Al stood naked on the cold ground, trembling, surrounded by Zhakun's massive carcass and the unconscious, naked woman.
Rustling sounds came from outside; sensing eyes upon him, he instinctively looked toward the source but saw nothing.
Behind a haystack, a goral-girl curled into a ball, clutching her knees and shivering, her long ears drooping flat against her head.
Al's anxiety spiked; a camp like this wouldn't have just one Beastlord, and he had no idea what the others would do when they found him over the corpse.
He wanted to flee, but he saw only the suffocating, dense forest, and he lacked the strength to carry an unconscious woman with him.
Struggling, Al grabbed the edge of the fur rug and heaved the woman back into the depths of the cave.
He searched for clothing to cover her but found nothing; suddenly, the two mindless goral-girls followed him inside, making him jump.
They followed him like drones, heads bowed under his wary gaze, and took up positions on either side of the rug.
Together, they dragged the woman further into the shadows of the cavern, just as they had done before.
The crudely excavated cave remained primitive, a mere hole in the earth, with a piece of amber embedded in the ceiling emitting a twilight glow.
Al watched the goral-girls retreat silently, and the knot of terror in his chest loosened slightly.
Only then did he realize he was still completely naked; he sat on a clean patch of the rug, hugging his knees and watching the woman.
She lay there peacefully, like a sleeping beauty, her brow slightly furrowed and her face pale under the amber light.
Her naked body possessed the hard, athletic grace of a warrior, and perhaps due to the labor, her Valkyrie-like features held a trace of maternal warmth.
She was a beautiful, real woman.
On some level, he knew he had to call this woman "Mother."
Al's gaze drifted downward, past her pale neck and collarbone, coming to a halt at her firm, white twin peaks.
A dry heat rose in the boy's throat; he felt a parched, desperate thirst to suckle, to draw moisture and life from her.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes to continue their descent.
Past the toned lines of her abdomen, skipping over the forbidden delta, to her lush, powerful thighs—the kind that looked like they could crush a man to death.
He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be mastered by those long legs.
To be crushed beneath her, violated, taken, and utterly possessed until he was absorbed into her very being.
To be her mount, then her rider, fighting and struggling until he smothered in those massive breasts, pouring both reason and essence into her body without reserve...
Slap!
Al swung his hand and delivered a sharp blow to his own face.
"That's your mother, you freak!"
The silver plate with the Mark of Slaanesh was still embedded in the wall; he didn't dare touch it, so he tried to look away and suppress his intrusive thoughts.
He turned his head; shifting his perception from "waifu" to "mother" in such a depraved environment was an agonizing task.
But he used that word as a shield, a warning to suppress the rising corruption within his mind.
To Al, the word "Mother" was draped in a veil of sanctity, a relic of a lost age.
In the year 2076, very few people maintained traditional family structures or raised their own children.
Most chose ectogenesis or IVF just to secure a DNA legacy, handing the infants over to state-run socialized rearing centers.
Al was one of those children; no one saw anything wrong with it, as the "Social Mother" and "Union Father" provided everything.
But Al was different; he loved the history of the early 21st century and yearned for the concept of "Family" and the roles of "Father" and "Mother."
Perhaps because he was male, he craved the presence of a "Mother" more than anything.
His eyes caught a dark, deep stain on the fur rug, an imprint easily missed under the amber glow.
Curious, he leaned in and touched it with a finger, unable to tell what it was at first.
Suddenly, a flash of forbidden, instinctual knowledge flooded his brain: This is the blood of a virgin; the blood of a warrior.
It was fresh.
The realization brought a wave of pure horror.
"Where the hell is this knowledge coming from?!"
Al scrambled back in terror, his movements eerily similar to the Beastlord he had just castrated and killed.
"I'm being watched. They've already marked me!"
He wondered if suicide would be a mercy at this point.
The thought of becoming a plaything for Chaos made him crave the release of death.
He cast a glance back at his mother, and in that single look, a wildfire of lust erupted in his gut.
A sudden, rigid weight throbbed between his legs; he looked down and saw a trident-like phallus, identical to Zhakun's, growing from his crotch!
It stood proud and erect, pulsing with an unholy life of its own.
Al looked up in panic, and the woman's body before him began to radiate a golden, enticing light.
In an instant, she seemed to wake; she propped herself up on one hand, her breasts swaying temptingly in the air.
She parted her thighs slightly in a posture of invitation, her eyes hooded with desire.
"My... child."
That simple address broke his willpower; his eyes turned bloodshot, his breath became heavy and ragged.
The woman beckoned him, opening her legs wider, gesturing for the boy to return to her embrace.
She called to him like a doting, lustful goddess, making him ache to bury himself in her, to nuzzle into those heavenly spheres and drink her milk.
His crotch seemed to develop its own consciousness; the trident throbbed, sending waves of hallucinations that physically pulled him forward toward that mysterious garden.
"My dick has a mind of its own!"
Terrified of the thoughts festering in his heart, Al didn't hesitate; he delivered a brutal, crushing blow to his own crotch.
The sheer, agonizing pain nearly made him black out, but it snapped the hallucination.
He regained control of his body, leaned against the wall, and scrambled out of the cave without looking back.
Behind him, he heard a mournful, wailing cry—the sound of a mother rejected and abandoned by her child.
He almost turned back to comfort her, to dive into her arms, but he tripped and fell, which gave him the momentum to keep crawling away.
Finally, he saw the light of the entrance and burst out into the camp.
Behind him, a final sob twisted into a horrific, high-pitched shriek before vanishing into silence.
The terrible, seductive power that had hijacked his body was gone.
Al didn't lower his guard; he ran until he could hide behind Zhakun's massive corpse, peeking nervously back at the cave.
He checked himself; the trident mutation was gone, but his normal anatomy remained.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
He then noticed the two goral-girls were kneeling by Zhakun's body, their fur-covered rumps tilted high in the air.
Al looked closer and realized they had picked up the severed trident he had ripped from the Beastlord earlier.
They were worshipping the bloody, filth-stained meat-snakes with a perverse, ritualistic devotion.
This grotesque, ribald scene left Al speechless and disgusted, but he didn't dare intervene.
Just then, a powerful figure leapt over the perimeter fence, crashing into the camp like a red whirlwind.
It was a Centigor—a massive, female centaur!
She had short, fiery red hair tied into small braids, and her wild features were framed by an exotic, predatory beauty.
Her breasts were bound tightly with cloth, though they were so large they threatened to spill out, and her muscular upper body was a masterpiece of raw strength.
Al's specific fetishes were triggered once again.
However, the fact that she was dragging a massive warhammer—larger than Al himself—dampened the mood.
"Zhakun the failure is dead!"
The female centaur circled the area, her voice a booming command, but the goral-girls ignored her, continuing their vile worship.
Only Al could have answered her, but he was too terrified to make a sound.
"Is it too late to go back to the cave?"
Before he could decide, the centaur's eyes locked onto him; she barely spared a glance for the dead Beastlord.
Al felt awkward, standing there completely naked under her gaze.
"The Blessing has arrived!"
To his shock, the centaur let out an excited roar, and a cacophony of cheers erupted from outside the fence.
A horde of Beastmen—many of them mutated with tentacles and multiple breasts—swarmed into the clearing.
They formed a circle around Al and the corpse of Zhakun.
"Oh no."
Al felt like crying; he was trapped with no way out.
The centaur charged forward, her massive hammer tilling the earth like a plow as it dragged behind her.
The blood-red shadow that had helped him kill the Beastlord seemed to scoff at his cowardice as the clouds parted.
Before Al could even think to dodge, the centaur stopped dead in front of him.
Her massive, firm breasts slammed into Al's face, creating a literal wave of flesh.
Al's world went dark as he was sent flying, only to be caught by a huge hand gripping the back of his neck.
The centaur lifted him off the ground, holding him up like a prize.
She examined him closely—his eyes, his chest, and even the red mark on his face where he had slapped himself.
Up close, he saw her eyes were as red as her hair; her armor was sparse but functional, protecting her vitals.
She was massive; Al realized he could barely reach her thigh if he stood on tiptoe.
If he weren't about to die, he would have appreciated the "Tall Woman/Monster Girl" aesthetic.
But then, the twisted Slaaneshi cultists closed in.
"The God-Child!"
"The Serpent-God blesses the Joy-Singers!"
"So good... give it to me... I need—"
"Behold! The Great Power manifests among us!"
"Nnngh... Aaaah! YES!"
Being surrounded by these "freaks" who were too depraved for words was more terrifying to Al than a thousand murderers.
"You Slaaneshi lunatics stay back! If I had an Exterminatus... oh wait, I'm here too."