Forty Thousand Dicks

From his shining seat at the helm of the Final Destination, the God-Emperor of Man commanded his many armies. His piercing eyes scanned rapidly over the holographic display rotating lazily before him, picking out the subtle patterns that always emerged in mass warfare. At his left stood the tau Ethereal, Bish'O Nen, with whom he conferred regarding the movements of allied tau units. At his right stood Magos Hortensio, tasked with processing and managing the staggering number of Imperial units on the frontlines.

As the mechanical portion of his brain efficiently sifted through logistical data, Hortensio allowed his organic mind to reflect. It had been scarcely a year since the Emperor's awakening, and He had already managed to unite the Imperium, the tau, and many outlying races and cultures into an unstoppable military juggernaut. His mastery as a psyker was such that the Astronomican was no longer needed; as the greatest psychic juggernaut the Imperium had ever seen, beyond even the Alpha-level, the Emperor was visible from anywhere in the Warp, illuminating the whole galaxy with His divine light. His flagship even traveled safely without a Gellar field, for no daemon dared to approach the grand radiance of the God-Emperor's soul, and the Warp was as placid as an undisturbed lake in His presence.

The tech-priest peered at the hologram in front of him. It displayed the Eye of Terror and the surrounding space, orbited lazily by smaller, detailed holograms indicating Cadia and other flashpoints. He noted that Chaos had fielded an astonishingly large army, larger even than any Black Crusade... but, to his satisfaction, the angry red blips pinpointing their known forces were outnumbered by the blue, green, yellow, and violet sigils denoting Imperial units and their allies. The Emperor had left behind only enough troops to keep the orks, tyranid, and other threats at bay; in the meantime, the vastest combined fleet in the galaxy's known history had gathered here, prepared to strike a final blow against the Chaos Gods and all their ilk.

In studying the fleet deployments arrayed about the Eye, Hortensio gradually became aware of a potential weakness in the Chaos line. It was easy to miss, for it lay in one of the more fiercely-defended areas, but the potential existed for the Imperial fleet to commit a large number of ships to a rapid joint attack, potentially devastating a significant fraction of the Chaos fleet and smashing a hole in their defensive perimeter. He turned to relay this to his master.

“My liege,” said the Magos softly, his vox-mask humming as it projected his artificial voice, “I have found a possible point of ingress.”

The Emperor leaned forward, his eyes sharpening until it seemed that they would burn through anything caught in their gaze. “Show me.”

Hortensio reached out and, with the metal fingers of his left hand, charted out the unique opportunity he had observed. The hologram reacted to his subvocalized will, thrumming in tune with his vox-mask as he drew phantom copies of each unit to their intended locations. “...and while our losses will likely be minimal, the Chaos fleet will lose many ships, and will be very hard-pressed to close the breach without compromising itself on other fronts.”

The God-Emperor nodded slowly, straightening. “A sound plan, my friend. Give the order.”

The Magos relayed the command through the ship's vox, signaling the attack. He returned his eyes, one fleshly, the other a lens of rare crystal, to the display. From the relative peace of the Final Destination's bridge, Hortensio watched quietly as the tiny icons began to wink out, one by one.

-***-

“Protect the Final Destination at all costs,” bellowed Bish'O. As his orders were repeated to the various commanders of the tau fleet, their sophisticated ships began moving into position to hold back the approaching Chaos vessels, buying time for the Emperor's ship and its escort to finish hurtling through the Cadian Gate and strike into the Eye of Terror itself.

“That's a dangerous move,” warned Hortensio. “Many of your people will die.”

Nen did not reply immediately, but when he did, his face was grave. “I know that. Every tau, regardless of caste, understands that sacrifice is sometimes a necessary part of progress. Their deaths will not be in vain – we will have peace. At last, we will have peace.”

The Magos nodded, though he still felt a pang of regret. Having never undergone the Rite of Pure Thought, his emotions remained intact, and he found pity and sorrow to be particularly hard ones to silence. He did not have long to think on it, however.

“Prepare yourselves,” spoke the Emperor. “Soon, I shall draw the Eye around us, and the final battle will begin.”

Hortensio steeled himself as the God-Emperor raised his gold-gauntleted hands, slowly becoming enveloped in a corona of blinding light. In the ship's viewscreen, the bizarre, many-colored clouds of the Eye of Terror suddenly shifted and warped; in their depths, unspeakably vast horrors writhed and thrashed, belching black smoke and bilious vomit into space. The Emperor redoubled his efforts, forcing the bridge crew to turn from his searing radiance, and the tech-priest was shocked to see that the misty expanse leading into the realm of Chaos was drawing apart.

“This will be a terrible struggle,” said the Emperor of Man, his voice perfectly calm. “It is likely that I will die, but you must hold the Final Destination here regardless of what befalls me.”

Horrified, Magos Hortensio opened his mouth to speak, but his voice died as he saw the mind-warping insanity emerging from the Eye. It seemed as though space itself was being invaded by a pulsating, nightmarish monstrosity, all eyes and tendrils and gnashing teeth, greater in size than a hundred suns laid end to end. And still it approached!

“Leave me,” commanded the Emperor. “Only I can look upon the true face of the Warp without being stricken mad.” The bridge crew hastily obliged, rushed headlong into the access corridors. Bish'O Nen reached out a trembling hand to caress the God-Emperor's radiant face before retreating as well.

Hortensio remained where he was, staring resolutely at the crime against reality unfolding itself across the viewscreen. “I mean no disrespect, my perfect liege,” he whispered, “but I have never left your side, and I never will. If my mind is to be blasted from my skull, then so be it; I will die knowing that I have served you well.”

After an instant's silence, the Emperor replied softly: “Let it be so.”

The Final Destination began to shake horribly as tendrils of corrupt energy lanced forth from the flesh of the Warp-born behemoth, slamming into its hull and stripping away its armor. Though he was certain that he would shortly meet his end, the Magos gathered his rich, red robe about himself and waited, utterly calm. “It is ironic,” he thought, “that I should sorrow over the deaths of others, but feel little concern over my own.” He drew back his hood, revealing his fine features and salt-and-pepper hair, and looked placidly upon the doom of reality, content in his fate.

A moment later, the bridge consoles exploded into showers of sparks and scything metal as arcs of vile energy burst from them. A howling wind, carrying the screams of a thousand trillion murdered souls, tore through the room, nearly drowning out the tech-priest's earnest hymn to the ship's machine-spirit. As he finished his intonation, Hortensio heard behind him a heavy, metallic sound, accompanied by a tremor like the footstep of a distant Titan.

Turning, the Magos came face-to-face with a towering, red-and-brass-clad traitor Marine, standing tall amidst a white-hot section of melted floor tiling – the telltale sign of a precision teleport. The brute's pauldrons and bracers were missing; his enormous, scarred arms, each nearly as wide as a tree trunk, were completely bare from the shoulders down. In one hand, the traitor carried a monstrously large chain-axe, far too heavy for any normal man to lift with both arms. In the other, he wielded an ancient plasma pistol. In a flash of insight, the tech-priest recalled the figure from the forbidden records that he had perused at the Emperor's insistence: this was Khârn the Betrayer, the foremost champion of the Blood God, Khorne!

Without a second thought, Hortensio interposed himself between the intruder and the unmoving Emperor, whose attention was completely fixed on battling the monster emerging from the Eye of Terror. The Betrayer raised his pistol as he advanced, intent on blasting aside this insolent pest, but a single, sharply-uttered admonition from the Magos set the weapon's machine-spirit cowering, and it clicked uselessly when the trigger was pulled.

An instant passed, then Khârn dropped the precious artifact and seized his horrible axe with both hands. His thews bulged as he wound up for a massive overhand swing which would surely pulp the bookish tech-priest in an instant. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” roared the traitor Marine.

“No,” spoke Hortensio, and the axe's chain-mechanism instantly whirred to life, whirring out of control. Before the Betrayer had finished swinging it over his head, the monstrous weapon exploded, its corrupted inner mechanisms blasted asunder by the will of the Omnissiah. Khârn stood unarmed, glaring hatefully at the red-robed figure, the Emperor's light reflecting brightly from his armor's brass trim.

“This is the eve of eternity,” said the Magos, speaking with an authority that he had never known he was capable of. “In this place, no weapons, nor lies, nor ancient technology can stand. This is Man's finest hour – yes, even yours, Betrayer – and only through our own strength can either of us hope to prevail.”

The traitor strode forward, growling, but the Emperor's radiance seemed to cause him terrible pain; he staggered and drew back, snarling, before he could crush the tech-priest in his inhumanly strong hands. Hortensio shook his head. “Khorne cannot grant you his fury, lost warrior. He is facing the Emperor of Man, and will inevitably die to him.” Hearkening back to the Emperor's rebirth, he began to formulate a bold, dangerous idea. “If you truly wish to test your strength – to claim victory by the strength of your arm, and to win glory by your own hand – you must face me in single combat.”

Khârn glared in silence, ornate helmet gleaming. It was impossible to tell whether he was confused, astonished, or merely furious.

Drawing apart his robe to let it fall to the floor, Hortensio stepped forward, preparing to make his final sacrifice. “If you wish to slay the Emperor, you must prove that you possess strength enough to stand alone, and passion enough to find purpose without a god to serve. Crush my will, and force me to acknowledge you as the better. If you can compel me to surrender, the Emperor's light will not burn you, for it only harms those who lack courage.”

The Betrayer bristled at this, and Hortensio smiled inwardly, seeing that his ploy was working. Closing the distance between them with a single step, Khârn seized him in both hands and did his best to crush him to pulp, but found that all the strength went out of him when he did so. The brute tried again, and again, but each time he willed his fingers to crush the naked Mechanicus priest, his body rebelled against him.

“Khârn.” Hortensio's voice was like the echo of a forgotten memory. “You cannot slay me. You must subjugate me utterly, or you will never taste victory.” Slowly, understanding dawned on the Berzerker. Though he balked initially, his overwhelming hatred of the Emperor drove him onward. Releasing the tech-priest, the Betrayer reached down to his waist, sank his bare fingers into the ceramite plates of his groin armor, and ripped it asunder with a roar, leaving his manhood exposed.

Though the sight of the enormous member sent the Magos' emotional side into a panic, he instantly quelled his flesh with the serene certainty of the Machine. Looking up into the glinting eye-lenses of Khârn's battle helmet, he spread his arms wide. “Come then, Betrayer. Let us finish it.”

With an inhuman bellow of rage, the traitor roughly grabbed Magos Hortensio and lifted him easily into the air. Bending slightly to maintain his balance, the Chaos champion pressed his hulking penis at the entrance to the tech-priest's ass, then slowly pulled him closer, impaling him inch by massive inch.

Where a lesser man would have succumbed to pain and humiliation, Hortensio remained serenely resolute. Even as Khârn wrapped a hand around either of the smaller man's legs – encircling them completely – and began viciously driving into him with punishing thrusts, the Magos continued to stare defiantly into his eyes. The former marine's anger built with each passing moment. This impudent pawn of the false Emperor was making him look weak!

Abandoning his hold on the tech-priest's legs, the Betrayer wrapped his hands around the man's torso, all but covering it. Holding his enemy's lean body firmly, he began slowly drawing almost all the way out of him, then driving his cock in to the hilt, intending to knock the air from his lungs and exhaust him using brute force. Though the bridge echoed with a loud slap of flesh-on-flesh with each thrust, Magos Hortensio spared nothing more than a soft grunt each time... and he still would not close his eyes or look away.

Maddened, Khârn abandoned all pretense of subtlety. Bracing one massive foot against a destroyed console, he adjusted his grip and began rapidly shaking the Magos' entire body up and down, as though masturbating with a living toy. Though Hortensio's head and limbs flailed with the rapidity of the assault, and increasingly urgent gasps escaped from his lips, he refused to break eye contact.

After punishing the tech-priest for another fifteen minutes without any sign of change, the Betrayer began to experience an unpleasant, almost forgotten sensation: doubt. He did not understand how such an obviously weak man could endure his fury. The lost marine dragged the Magos down, pressing against him, hip-to-ass, as he bottomed out, and paused for the briefest moment as his failure began to nag at him.

Perhaps sensing their last Champion's doubt, the Chaos Gods chose that moment for a final, desperate intervention. The Final Destination rocked horribly as a sudden psychic assault caused the Emperor's divine light to falter for an instant. Though he immediately renewed his attack against the Ruinous Powers, that momentary respite had bought them enough time to wreak insidious magics upon the servant of Khorne.

Khârn roared with unholy might as his armor warped and exploded, sending fragments flying all over the bridge. His flesh warped and tore as long, fleshy tentacles emerged from all over his body, waving and writhing grotesquely around him. Momentarily distracted from the cock wedged deep in his protesting ass, Magos Hortensio could see that his greatest trial was at hand. If he could withstand this Possessed Champion's final onslaught, nothing would stop the Emperor for smiting the Chaos Gods and closing the Eye of Terror forever. Steeling himself, the tech-priest spared a glance at his beloved God-Emperor to bolster his courage, then locked eyes with the newly mutated Betrayer.

Wrapping his slimy tendrils around the mortal's limbs, the Chaos Champion drew him into a spreadeagle position, leering horribly as he did so. Tainted Warp energy crackled from Khârn's eyes as he sent a pair of tentacles slithering along Hortensio's torso to tease his nipples, while another two crept up to his face. The first of these forced its way into his mouth as the second wound around his head, covering his eyes and ears. Utterly bound and unable to see, hear, or speak, the Magos faced his darkest hour with what little dignity he could muster: he did not struggle, nor did he utter a single whimper, as the newly-crowned Champion of Chaos Undivided held him at his mercy.

But Khârn was not yet finished. Another slimy tendril twined around the Magos' penis, gently stimulating it. The tech-priest's face flushed crimson as, to his shame, he felt himself growing erect, Merciless, the Betrayer used the tentacle to wank the distressed Mechanicus priest, its slimy excretions serving as effective lubricant. Satisfied at this turn of events, the dark warrior cackled and withdrew his throbbing cock, hoisting his enemy into the air with the unnaturally strong tentacles holding his arms and legs.

As soon as Hortensio felt the intrusion in his ass withdraw, he knew what was to come. Hardening his heart, he marshaled every last scrap of willpower, and when he felt the first of Khârn's tentacles begin probing at his vulnerable hindquarters, he did not flinch.

Seeing this, Khârn took his time penetrating the immobile mortal. The fleshy tendril slowly worked its way deeper and deeper into his ass, shivering with vile undulations as it did so, much to the tech-priest's discomfort. When the first of them had found its way deep inside of Hortensio, the Betrayer brought a second to bear, then a third.

Stretched to his limit and stimulated from within by an unholy abomination of Chaos, Hortensio felt his will begin to falter. He moaned, then sobbed, through the spongy mass filling his mouth, writhing helplessly as the assault on his senses continued. The tentacle stimulating his cock kept him perpetually on the verge of release, leaving him aching for it. Meanwhile, the three in his ass rubbed insistently against his prostate, massaging it roughly with their constant wriggling. For a moment, the tech-priest was certain that he would lose his mind, submit, and fail his liege.

Khârn observed his prey, smiling wickedly as he began to weaken. “NOW, SERVANT OF THE FALSE EMPEROR, YOU SEE THE TRUE POWER OF CHAOS.” He thrust the three tentacles in Hortensio's ass a little deeper to illustrate his point, earning a strangled gasp. “BUT I'M A REASONABLE GUY. GIVE UP, AND I'LL TELL THE DARK MECHANICUS TO HIRE YOU. YOU CAN SPEND ETERNITY WORSHIPING MACHINES OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU PEOPLE DO.”

At the thought of voluntarily turning away from his Emperor – the Emperor that had promised him absolute, unflinching love, without shame or regret – Magos Hortensio felt ill. He resolved that he would overcome this wicked servant of Chaos, or die in the attempt. There would be no surrender.

For nearly an hour, Khârn the Betrayer ravished the helpless tech-priest. Three times, he freed the smaller man's mouth to offer him the chance to beg for mercy; three times, Hortensio calmly told the Possessed Champion exactly where to put his offer. Finally, after hurling every erg of power he had into the struggle, after pouring his all into breaking the insolent Magos' will, Khârn felt another long-forgotten sensation, this one horrible in its familiarity: fatigue.

Realizing that nothing he could do would overcome his opponent's courage, the lost Marine was filled with grudging respect. Mutated beyond recovery and exhausted to his limits, he released Hortensio, laying his aching, battered, ooze-covered body on the ground. As the tentacle around his face withdrew, the tech-priest opened his eyes, and locked gazes with Khârn once more, defiant to the last.

“WELL,” said Khârn, with a great sigh, “I TRIED. I GUESS YOU WON THIS ROUND.”

Parting lips caked with sinister fluid, the Magos spoke hoarsely. “Just like that?”

Khârn shrugged. “BELIEVE ME, THIS ISN'T EASY FOR ME. I REALLY BELIEVED THAT CHAOS WAS THE WAY TO GO, YOU KNOW?”

Hortensio stared at the hulking mutant for a full minute before turning to look upon the radiant form of the God-Emperor.

“What a guy,” he croaked, and slipped into merciful unconsciousness. As he slept, he dreamed that he saw a towering figure clad all in gold, tearing asunder four dreadful spirits and slaying all the evil in the galaxy. His sleeping body gradually began to shimmer, until a golden halo had formed around his head – the mark of a Living Saint.

Khârn fidgeted absentmindedly as he watched the Final Destination's viewscreen. He did not comment when the dreadful mass of warped flesh emerging from the Eye of Terror began to collapse upon itself, nor when it was consumed by the fog. He said nothing when the Eye began to glow from within with a golden light, nor when it exploded in a massive nova of blinding light, leaving nothing but empty space in its place. But when the Emperor returned to his body, opening his eyes as the radiant glow faded from him, the Betrayer finally spoke.

“OKAY, THAT WAS PRETTY COOL.”