Chapter 19 Part 4

Chapter 19: Kronus: Consequences

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Part 4

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Asdrubael Vect's palace

Commorragh

Reluctantly, very reluctantly at that, Asdrubael Vect, the supreme overlord of the Dark City, had to admit that too much of a good thing not only existed but could be a spot of trouble. If it was trouble, or outright disaster, for other people, then Vect would have merely enjoyed the show, perhaps after ensuring he would profit by it.

Commorragh vibrated with screams of unimaginable agony, ecstasy, often both. They were torn from the throats of billions of slaves and Drukhari alike, and their suffering souls.

That was the finest music caressing Vect's ears, and soothing the eternal hunger clawing at his soul.

It wasn't going to last for much longer, and that was the small issue distracting him. That was a shame really. The last couple of weeks were quite interesting, with every Drukhari on Commorragh going out of their way to quiet down Slaneesh's hunger for their souls. The bitch was throwing a temper tantrum over not getting her way, a particularly bad one this time. It wasn't unheard and when it happened, it usually ensured interesting times for Commorragh – rivals to see fall, new up-and-coming artists going above and beyond what could be expected under most circumstances, all the entertainment Asdrubael could think of within the grasp of his hand… Those were usually very good times.

After two weeks of debauchery that would have made the Aeldari Empire during its fall proud, Commorragh was running out of slaves. A not insignificant number of Drukhari were a mess and would be of no use anytime soon if at all. That's why, a lot of those took center stage of the entertainment over the last few days, and most of them loved every moment of it, screaming for more sensations.

It was telling Vect was no longer celebrating. Instead, he stood on his throne flanked by the closest thing he had to reliable guards, while his Archons gathered down below. No one was untouched by the revere – fresh and days-old blood-covered scarred skin and painted armor. Creative wounds and mutilations oozed dark ichor. From where he sat, Vect could smell the stench of sublime narcotics still gripping most of his Archons.

Yes, this was less than ideal. In a few days, there wouldn't be a single useful slave left in the Dark City, and that was saying something. It was impressive really. The anarchy that would follow would be a bit less impressive. Already, the crew of a Battleship got too busy entertaining themselves, that they managed to crash into a docking cradle and immolate a whole section of the docks. The whole area still burned, wasting megatons of supplies. That wasn't the only incident, only the most spectacular and visible one.

Even worse, dear Lelith was getting bored and restless due to a lack of entertaining opponents. Every time that happened, Vect's life became that bit more interesting. If he couldn't provide the Queen of Blades with distraction, she would either go out seeking it or stalk Commorragh causing trouble. And if that state of affairs persisted, sooner or later she might decide that Asdrubael made a worthy opponent. It was one thing "dueling" with her in the bed or one of the countless entertaining rooms in the palace, it was another the Queen trying to get him out of sheer boredom.

After all, Lelith Hesperax was perhaps the only person in all of Commorragh's left who posed a credible threat to his continued survival if she ever turned her blades on him. That, of course, only made the sex even better…

Valossian Sythrac staggered into the throne room, leaking blood and other, harder-to-identify fluids. He was bare-chested, showing countless burns, cuts, and more exotic wounds. He also bore a manic grin on his mutilated face.

"I like what you've done with the cheeks, it's inspired." Vect laughed in greeting.

That was a mask of course. Seeing his most reliable military commander reduced to this, and more importantly, arriving in such a state, was telling. Perhaps the effects of the celebrations were a bit more profound than he believed. Vect made a note to torture answers from a few underlings and check his contingencies – missing such obvious clues meant he was slipping, and that was not good at all.

"Thank you, My Lord!" Sythrac bowed, spilling blood all over the floor. Well, that was all right, the place was already covered with a lot of it, and many pieces from slaves and Drukhari alike after the morning's entertainment.

What wasn't all right was the lack of slaves to get it cleaned up, along with fixing the parts of Commorragh not requiring a more delicate touch.

Vect frowned. If his minions were in a better state of mind, they would have been terrified by such an obvious display of displeasure. All the fun and games had dulled his edge, he noted. Otherwise, one of the first things he would have noticed about Sythrac would be the lack of his Husk Blade.

That was much more important, compared to what wounds the warlord had suffered or let his lovers inflict upon his body.

Khorrzh Vrex was a little better, though that wasn't directly visible. While the tall man was clad in his spiky armor, which had small hands of all things embedded on each spike, he leaked blood from ill-fitted seals. The younger Archon also swayed on his feet, though it wasn't obvious if it was the wounds or drugs he had taken.

Tahril appeared most composed among the small group. He had misplaced his lips somewhere, displaying two rows of ugly teeth for anyone interested in breaking them. That particularly arrogant Archon played with a bald, scarred, and silently screaming head he held in his Power Claw.

Such stunts went out of fashion about a thousand years ago or so, Vect knew. If this was the best, he would have, the Supreme Lord shuddered to think what kind of imbeciles would have been running around if he somehow failed to seize control of Commorragh.

"Pay attention, I won't repeat myself." Vect drawled. To their credit, his chief minions found in themselves enough sense to look up. While their expressions, when there were expressions to consider, didn't fill him with confidence, they could at least follow basic orders. And wasn't that a low bar to clear… "We find ourselves with a critical lack of slaves to have fun with." Vect waved at the pieces of bodies covering the floor and the few distinct pieces of fine art writhing in silent agony on display high up on the walls.

Tahril looked up, grinned bloodily, and had the gall of giving Vect a thumb's up.

"Your approval is noted, Archon." Vect muttered dryly. And of utterly no consequence. The art was already getting stale. "We're going on a few large-scale hunting expeditions." Predictably, Tahril perked up at that. "We need to replenish our slave stables and ideally find at least a few morsels worthy of our attention." By that, he, of course, meant his attention. Everyone else could go find their entertainment or vigorously fuck themselves with whatever sharp thing they found particularly interesting at the time.

The sounds of approval that met his grand proclamation were distinctly underwhelming.

Perhaps Lelith had the right idea, and getting out for fresh air and fun was in order… The alternative was having to endure the pathetic state his chief minions were reduced to and Vect found himself quickly running out of patience with them.

"Gather up your minions, we're going hunting." Vect declared grandly.

The reaction was still underwhelming. Must not kill chief minions, Vect told himself repeatedly. Their available replacements were currently even more pathetic.