The God-Emperor responds! Above the void, the icy sun, forged from the Emperor's will, blazed like a divine star.
A psychic tide rippled through the cosmos. Despite the immense distance, Ron could sense the surge of psychic energy.
What incredible power! He called out in his mind, "Your Majesty, your loyal servant needs saving!"
But the sun, the Emperor's representation, remained silent, its gaze not upon Ron. It slumbered, allowing its light to shine equally.
Another wave of psychic energy washed over him, and before he could react, he was kicked out of his consciousness.
Ron opened his eyes to a lush green plain, surrounded by alluring figures. He was still in Slaanesh's palace!
Snap! An eyeball fell to the ground, and Ron instinctively reached for it. Realizing what was happening, he touched his empty socket.
My eyeball! Ron stuffed it back into his pocket, his fear fading, replaced by questions.
This shouldn't be happening. Hadn't the God-Emperor appeared? Why wasn't there a reaction? Did he think I was disloyal?
Last-minute cramming hadn't worked. This was truly doomed! Above the void, at the heart of Slaanesh's Palace, a massive purple shadow emerged.
It was the palace's master—Slaanesh.
Ron was overcome with grief and indignation. He was going to die anyway, so he wasn't afraid.
With his single eye open, he raised his middle finger into the air and cursed, "Slaanesh, I curse your ancestors!" The shadow twisted slightly, its gaze shifting toward him.
Everywhere he looked, demons knelt. A powerful pressure approached. When its gaze converged on Ron, the surging unholy force threatened to crush him instantly.
But the warm energy from before surged forth again, shielding him with a faint golden glow. Space rippled violently, a small opening appeared.
The mysterious force defied Slaanesh's pressure and pulled Ron out of Slaanesh's Palace.
Slaanesh's gaze paused, as if surprised. He chuckled softly, and greater desire erupted. The entire palace vibrated with life, ushering in an even more intense orgy.
The Lord of Pleasure had remembered that little bug; He would personally prepare the ultimate delight for him!
Far away in the void of the Warp, a tiny sun shone with a faint warm glow, cloaked in the radiance of the great, cold sun. Ron screamed, feeling as if his body and soul had been stretched into noodles. Then, shoved into a washing machine, churned furiously, finally pulled out, smashed against something, and stuffed back in.
On Earth, in the northern Gori Sector, in the Imperial Pacific region, lay a typical industrial planet, its surface saturated with deadly pollution and overrun with mutants.
The hive city of Grant, perched in the continent's center, towered into the clouds, housing tens of billions. Every breath and drop of water within the hive was recycled millions of times.
The people subsisted on corpse starch, toiling day and night, praying for the God-Emperor's blessing. Survival here was difficult, except for those at the top.
They enjoyed sunlight, fresh air, and water, controlling everything on this planet. The most powerful was the Planetary Governor, who wielded supreme power over the planet, deciding life and death!
In the hive city's upper reaches, in the spire mansion of the Royal Court district, Ron woke with a scream in a vast, luxurious bedroom, a fusion of Victorian and steampunk styles.
Survived? Ron breathed a sigh of relief to find he was fine.
It must have been the God-Emperor who saved him. In the Warhammer world, faith in the God-Emperor truly saves lives!
He decided to always carry a copy of the Emperor's Words, to read it frequently, and hopefully memorize it!
Praise the God-Emperor!
As his mind relaxed, Ron realized the surroundings were strangely unfamiliar. "What is this place?" Fragmented memories surged, piercing his consciousness and flowing rapidly.
Assimilating these fragments, Ron finally understood the entire story.
This matter is rather complicated.
Ron Grant, the planet's planetary governor, indulged in alcohol and vice, engaging in risqué acts with his maids. His excesses led him to be dragged into Slaanesh's palace by Chaos, where he died.
Ron's soul had transmigrated into the deceased Ron Grant, leading to the thrilling and exciting events just now.
Fortunately, thanks to the God-Emperor's blessing, he escaped.
Ron inherited Ron Grant's body and soul memories. He now had the Grant family's signature black hair, deep eyes, a pale face with a stern, and a frail appearance.
Overall, he had become more handsome.
The only problem was that his inherited memories were incomplete, with many gaps and blurs, as if shrouded in fog.
But regardless, Ron was now the Empire's planetary governor and ruler of Earth—Ron Grant!
This was a silver lining.
As night deepened, a pale, reddish moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the balcony, illuminating the room.
Ron suddenly realized something. Hadn't he and the maid been engaging in some indecent activity earlier? Where was the maid?
"Dear, are you looking for me?"
A rumbling sound echoed from the darkness.
What the hell was going on? Ron was instantly alert.
"Wow, have you forgotten me..."
A woman, facing the wall, sobbed and twitched.
Before Ron could react, her head whipped 180 degrees and stared at him intently.
It was the horrific head of a Slaanesh succubus, its eye sockets empty, its teeth sharp, its long, thin tongue dripping with slime.
Damn it! Is she chasing me?
"Why aren't you talking? Aren't I beautiful?"
The succubus spun around and emerged from the darkness, bathed in moonlight. Her deformed, twisted body was riddled with bone spurs, and her black silk maid outfit was tattered.
She was undoubtedly the maid, completely corrupted into a monster.
"Can't wait, dear?" the succubus swayed, posing coquettishly at the edge of the bed. The X-rated scene made her look even more terrifying.
She twisted her slender waist and climbed onto the bed, looking down at Ron: "Let's have some fun..."
"I'm not feeling well today, maybe next time?" Ron's smile was stiff, trying not to provoke her. Relying on his memory, he quietly pressed the alarm button beside the bed.
"But..." The succubus's slender, sharp tongue darted out, gliding across Ron's face. "I can't wait!"
Damn it! Ron kicked the succubus away, then, relying on his memory, pulled out a pocket pistol from his hidden compartment, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang!" The pocket pistol erupted in smoke, and the succubus was shot in the chest, falling backward.
Solved?
"It hurts!" The succubus stood up again, staring at Ron, her voice hoarse: "But I love it. Hit me!"
An SM-oriented succubus, huh? I love helping others!
Ron raised his gun and pulled the trigger again, but no bullet fired.
What's going on? Is the machine spirit displeased?
He glanced at the ivory- and gem-encrusted pocket pistol in his hand, and mentally cursed Ron Grant's ancestors.
Psycho! A single-shot, black powder antique pistol, are you just collecting it?
For self-defense, at least get a bolter or a melta weapon!
Ron threw the pistol at the banshee with all his might, seizing the opportunity to get out of bed and run.
But his drunken body was so weak that he fell to the ground after only two steps.
He struggled to get up and saw the banshee, with a ferocious face, rushing towards him! (End of Chapter)