"Enjoy the pleasure!" The banshee's sharp claws sliced through Ron's clothing, leaving thin streaks of blood. She toyed with her prey, relishing in inflicting terror and torture.
For Slaanesh's followers, slaughter was a form of pleasure. Cultists often gathered in frenzied orgies, devolving into cannibalism. When hive enforcers arrived, they often found a gruesome scene, bodies torn apart and fused together.
Ron knew that without an unexpected turn of events, he would be ripped open and tortured to death by the banshee!
But he clung to hope—he had called for help and just needed to buy time.
Ron struggled to inch toward the bedroom door. The banshee, patient in her cruelty, scratched him repeatedly, leaving a trail of blood.
Warhammer 40,000 is unforgiving. Even as a Planetary Governor, safety wasn't guaranteed!
Ron gritted his teeth and continued. His chance of survival increased with each moment. If he could hold out until the Guards arrived, he might survive!
Finally, he reached the door and pushed, only to meet a cold wall. An illusion?
The banshee blocked him, amusement in her empty eyes.
She was mocking him!
The illusion forced him into a dead end. Even if the Guards arrived, survival seemed slim!
"You... can die!" The banshee had enough. She licked her claws and struck down fiercely!
The claws whipped up a foul wind, moving too fast for Ron to react. He couldn't even raise his hands to block!
Suddenly, Ron felt time slow. The claws inched toward him, every detail visible.
Facing death again after escaping life? Unwilling to surrender, Ron twisted his body to avoid vital points.
As long as he had a breath, there was hope!
Driven by the will to survive, a familiar power erupted from his soul. Time seemed captive. His claws hovered, unable to move.
Frost formed on the ground. Ron's eyes flashed with golden lightning, electricity pulsing from his body, healing his wounds.
It felt incredible, though the whispers from the Warp were annoying.
He had awakened as a psyker.
Being a psyker was a double-edged sword. Vulnerable to corruption, psykers were hunted by the Imperium. The Black Ships ferried them to Holy Terra for testing.
Those who resisted corruption fueled the Astronomican, serving the God-Emperor.
As a psyker, Ron's situation was precarious. Exposure could lead to Imperial surveillance or capture by the Black Ships.
But now wasn't the time to dwell—he had to deal with the banshee!
"Die, die!" Enraged by Ron's escape, the succubus lunged, intent on tearing him apart.
A fist of golden lightning struck her abdomen, sending her airborne, mucus splattering from her mouth.
"What are you thinking, baby?" Ron followed with a punch to her cheek. "Get down!"
The banshee's face twisted as she crashed through the stained glass window, landing motionless on the balcony.
"Dead?"
Ron hesitated, fearing a counterattack. Flesh and blood, he couldn't afford a fatal hit.
His caution was wise—the banshee sprang up, her half-broken head seething with venomous resentment.
Stronger than before!
Ready to fight to the death, Ron paused at the sound of heavy boots pounding the ground.
He stopped, dispersing his psychic energy.
"Governor!"
Boom!
The bedroom door burst open. Captain Carter Crowley, Ron's loyal guard, led heavily armed guardsmen.
Armed with Imperial bolters and clad in ceramite armor, they were imposing figures.
Trained well, they surrounded Ron, aiming at the banshee on the balcony.
Ron exhaled, pointing at the banshee: "Deal with it..."
Boom!
Without hesitation, the guardsmen unleashed a barrage of firepower. Bullets tore the banshee's carcass apart.
Captain Carter charged, chainsword in hand, slicing the banshee's head, sending blood and flesh flying!
With a powerful kick, Carter sent the banshee's body over the balcony.
Turning to Ron, Carter knelt, determination in his eyes.
"Governor, the heretic has been executed!"
A muffled thud from below marked the banshee's final fall, her body shattering.
Ron surveyed the balcony. A fresh breeze offered cool relief.
In the moonlight, the blood-stained balcony and bedroom resembled a crime scene.
These guards were fierce.
Ron eyed them. Modified, they surpassed ordinary humans in physique.
Captain Carter, over two meters tall, was especially imposing.
Genetic engineering?
His size rivaled a Space Marine's. This family was truly remarkable...
The guards, fearing reprimand, looked puzzled and lowered their heads.
"Very good, very spirited. You did well!" Ron nodded, pulling Carter to his feet and patting his shoulder. "
Roughness is fine! Roughness is the way to go!"
In this chaos-ravaged world, only strength prevailed.
Ron's fear vanished. He realized!
All fear stems from insufficient firepower.
He aimed to expand his power, amass troops, unleash legions, and let artillery rain on enemies!
Slaanesh, beware! Given the chance, I'll make you pay!
Just then, a nervous cry interrupted his thoughts.
"God Emperor, are you okay, sir?"
Bayev Cotton, the Grant family's senior steward, rushed in, tension on his face.
As Ron's confidant, he managed all affairs in the Royal Court.
He even handled government matters, bearing great responsibility.
Bayev glanced at the frost on the ground and frowned.
(End of Chapter)