Forty Thousand Dicks

Flanked on either side by impassive, gold- and leather-clad warriors of the Adeptus Custodes, Magos Hortensio strode hurriedly through the grand halls of the Imperial Palace, his mechanically-bolstered mind churning through vast swathes of memorized technical data. The Throne – that ancient, sacred relic, critical to the Emperor's sustained life, and Magos Hortensio's sole reason for existing - had developed a persistent static charge in the right seventh biologis cogitator. This was, rationally, a very tiny concern, but Hortensio tolerated absolutely no chaos factors; as the only tech-priest permitted to come and go from the Sanctum Imperialis without challenge, he lived to ensure that the Golden Throne functioned perfectly in every conceivable way. It was, to his infinite pride, a duty that he had attended with flawless precision for over ninety years.



Rushing through the traditional obeisances with a speed bordering on blasphemous, the Magos hastened through the great, adamantium doors of the Eternity Gate as they ponderously creaked open. Bustling over the vast, tiled floor of the Sanctum, the tech-priest hastened obliviously past the Companions, those Custodes honored with the duty of guarding the Throne itself. Illustrious as they were, these noble guardians drew aside respectfully to allow him access, holding their spear-like weapons straight upright.



Pausing at the foot of the enormous dias holding the Throne, Hortensio calmed himself with a short mantra to the purity of the Machine, habitually running one finger over the mechanical implant that replaced his right eye and cheekbone. Though the Throne's inner workings held few wonders for his discerning eye, the Magos was nevertheless awed by the Emperor's divine presence. Keeping his sight humbly averted from the wasted body of his perfect liege, the priest shuffled silently around the vast bank of machinery that sustained Man's last hope, attentions fixed disapprovingly on the beautifully-engraved panel that he'd already had to open twice in the previous week.



Before Magos Hortensio could get to work, an ominous rumble, powerful enough to shake even the Sanctum Imperialis itself, ran through the Palace, seemingly originating from the Throne itself. There was an instant of relative quiet as the Companions drew their weapons near, preparing for trouble, and then a second, stronger quake arrived, this one nearly strong enough to knock Hortensio from his feet.



Even as he struggled to regain his balance, the Magos swept his gaze over the Golden Throne, heedless of all else. To his horror, warning runes flashed to life all over the sacred device! The tech-priest began using his mechadendrite to fling open hatches and access panels as rapidly as he could, futilely struggling to repair the damage as it occurred, but it took less than a minute for him to realize the awful truth: the Throne was failing, and he would never have enough time to stop it!



Frozen, Magos Hortensio turned his eye on the Emperor Himself. The wasted, decrepit shell lay unmoving upon its opulent seat, blood seeping from its eye sockets-



Wait. Blood?



Uncomprehending awe filled Hortensio, and all the Custodes assembled with him, as the Emperor's corpse slowly began to revivify. His skin, formerly dusty and cracked, grew pink and whole, mending itself atop newly restored fat and thinew. Within minutes, the Emperor of Man seemed physically whole again, though his gold-bedecked form had not stirred.



The entire galaxy seemed to stand still. Even the Companions stood immobile, hardly daring to draw breath, as they gazed upon the reborn body of their God-Emperor. Hortensio realized that he was shaking uncontrollably, despite the false youth of his rejuvenated body.



The Emperor's eyes flickered open, and He drew breath. As He exhaled, so too did the Custodes, and Magos Hortensio as well; it sounded as though the entire world was breathing a sigh of relief. Then the Companions and their fellow Custodes converged around the dais, many running through the Eternity Gate as it opened wide. The tech-priest remained rooted to the spot, staring.



As His servants knelt, the God-Emperor drew himself to his feet, surveying them sternly. As the only man not prostrating himself, Hortensio quickly drew His gaze. For the briefest instant, their eyes locked; then the Emperor's warmed, and the faintest flicker of a surprisingly gentle smile darted across His face, contrasting with His harshly beautiful features. Remembering himself, the Magos was immediately horrified by his own impudence, and hurled himself bodily to the floor, hastily mumbling contritions.



The Emperor's laughter, rich and warm, echoed throughout the vast chamber. He raised His armoured hands skyward, face shining with unrestrained joy, as a golden light began to radiate from around His head. The awed Custodes stared up at him, many with tear-streaked faces.



“Rise,” spoke the Emperor, and though His voice was soft, it seemed to Hortensio that it must have rung through the cosmos. The tech-priest remained huddling miserably on the floor, whispering prayers for forgiveness, until the command came again, more firmly this time.



Climbing to his feet, the Magos saw the God-Emperor removing His gauntlets; His Custodes, sensing His intent, were reaching out to help Him remove His golden armor. Hortensio marveled to see that beneath the adamantium plates and power circuitry lay strong, toned muscles and skin glowing with health. In just a few short minutes, the Emperor of Man stood totally naked, unashamed of Himself and glorious in the eyes of the faithful.



“Let there be no shame in this hall,” said the Emperor sternly, “for all those before Me are pure of faith, and faultless in My eyes.”



Slowly, eyes riveted on their deity, the Custodes began to remove their ceremonial armor and lay down their weapons. Though he hesitated for a moment, Hortensio did not dare to question the God-Emperor's will, and he doffed his robe and vestments. Soon, all the men in the vast hall of the Sanctum Imperialis were nude. Next to the thickly knotted muscle and impressive scars of the Custodes, and the divine perfection of the Emperor, the comparatively scrawny Magos felt rather insecure.



“Come to Me,” intoned the God-Emperor, “and lay your hands upon Me, that you may know My return with certainty.” He spread His arms wide, fixing His gaze unwaveringly upon His subjects as they drew near, though His eyes held no menace.



Though he desperately ached to touch the tips of his liege's fingers, to feel His flesh and bone with his own hands, Hortensio drew back. He knew that it was irrelevant now, but his failure to keep the Throne running in those final moments ate at him. Wracked by guilt, he stood aside and watched as the Custodes went to their God.



The warriors stretched out their hands, lightly placing their fingers upon the Emperor's flesh, feeling the harshly noble lines of His face, running their fingertips along His arms and chest. Through it all, their courage was bolstered by His unflinching presence; his calm spread to them, and they grew bolder. Before long, the Custodes were reverently tracing the shape of His muscular buttocks, and venturing even to touch His perfect manhood.



“It is fitting,” said the Emperor, His voice infinitely gentle, yet infinitely strong, “that after an eternity of hatred, My return should be greeted by love. Know this: as you have shown your love to Me through your service, so shall I hold nothing but love for you in My heart. You have given yourselves to Me utterly, and I shall reward you in kind.”



Before Magos Hortensio's astounded eyes, the Custodes began to press themselves against the Emperor and one another, their cocks growing and hardening. Even the tech-priest felt a stirring in his loins, for the Emperor's sublime beauty was enough to affect even his half-mechanical soul. The Emperor himself reached out for one of His faithful – Hortensio recognized him as the most senior of the Companions, with over seven hundred names, each hard-won – and drew the warrior's face to His perfect loins.



As the veteran guardian wrapped his lips reverently around the Emperor's throbbing shaft, the other Custodes surrendered the last of their inhibitions, and began sharing their masculine love in earnest. Encouraged by his liege, one of the boldest among them strode behind Him and pressed against His flawless asshole; the God-Emperor of Man leaned back against him with an expression of infinite peace upon His glorious, halo-lit features, running His fingers through the hair of the warrior worshiping His manhood.



On the dais surrounding the Golden Throne, the Custodes writhed in ecstatic harmony. Here, a newer recruit groaned lustily as he was taken roughly by a grizzled veteran of the Blood Games; there, two Companions lay beside one another, head-to-foot, each one eagerly accepting the other's manhood into his mouth.



The Emperor's chiseled body glistened with a sheen of sweat as the warrior behind Him reverently pushed deep into His holy ass again and again, while the veteran servant before Him had managed to take His mighty cock into his throat until his lips nearly touched its base. In spite of the primal nature of this mass-mating, Hortensio could not help thinking that it all seemed beautifully serene, like something that he might have seen on the cover of an illuminated manuscript. He took comfort in that thought as he succumbed to lust, masturbating shamefully like the basest of neophytes.



Finally, the God-Emperor sighed as He released His precious seed into the obedient mouth of His most experienced servant. Behind Him, the brave young warrior penetrating His hindquarters found that he could last no longer, and cried out a prayer as he released within the Emperor's innermost sanctum. All around them, the Custodes sighed and groaned as they found release in one anothers' arms, glorying in this purest expression of love for their brothers-in-arms. As he beheld this ineffably divine event, Magos Hortensio felt orgasm crashing over his remaining nerves, and gasped through his vox-mask as he splattered the beautiful mosaic tiles beneath him with droplets of ejaculate.



As his lung-filters rattled with the task of regaining his breath, and the Custodes drew their weary bodies up to pay fealty to their reborn Emperor, Hortensio felt a deep contentment steal over him. He had lived long enough to see the Emperor Himself rise from the Throne. He had carried out his duties without failure or regret for all his life, and he had been granted a greater reward than he had ever dreamed of. In this moment, his life was complete.