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(A/N: Chapter 114 will soon be on Patreon!)
(Al is gonna meet a special someone here despite the circumstances he finds himself in.)
Alastor was falling once again, crashing down into what looked like an intricate and impossibly complex, ever-changing crystal labyrinth.
Getting back to his feet he saw shifting hallways, winding passages, massive towers of marble and crystal stretched endlessly in every direction.
Still somewhat disoriented from enduring Slaanesh's divine touch, Alastor gritted his teeth and used his Psionics to once more repair his mental shields and forcibly calm his frayed nerves.
Wary of the labyrinth, but having no choice except to move forward, he cautiously advanced while keeping his senses peeled for any ambush.
He passed through countless chambers, hallways, and vast libraries, each etched with strange runes and sigils that seemed to exist in a constant state of disorienting change while subtly beckoning him to read them.
Alastor merely growled and continued onward.
Along the way, he encountered Daemons of Tzeentch—Pink Horrors, Blue Horrors, Fluxmasters, Changecasters, and Fateskimmers—who either attempted to attack him or tempt him with whispered promises.
Alastor only sneered at such attempts. Instead of calling upon his sacred flames, he relied solely on his Psionics, using telekinesis to crush the daemons beneath immense psychic pressure or blast them apart with invisible force.
He also conjured a telekinetic barrier around himself, redirected incoming attacks with precise movements of his mind, and even manifested two psychic energy blades for close-quarters combat.
Since everything around him was composed entirely of Warp energy, he couldn't use some of the more exotic applications of his Psionics.
It also didn't help that he had grown accustomed to using his Psionics in tandem with his magic.
(A/N: Alastor's method of spellcasting is currently unique to him, as he uses a hybrid system that combines his Psionics with traditional spell weaving to cast his spells.)
Then Alastor heard another "voice."
This one was vastly different from Slaanesh's, yet no less sinister. Worse still, he couldn't even determine what the voice truly sounded like, as it seemed to constantly shift and change.
"Marvelous! I wondered what that harlot saw while you were in her realm to make her so enthusiastic, but I think I'm beginning to understand. You are quite the treasure trove of surprises, aren't you, spawn of the Anathema?"
"Tzeentch, I presume?"
"It is one of my more well-known names, yes."
Tzeentch's voice laughed in a discordant chorus as the surroundings rapidly transformed.
The labyrinth vanished, replaced by an endless expanse of dark blue crystal beneath a star-filled sky that would have been beautiful if not for the unsettling sensation that every single star was an enormous eye staring directly at him.
"Tell me, demigod. What is that power you used? It resembles sorcery, yet the way it behaves reminds me somewhat of those Star Gods."
"Star Gods?" Alastor repeated, confused by the unfamiliar term as he remained vigilant, carefully scanning his surroundings.
"Hahaha... Oh no, perhaps I shouldn't have said that. Or perhaps I should have? Join us, and I will gladly tell you about them—and so much more. Knowledge beyond what even the greatest seekers of wisdom could ever dream of."
"You can shove that offer right up your arse!"
"Pity. But no matter. You'll come around soon enough. We have plenty of time together."
"Gah!"
Alastor clutched his head in agony as countless visions flooded his mind—horrors, forbidden knowledge, impossible futures, and endless possibilities.
"Let me witness what you are truly capable of, little godling... before you become one with us."
Reality twisted before him.
A towering Daemon of Tzeentch materialized, standing nearly twenty-two meters tall. Its grotesque, bloated body writhed with countless mutations and wriggling tentacles, while more than a dozen eyes fixed their unblinking gaze upon him.
Despite the splitting pain in his skull, Alastor's eyes widened at the revolting yet terrifying monstrosity.
He instantly summoned his wings and shot into the air, narrowly avoiding a barrage of tentacles that lashed out with impossible speed and cratered the ground he was just standing on.
"Oh? So these are the flames that have been killing my servants. Hmm... I can certainly see why they are considered dangerous." Tzeentch mused with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing an experiment.
Growling, Alastor charged the daemonic behemoth while weaving between its lightning-fast tentacles.
His psychic blades flashed, severing several appendages, only for them to regenerate almost instantly.
Seeing this, Alastor narrowed his eyes.
Rather than retreat, he surged forward once more and drove both blades deep into the daemon's bloated flesh before flooding its body with his sacred flames.
The monstrosity unleashed an ear-piercing screech of agony as holy fire rapidly consumed it from within before its massive body exploded in a brilliant inferno.
"Haha! Yes! You will be quite entertaining to keep around. I just know it."
Before Alastor could retort, the very fabric of space twisted around him, and he was abruptly teleported away.
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Alastor couldn't believe he would ever say it, but he actually missed the Crystal Labyrinth and even the Land of Pleasure.
Anything was preferable to the place he now found himself in.
Especially the horrid stench!
The realm resembled a colossal, toxic swamp intertwined with a festering forest covered in rotting vines, corrupted fungi, and foul, stagnant lakes.
Dense swarms of black flies filled the air while glowing spores drifted lazily through the sickly atmosphere.
The Garden of Nurgle.
"Oh, child, are you awake? Good! I have a brand-new concoction I just finished. I'm certain you'll love it."
A festering, slimy, and utterly revolting voice spoke with disturbing affection.
Alastor glared up at the bloated, lumbering form of the Chaos God himself, who had taken the appearance of a colossal Great Unclean One.
In one massive hand, he held a black bowl filled with an ominous broth composed of whatever cursed plague he had most recently concocted.
When Alastor had first arrived in this realm, he had immediately vomited in sheer disgust at the twisted, putrid landscape.
Worms and maggots writhed endlessly through the rotting mulch beneath his feet. Swarms of thick black flies nearly blotted out the sickly green sky, while diseased, flesh-eating trees stretched their twisted branches toward the heavens.
Everything, from the air to the very ground, was diseased and constantly trying to infect anything that wasn't already part of the putrid, perverse cycle.
Alastor had to continuously cloak himself in the aura of his sacred flames to drive the corruption away, which thankfully proved effective.
After that, Alastor didn't hesitate to unleash his sacred flames upon everything around him without restraint!
He fought bravely, destroying countless daemons before mental and physical exhaustion finally caught up with him.
Everything he had endured had already pushed him to his limits, and he was now being assaulted by multiple powerful Daemons of Nurgle who, within the Warp, could unleash their full strength upon him.
That wasn't even considering the fact that, within the Garden itself, their power was amplified even further.
Eventually, after being overwhelmed and beaten unconscious, he was dragged to the center of the Garden.
There stood a decrepit, rusted manse where Nurgle endlessly toiled over his massive black cauldron, forever stirring and concocting new diseases.
As punishment for the devastation Alastor had inflicted upon the Garden, Nurgle imprisoned him in what the Chaos God considered a "time-out," much to Alastor's disgust at the malevolent deity's twisted sense of affection.
Like the previous two Chaos Gods, Nurgle also offered Alastor a place among them.
"You hold so much love, Alastor, and your loyalty to your family is admirable. So why not accept my love as well? Here, we are all one big family, and once you become a part of us, you too shall be one of my beloved children."
"You'll never feel pain again, nor will you have to bear the heavy burdens that you and those you love have placed upon you."
Suffice it to say, Alastor's answer was an vehement refusal.
Nurgle merely smiled indulgently, as though humoring a stubborn child who simply didn't know any better but eventually would.
If there was one thing Nurgle possessed in abundance, it was patience... and his own warped version of love for his "children".
From then on, Alastor remained imprisoned within the manse.
Every few days—or what felt like days, considering time within the Warp was impossible to measure—Nurgle would return to demonstrate the greatest expression of his "love" and "care."
Unfortunately for Alastor, Nurgle's idea of love came in the form of newly created diseases, each one specifically tailored to exploit his Primarch physiology.
Every forced dose wracked Alastor's body with unimaginable torment, each affliction different from the last. Eventually, his sacred flames would purge the disease from his system, and his healing factor would repair whatever damage remained.
Alastor had long since lost count of how many times he had been forced to endure these agonizing episodes as Warp-borne pathogens ravaged his body, mind, and soul.
Yet despite losing all sense of how long he had spent within these accursed realms, Alastor remained as stubborn and defiant as ever. If anything, the relentless pain only fueled his hatred of Chaos.
Yet not once did Alastor refuse to drink the concoctions, even when they subjected him to some of the worst agony he had ever experienced.
And that was mainly because of his fellow prisoner...
Alastor was confined within a massive black cage covered in wicked barbs deep inside the manse.
Currently, he was on his hands and knees after ingesting Nurgle's latest "broth." His body was once again wracked with agony, his strength rapidly fading while his senses grew increasingly sluggish.
Nurgle watched with fascinated delight as his newest disease took effect upon the Primarch.
Then Alastor gritted his teeth and roared.
His sacred flames erupted from his soul, bursting through his body and incinerating the Warp-borne disease to ash.
Moments later, the flames receded, leaving Alastor panting heavily as his healing factor began repairing the damage all over again.
"Another wonderful gift has been conceived this day thanks to the two of us, Alastor," Nurgle said jovially, sounding like a grandfather proudly showing off a project he had completed with his beloved grandson.
"It is always delightful to have variety when testing the potency of my creations. Your resilience is admirable, and your flames make for an excellent tool with which to gauge the effectiveness of my diseases."
"Unlike someone else, I find you to be a far more suitable first recipient for my creations. Once you join our pantheon, you and I shall have all the time in eternity to craft even more marvelous "gifts" for the mortals of the galaxy."
The gigantic, disease-ridden god laughed heartily before returning to his immense cauldron, allowing its vile contents to be drained away so they could be unleashed upon realspace, where countless more souls could receive his "gifts."
As Nurgle lumbered out of the black manse, another occupant of the cage approached Alastor.
She gently cradled him in her arms, softly stroking his head as warm, soothing energy flowed from her hands, easing the lingering pain while accelerating his body's recovery.
"Why do you always do this to yourself?"
Her voice was gentle, soothing, and beautiful.
Its owner was even more so.
Holding Alastor was an extraordinarily beautiful and voluptuous elven woman with long, vibrant crimson hair and emerald-green eyes. She wore an elegant yet simple white robe that did little to conceal her ethereal beauty.
This was Alastor's fellow prisoner and the one with whom he shared his current "dwelling."
Isha, the Eldar Goddess of Life, Healing, Fertility, and the Harvest.
Alastor, in turn, gave her—or at least attempted to give her—a confident grin.
"Piece of cake. Besides, I can handle whatever he dishes out at me by now."
"Your condition says otherwise."
She tried to sound chiding, but the slight twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement.
"So? Everyone falls down once in a while. It's the ones who keep getting back up, no matter how many times they're knocked down, who embody what it truly means to be a warrior."
Alastor chuckled wryly as he grunted and pulled himself into a sitting position.
Isha simply sighed, though a warm smile remained on her face.
"You are quite stubborn, aren't you?"
"Only when it comes to the things I believe in. That doesn't mean I won't keep an open mind or listen to what others have to say."
Isha couldn't help but look at the strange human who had unintentionally entered her life.
Even while imprisoned, her perception was not something that could be so easily suppressed. She knew that some major event was unfolding throughout the Realms of Chaos.
It wasn't long before she met the one at the center of those disturbances, as his unconscious form was dragged into the manse and thrown into the very cage that already housed her.
Primarch.
Son of the Anathema.
Wrathful Angel.
Those were just some of the names the Daemons of Nurgle used when referring to him.
It didn't take her long to realize he was human—or rather, something far beyond an ordinary human.
Most likely a human demigod, albeit one whose physiology was unlike anything she had ever encountered in all the ages she had lived.
And she had lived for a very long time.
She couldn't help but find it amusing that, when he finally regained consciousness, he immediately sprang to his feet with a furious snarl, ready to attack the first person—or rather, daemon—he laid eyes upon.
Instead, he found himself staring at her.
His fury vanished, replaced by utter confusion.
After all, he had expected to wake up surrounded by diseased daemons and unbearable body odor.
Why, then, was he instead greeted by an unfairly beautiful elven woman with a figure capable of making even the most devout priest of the Holy Light cast aside every shred of dignity?
Alastor, having already endured the attentions of three of the four Chaos Gods, and Isha, who had suffered alone in captivity ever since the Fall of the Aeldari in the early 30th Millennium, did not take long to grow close.
Most of their time was spent together in talks like Alastor telling her about Azeroth, it's history and heroes while Isha told him about the Old Aeldari Empire when the Eldar were still the noble race they once were.
Alastor was stunned to discover her true identity.
Likewise, Isha was astonished to learn that Alastor had survived the attention of Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and now Nurgle without breaking or succumbing, stubbornly clinging to his own indomitable will.
She knew all too well how cruel and malicious each of the Chaos Gods could be, especially when they sought to claim a mortal for themselves.
Within their own realms, the psychological and spiritual pressure of their domains reached levels that few beings could hope to endure.
The fact that the young man before her still possessed the strength to stand tall spoke volumes about the extraordinary nature of his soul.
In fact, she knew with absolute certainty that even Eldanesh, the greatest of the Aeldari heroes and a demigod in his own right, would not have endured everything Alastor had already suffered.
Alastor rolled his sore shoulders before giving her a grateful nod.
"Once again, I can't thank you enough for taking care of me. Without your healing powers, I would've had to endure that period of weakness for much longer than I'd have liked."
"Stop that."
Isha sighed before gently caressing his cheek, sadness and lingering guilt filling her emerald eyes.
"Compared to everything you're enduring for my sake, despite your own grim circumstances, this isn't even enough to repay a fraction of what I owe you."
"I told you, there's nothing to thank me for."
Alastor dismissed her concern with an easy smile.
"I'd make a rather poor knight if I saw a fair maiden in distress and didn't do my best to ease her suffering."
His exaggeratedly gallant tone made it clear he was only half-serious.
He was simply trying to keep her from worrying about him.
Alastor had learned that Isha, besides being Nurgle's prisoner after being "rescued" from Slaanesh following the Birth of Slaanesh—
(The sheer amount of horseshit packed into that single sentence was staggering.)
—had also unwillingly become the primary test subject for every new disease and concoction brewed within Nurgle's Black Cauldron.
Whenever the Plague God created something new, Isha would be forced to ingest it while Nurgle observed the results.
If the concoction proved disappointing, he discarded it. If it was successful, it was drained from the cauldron and unleashed upon realspace.
Since Isha was a Goddess of Life and Healing she wouldn't die from ingesting them and would even be able to heal herself perfectly but it didn't change the fact that she was going through constant torment.
Nurgle viewed all of this as an expression of affection.
His own twisted, toxic brand of "love."
To him, every plague and disease was a precious gift to be shared with mortals, daemons, and anyone else fortunate enough to receive his blessings.
Alastor had been utterly horrified when he learned the truth.
From that day onward, whenever Nurgle arrived bearing another vile concoction, Alastor would drink it himself, sparing Isha from yet another round of unimaginable torment.
Much to Isha's horror and guilt, she watched her newest companion willingly subject himself to agonizing torture time and time again for her sake.
Yet alongside that horror, she couldn't deny the warmth she felt at his unwavering resolve.
There were parts of him that reminded her of her fellow gods.
His heart possessed a kindness much like her own, while his indomitable will reminded her of Khaine's—though thankfully without the War God's overwhelming thirst for slaughter.
Where Isha felt gratitude and concern, however, Nurgle felt only joy.
After all, from his perspective, Alastor was eagerly accepting his "gifts."
(Did he not notice the murderous hatred in Alastor's eyes every single time he looked at him!?)
Nurgle, on the other hand, had grown deeply disappointed with Isha.
After "saving" her from Slaanesh and granting her the privilege of becoming the first recipient of countless wonderful creations, he had eventually discovered that she had been secretly whispering their cures to the mortal races.
How could she do such a thing?
Was she truly so "selfish" that she would deny the inhabitants of the mortal realms the opportunity to partake in his marvelous gifts?
Seeing such an unexpectedly "selfish" side of the otherwise gentle goddess had left Nurgle quite cross.
As punishment, he had stopped making her the first to sample his newest creations.
(A/N: The fact that he considers that a punishment...)
Fortunately, he now had someone else who could test his diseases in her place.
Better yet, unlike Slaanesh or Tzeentch, Alastor appeared to "enthusiastically" accept every concoction placed before him.
Surely, if that wasn't proof that the young Primarch was becoming more receptive to joining Chaos, then what was?
Love and patience.
Those were the answer!
(A/N: Alastor very lovingly wants to annihilate you until not even the smallest fragment of your essence remains.)
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