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“Give thanks to The God-Emperor, for His light protects us all.”
Sister Seresa knew these words well. It was the first lesson taught in her time at the priory, when she was brought into service of the Master of Mankind. A simple maxim, a reminder of where her faith should be directed in all things. It was effortless to internalize at such a young age. The charred bodies of heretics that adorned the wasteland beyond the walls made clear the fate of any who would question this truth.
Other phrases followed over the years, hymns and litanies and commandments, each building upon the last. She kept these teachings in mind as she worked and toiled and prayed, His sacred visage always watchful from the mosaics and stained-glass windows of the priory. Every waking moment was dedicated to service and worship, every meal and evening prayer beginning with the same words.
“Give thanks to The God-Emperor, for His light protects us all.”
So fervent was her devotion that she chose to have it engraved into her flesh on the day of her initiation into the sisterhood. It was a secret treasure, etched across her back in golden filigree, nearly sinful in its excess. The mother-superior would have been furious if it was discovered, yet her newfound freedom surely afforded her such indulgences. Such was the way among the other sisters, and who was she to deny herself such a well-earned prize?
Hidden away beneath robes and sacred ceramite, the litany followed her wherever she went. Her first vigil, the defense of Hive Secundus, the extermination of the Pauper Prince cult, all enacted with His words filling her mind and body. Each evening she would pray with the others of her unit, their voices filling the hall with their cacophony. Jubilation and gratitude punctuated the echoed cries of their devotion, their bodies warm against the firelight and marred with self-inflicted scars. To suffer was to prove one’s reverence after all, and her turn to show her veneration soon followed.
“Give thanks to The God-Emperor, for His light protects us all.”
She remembered well the first night she had taken up the scourge. It was a simple instrument, sharpened bone rods bound in braids of holy jute, spilling forth from the leather handle like the hair of a beast. She was familiar with the sensation of pain, the disciplinary rods of the mothers fresh in her mind even then. Yet nothing could have prepared her for the first time she swung the braids up and over her naked shoulder.
The sting was unlike any she had felt before. There was no thud or cracking noise of wood against fingers, but instead a gentle swish of chording through air. The rope hit first, long whips along her shoulderblade welting the skin beneath with their scratchy material. Osseous spikes sunk into her flesh with ease, biting and clawing at her unworthy form with all the grace of a wild dog. The agony tore through her soul, sending tears and drool down her face and blurring her vision. Yet in the glare she still saw the light from the torches, His light, grounding her in this moment of hardship. Her cries were equal parts torment and ecstasy, the device pulling from her flesh and sending ripples through her core. Warm blood trickled down her back, staining the stones and filling her with a desperate fire.
That was the day she truly tasted His touch for the first time. It would become another companion in her service, joining with the words across her back, miraculously unmarred by the scourge’s bite.
“Give thanks to The God-Emperor, for Their light protects us all.”
....
Sister Seresa stood outside the chamber of Sister Casia, clad only in her robes as requested by her superior. Here in the dark of night she waited, shifting left and right in an impatient dance of nerves. She was in no position to refuse the Dogmata’s summons, nor could she bring herself to deny the will of such a fervent servant of their lord.
It was not long before the door opened, admitting her to the darkened quarters within. In the center was a long wooden table, covered in stains and arrayed with manacles. Along the walls sat whips and chains and skewers and all manner of items to evoke the truth. Tucked in the corner was a small bed covered with a thin blanket, the only sign of comfort in this chamber of righteous wrath.
Seresa looked up at the far wall, gazing briefly at the image of The God-Emperor in the glass. His eyes seemed to follow her every move, the sound of the door locking behind her sending a shiver down her spine.
“Sister Seresa, remove your robe and lay on your back upon the carven altar.” Casia’s voice from behind her offered no room for argument.
She quickly pulled the cloth over her head, depositing the garment beside the table to reveal her naked body. A tapestry of scars adorned her, some self-inflicted and others earned in battle. They all painted her in His glory, but none as well as the words across her back, impeccably pristine as they were on the day she had received them.
“Give thanks to The God-Emperor, for Their light protects us all.”
With practiced grace she clambered onto the table, taking care to move as calmly as possible. The wood was old and unpolished, knots and burrs poking into her flesh with a pleasant urging. She twisted around and lay as still as she could, staring up at the empty ceiling while waiting for further instruction. Silent hands pulled her arms above her head before locking her wrists into the waiting restraints. Her ankles were similarly bound, spreading her legs and denying her what little modesty she possessed. Seresa offered no resistance, no denial of her sister’s will. Within minutes her body lay exposed to the universe, a twinge of pelvic muscles bringing a new rush of anticipation.
The visage of Casia entered her sight, a well-coiffed bob of white hair framing a scarred face. “Seresa, I have reason to believe that you are harboring heretical thoughts.”
A great fear struck her heart, the horror of the accusation sending guilt and shame into her mind. “Sister-”
The rod lashed across her thighs, faster than she could see. Words froze in her throat, new welts cutting across the scars from her youth.
“You will address me as Dogmata, Seresa.” There was a cold comfort in the truth of the order. “You have lost the privilege of calling me sister.”
“Y-yes, Dogmata.” Seresa breathed slowly through the fading sting.
“I have been watching you for some time now, Seresa. Your movements, your actions, the quiet words you utter when you think none can hear you.” Casia seemed to circle her, the superior’s face always within her vision, twisting around in a spiral like a predator circling prey. “But the God-Emperor always hears, always watches. You have begun to stray from His light, from His will. I have asked you here so that I may give you, in the name of the Master of Mankind, the correction that you require.”
“I, I don’t understand, Dogmata.” Seresa struggled to hide the terror in her voice, all too aware of what the woman above was authorized to do to heretics. “I am sinful, and beg for your correction, yet I cannot see the actions you have seen. I cannot glean what your eye has-”
Another blow with the rod, this time across her chest. Her cry bounced along the walls in a discordant ring. Fresh tears dripped from her eyes onto the wooden table below, muscles clenching and pulling at her restraints.
“Worry not, Seresa. It is my duty to spurn the sisters of the Adepta Sororitas towards His light, and to ensure that none stray from their mission in the God-Emperor’s name.” The sound of rustling hit her ears, the gaze of Casia glaring down at her from just above. “If He believes you worthy, you will be given His mark. If not, then you will be consigned to suffer His mercy.”
Blackened leather robbed her of her sight in an instant, a collar latching around her neck with a sickening clink. The humidity hit her immediately, hot breaths filling the hood with suffocating warmth. Saresa struggled in the tightened dark, doing what she could to stem the panic that boiled within. She couldn’t see the tools that the Dogmata retrieved from the wall, only the sound of them being set on the table next to her.
Before long, the pain began.
The first strike was like fire across her skin, arching her upwards and casting a scream from her lungs. The second was akin to a blade, slicing through her soul. Third and fourth were enough to send her spinning, shadows in her eyes tossed in starry colors. She lost count after the tenth, each new strike adding to the growing symphony of mortification.
She desperately howled prayers to Him, exulting the God-Emperor’s name in all ways that she could. She begged for strength, for guidance, for release. There was no way of knowing if they could be heard beyond her prison, but they were for none but her. She knew in her heart that she was no heretic. Proving it in this trial would be the greatest challenge of her life, and she was determined to succeed. What else could be expected of a faithful sister such as her?
Her flash of pride was nearly undone at the sudden intrusion below.
A new ache was written into the music of her suffering, filling her and defiling her in ways that were wholly unknown. These sensations set a new rhythm in her misery, each thrust and counter-thrust timed perfectly with each swing of the Dogmata’s hand. A guttural scream burst from Seresa’s mouth, words forgotten in favor of pure carnal debasement. She had never prepared for this in all her years with the sisterhood.
Relentless was the only way to describe this new hell, this rising heaven...
“Give Praise to The God-Emperor, for Their light protects us all.”
As if she had walked into a new reality, suddenly everything shifted. Her muscles relaxed, her hips widened, and her body stopped fighting. The shifting of her hips down and up rocked the table beneath her. The pain still came, as intense as always, but now it only heightened the sensations. Within minutes her cries had twisted into animalistic moans of pleasure.
There was something changing within her. She couldn’t name it, but it was there in the depths of her spirit, something alluring and deviant and oh so fulfilling that she had secretly fed for years.
And now, finally, it could begin to grow.
“Give Praise to The God-Emperor, for Their light shall set us free.”
Unbelievable hunger burned in her flesh. From deep within her womanhood came a wave of desire, unrestrained by her once-pious demeanor. It spread and coursed through her veins, pushed on by the ruthlessness of the Dogmata above. No part of her was left untouched. From the tips of her fingers to her toes and every crevice between. Before long her back was above the table, lifted upward by a pair of strange, claw-like grips.
Still the trial continued, the fury of her tormentor only magnifying the new purpose that sprouted within her. There was nothing in her darkened world but this moment, this tireless, joyful exultation. She had no way of knowing how long it lasted, only that each second of agony sent her hurtling through cascades of pleasure, each blow and press and ungodly burning bringing her towards a maddening climax.
“Praise The God-Emperor, for Their light shall set us free.”
She was so lost in this thirst that she didn’t hear the unlocking of the collar. Without warning the hood was pulled from her head, the room around her blindingly bright. Pinks and purples and dancing blues mixed in her blurred vision, the sounds around her forming an orgiastic chorus. Figures and shapes danced in the burning light, feminine and masculine in equal measure. She could just make out the shifting form below, pushing and pulsing inside of her with near-divine exuberance.
Fingers gripped her hair and pulled her back, forcing her gaze up towards the ceiling. More shapes and colors danced along the stonework, twisting and winding into new forms and designs she had never seen. In the center sat a strange circle of pulsing purple, a crescent-tipped spear jutting from its side, all illuminated by a burning light.
His light.
“Praise The God-Emperor, for Their light shall set us free.”
The shadows above Seresa’s head drew her gaze. A mouth with far too many teeth smiled down at her, framed by a bob of white hair and holding a burning brand in a gloved hand. She welcomed its searing pain, its blessing of purest fire against her sacred flesh. The sudden filling of her belly was enough for her mind to explode with gluttonous longing.
She needed more, so much more. It was all she could think, all she could feel. Even as the smell of burnt flesh rose from her forehead, the new mark now a permanent part of her, even as her hips bucked with the need for release and the baying in her voice became loud enough to crack the window beyond. It wasn’t enough, never enough. In her mind there was nothing that could ever possibly slake this lust. Even as her body began to falter, drifting into a dreamless repose, still she begged and pleaded for more.
More.
More!
~~~~~~~
Seresa returned to consciousness atop the table, her exhausted form aching with her lord’s blessings. The early morning light had just begun to peek through the damaged window beyond. Her limbs were free, pulled tight against her chest and the new lines of scarring and bruising. The tools had been returned to their places, the table cleared of fluids. Despite the glaring pain that still wrapped around her body, she felt nothing but comfort and the embrace of her God.
In the dim light stood the Dogmata, her face impassive beyond the slightest smile. “You have been proven worthy, Sister Seresa.”
Her forked tongue flicked the air, tasting the sweet aroma of delight. “Thhhank y-you, SSSSister Casssia.”
With steady movements she sat up, taking a moment to compose herself. The divine mark on her forehead still singed with a radiant glow, casting its pinkish hue across the wall. After a while she stood and collected her new robe from the Dogmata.
The symbols along the hem glowed purple in the light, illuminating the prayer that sung in her head.
“Praise The God-Emperor, for Their thirst shall set us free.”
....
The air was cold on the day the enemy came to the priory.
Sister Seresa lay amongst the ruined remains of her unit, listening to the world around her. The siege had finally broken through their defenses, and even now their assault continued. Bolter shells blasted through the air, tearing their targets apart with unceasing brutality. The sweet whistle of missiles spiraled upwards in the sky, the touch of holy promethium purifying the unclean below. A smaller mind would think the sisters would drive back the foe in the end. In truth, it was the last gasp of their sisterhood, a glorious end to the only home she had known.
The ruins were obscured from her vision behind a blown out transport, casting her in calming shadows. She couldn’t stand, not anymore. The stumps where her legs had once been were thankfully cauterized by the blast that had severed them. An arm lay somewhere nearby, twitching its last in a puddle of blood. Her helm was split around her, sparing her face from the worst of the explosion, a line of crimson dribbling from her temple onto the scattered remains.
The clouds above parted for a moment, His light illuminating her final resting place. A deep breath filled her with contentment, the knowledge that she had served faithfully all her life buoying her resolve. To be a martyr was the fate of all true believers, and she welcomed this final blessing to her long and prosperous life. The smallest twinge of regret stung at her, the knowledge that her days of pleasure were over souring this sacred moment. She would surely have time for such things soon, once she crossed over and took her place at His side-
The shadow of an angel loomed above her.
It was massive, bigger than any human she had ever seen. She doubted her gaze would reach far above their chest, were she still able to stand. It stood still, its bulky body magnified by an unknowable grace. In the light she could make out the gleam of gold trim along the armored form, violet panels and blackened leathers adorning the space between. A moment passed in the quiet as the holy being stared down at her, white eyes gazing into her soul from a face the color of animal hide, framed by golden hair.
Seresa swallowed past the taste of iron in her mouth. “Have you come to...sssssave me?”
The angel was silent for a moment, squinting in the glare as the battle carried on. “I have, sweet sister of mine.” A loving sneer stretched across the pale face. “Our master has blessed you with divine visitation. You already carry His mark upon your brow.”
Her devotion had been recognized! “Yesssssss my lord...I do...” She strained upwards, her back popping and pulling, aching to push herself just a little closer to such a radiant creature. “Yearssss of my life have been dedicated to Hisssss greatnessss. I have...sssserved well?”
“Yes, sister, of course you have.” Sweetened honey poured into the angel’s words, curiosity spinning in his gaze. “But your service need not end here. There is still much to be done in Their name, and She has granted me leave to bring upon you the gift of ascension.”
Seresa couldn’t believe it. Salvation, snatched from the jaws of death! Of course!
This was not her end, not yet. There was still so much left to do, so much to see and feel and experience. Her time had not yet come. A lifetime of desire and pleasure remained to be slaked, and in her hour of need She had sent His servant to save her. Relief boiled up to bring fresh tears to her eyes, a new future now written before her.
The angel’s armored hand stretched down, fingers open and inviting, glowing in the pinkish shadow of the mark on her head. She reached out and grasped it, accepting this gift with pride in her heart and the old words on her tongue.
“Praise The God of Pleasure, for Their thirst shall set us free.”
....
Years later, Sister Seresa stepped onto the ashen field of a new world.
The smell of burning fires and hot wind filled her lungs, sending ripples through her flesh from top to bottom. It had been the first time away from her birth planet since the ascension, and the angels had seen fit to grant her request to join their assault on this heretical place.
A massive hive structure towered before her, its central spire stretching up towards the heavens, crawling with vile followers of a false god. Eagle banners fluttered in the wind, soon to be cut down by her brothers and sisters. The poor dregs who sheltered in their shadows couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was arrayed against them, nor the grace and strength afforded to her by this new, holy form.
She was all too pleased to bring them enlightenment.
The sound of her footsteps sent a rumble through the ground, nearly matching the march of angels around her. The enemy’s emplacements opened fire, las beams and shells flying in every direction. Few hit their mark, blasting apart one of the devoted in a fortuitous twist of fate. It wouldn’t be enough to stem the tide, and Seresa charged forth at the head of that wave. The honor was almost more than she could bear.
Almost.
The first trench was filled with terrified soldiers, the sight of her massive four-toed foot slamming into their ditch the last they would see. She heard the panic in their cries, the rapturous ripple of anguish and despair sending pleasure through every inch of flesh. Those who had dove to the side watched in horror as she straightened, the widened mass of her perfect body casting them in her divine shadow.
In desperation they threw themselves upon her, scrambling onto her arms and up her carapace, banging away with boards and shovels. She couldn’t help but laugh at their idiocy. They would never reach her. The coffin that housed her most vulnerable center was unbreakable by meager tools.
A twist of her torso sent half a dozen men skidding off her onto the ground. She took aim with her right arm, the multi-melta extending below the elbow blasting through their bodies in a flash of petrol-induced heat beams. Behind her, another heretic unloaded into her back with an improvised gun placement. The shots plunked into her armored body, barely denting her flawless carapace. A single lash of the singing scourges in her left hand split the attacker in half.
It was delicious, it was splendid. The slaughter of these dissidents was practically orgasmic. The rush within her comfortable chamber sent sweat and other fluids dripping down her flesh. Memory took her for a moment, the stillness of the dead enough to bring the old urges back to life. Every remaining pore on her body ached with need for touch, for movement. She longed to be held as she rarely was, in those times when her brothers and sisters would tend to her body. The heights of pleasure they would reach were undreamed of by mere mortals.
She no longer missed the feeling of her limbs, nor most of her bones. The years of devotion to her God had seen to that. Besides, it just made it easier to see to her brother’s needs.
All around her the battle raged on, angels clad in violet and gold continuing their heavenly assault with blade and bolter and sonic inductor. Her sisters streamed between their bodies, rending flesh and butchering in a growing orgy of carnage. Their claws and tails flicked with otherworldly grace, leaving the heretics in piles of bloody bits.
It was all a tapestry of delight in her eyes. Every step forward was another burst of joy, every slain adversary filling her with pleasure greater than she could have ever known before now. In all her years of devotion she had toiled, hopelessly devoted to the divinity in her mind. Now, at the forefront of another great victory, she only hoped it would last forever. Not even the horrors of war could stop her. What chance did these wretched humans have?
As she pulled herself from the trench, legs already on the heavy march towards the next line of defenses, she took a moment to thank her God. An excess sure, but one should remember to indulge regularly, so her brothers said. Prayer remained her greatest friend in times of quiet, and the silence of her sarcophagus was just enough to inspire her to worship. It reminded her of the old words, the ones she had carried nearly all her life. The oldest maxim, the greatest litany.
In her moment of calm, her mind delirious from the ecstasy, she glanced upwards. The flesh above her met her gaze, taken from her back and stretched across the ceramite interior, golden filigree as clear and bright as the day it had been etched:
“Praise Slaanesh, The Prince of Pleasure, for Their thirst shall set you free.”