Dranon's delight VIII

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you.

“What!?” He snarled petulantly.

“Watch your tongues sweet thing”, The almost feminine voice teased, “they are long enough to form a noose.”

The marine sighed a low reverberating grumble and glared with glossy black orbs at the sinuous creature's silhouette playfully writhing in the opalescent cloud before him.

“Don't give me that look, love. I don't like it” the voice this time was more predatory.

“ I'm not in the mood for games”

“You never are”

“No, I'm not”

“Why did you even join the ranks of Slaanesh?”

“If you have complaints why do you favor me daemon?”

“Aha? I favor you? Oh please”

“If you didn't some one else would be standing here before you”

“Maybe I desire you to fail but you have the indecency to succeed over and over”

“Ugh, can we not do this AGAIN? What do you want?What ever it is I will do it, if it will shut your damned holes”

Regaining it's daemonic composure the silhouette regally proclaimed “I am working on a masterpiece and I require you to retrieve something, Irrumator ”

Bolter shells exploded around him, the roar would be defining if his warp enhanced senses could not selectively tune it out. Dislodged masonry shards pattered on his armor as he took cover behind a laboratory's massive cognator. “That fucking cunt!” Irrumator cursed in frustration. His men were dead, his ammo was nearly spent and worst of all he fumed, his armor was blemished by the fighting. All for some stupid pointless errand. “That god damned cock gargling motherfucking WHOOORRRRRRE!” The impact of his frustrated scream hit the Iron warriors firing upon him like a physical force, knocking their suppressive fire off target. He burst out of cover, selectively firing upon his shell shocked targets. Placing rounds as artfully as a florist arranging flowers in a vase.

Click-Click-Click

Silence.

“Damn, I am just that good” he said to himself as he surveyed his artful work. The Iron Warriors were crumpled and broken before him. He cockily swaggered towards the nearest downed marine with the intention to loot the dying bastard for it's bolter rounds. As he bent down close to the marine he became enthralled with his artistry. The ceramite armor on the marine's abdomen was shattered exposing ropes of intestines and mangled flesh and offal. Irrumator worked his fingers delicately along the edge of the wound as if he was pleasuring a woman. He pulled his face closer and breathed in deep, savoring the warm humid smell of internal organs exposed to atmosphere.

With a sudden jerking motion he pulled away from the corpse, and crammed a pilfered magazine in his bolter. His hind brain had detected movement. He scanned the area tentatively, bolter at the ready. He quickly found what had startled him. A petite female form dragged herself along, clawing for traction on the smooth black tiled floor. One leg ended abruptly in a mass of tangled pulp just below the hip. Clearly the result of a bolter shell impact. He didn't recall shooting her so it must have been of her own that had struck her with an errant round he mused.

Irrumator walked towards her, allowing his footfalls to echo with menacing intent upon the floor. She picked up the pace of her crawl and whimpered with exertion. Playfully he matched her speed as she struggled across the room. He carefully placed his feet to avoid the trail of blood she was leaving behind herself like a slug. He pulled closer to her, so close at times he was practically walking upon her. Her whimpers morphed into the hysterical noises of fear but she did not give up like so many others might. She kept on crawling. He liked her.

With a sudden spastic burst she drove her elbow hard into the floor and scampered forward with surprising speed. She was going for a fucking dropped bolt pistol! He kicked out at her landing a solid blow to her torso just before her fingers closed solidly around the bolt pistol's grip. She flew backwards across the room and impacted upon a wall with a sickening crack and slumped over.

He marched across the room to where she had fallen, his gate revealing that the foul mood of earlier had returned. He squatted to examine her. He noted she was still alive as her body was stirring and straining slightly. He grabbed her by the chin and forced her to lock eyes with him. “Good, you are still alive. I was a bit concerned” he said with sickeningly convincing feigned empathy. She said nothing in return, her eyes glared at him in defiant protest. Irrumator studied her face. It was like a beautiful doll that had been Pieced back together. Deep doe eyes took in the world and delicately stitched corners of the mouth made it seem as if she had a bright cheshire grin even now at her worst. Bolts had been driven into the side of her head. For what purpose he couldn't deduce. A single bright crimson drop of blood ran out her nose like a tear. He thought it contrasted beautifully with her smooth Ivory skin.

He stepped back away from her and reached for his combat knife. He positioned it between his legs and gripped it tight with his thighs. He reached for the small pale woman, wrapping his large hands around her waist just above the hipbone and pulled her towards him. The marine positioned her and with a powerful thrust of his hips he drove the cold blade deep inside of her. She broke her defiant silence. He worked her over long past the point where she had stopped screaming. She had really pissed him off.

Feeling energized, Irrumator skipped along, fecal matter, bone shards and chunks of womb clung to him. It looked as if he had been pelted with snowballs made of hamburger. He had gotten distracted, but now he was back on task. He cautiously worked his way towards where his mistresses prize was stored. He believed all of the Iron warriors in this out post had been terminated but he didn't live this long by making assumptions. He had never made a mistake and he wasn't going to make on now, not in pursuit of this.

There she was, what he had came all this way for. A small sallow skinned woman was chained to an examination table. The first thing he noticed was she was grotesquely swollen. “Daemonculaba” he chuckled to himself.

A distended abdomen large enough to fit a marine inside grew out of her frail and weedy frame. The swollen bulk pushed up on her rib cage making her breath noticeably short and painful even from his vantage. Pipes ferrying fluids to and fro were crammed in every orifice stretching them taught. The skin on the poor woman's stomach was stretched taught valiantly holding her innards in. Thick veins snaked under the growth scarred skin pumping nutrients to her surrogate child. The thing inside her would spasm and shudder, clearly causing her unfathomable pain.

As the marine drew closer he noted the girl was covered in bed stores and he detected the pungent sweet smell of rotten flesh. Greasy unwashed purple hair clung to her face and thick crusty grime ringed her tired and worn eyes like sulfurous mascara.

Irrumator walked around her forcibly tearing out the tubing and restraints that enslaved her with out concern for her comfort. With the tubing gone from her throat the girl produce a thick stream of vomit with a molasses like consistency as her body equalized pressure with the room. The marine gently turned her on her side so she was not to drown in her own fluid.

She fought to speak, her short panting breaths made it difficult and her throat was horse from the tubing.

“Whee.. Khnew... Drahnohn... Whood... Sehnd... hhalp.”

“What? Who the fuck is Drahnon?”

Her dreams of heroic rescue shattered she fell silent finding no reason to fight to speak The little spark of life that had momentarily grown in her eyes faded away. The marine puzzled at how he would carry her out. He was strong enough, sure but he feared she might tear open under the slightest strain and he really didn't want to be bitched at when he got home if he fucked this up. He cautiously tested several ways he might heft her but each one felt as precarious as the last.

He realized what he had to do. The marine positioned himself at the end of the examination table and pushed her atrophied legs apart to make room to maneuver. He worked his massive genetically altered hand up inside her. As stretched out as she was it was still a tight fit, her tissue squeezed down around his hand like a small latex glove. She moaned in what was probably pain, he didn't really take notice, what appeared to be piss ran down his arm in a stream. He came to her cervix and tried to find a way to work it open. “Fuck that shit” he said as he balled his hand into a fist and just rammed his hand past. She screeched in pain as he did so and her anus puckered and spewed a continuous log of foul smelling black fecal mater all over him and the table. He started gagging out of disgust, something he thought was long since past him. But he stayed focused and drove his hand deep inside her womb,well past his elbow.

He grabbed a hold of something solid inside her and twisted for grip. He pulled hoping that it was the fetal marine and not some vital organ that lacked redundancy. Even with his superhuman strength it was a struggle. The woman's body did not want to let go. Irrumator dragged the skinless marine out inch by inch. The woman's constant screams were the soundtrack to the procedure. He didn't really like the screams of women, too shrill and pathetic to enjoy, usually. The woman's cunt stretched horrendously as the seven foot man was worked out. He assumed it would be impossible if her pelvis had not been previously been broken in expectation of exactly this.

At the half way point, he didn't have to fight any more the fetus-man-thing was coming out of it's own accord. It squeezed out of her with a sicking plop and fell to the ground in a puddle of amniotic fluid where it spasmed and convulsed having been born too early. He crushed its head with a boot strike and kicked it across the floor out of annoyance.

The long suffering girl looked even more frail and exhausted than before. She painted for breath and fluids and filth dripped out of her wrecked vaginal cavity. Her once taught stomach was now deflated. It reminded him of a trash bag he had once seen dancing in the wind.

He threw the pathetic creature over his shoulder and opened a channel on his com bead. “ I have what I came for, I am ready for extraction”

---

Irrumator paced back and forth across the bridge of his ship weaving in and out of the cognators and wired in servitors in a precise and intricate pattern. He had been in this particular habit for the past several days. It had filled every duty free moment. The ceramite of his boots were wearing scuffs into the softer metals of the bridge floor. In his mind he pictured himself as a shark. A vicious killer that had to keep swimming or it would choke on it's own lungs.

Getting to the Iron Warrior's armory outpost had been a simple matter, getting out was proving to be more difficult. He his strike hadn't hurt them in any real military sense but the blow to their pride had proved too much to let him just walk away. Iron Warrior ships had swarmed the region of space like angry buzzing hornets. He had really stuck his dick into it this time and unlike the time he dicked a Catachan hellwasp hive if he got caught it wouldn't just be some slight swelling.

He had ordered the crew to make small warp jumps, zig-zaging their way through Iron warrior controlled region for weeks. They were working their way towards imperial space where his lone ship could disappear and they would not be able to follow with out risking altercation with an Imperial Navy patrol. With any pursuers lost he could double back and make the long jump home unmolested.

Even though things were going as well as they could, he was stressed, he couldn't help it. He was a man of perfection. Perfection required control and power, neither of which you have while you are a hunted man running through enemy space half blind. He hadn't risked communication. You never know who is watching the ripples in the aether.

He had brought along the body of the woman from the armory. Irrumator had found breaking her frail frame so delightfully stimulating that had hoped her corpse would keep him entertained while he traveled. It just wasn't the same though, with out her spirit inhabiting it. So soon grew tired of defiling the body and forgot about it. Like a toy discarded by a toddler it was left were it fell. During the course of his duties as the ship's commander Irrumator had passed by where he had left her on occasion. He noted something or someone had been eating the corpse. Good he thought, it would probably be gone before it really started to stink and its rotten flesh oozed between bulkhead panels or something.

The cultist had warmed up to him. She seemed to think he was some one called Dranon and he had came to rescue her. No amount of yelling, no matter how loud could convince her otherwise. She followed him around dragging her sack of abdominal skin between her legs wheezing at him in some bastardized form of Gothic, but that wasn't the most annoying thing about her oh no. The worst was her new found habit of flapping her abdomen like a child playing with a parachute. Apparently, Irrumator surmised from the smell, the creases collected sweat and grew fungal infections.

He would be focusing the entirety of his vast intellect on some aspect of running the ship when a noisy FLAP-FLAP-FLAP would pierce his concentration. He would turn and shoot her the most hateful glare he could muster. She would cower and whimper a meek, “S-hhorry, itze eetchy” Not five minutes would pass before her FLAP-FLAP-FLAPING would start up again. He had her folded up and stuffed in a storage container that was then thrown in a stasis field. There was just no other option available to him, he wasn't allowed to kill her.

Soon enough Irrumator found himself home. He strode with purpose through the hallways of the pleasure palace. The palace was a battle barge that through the warp's distortion of realspace's physics had been landed upon the small planetoid's surface. Additional buildings had grown off it in an organic fashion and the place had come to resembled a ship wreck covered with jewel encrusted coral.

Irrumator drove his heels in hard to floor in an effort to make himself seem even more impressive. His cloak whipped out behind him spurned on by fans installed for just this purpose. The cape emanated with the ominous purple glow of the void. Trusted marines had already ferried his prize to a secured section of the palace. He was now answering the daemon mistress's summons. Slaves, hooded to prevent them from gazing upon his spender wrenched at ropes of the pulley systems that operated the massive door arches of the palace. The slaves were so well condition that he didn't even have to change his stride to walk through the gate at the most cinematic time. Sometimes he thought, the most childish pleasures where the best. He couldn't pass through one of the gates with out thinking to himself FUCK YEAH.

He made his way through the labyrinth of corridors and into the room that served as his master's auditorium and chamber. It was light by a harsh blush light that made his third eyelid reflexively shutter. The Feminine form of daemon he had come to meet stood amongst its obscuring veil of shimmering clouds. The Mistress stood atop a raised platform at the far end of the large oval chamber and directed it's gaze down upon him. It was clear to him the architecture of the room was a transparent attempt to make the summoned feel small. A small frown formed in the corner of Irrumator's mouth. Frankly, he thought it was pathetic, it lacked the subtly and grace he felt should represent a servant of Slaanesh.

“Irrumator, what took you so long? I was getting worried” the daemon asked mockingly.

The tainted marine In a blatant display of disdain raised his gauntleted hand and gave her the finger.

“Oh don't be such a sourpuss, that much grump and Khornes' going to get ya”

“Good!” he snapped and then followed up, gesturing with his hands at the room

“I doubt he could have taste as tacky as this shit... It's... It's like fucking eye herpes! Penises! Boob! Vagina! What is wrong with you? Where is the seductive subtlety, the artistry?

“Khorne... Not tacky? Heh”

“ There you go again! Deflecting valid criticism of how you run this operation with childish snark.”

“Are you presuming you know how to embody the desires of Slaanesh better than me, an entity formed whole cloth out of her consciousness?”

...

“yes”

“where the fuck do you get off--”

“Where ever I want”

The female daemon's voice warmed with mirth “Ah word play. Concepts, double meanings, feints and feigns... it's pun”

Irrumator's lids dropped and his face went blank

“For that abominable pun daemon I swear on my blackened and tentacle ravaged soul I will learn your true name and bind you to my will! You... You will suffer immense agony by my hand”

The silhouette chewed at her lip, “ I don't think there is any thing you could do to me I wouldn't enjoy”

“you will sit in a stark white empty room all by yourself reading schoola books filled with litanies and morally uplifting tales of imperial heroes.”

“You're incredibly cruel”,the daemon pouted

“That may be, but I got you what you wanted didn't I?”

“it is unharmed, yes?”she inquired

“well I didn't make it any worse if that's what you are inquiring”

“Good, the ritual can begin” she clapped expectantly.

Irrumator leaned against one of the columns that ringed the chamber. Obscured by shadow he watched the frantic bustle of slaves filled with purpose readying the chamber. The air in the room was thick and humid, filled with a soporific smell that resembled rotten sex. He flicked his pair tongues out to taste and noted a iron like bite to the air resembling menstruation. The deep atinic lighting had been replaced with a throbbing purple warp light that emanated from candles made from human tallow. The mistress's chamber seemed smaller and less imposing when it was filled with attendants scurrying about like beaten dogs. He noted none of them ever lifted theirs heads fearing they might lock eyes with with the shadowy succubus directing the precession.

Musicians kept pace with the throbbing of the light. Irrumator cringed, they were utterly repulsive sounding. It was an ugly sloppy cacophony of pure talentless shit. Instead of working together and embracing the music the damned hacks stepped over each other trying to curry the mistress favor. Snarling to himself he knew he could outperform each one of the musicians on their own damn instruments. He resisted the urge to kick their shit in and take their instruments because he didn't currently have enough arms to play them all and he was wise enough not to tempt fate on the appendage issue.

He grew impatient from the waiting. Fuck, he thought to himself I did not spend weeks waiting on board a ship just to get here and wait some more. Fortunately for him daemons were as impatient and craved stimulation just as much as he did. The Mistress bellowed for them to hurry up.

A small boyish woman or girlish man was led into the chamber. It's smooth hairless skin glistened with ritual oil. It was flanked by slaves with almost luminescently pale skin and black executioner hoods. Leather straps and jingling chains were attached to their flesh with embedded hooks. Their muscular masculine forms contrasted starkly with the small creature of indeterminate gender. Rust stains sank into the forms of their musculature like a wash exaggerating their definition. He pondered the creature's gender for a moment, you could never really tell with Slaaneshian cultist. Most cultist were unhappy with their forms, a mindset he, seeing himself as a perfect being just couldn't relate to. This self hatred is often what drove them to Slaanesh. Things like this wretch didn't come to Slaanesh in the pursuit of perfection they came because of her whispering lie that she could fix what was wrong with their body and that would fix their soul. This hopeful thinking is also why they never last. Any way whatever it was and whatever it was running from, it had a small penis now.

It's short legs struggled to keep up with the massive pair of escorts slow lope. It's smooth young form could appeal to those who craved the pleasures of either sex. Little cat ears poked up out of short feminine black hair and flicked with excitement. The creature seemed packed with energy, bouncing and chattering excitedly. It was absolutely enthralled with the attention it was receiving. As he watched it move down the hall Irrumator took an instant dislike to the wretched thing and hoped it would die painfully.

The escorts and the little derp came to a halt when they reached a pentagram that been etched onto the floor in the center of the room. The little girlman's eyes caught sight of the chains and manacles and realized they were intended for “him”. He tried to bolt but one of the giant brutes grabbed him by the leg a swung Him into position. They quickly fastened the manacles with practiced precision and elegantly faded back away from the etched rune circle like trained dancers.

The coward mewled and screamed in fear wrenching at it's chains until blood ran from it's wrist. Irrumator knew deep with in his pumping hearts that the little fuck deserved what ever was coming. He noticed others shook with nervous anticipation of what might happen. Irrumator thought he might have been shaking with predatory excitement too if he had not been so numbed by the years of experience.

An elegant woman approached the rune circle. She was nude except for a carapace chest plate of imperial origin. It had been ritually desecrated with soft pastel pinks and lewd designs. She strutted down the hall like a model on a catwalk ,menacingly sashaying towards the victim. Her long black hair trailed behind her whipping elegantly. Her face was beautiful and subtly harsh. Her throbbing erection was adorned by sharp blades that sinisterly caught the light of the warpfire. Irrumator worked his mind over. He felt he knew her name. More than that he thought he should remember her name. Ah yes, there it was. That woman was The Black Hearted, a particularly notorious human worshiper of his mistresses.

The Black Hearted drew herself close to the victim chained on the floor. She made an seductive spectacle of herself as she caressed the small fearful figure. Blackheart worked her hands and tongue with gifted talent along the androgynous figure. The figure continued to chatter in protest but Black Heart soothingly hushed him like a caring mother. The little creature fears fell away as it embraced his seductress's caress. His nipples grew erect with stimulation from his captors tongue. His hardened member dug into The Black Hearted's soft porcelain thigh.

Black Heart placed her hand across the chained creature's mouth. he was so enthralled in the attention he was receiving he forgot all fear. She positioned with her other hand her bladed cock. She gently drew circles with it on the small section of flesh between the creatures shapely ass and small smooth balls. She teased with sensation, playfully hinting at the potential of the sharp cold blade.

Black Heart slowly drove her bladed cock into the damned boys perineum with the care one gives to cutting a delicate crumbling cake. The poor creature eyes bulged and body shook as she submersed her self within. Disappointingly there was no screaming, Black Hearts hand restrained any outcry. She made sure her lover would not suffer that indignity.

She slowly worked at him rhythmically picking up a small amount of speed with every thrust of her pelvis. Blood dripped from the hand that restrained the sacrifices cries of pain, she had been bitten. Black Heart worked through her quivering lover like a saw cutting her way towards the abdomen. The occasional splurt of blood sprayed up upon her pink armor and danced like raindrops on a window as they trickled down. The doomed slaved stopped struggling soon after Black Heart pierced it's diaphragm but she didn't finish her work until she hit the sternum.

Finished, she stood up, she gazed upon her lover with new found disgust. She had butterflied the Little creature like a pork chop. Her white fluids floated upon the red sea of carnage she had carved into the nubile body. The blood spilled pooled out of the warm corpse and settled into the carved recesses of the pentagram beautifully. Black Heart turned to look at the daemons silhouette. He felt her love and approval tangibly. It radiated through him like sun on a summer day. A self satisfied smile worked across his face.

Irrumator leered greedily upon the spectacle. The bepenised woman stood drunkenly enthralled by the daemons gaze. In her stupor she failed to notice the changes in the room. The flickering of the warplight candles had grown into a frantic strobe and the blood in the channels spattered and hissed like cold water dropped into a hot pan. Something was coming through and from the familiar smell floating on the aether smoke he knew what it was. A shit eating grin grew across Irrumator's face that touched both ears and his black in black eyes twinkled.... Vent Stalker!

A protoplasmic figure pulled its self together, coalescing out of the roiling blood. It aped the form of an exaggerated female. The entire figure was one of impossibilities. Soft broad hips flared out beneath an inhumanly small waist, massive and pendulously pert breast quivered and bounced with the creatures slightest movement. It was a translucent filmy gray-white that resembled congealed ejaculate and sexual fluids.

In all actuality Irrumator knew it more than resemble jellied sexual overflow. It was animated sexual overflow. He had been the one that had hunted it and bound it away for his mistress years ago. It had sprung to life upon an aristocratic pleasure barge. One of many such barges which the indulgences of the imperial class were catered to. Perhaps it had conceived when a latent psychic orgasmed or perhaps it was just birthed by the primal lust in the air. Irrumator found he didn't really care to delve into the mystery, the fact it existed was good enough for him.

his mistress had learned of the creature and dispatched him to capture it. He had even been the one to name it vent stalker.

He was quite proud of that name too, besides the afore mentioned proclivity to violate it's victims ventral regions, it moved about the ship using the duct work and air vents. This instinctual knowledge of the boat's internal plumbing had made it an infuriating target for Irrumator to pursue. He had rampaged after it, tearing through the ship like a creature of Khorne out of frustration. Finally he caught it when it mistakenly went down a clogged pipe and got stuck. He had been tempted to rape the daemon while it was trapped in the pipe, using it as a gelatinous masturbatory aid. However he reconsidered though, when he contemplated it might be capable of turning the table on him and crawling down his urethra.

Irrumator returned focus to the present. The vent stalker was snaking it's way towards the still enthralled Black Heart. It's sinuous feminine form bouncing scandalously. As it leeched closer to the enraptured woman it's clitoris analogue stretched and elongated into a phallic psuedopod. The Mistress broke her spell upon The Black Hearted wench. Regaining clarity Black Heart screamed as the ooze bore down upon her. Engulfing and restraining the target of it's thirsty desire the slime inserted itself inside Black Hearts clenched anus. It moved it's psuedopod exploitatively, like a finger wiggling around insider her. This messaging action forcefully loosened the slime's victim. The Black Hearted woman screamed in pain as she was violated. Intimate contact with the stalker caused the sensation of a chemical burn upon sensitive tissue.

Irrumator, overwhelmed with childish excitement yelled in a mocking burst “GET OUT OF HER STALKER!”

The engulfed woman's screams turned to a hushed gurgle when another pseudopod formed and plunged down her throat. She tried to bite her mouth shut but the stalkers tissue was just too rubbery and resilient. Along with the searing pain running down her esophagus Black Heart was tortured by the taste of stale cum. Her form responded with great wracking heaves in a futile attempt to force the intruder out.

The daemonic goo girl worked her self deeper inside Black Heart's intestines, snaking it's pseudopod through the twisting corridors of flesh. The tissue this deep in Black Heart was virgin to a lovers touch and squeezed tightly around stalkers member. The sensations of experiencing Black Heart from the inside out was overwhelming the stalker. Her members pulsed and throbbed as she neared her peak.

After an intense spike Black Heart felt the pain recede away into a numb sensation. The thing inside her felt as if it was deflated and tired. It slithered slowly like a languid snake out of her anus and throat. A surprisingly pleasant feeling of relief washed over Black Heart. What ever had occurred it was now over. Black Heart then noticed an odd sensation. It originated in her lower abdomen. At first it felt like the butterflies of a first crush but it slowly evolved into a sensation that more resembled pressure. It felt vaguely like a knot of painful gas. She looked down and noted her abdominal region was swelling. Black Heart watched it slowly gain in size like bread dough rising. She could feel the skin growing tight and pinched. She laughed to herself, shook her head and thought, oh fuck me.

The Vent Stalker could feel the sensation growing inside Black Heart too. She picked up the pace at which she withdrew her tentacles. The one down Black Heart's gullet withdrew effortlessly coiling up with a snap like a powered winch. The one tucked up Black Hearts ass resisted. The psuedopod felt as if it was snagged on something. Confused she pulled harder. The strain placed on her tentacle caused painful stretching tension but she kept pulling. Millimeter by millimeter she worked herself out of Black Hearts winking anus. A frothy slurry of shit bubbled out around her tentacle with a sloppy sound. The filth was being dredged out by the action of her forceful withdrawal.

The Vent Stalker's progress of escaping her lover seized up again. This time there was no dislodging herself from her rectal binding no matter how hard she tugged. This was only the second time in the daemons life that it had felt fear. The claustrophobic panic of being trapped inside someone slowly overwhelmed her. The crescendo of terror was reached when she realized she was slowly being sucked back inside Black Hearts greedy ass hole. She flailed for grip sending out psuedopods desperately seeking purchase on the smooth stone floor. She tried to grip the recessed runes on the floor but it was not enough. The slurping suction reeled her in faster and faster like a child sucking down a noodle of spaghetti.

Black Heart's form swelled as the daemon poured in. At first like she was going through the stages of a pregnancy in mere moments. Bright angry red stretchmarks marbled her pale abdomen where her skin gave way to damage under the sudden strain. The stalker protested its confinement by boiling inside Black heart. It mounded and heaved Black Hearts skin as it tried to force it's way out. Back Heart vomited up a thick maroon sludge as the resiting creature blended her internal organs in it's struggle. As more and more of the creature was forced into Black Heart it she looked less pregnant and more distended and bloated with fluid. Her lean face grew bloated and puffy. Her limbs seemed swollen and soggy, like a corpse left in water for to long. Parts of her flesh in contact with the floor pooled out ever so slightly. Now when the stalker lashed out it reached for the world with a tentacles of Black Heart's flesh. The two were melting together into some horrible corpulent puddle of daemon and flesh.

The spawn bubbled Into a mass of pregnant bellies and seething tentacles. It resembled a small cluster of fleshy grapes covered in angry worms. The daemonic semen that comprised the the ooze had impregnated Black Hearts flesh and was feeding off the warps energy to grow to term. As the revolting hill of female flesh swelled it crept into contact with the dead corpse of the initial sacrifice. This too melted and was subsumed into the mass. While this occurred, copies of the sacrifices face propagated randomly across the pregnant bulk's surface. They perfectly mimed the tortured death face of the sacrifice, except one detail. Their mouths were replaced with a vagina surrounded by crusty and matted pubic hair. The bulk continued to grow and new horrified faces popped up like pimples across it.

Then the Black Hearted stalker thing started to shudder and squeeze in upon its self. Contractions wracked it's clustered form. The vagina mouths opened in unison and screamed a the painful wail of three damned souls. All present except for Irrumator and The mistress dropped to their knees and covered their ears in terror. Many found themselves sobbing because the mind raping horror of the they had just witnessed.

The scream was cut short, the mouths had found new purpose. Malformed fetuses of vary stages of development were vomited out of the warp creature maws. Some of the fetuses sprayed outward like projectiles others dribbled down the warpbeast form like spittle. Geysers of afterbirth and blood arced through the air. Chunks of uterine lining drifted down through the air like confetti.

Irrumator twirled in place catching the flakes on his twin tongues. This was the neatest thing he had seen in a long damned time. It dug up memories of the first time he saw snow as a young child. Snow, yes that was one of the few treasured memories that of “before”.

The Mistress Barked out to him from across the chamber. She forced unnatural power in her voice to overpower the mewling of the fearful servants, “kill them all and throw them onto the pile” Irrumator snapped his heels together and threw himself into an overenthusiastic salute and then sprung to into action. He grabbed a particularly large fetus that had landed near him by it's umbilical cord and twirled it like a flail. He giggled like a little girl as he bowled into the crowed and went to work upon them. ... Irrumator sat polishing his armor with the finest quality scrotum chamois. He chuckled to himself thinking about what he had just witnessed. He loved irony of the initial victims had getting what they wanted most. The experience of being female distilled down to it's base, to be nothing but a mindless spewing womb shrieking incoherently. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his daemon mistress glide towards him. She placed her hand on his pauldron with mock affection. He grimaced and ground his teeth together. She fucking knew he hated his armour being touched. Feigning a calm composure he asked,“That was fun and all but why did you wait for me to retrieve that cultist?”

“Perhaps I just wanted to share the experience with you and the cultist is unrelated”

“Unlikely”

“Well then you will just have to wait and find out”

AND SO WILL YOU.

See Also

• Dranon's delight
• Dranon's delight II
• Dranon's delight III
• Dranon's delight IV
• Dranon's delight V
• Dranon's delight VI
• Dranon's delight VII (all records have been purged)
• Dranon's delight VIII
• Dranon's delight IX
• Dranon's delight X
• Dranon's delight XI
• Dranon's delight XII
• Dranon's delight XIII