered in meat juice, grease, and sauce as she beheld the last bite of her burger. Almost mornfully, she popped the remainder in her mouth and swallowed, a small pang in her heart as her experience had come to an end. The plastek platter was flecked with sauce and crumbs from the curly fries, the tin cup that once held her milkshake now drained of all substance. Such a shame, she thought as she licked her fingers clean. A wonderful meal, ended too soon. Although, it didn't have to end...

'Excuse me, miss.' Fulgrine called out to the bored-looking waitress at the counter. 'Another order of the same, please!'

Magna's Den

"...Claudius beckoned his lover closer, his eyes lingering on Jason's open silk shirt, the night air playfully opening the fabric to reveal his sweat slick abs.

"But Claudius, what if the Lady catches us?" Jason asked, his voice trembling. Claudius'es tight leather trousers grew tighter as he held Jason close, their pecs brushing against each other as they embraced in the cold night air.

"My darling Jason, No-one could ever tear us apart. My love for you will penetrate any barrier the Lady will place between us." With a smouldering look, Claudius reached down to gently stroke his Jason's..."

Package? Length?

Magna frowned at the story she ad been writing on the cogitator in front of her, it's screen the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black room. Pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the plush chair she was perched on, Magna reached over to the can of Pyramid Dew beside her keyboard, the cyclopean giving it a tentative shake before frowning and tossing it over her shoulder to join the other empty cans piled up around the waste paper basket near her bed. By the warp, why was this so hard? The red-skinned primarch pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned as she glanced around at the stacks of books and scrolls spilling out of her bookcase and stacked high around her room, hoping one would give her the inspiration she needed. Magna was running out of time as it was. She had fans waiting for 'Red Eye' to post the next story! She needed to post this slashfic online before her legion's next deployment to the Halo Stars, and the only thing stopping her was this warp-damned love scene and finding another synonim that she hadn't used for -

Ah!

Magna hunched back over the keyboard and began typing furiously.

"...With a smouldering look in his eyes, Claudius reached down to tenderly stroke Jason's-"

"HEY SIS!"

Magna yelped and quickly clicked away from her story as Lara burst through the door, grinning madly at the sight of her sister wild-eyed and glaring daggers at her.

"By the warp, Lara, have you ever heard of knocking!?"

"What? It's not like I caught you with your hands down your knickers, did I?" Lara chortled, picking her way past the empty cans and stacks of books to peer over a deeply blushing Magna's shoulder at the cogitator screen.

"Lara! Who said you can just barge into my room like-"

"...Chogorian underwater basket weaving?" Lara cocked her head quizzically to the side, trying to understand what she was looking at. "...This is what you've been staying cooped up here for? Girl, we've gotta get you out of here."

Magna glared hotly at Lara, the red cyclops catching a whiff of liquor on her sister's breath as she pulled out a phone and began typing.

"Lara.." Began Magna. "I'm fine. I really want to finish this project before my legion's shipped off. Can't this wait?"

Lara paused in her typing to give Magna a look that spoke volumes. "Maggie, girl, you need to have a social life. Get out of this room! Meet a cute boy! Socialise!" With this Lara grabbed Magna's arm and began to pull her up, the chair wheeling over a little as Magna tried to stop her sister.

"But Lara! I've gotta-!"

"No buts, Maggie, I'm not taking no for an answer." Lara retorted, finally managing to get Magna out of her chair. "C'mon, let's get you showered. Brunhilda's holding a party at the barracks and it'll be the best thing for you right now. your baskets can wait until you get back."

With that, Lara took the protesting Magna by the shoulders and marched her out of the room, the cogitator left alone and forgotten.

Sanguinia's Anon

You wait patiently at attention.

The faint clack of silverware against fine china echoes throughout the stately room as your Lady Sanguinia quietly eats her meal. The sumptuous smell of the roasted grox, the rich pepper sauce, the sauteed fungus and vegetables, all served with a bottle of rich Merlot from the Monestary's vineyards all are enough to make your mouth water. But you persevere. The two cups of recaff you had for breakfast this morning are enough to keep you going for now. Your duty to serve your Lady isn't finished yet.

“So Anon, have you completed the tasks I set for you?” Lady Sanguinia asks, gently carving a dainty piece of grox from the steak.

You stand up straighter. ”I have, my Lady.” you affirm.

”Really? Are floors clean?”

”Indeed, My Lady. Floors are mopped and the carpets cleansed.”

”And what about the windows?” she asks, her honeyed voice reaching your ears as she turns to face you, her eyes wandering over your form as she appraised you like one would a trusty tool.

”Crystal clear, My Lady. Curtains have been steam cleaned and restored.”

”The bed and the laundry?”

”Your bed has been made with fresh sheets, pillows have been fluffed, bed frame polished, and all laundry has been washed, pressed, and put away for you, My Lady.”

She crosses one shapely leg over the other as she listens to you, your eyes not once glancing at her as you stare straight ahead.

“Relax, anon. You're not one of my Astartes on the parade ground. You can look at me, you know.”

Your shoulders relax slightly as you turn your head to face her and smile weakly. Her face was nothing short of perfect. Her almond shaped eyes flanked a sculpted celestial nose, with high cheekbones complimenting her heart-shaped face. Her golden hair fell in ringlets to frame her face, resting on her shoulders where a pair of snow-white wings rested behind her back. You dare not look any further, and quickly turn away, earning a small chuckle from your Lady.

”I see that you've also polished the furniture, scrubbed the walls, and even polished the chandelier, Anon. And finally, you've prepared the evening meal. Quite the day's work for you, well done.”

”It's my honour to serve you, Lady Sanguinia.” you reply finally, your mouth feeling like sandpaper as you go back to looking straight ahead.

”And now, the final question.” You feel a hand on your shoulder, causing you to turn your head quickly, your eyes filled with the sight of your Femarch's face staring into your eyes as if she was gazing into your soul, concern in every inch of that angelic face.

"Are you taking care of yourself? Your eyes are bloodshot, your voice is raspy, your posture is weak, and your complexion is pale. You know this didn't have to be done in a single day.”

You manage a smile. “All in a day's work, my Lady.” you answer finally, feeling yourself wilt under her gaze. “I'm fine, really.”

”I'll be the judge of that, Anon.” Sanguinia countered, her voice stern. “You're dismissed. Go shower and get some rest. That's an order.”

"...As you wish, my Lady.”

- - -

Your body is bone tired.

After a quick shower, you managed to choke down a quick legume paste sandwich before collapsing in your cot, your little room adjoining the Lady Sanguinia's in case you were needed at any time.

None of this is important right now. The caffeine has worn off. You pull your blanket over your form before finally falling asleep, your dreams filled with angelic hands carrying you off into a cloud of feathers and comfort.

- - -

You let out a small groan as you awaken.

In the thick morning fog clouding your mind, you let out a small hum of comfort as you take a moment to lean your head back into the wonderfully large and soft pillows behind you, enjoying how they cradled your head combined with the luxurious way your silk sheets sing across your skin. You could almost stay like this forever, but you must prepare the Lady Sanguinia's breakfast.

...maybe five more minutes, she deserves to sleep in.

You smile, and feel a shift behind you as something tightens around your middle, almost as if you were embraced by the arms of an angel.

Then a faint thread of logic begins to worm its way through the morning fog and into your mind.

...Your bedsheets are simple cotton, not silk.

Those are not pillows.

Those are actual arms around you.

Your eyes fly open and all you see is a wall of pure white feathers, causing your body to freeze as you realise where exactly you are.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you hear a small hum of comfort above you, the faint pressure of a chin resting upon your head as Lady Sanguinia pulls you in closer, keenly aware of how her white silk night gown – the one you washed only yesterday – pressed into your bare back.

...Maybe you should wear more than boxers to bed from now on.

“Mmmm...g'morning Anon...” you hear the honeyed voice of your Mistress murmur.

”Umm, g-good morning, My Lady.”

”Relax, you've got the day off today...” she purred, giving your body a small squeeze of affirmation.

Not sure on how to handle this situation, you tried to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, but the scent of honeysuckle and pear that Lady Sanguinia liked to wear only made things worse.

”...I'm sorry, Anon.” She began, hugging you like a child would a beloved toy. “You pushed yourself so hard for my sake. I...sometimes forget that others cannot do what I can in so short a time. You nearly destroyed yourself completing those chores when you should have had a team of serfs to assist you. I...hope you can forgive me.”

”Umm, there's nothing to forgive, my Lady.” You manage back, completely blindsided by this confession from your mistress. “I live to serve you. I...actually enjoy serving you and I feel that all the work is worth it.”

”Aww, you're so sweet.” Sanguinia smiled, gently stroking your hair as she thought, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

“From now on, you shall have a team of servants working under you. You get Sundays off...And you are to sleep with me from now on.”

”I..err...I don't know what to say...”

”You don't need to say anything, dear Anon...” Sanguinia answered warmly. “Just rest, and relax.”

The Beginning

The Empress looked down at these fools.

Through some sick joke of those warp-spawned tumours that parade around as gods, what could only be called a gaggle of misfit humans now stood before her, either trying to avoid her gaze or Staring at her with a mixture of bewilderment and abject terror in their eyes. A quick skim through their minds revealed all she needed to know about these souls.

• They were from early M3.

• They were not of this universe.

• They had an uncomfortable amount of knowledge of a similar universe to this one.

Fortunately, the third point made them somewhat useful, and so after a quick deliberation, she had summoned them all to her throne room to make her judgement.

”I have decided.” The Empress began, watching them all flinch at her voice. “I will send you all off to serve my daughters, for them to do with you as they see fit. Any questions?”

She watched one raise his hand, causing The Empress to exhale through her nose. “Yes, you're being assigned to Petra. Companion?” she asked the custodian beside her throne, who had stood silently throughout this encounter. “Take them to the spaceport. I have some important business to attend to.”

With a silent nod, the Companion stepped forward and began ushering the humans toward one of the smaller halls, The Empress watching them leave before letting her shoulders sag.

“Are you sure that's wise, Empress?” A contralto voice beside her asked, the Empress feeling a familiar mind brush against hers, causing a smile to creep on her voice.

“They are the biggest group of misfits that I've had to handle, Malkador.” The Empress answered wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But they do have their uses. Either my daughters will set them straight and they will prove to be of great use, or they will perish and no longer be a problem.”

”...Very well, Empress.” Malkador answered, shifting her grip on her staff before continuing.

”So...what will you do now?”

”My friend,” The Empress began, standing up from her throne and stepping down onto the polished marble floor of the throne room. “I think I shall take the afternoon off.”

- - -

This was a good idea.

The Empress sighed with contentment as she sipped at the contents of a hollowed out pineapple, the exquisite taste of pineapple juice, coconut milk, and rum dancing in her mouth before sliding down her throat.

She had had this pool – comparable to the ones used in the Olympics of Old Earth - built specifically for her to relax after the trials and tribulations of running a galaxy. Situated on one of the spires in the imperial palace, the polished granite and marble was her retreat from the rest of the galaxy. Along with the fruit and palm trees she had ordered grown for her personal use that now surrounded the edge of her retreat, meant that she had everything she needed to relax and unwind at her beck and call.

The fact that her companions could mix an above average Pina Colada helped immensely.

She set her now empty pineapple down on the golden table beside her and stretched out on her deck chair, enjoying the series of pops that raced up her spine before settling back down, taking a moment to adjust the girls in her golden bikini top before lacing her fingers behind her head and listened to the gentle lapping of the water in the pool before her. After a few minutes of peaceful serenity, another presence approached the pool, causing a faint smile to grow on The Empress'es face. She knew who this was.

Propping herself up on one arm, the Empress peered over her sunglasses to observe the daily task of one of her custodes, a task she had allocated to him specifically.

His bronzed skin glistening in the sunlight, the custodes took up one of the nets from beside the pool and began to dip it into the crystal blue waters beside him, his deliciously sculpted muscles flexing under his toned skin as he fished out any leaves that had fallen into the pool one by one.

His flowing raven hair, his well-oiled muscles, the golden micro shorts that consisted of his sole uniform...

...She was having a good day when she created this one.

She bit the corner of her bottom lip when the custodes stretched his arms up above his head, facing his back to her as instructed. Her eyes played along his rippling lats and trapezius, down along his lower back to his...wonderful glutes. She know she shouldn't, but maybe, just this once...

The sensation of a pair of souls approaching her put an end to this fantasy of hers. One was a shining beacon compared to the mere candle flame beside it, the soul light brimming with piety and adoration directed towards her.

Why did she have to show up now?

”Hello, Lorgara.” She greeted flatly, turning to face her daughter.

She had that same silly grin on her face that she always had.

Lorgara stood beside her, wearing a plain grey bikini with a stylised 17 emblazoned on the right cup and holding a silver platter with a fresh pina colada resting upon it.

Standing behind her, wearing naught but a pair of grey swimming trunks and – was that a bow-tie? - was the anon she had sent to assist her, a thoroughly embarrassed look plastered over his face.

“Good Afternoon, Mother!” Lorgara piped up, her silly grin gaining a slight crazed look. “I noticed your drink was empty, so I took the liberty of making you a new one!”

The Empress looked down at the hollowed out pineapple, complete with paper umbrella and curly straw resting on the platter. “Well, thank you, Lorgara. But I assume that was not why you decided to come here. In my private pool?”

“Oh! I just wanted to thank you for this Anon you had sent to aid me! He's been an absolute breath of fresh air to talk to!”

”You're welcome, daughter.” The Empress accepted, taking the fresh drink from the platter and setting it on the table beside her deck chair. “Just make sure to take care of him. He's just a human, so keep that in mind.”

”Oh, I certainly will, Mother! I'll feed him, and train him, and we'll discuss all sorts of things, and brush each others' hair, and-”

”Lorgara?”

”Yes, Mother?”

”Don't you have a sector to take your legion to capture?” The Empress asked knowingly.

Lorgara theatrically smacked her forehead. “Oh of course! Silly me, I better get right onto that! Come along, Anon!”

She took her anon by the hand and quickly scampered to leave the retreat, leaving the Empress alone once more with her custodian.

”That silly girl is going to be the death of me...” The Empress muttered, taking up the fresh pineapple and sipping gingerly at the contents.

...Dammit, that was an excellent Pina Colada.

Lara's Anon

You grunted with exertion as you heaved.

Guttering torches cast a dim, flickering light over the fortress hallway, their shadows dancing what appeared to be an average-build human bent double over the weight of a loud, massive, blonde woman alternating between loud singing, hanging limp over the anon, or actively resisting in order to go back in the opposite direction.

In all due fairness, it was a pretty good party.

Lara Russ had somehow dug Magara out of her room and dragged her over to the main hall, where Bjorn had gotten the legion serfs to drag nearly every keg from the stores to throw a massive victory feast.

Purging Orks from a planet warranted a party, after all.

Magara had managed to slip away a few hours in, but you had to stay with Lara. Besides, the ale was flowing freely and the pit-roasted grox was insanely good.

You had decided to keep your wits about you and be the designated thinker, especially since Lara was already onto her third barrel of ale.

Good grief, where did she put it all?

Halfway through the fourth barrel, Lara was standing on top of the table, swaying as she loudly regaled the room with the tale of how she faced the Warboss in single combat, haphazardly swinging a half-chewed turkey leg like a sword between bites.

After the fifth barrel, she was loudly leading the room in an off-key singalong, The songs growing more and more vulgar and raunchier by the verse. Apparently promiscuous farseers are a common song topic on Fenris.

It was during the seventh barrel when she stumbled off the table and crashed straight through a wooden chair that you decided she had had enough.

You helped her up from the splintered remains and managed to steer her stumbling antics in the rough direction of her chambers, the stone hallway echoing with Lara's off-key renditions.

”THE JARL SAID NO! THE MAID SAID NO! THE POOR LITTLE KNIFE-EAR WAS RARING TO GO!” Sang out Lara, her arms draped over your shoulders and her body trailing along the ground behind you as you half carried, half dragged her in the direction of her chambers.

Halfway there. You're making progress.

”HER FINGERS DIDN'T HELP HER, HER STAFF WAS OUT OF LUCK! NO-WHERE ON THE PLANET COULD THE FARSEER FIND A F-urp!” You heard a great retch behind you before a wet splatter impact the back of your head, the smell of half-digested grox, ale and bile assaulting your nose as the brief technicolour yawn oozed its way down the back of your shirt.

”...Allll better now!”

You gritted your teeth through the sheer revulsion and continued on, your muscles screaming from the exertion of moving such an ungainly mass down a cobblestone hallway, when the tap-tap sound of claws upon stone could be heard approaching from down the hallway.

The two great Fenrisian wolves Freki and Geri emerge from the hallway before you, sniffing at their dozing mother and your reeking clothes, when an idea comes to you...

”Hey Freki, Geri! You mind helping me out here?”

The two wolve share a look between each other. You know they haven't liked you much since you were sent here by the Empress, but it's never gone more than a few warning snaps at your heels. Something you've found they enjoy doing. But you are helping their mother...

”I'll give you three grox ears if you help me get Lara to her room.”

Greki lets out a snuffle, before the two slowly begin padding away.

”All right, four. Each.”

They pause.

”Hickory smoked.”

- - -

“Weeeeeee!” Lara let out a slurred cheer as she was dragged through the hallway by the two gargantuan wolves, her arms holding on to the fur on their backs as they padded through the fortress with little complaint to the Femarch they were hauling.

You jogged alongside them, struggling to keep pace after the sheer effort of manhandling a Femarch through the winding maze of the Fang.

Eventually you see the great barred door of wood and iron that marked your Femarch's chambers.

Finally, you're here.

Heaving the door open, you stand aside and let Lara's wolves pad in, letting her slump down on the pelt of a massive frost bear she had fought some time ago, earning a cheerily slurred “Thank 'oo babies, mama luvves youu...” from Lara.

Glory be, you need a shower after this.

Looking down at Lara, you notice her clothes and furs were splattered with sick, greasy food stains, and splotches of ale. And she'd probably kill you if you let her sleep like that.

Well, you thought to yourself as you peeled off your sodden shirt and began hauling Lara over to her bathing room. Might as well...

- - -

”Wh...whydoai...gotta..um...gotta shower, anon?” Lara asks you, the Femarch fumbling at her clothes as you try and pull off one of her furred boots.

”Well, it's bed time. And you're covered in puke and ale.”

”Who did that to me? I'LL KILL 'EM!”

”Relax, relax. It was you who did that, Lara.”

”Oh...I can't kill me. I like me!” You let out a grunt as one of her boots finally comes free of her foot. “That's good. A lot of people like you, Lady Lara.” you answer before working on the other one.

”Do you like me, Anon?”

”I do, Lara. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.”

“Oh...” she answered, the gears turning in her mind before a silly grin spread over her face. “You liiiiiike me! You Luuurrrve me!” she began to sing.

”Yes Lara, and I'd really like you to go have a shower for me, okay?”

”I...I cn do thaat...”

”That's great! I'll be waiting outside for you.” You smile to her, before stepping out of the wash room and closing the door behind you.

After a minute you hear the squeak of a faucet before the faint hiss of water falling onto tiles, followed closely by another round of The Farseer's Staff has a Knob on the End.

You're getting better at handling Drunk Lara, you realise as you begin to tidy up around what you had come to think of as Lara's den.

Freki and Geri sat curled up on Lara's great bed, watching you pointedly as you worked.

”Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. Four grox ears each.”

You get back to your work when you hear the wash room door swing open, followed by the rapid slapping of wet feet against stone before a pair of water-slick arms grab you around the middle and lift you up like you were a rag doll.

”Come shower with me, Anon!”

You're lifted over Lara's shoulder as she marches back in, your last sight being Freki and Geri's tongues lolling out in laughter as their mother closes the washroom door behind you.

Instantly your vomit drenched clothes are peeled off of you before you're carried into the shower proper, trying to avert your eyes where possible as the Femarch of the Wolves began to roughly scrub you down with a cake of soap and a washcloth, singing all the while.

don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook.

You inadvertently catch glimpses of pale flesh as you're turned this way and that under the piping hot shower head, before the drunk Lara finally decides you're both done and fumbles the faucet off.

”WOO! WE'RE CLEAN, ANON!” Lara bellows, as you frantically try and wrap her in a towel to preserve her modesty.

”Yes Lara, we're both finally clean...” you wearily agree, the adrenaline finally wearing off and allowing events of the night to catch up to you. “...Thank you for that, Lara. If you don't mind, I think I'll head to my room now...”

”You're sleeping with me.”

”What?”

With that, Lara slings you back over her shoulder and carries you out the wash room, strutting unsteadily with drunken pride at her brilliant idea before dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed before her and climbing in after you, Freki and Geri instantly curling up around you and their mother before the faint drunken snoring filled the chambers.

You blink as you find your world become naught but pale flesh and fur as she hugs you close in her sleep, like a child would a stuffed toy.

...What the fuck just happened?

- - -

”Anon, get up.”

A sharp poke of Lara's finger jolted you awake.

You looked around bleary-eyed as the events of last night began flooding back to you, a twinge of fear beginning to take hold of you as you looked over to Lara.

She was already out of bed, the Femarch having tied a Dressing gown loosely over her body whist nursing a large glass of water with a tablet bubbling away inside. The look on her face was level and calm, yet still reminded you of thin ice over a yawning ravine.

”Anon, what happened last night?” You sat up as best as you could, before realising the state of undress you were in and quickly covering yourself with a bedsheet.

“Nothing! Nothing at-”

”Anon. What. Happened?”

”Y-you got drunk last night, so I carried you to your room.” You spoke hurriedly. “Your wolves helped me most of the way after you upchucked on me, so I got you into the shower so you could clean yourself off before getting you into bed. You then dragged me into the shower with you before carrying me into your bed and falling asleep.”

”I see.” she answered frostily, her eyes like shards of ice as she spoke. “And did you do anything?”

”What? NO! I would never!”

She simply glares at you before turning to her wolves. “Freki? Geri? Is he telling the truth?” The two nod their heads in ascent before padding over to their mother.

”I see. Well then Anon, you've passed the test!”

”Oh thank god...” you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding before pausing and looking up. “Wait, what?”

”Yeah, I was just testing you.” Lara confirmed, taking a deep drink of her asprine before continuing. “Mama sent you to me with little answers as to why beyond a simple “Make use of him” so I had to find out just what kind of person you are before I could do anything with you. If you had failed, my babies would be playing tug-o-war with your entrails before you could do anything about it. But you've shown me that you're honourable, honest, and willing to go to great lengths to protect me from embarrassment or harm. So congratulations! You're now my new huskarl. Just do all the chores I don't want to do, focus on the training I'll put you through, and you'll serve me well.”

You fight through the confusion before finally processing the job offer. “Um...sure! I accept.”

”Good! Good. Oh, and Anon?”

”Yes, Lady Lara?”

”You're allowed to look.”

Morticia's Anon

The underhive reeked of death.

The stinging spittle of acid rain impacted on your body as you ran through the devastated streets of the underhive, your once-pristine uniform now brittle and mud-splattered where the corrosive sump water had splashed upon it. You grit your teeth through the nigh maddening itching and ducked down a service hatch.

You had a job to do.

The Death Guard were here on this planet whose name you didn't really give a crap about anymore. It was another planet with a fucked-up mutant alien-worshipping culture, and it was time to purge the lot of them.

Unfortunately the tentacled monstrosities that dared call themselves human didn't like dying, so they went and hid deep in the underhives while throwing delaying forces to nibble at the Death Guard's forces. So Morticia ordered her legion down into the depths to eradicate them all.

Would've been easier to nuke this place from orbit, but you're not Morticia.

Naturally, all the rusted metal and rockcrete everywhere played havoc with the comms, so guess who's expendable arse was picked to be Morty's personal runner?

You knew she didn't consider you worth her time. Ever since you showed up on her ship with a data slate from the Empress to “Make use of him”, she had been looking for ways to 'accidentally' get you killed or prove your uselessness in her eyes.

Whatever, it's not like you had anywhere else to go.

Your mind snaps back to reality as you hear the crack-roar of bolter fire up ahead, along with the tearing screeches of the mutants that sound like a cross between cloth tearing and a cow with it's nuts in an electric fence. Good, that means Captain Garro was up ahead.

You check the charge on the battered lasgun that you had managed to scrounge up and push onward, turning the corner to see the greyed ceramite forms of the captain and his honour guard, picking off the last of the mutants as they fled back down the rusted hallway.

Straightening your uniform in a half-arsed attempt to make yourself presentable, you step forward and clear your throat, the patrician captain turning to look at you while his guard finished mopping up.

"Yes, Anon? Why are you not with Lady Morticia?” he asked, casually checking his bolter over.

”My lord,” you begin, saluting sharply. “Due to the comms interference, Lady Morticia has sent me to relay messages between her and the forward elements. She has begun engaging enemy psychic forces near the central heat vent, and requests you to send a contingent around to the north in order to cut off any enemy reinforcements. The third company has been ordered to do the same from below before pushing downwards into the hive sump. Lady Morticia expects that she's about to engage the vast majority of the enemy leadership, and so requires your forces in position soon to make sure they don't escape.”

Captain Garro nodded slowly as he took all this in, pausing only for a moment after to answer.

”Very well. Tell the Lady that I'll be leading the strike force personally. Eta fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”

With that, you salute again and begin your run back to where you last saw Morty.

Glory be, she'd kill you if you ever called her that.

- - -

Left turn, right, straight on down the street, then left, up the service shaft, follow the sound of phosphex fire..

Ah, you're probably getting close.

Your chest is hurting from the fumes and soot in the air as you get closer to the sound of the battle ahead.

The flashes of white can be seen in the hallways up ahead, mixed with the octarine glow and inhuman cackling of what could only be warp fuckery. As your vox bead begins to crackle and hiss with static.

Yep, psykers.

You hear the pop of displaced air and a half-mad shriek to your right before your world turned to agony, feeling the flesh and muscles of your right arm crisp and bubble as wave after wave of warp lightning course across your body.

Gritting your teeth through every curse word you could think of, you swing your lasgun blindly to your right, causing a startled yelp from the source as it impacts the mutant and - more importantly – stops the lightning.

You feel something snap off as the lasgun smacked against the mutant, causing it to clatter to the floor as you turn around to face the fucker still reeling from the blow to its...nose? Snout?

The mutant looked like something out of a nightmare furry convention. Bestial in nature, with a canine head and hoofed legs and horns jutting out at seemingly random points over it's body. It's fur and flesh were patched and charred from what could only be phosphex, in fact you could still see its fat and muscles fizzing and bubbling away from the bright points of light studded throughout its body.

Bloody hell, how was it still alive?

You decide to not ask stupid questions when you could be making sure it doesn't try and kill you again.

You bend over to pick up your lasgun when you notice something charred and melted wrapped around the grip of your weapon.

Something suspiciously arm-shaped.

You look down at your right arm. Or really, what remains of your arm, now a blackened stump ending an inch from where your elbow should've been.

...Mother Fucker.

You pick up the lasgun by the barrel with your good arm and glare at the mutant before swinging with all your might, pulping his blackened skull in with the butt of the rifle.

You fucking hate psykers...

- - -

”Lady Morticia? The area is clear.”

Morticia merely nodded as she pulled the blade of Silence out of the corpse of the final mutant, before pausing to look around the room.

Mounds of mutant corpses, clad in scrap-iron armour and whatever else they could cobble together littered the floor of what was once a great factorium, now fallen to ruin and disuse after the mutant filth had taken over from what remained of the human populace.

“Good. Join up with the rest of the company and push down into the sump to wipe out any stragglers. That psyker that fled must still be around, so it's our priority to-

”Hey Morty!”

Morticia spun around to see that human Mother had sent her.

His right arm was a blackened stump, and his clothes hung off of him in tatters. His face was a storm of anger and grim determination as he trudged forward, his only good arm dragging the corpse of the remaining psyker behind him.

”You missed one.”

With that he kicked the corpse over to a nearby pile before making his way over to Morticia, who looked on him with a mixture of bewilderment and faint amusement as he paused to salute her with his stump of an arm before delivering his message.

”Lady Morticia, third company has sent their destroyer squads to push down into the sumps fifteen minutes ago, and Captain Garro said that he will lead the northern strike force personally. All forces are in position as ordered and are currently carrying out your orders to clear the last bits of enemy forces.”

“Hmm, very well then...” Morticia muses before turning to her captain. “Begin heading to the extraction point. We're done here.” she orders before turning to the human.

...Anon, his name was?

”Come on, Anon. Let's get to the stormbird. Then we'll see about getting you patched up. Can't have you dying now of all times.” Anon simply shrugged before moving to follow the rest of her honour guard, Morticia guessing that the only thing keeping him moving was a mixture of shock and contempt.

Interesting. Perhaps she was wrong about him.

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