Chapter 43: The Seduction of Gods and Machines
Deep within the bowels of Godzilla's hive world, a number of captured Dark Eldar lay bound in containment cells of Lizardman make—sturdy, primitive, yet suffused with bio-tech ingenuity. One among them, a female Dark Eldar, was trembling uncontrollably.
It wasn't fear or injury that tormented her, but hunger—soul-deep, agonizing hunger.
Her kind, the Drukhari, were long estranged from the soul-saving protections of the Craftworlds. Without spirit stones to shelter their essence, their souls were in a constant state of decay, perpetually siphoned by the hungry god they'd birthed into being—Slaanesh.
The only remedy was pain.
Pain, torture, suffering—inflicting it upon others sustained them, fed them, staved off oblivion. In their twisted cities of Commorragh, agony was more abundant than air. But here? Here in the orderly, silent domain of the Lizardmen and their monstrous god, there was no torment to feed on. No despair to drink. No shrieks echoing in the webway.
The Drukhari were starving.
Then, it happened.
Six among them suddenly changed.
Their shriveled, pallid forms flushed with vitality. Their skin regained its lustrous sheen. An intoxicating fragrance, unnatural and seductive, began to radiate from their rejuvenated bodies. The rest of the Dark Eldar collapsed in despair, writhing as their life force was siphoned away, funneled invisibly into the six newly "blessed."
If one looked closely—perhaps with the eyes of a seer or daemon—they might glimpse the flow of soul-energy, the transference of pain-forged power into the chosen.
And in the mind of each of those six, a whisper echoed like silk across flesh:
"Go."
"Bring down the beautiful one."
Slaanesh had cast the first stone.
Khorne had failed, brute that he was, content only with blood and slaughter. But Slaanesh was more patient, more refined. She would not strike Isis down with force—she would seduce her. Corrupt her. Watch her fall.
It was, after all, so much more pleasurable that way.
Back in the temple complex, Isis had sensed the emergence of a new Lizardman priest. She wasted no time and made her way to greet her kin.
"It's rare," she murmured as she descended into the warm glow of the hatching pools. "Two priests in the same generation. The signs of the Great Plan are manifesting."
In ages past, the appearance of a priest was a momentous event. Ancient, slumbering seers steeped in aeons of psychic might, they hibernated in cycles that spanned millennia. But this one... this new priest… something was different.
No psychic resonance. No warp-born power.
Instead, a different kind of energy. Mechanical. Practical. Purposeful.
A will more in tune with the current Godzilla's instincts.
And Godzilla was, as always, thinking ahead.
'I need a way to board ships.'
[Two options. First, your planet can fly, like an Ork Rok or battle moon. Second, Isis can launch tectonic plates into orbit.]
'Not WAAAGH enough,' Godzilla muttered. 'I want something truly WAAAGH.'
He wasn't wrong to fixate on boarding actions. In the grimdark future of Warhammer, where ships were kilometers long and bristled with shields and void defenses, it wasn't always enough to fire from afar. Sometimes you had to break in. Personally.
He'd been through hell and back. Fought Tyranids, Tau, Necrons, Khorne's daemons, and even the Dark Eldar. And yet, he hadn't faced the most iconic foe of all:
The Orks.
'Time to find a proper WAAAGH. A real one.'
[Careful what you wish for. The Orks are unpredictable. At their worst, they're a joke. At their best… they can rival the Tyranids and push straight to Holy Terra.]
'I remember there are WAAAGHs in the Ultramar sector.'
[Bingo. You've got a few targets. One of them is particularly spicy—Orks, Eldar, Tyranids, and possibly Chaos all converging.]
'Classic 40K. Everyone shows up to the same party and forgets why they came.'
[It's on the galactic fringe. Far from Macragge, at least.]
'Good. I'm not ready for the Thirteenth Black Crusade yet. Abaddon has the Blackstone Fortress and the Planet Killer. That beam is thicker than me. No thanks.'
He made his decision.
'Alright. Let's WAAAGH.'
[You'll have to wait a bit. No Webway this time—we're taking the warp.]
'Fine.'
Godzilla rumbled through the city, patrolling his world while waiting for the next war. The Lizardmen followed him with reverence, clearing paths and singing hymns as they watched the embodiment of their gods stroll among them.
Meanwhile, Isis had returned to the temple to formally meet her sister priest.
But what she found stopped her in her tracks.
In the short time since her hatching, the new priest—Katata—had constructed an enormous, ten-meter-tall mechanical frame. A lizard-shaped mecha skeleton complete with tail, dorsal fins, and oversized limbs was taking shape, surrounded by eager Lizardmen hauling wreckage from crashed Tau ships, Ork scrap, and even Aeldari power conduits.
They worked fervently, arguing joyfully.
"I'm adding a plasma claw to the left arm!"
"No, no, it has to breathe fire!"
"Katata-Technician is brilliant! Even the gods will love this!"
Covered in grease and soot, Katata paid them no mind. She tinkered, jerry-rigging mismatched parts into harmony. She forced in components that clearly didn't belong, wiring Tau grav-thrusters next to Necron servos, and even grafting native bones and flora into the structure.
It should have collapsed. It should have exploded.
But somehow... it worked.
Isis scratched the bridge of her nose, baffled.
Her kin—her sister—was... different.
Very different.
And in a galaxy where gods scheme, daemons whisper, and war never ends, sometimes it was the strange ones who shaped the future.
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