Struggling to get up, he saw the banshee's twisted face as she lunged at him.
"Enjoy the pleasure!"
The Daemonette's claws slowly sliced open Ron's clothes, leaving thin lines of blood one after another. She toyed with her prey, wanting him to die in extreme fear and pain. To the Followers of Slaanesh, cruel killing was also a form of pleasure.
The followers of the Cult of Slaanesh liked to hold group revels during gatherings and share extreme sensations, but these often turned into mutual slaughter. When the Hive Enforcers arrived, they often could not find a single intact body, and sometimes bodies were stuck together. They tore flesh from each other in delight and swallowed it.
Ron knew very well that without an accident, he would be disemboweled and tortured to death by the Daemonette in front of him. But he still had a chance. He had already called for help and only needed to buy time.
Gritting his teeth, Ron forced his body to move, inch by inch, toward the bedroom door. The Daemonette did not care at all and patiently carved more cuts into him, letting blood flow and smear long trails across the floor. This place was brutal, and being the Planetary Governor was not safe at all.
Ron kept crawling, knowing his chances grew with every moment he endured. As long as he held on until the Adeptus Custodes arrived, he could live. At last he reached the door and reached out to push it, but his hand touched a cold wall instead.
An illusion?
Ron turned his head, and the Daemonette blocked his path. A mocking look showed through her empty eye sockets. She was laughing at him.
The illusion created by the Daemonette had led him into a dead corner. Even if the Adeptus Custodes arrived, his chances of survival were slim. She had finished playing.
"You can die now!"
The Daemonette licked her claws and stabbed down with full force. The claws cut through the air so fast that Ron could not even see them clearly, let alone raise his arm to block. This strike was enough to cut him in two.
Suddenly, Ron felt time slow down. The shape of the claws became clearer and clearer, down to the fine hairs on them. Had he escaped only to face death again?
Unwilling to accept it, Ron twisted his body with all his strength, trying to avoid a vital spot. As long as he had one breath left, there was still a chance. Driven by his will to live, that familiar power deep in his soul burst forth again.
Power surged in an instant, as if time itself had been seized. The claws hung in midair, unable to move. At some point, a thin layer of frost had formed across the floor.
Golden lightning flashed in Ron's eyes, and arcs of electricity spilled out to coil around his body. The stray currents struck the ground again and again. His breathing steadied as the strength filled him.
"Finally, it showed up," Ron said with a shaky laugh. "I knew it. Without something like this, there's no way to survive in the Warhammer 40k world."
Ron climbed to his feet as every cell in his body seemed to cheer. His body and soul brimmed with electric power, and his wounds slowly healed and scabbed over. The feeling was wonderful, though the faint whispers from the Void were annoying.
Those whispers came from the Warp. If he guessed right, he had awakened psychic power and become a psyker. Becoming a psyker was not necessarily a good thing.
Psykers were unstable factors in the Imperium and were extremely vulnerable to corruption by the horrors within the Warp. The Imperium searched everywhere for psykers, capturing them and sending them on black ships to Holy Terra for testing. Those who resisted corruption would serve the Imperium, while the unqualified would be fed to the Golden Throne and burn their souls for the great God-Emperor of Mankind.
It was said that a thousand psykers were sent in each day as fuel to keep the Astronomican running. This maintained the Imperium's routes through the Warp and its channels of communication. For Ron, this future was far from reassuring.
If his identity was exposed, even as the Planetary Governor he would be monitored, and there was a chance he would be taken by a black ship. If he failed the test, he would only end up on the Golden Throne, giving everything to God-Emperor of Mankind. The thought flashed by, and Ron pulled himself back to the present.
Now was not the time to think about that. He had to deal with this Daemonette first.
"Die, die!"
The escape of her prey drove the Daemonette into a frenzy. She shrieked and struggled, burning with a desire for cruel slaughter. Breaking free, she lunged forward, determined to tear the human apart and swallow him piece by piece.
A fist wrapped in golden lightning struck up from below and smashed into her abdomen, knocking her into the air as viscous fluid sprayed from her mouth. "What are you thinking, sweetheart," Ron said, following with his other fist and slamming it into her face. "Get down!"
The Daemonette's face twisted out of shape as she flew back, crashing through a stained glass window and landing motionless on the balcony.
"Dead?"
Ron did not rush over to check, wary of a final counterattack. He was still flesh and blood, and one spike in the wrong place could cost him his life. His caution proved correct.
The Daemonette suddenly sprang up, half her head shattered, glaring back with venomous hatred. Dense malice poured out and sent a chill through the air. She had grown stronger.
Fine, so that was how it was.
As Ron prepared to fight to the death, noise came from outside, the heavy thud of armored boots on the floor. He stopped at once and dispersed his psychic power.
"Governor!"
With a loud crash, the bedroom door was smashed open. Carter Crowley, the most loyal Adeptus Custodes commander under Ron, led a squad of fully armed guards charging in.
Each guard carried an Imperial-pattern bolter and wore ceramite armor, their bodies far larger than normal men. They moved with discipline, forming up around Ron to protect him while aiming their bolters at the Daemonette on the balcony. Ron let out a breath and pointed toward her.
"Deal with her…"
Before he finished speaking, the guards pulled their triggers. Muzzle flashes lit the room as bullets poured out, crossing into a deadly net that shredded the Daemonette's body like a torn sack. After one volley they reloaded and fired again.
When the second round ended, Carter strode forward. He drew his chainsword and cleaved straight down through the Daemonette's head, spraying gore. Then he kicked hard, sending the corpse and the marble railing together crashing off the balcony.
With the Daemonette dealt with, Carter turned and knelt on one knee before Ron. His hard face showed firm resolve. "Governor, the heretic has been executed!"
A dull thud rose from below as the body hit the ground. Ron looked toward the balcony as cool wind blew in through the broken opening. In the moonlight, the blood-soaked balcony and bedroom looked like the scene of a brutal murder.
These guys were impressive.
Ron studied the guards and could tell they had undergone some level of modification, their frames far beyond ordinary humans. Carter's build was even more striking, easily over two meters tall and packed with muscle. It looked close to the size of a Space Marine.
The guards thought the governor might blame them and lowered their heads, exchanging uneasy glances. Ron smiled and nodded. "Very good. Full of spirit. You did well."
He reached out, pulled Carter to his feet, and patted his shoulder, leaving the man slightly at a loss. Strength mattered here, and only strong men could hold the line. In this world of rampant Chaos, fear vanished when backed by enough firepower.
At that moment, all of Ron's fear was gone. He understood it clearly now. All fear came from insufficient firepower.
He would build his forces and raise armies, sending endless troops to war until overwhelming guns covered every enemy. Slaanesh, he would remember that name, and one day he would settle the score.