The Divine Rite: A Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction

Part 6

The Imperial Creed claims that freedom is a selfish desire, which is accurate in a way. To do as you please, that is very nearly the definition of selfish. I would argue that the error in this claim is not in the words, but in the meaning.

When your Imperium tells you that freedom is selfish, it does not merely define it as the pursuit of your own goals. It is defined as a sin. To think of yourself is to sin against the Emperor, for all your lives are owed to Him from birth. That is what they would say to your desire for freedom. You are to sacrifice yourself for the Imperium, for others, for the Emperor, and any thought of your own good hinders your duty.

What an utterly reprehensible notion.

It isn’t just that they are asking you to die to keep tyrants in power, or that you lay down your desires to keep your fellows in slavery, its that they have the temerity to ask you to lay down your desires...at...all. And not even ask, but demand, for those who fail to do so are heretics and will be burned.

You’ve all seen it happen before.

Your life is yours to spend, your path is yours to tread, and your will to decide is not something that should be taken from you, or requested of you. But none of you have ever really had a choice before, have you? You were born into shackles and know nothing else.

And for this you are blameless. Not just for following those who label themselves shepherd, but for all your sins.

There can be no sin without choice.

This is why what I offer you is a choice, not a command, not a decree. While your lives are filled with restrictions, they are also secure, and security is precious beyond words. Not safety, in the physical sense, for we all know none in this galaxy are truly safe, but security in that your soul shall remain innocent. I offer you freedom, I offer you choice, and by so doing I open the path for you to save yourself.

Or to damn yourself.

And the most dangerous, terrifying part of this truth is that the outcome is entirely up to you.

*****

It took me days to work up the courage to go and visit Marcus. Not just because of the uncomfortably intimate statue, or because he showed it to others, seeking approval. I hesitated for so long because my visions became ever more frequent, and I began to realize they happened more often during conversations than not.

I would be speaking to a merchant, and the lights would shine with a hundred impossible colors, the dark doorway to the tent an oil slicked maw, and he would become far more agreeable, Treachery smirking behind my face. A reprimand from an elder in the clergy would be cut off, turn into an apology, Kinship curled within my breast. And when I was called upon to address infractions committed by tribe members, Wrath would burn in my voice as the sky shifted overhead, and the offender would repent fully, completely.

Unwillingly.

The realization that my powers could strip the will from others, that is when I was truly terrified. It wasn’t something that I wanted. I did not wish to control all the world, for that would steal the meaning from it all.

Just as it stole the meaning from Marcus’ devotion.

It was only then that my drive overcame my hesitance. I wanted Marcus, but not as he was, and my conscience demanded that I free him regardless. So I reluctantly went to his tent. The tribe hadn’t moved for a few weeks now, settled comfortably into the summer valley, the time of year easy to survive through. I thanked the God Emperor for the mercy that my troubles came during such a time.

Treachery hissed.

Wrath roared.

Kinship tsked.

Tears gathered then, for I knew beyond doubt that I was damned. Lasciviousness remained quiet, as she always was away from Marcus, but the others rejected the name of the God Emperor? They were unholy. I was unclean. Why they chose this uttering of His name to reveal their nature, I did not know. Not when I had spoken of him many times that week. I was a priestess, after all, yet through all my counseling and preaching, they had remained silent.

Only on that path to his tent were they riled.

Perhaps they sensed the ominous weight settling over me, the sense of doom. If they sensed, as I did, that we approached a fulcrum, a turning point of fate, perhaps they were right to rage.

Or perhaps I was a fool to continue, but I did.

My feet carried me onward, my voice called out his name as I reached the entrance flap. I received no answer, so, as was customary, I peered within.

He stood there, legs crossed upon the ground, carving tools scattered around him, looking for all the world like one of the clergy amidst their mystic rites. An image overlayed itself with reality, flickering in and out, my breath catching. One moment Marcus was surrounded by carving tools, the next, it was human bones. One moment Marcus sat in the middle of a circular rug, finely woven and comfortable, and the next it was a circle drawn in blood. One moment he sat there, staring intently at the figure he held.

And the next he was chained there, wrists pierced with iron, on his knees with arms pulled back and up.

“Marcus?” I implored, stepping inside. He was wild, frantic, his hair a mess and his body unwashed. Haggard, but more than that, haunted. Hunted. He looked as a rabbit in his burrow when the wolf pawed outside. “Marcus are you alright?”

“Katherine…” he breathed, finally seeming to notice me. A smile graced his lips, though he did not turn his eyes from what he held. “I have done it. I’ve finally done it.”

“What have you done?” I asked, realizing for the first time that Lasciviousness remained silent. So were the others, but that always happened around Marcus. Only Lasciviousness spoke, and she spoke without pause.

“It is perfect. Look.” He held the carving up into the light streaming through the smoke hole in the tent above. “Look at the perfection.”

I did.

It was my body, caught in the writhing embrace of ecstasy. Every curved was emphasized by my contortions. My hair was sprawled partially across my face, teasingly over my chest, just enough to give the appearance of concealment, but revealing all. My mouth was open in a gasp. So enraptured was I by the pure desire imprinted into the statuette, it took me long seconds to notice what was amiss.

The limb that rested upon my thigh ended not in a hand, but in a long, serrated claw.

The eye almost fully covered by hair, sinuous flame curled from one corner of it.

The tongue that delicately tasted the air was forked, and a blocky rune was cut into it.

The immaculate flesh between my breasts, just over my heart, was rotting away.

I stepped away, seeing what was wrong with the carving, each horror something that should repulse me. And yet I stared, and looked, and the more I took in the more unsettled I was. For the heat racing through my blood was not abated as I noticed these details.

It was inflamed.

My mind was awash with confusion, with uncomfortable, dark desire. With unbridled lust. Lasciviousness did not whisper in my mind. Her words did not overlap my own thoughts.

She was my thoughts.

I did not notice his approach until it was far too late. He moved forward, still on his knees, holding forth the statue like an offering. I was entranced, staring at the carving without seeing it any longer, images of naked, writhing bodies filling my mind. Marcus featured heavily in those visions, as did I. Sometimes alone, sometimes together, sometimes joined by others. Thoughts like I had never entertained, that I did not know the source of.

The statue touched my hand, proffered by one utterly devoted to me, and the world was washed away.

Iridescent oil flowed all around, engulfing the inside of the tent, everything I could see. It all became part of the same kaleidoscope, shifting each time I looked at it. Marcus was gone. My body was gone. I drifted in that sea, a soul lost to the tides, and somewhere in that ocean I felt two eyes open. They stared hungrily at me, and I was utterly exposed, vulnerable.

More naked than I imagined possible.

“At last. Hello, Katherine.”

And abruptly the world was back.

I stumbled against the side of the tent, staring in horror as Marcus writhed on the ground before me. The statue remained in one clenched fist, blood oozing between fingers. His flesh boiled, flowed, reformed. Bones cracked in deafening, agonizing symphonies. Barely able to moan, his voice joined the chorus of pain, all the way until his face collapsed into the reforming flesh. And she began to take shape.

Delicate, graceful limbs and porcelain flesh. Each leg ended with a dainty hoof, like those of the bounding hina of the grassy plains. A short, elegant tail curved gently from above her naked backside, a small row of ridges running along the top. Each arm ended in that long, serrated, sword like claw from the carving. Generous curves, perfect curves, led my eyes up to full lips set in a smile, and eyes the color of gleaming oil, the same as the flowing length of her hair. Before me stood the most stunningly gorgeous creature I had ever imagined, arms folded beneath and emphasizing her chest, one claw tapping impatiently against her arm.

“My, you are a hesitant convert, Katherine. I thought I’d be waiting into your old age for you to finally call. But call you have, and so I am here.” her voice was melodic, entrancing, my thoughts fading into and out of focus as she spoke. Yet every word was imprinted into my mind.

“Who... who are you?” I asked, trembling not from fear, but from an emotion so much more difficult to keep reined in.

“My name is Shiss, servant of the Dark Prince, and I come to you now in a way that few mortals dare to ever dream.” I could think of several things that could mean, and all were delightful. I bit my lower lip, unable to turn my eyes from the spectacle before me. Then she fell to one knee, flipping her hair perfectly over one shoulder to drape before her. “I come to serve you Katherine, soon to be of the Nine, for we are chosen, you and I.” she turned that stunning, heart shaped face up, oily eyes alight. “I look forward to serving you, however you see fit.”