HOLY TERRA
SANCTUM IMPERIALIS
"No, wrong question. What did you do?" Slaanesh remarked, rebuking the Emperor's inquiry with a sly grin.
"What do you mean by that?" the Emperor asked in a low voice, seemingly lost in thought.
The depraved smile on Slaanesh's face widened. She looked upon the Emperor of Mankind—and in this rare moment, she saw him vulnerable. His golden eyes were fixed on her, but she knew: she was not the true object of his gaze.
"You see... time is inconsequential," she cooed. "One small change can unravel everything that was—and all that was meant to be. Now ask yourself... what changed?"
"You tampered with the past?" the Emperor asked, voice sharpening.
"Well, Anathema, you can't call it the past if it hasn't happened yet, now can you?" Slaanesh leaned close to his abdomen, trailing one long, blackened nail over the sacred sigils etched into his armor.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow.
"I can see you're confused," she purred. "Let me fix that."
She smiled—a sick, intimate smile.
"She was me, and I was her... in human flesh. I craved sensations my being could no longer process, so I wore her body. I lived as her. They worshipped me. They served me. For years I fed on their savage desires."
Then her grin twisted into something darker.
"Colour me surprised when a young "human" appeared in the tribe—exhibiting remarkable psychic potential. Still ignorant of what he truly was, in search of answers, he turned to me—the first creature who shared his abilities."
"I believe you know what happened next." She licked her black lips with a forked tongue.
"They turned against her—against me—burning her alive after their tribe was conquered by another. A sacrifice to the gods... Ha ha ha!" Slaanesh cackled in glee at the sight of the Emperor's widened eyes.
"A beautiful death," she moaned. "The pain... the rapture as the body burned... the child's screams drowned in the womb. The euphoria."
THRUUMMM!!!
The chamber darkened. A tremendous psychic pulse cracked through the throne room, rippling the golden air with volatile energy. The Custodes guarding the Sanctum staggered, momentarily startled.
They looked up.
There he sat—the Emperor of Mankind—with a wrathful, suffocating expression. Beneath their helms, their eyes widened in silent horror. Quickly, they dropped to their knees.
But he did not notice them.
"Yesss..." Slaanesh hissed, laughing between throaty gasps. "Old wounds... They burned her, you know—burned her with the child she carried... for the man who left to 'find himself.'"
She giggled mockingly. "At least, that was supposed to happen. That was the plan. Then I would have shed that flesh and worn another."
Her tone soured with a venomous edge.
"Unfortunately... everything changed when a glorious sentinel appeared—where...'when' he was not supposed to. One of yours, Anathema."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed.
"Yes... your finest," she whispered. "It just happened. Now, you may call it the past."
She stepped back, laughing softly.
"You think this was some grand scheme? A masterstroke by my cunning kin? No, no—this was coincidence. Isn't it beautiful? How fate mocks your grand vision? Your effort to sabotage us birthed such an unsightly fruit."
Slaanesh grinned, but the Emperor didn't respond.
She leaned closer.
"You don't look angry anymore," she said, curiously. "You look... haunted."
"Do you see it now?... Do you see me now?" she whispered.
Floating closer, she raised her hand to caress his cheek.
Her palm stopped inches away, halted by an invisible psychic barrier.
"What do you want?" the Emperor asked, his voice low and pained. "Do you wish to spend your remaining moments feeding on my obsessions? My emotions?"
He looked into her shifting, eldritch form.
"Do you wish to strip from me what little of my humanity remains?"
"Oh my... why so hostile?" Slaanesh crooned. "She and I are one. Where is the smile you once showered me with?"
Her body shifted.
Once more, she appeared as the wild, dark-skinned woman of the past—eyes alight with wild curiosity, hair tangled and adorned with bones and feathers. Her clothing was primitive—furs and teeth strung together like trophies of blood.
The Emperor looked at her face.
Familiar. Painful.
He closed his eyes and sighed—deeply. Then, wordlessly, he leaned back into his throne.
The Custodes below remained kneeling, silent and confused.
"Leave," the Emperor said at last.
The words struck like a hammer.
"He is no longer your concern," he added.
"I see..." Slaanesh muttered.
Her illusion flickered. Her monstrous form returned, but now her expression was cold—joyless.
"You don't have the will to kill him, do you? You dare not give him to me either," she said flatly.
"You have grown numb to emotion across the millennia. But still, you dare not slay your firstborn—even if he is mine."
Her voice rose in scorn.
"Even if his very existence contradicts your so-called mission—your eternal crusade against Chaos."
She laughed bitterly. "You are human. Still so hypocritical."
Her projection began to fade.
"But I will find him. Siphoning our power won't save you forever. Our strength comes not from this realm alone."
And with that, she vanished.
The chamber grew still.
The Custodes remained kneeling, unaware of the storm raging within their master's soul.
The Emperor sat motionless.
He'd seen her charred corpse. He had watched the life in her womb fade into the smoke. He had felt the pain... the helplessness... the fury.
That was the first time he had truly hated.
The first tilt toward tyranny.
But now...
They had survived. Not in the way he had hoped. Not in any way that could be called mercy.
Not a blessing.
He could not kill what had already been lost to him across the abyss of time.
He was...
...conflicted.