[You saw a graceful figure with her back turned to you.]
[She wore a gown of sheer purple silk that concealed nothing. The elegant curve of her spine, the small of her back, the graceful lines of her shoulders, all were displayed without shame or hesitation.]
[Every inch of pale skin seemed to emit a faint luminescence, drawing your gaze like a moth to flame. You couldn't look away.]
[She turned slowly, deliberately. Her naked form was revealed completely, utterly exposed before you.]
[The curves were perfect. Too perfect. Your mind knew this, but your eyes refused to obey. They traced every line, every contour, helpless against the allure.]
[Your breathing grew heavy. Blood rushed through your veins with increasing urgency, pounding in your ears. Heat built in your core, spreading outward through your limbs.]
[You needed to see her face. The compulsion was overwhelming.]
[You forced your eyes upward, widening them to take in every detail of those familiar features.]
[Short black hair with streaks of lavender. A pair of purple eyes that sparkled with mischief and invitation. The face was one you knew intimately.]
[Zoya.]
[She lifted one foot, toes pointed, showing you the arch, the delicate ankle, the sweep of her calf. Everything about the movement was designed to entice, to seduce.]
[A smile played across her lips, charming and knowing. She blinked those purple eyes slowly and began walking toward you with measured, swaying steps.]
[Your breathing became ragged. Your hands moved of their own accord, reaching out toward her, drawn by an instinct you couldn't control.]
[Somewhere in the purple and pink palace, something watched with gleeful anticipation. The being was certain you would accept Slaanesh's blessing, certain you would offer your soul willingly to the Prince of Pleasure.]
[Your hands made contact with warm flesh.]
[And closed around 'Zoya's' throat in a crushing grip.]
["How dare you." Your voice was a guttural snarl, raw with fury. Bloodshot eyes stared into purple ones as veins bulged in your temples. "HOW DARE YOU USE HER APPEARANCE TO SEDUCE ME?!"]
[Power erupted from somewhere deep within you. Not the strength of muscles alone, but something primal and absolute. A soul's rejection made manifest.]
[Your hands tore. The graceful body came apart like wet paper. You ripped through false flesh, grabbed the spine, and pulled. The vertebrae separated from surrounding tissue with wet, tearing sounds.]
[Blood tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, hot trails running down your cheeks.]
[You raised 'Zoya's' severed head high above your own and roared your defiance into the empty palace where purple and pink eternally merged and separated. The sound was bestial, anguished, filled with rage and grief in equal measure.]
[For a moment, you heard something. A whisper at the edge of perception, disappointed and angry. Then it vanished as if it had never existed.]
[Reality lurched again. Time and space twisted like a cloth being wrung out.]
[You were standing on a blood-soaked plain. Corpses stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see.]
[The dead wore the armor of Adeptus Astartes and the uniforms of mortal soldiers. Bodies had been torn apart with savage brutality. Limbs lay separated from torsos. Heads decorated the ground like grotesque decorations. The stench of death was overwhelming.]
[Warriors in blood-red power armor charged across the killing field. They wore brass icons shaped like skulls on their chest plates, and each one brandished a spiked power axe. Their helmets bore bunny-ear protrusions that would have been comical if not for the rivers of gore coating every surface.]
["BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" they screamed in unison. "SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"]
[They cut down everything before them without discrimination or mercy. Even their supposed allies weren't safe.]
[At the battlefield's edges, creatures prowled. Bloodletters with crimson skin torn corpses apart with claws and fangs, feeding on the dead and dying alike. When they encountered wounded Chaos Astartes, they showed no hesitation. The daemons swarmed their former allies and ripped them to shreds with gleeful savagery.]
[You looked down at your own hands. One gripped a chainsword, its motor sputtering and failing, teeth jammed with bone fragments and gore.]
[You discarded the useless weapon and seized a fallen power axe instead. It was massive, designed for two-handed use, heavy enough to cleave through armor and flesh with equal ease.]
[A roar tore from your throat. You charged forward, boots trampling corpses, kicking aside severed limbs as you rushed toward the Khorne blood warriors and the daemon pack.]
[Every head turned toward you instantly. You'd drawn the attention of everything on this killing field.]
["TRAITOR!" The blood warriors howled in distorted, barely human voices. They abandoned their current prey and redirected their fury toward you. A tide of red armor and brass icons surged forward.]
["I BETRAYED YOUR MOTHER!" you screamed back, face twisted in savage grin. You swung the power axe in a wide arc.]
[The weapon's blue energy field activated with a crackling hum. Using the momentum of your charge, you brought the axe down on the first blood warrior to reach you. The blade bit deep into his skull, splitting it cleanly. The warrior dropped.]
[For a brief moment, you felt something. A hot, intense power trying to flow into your body. Surging strength that promised to make you invincible.]
[Then dozens of power axes descended on your position simultaneously.]
[They struck from every angle. Your body came apart under the assault, hacked into chunks of meat and bone. Blood sprayed. Flesh tore. You were dismembered, destroyed.]
[But you didn't die.]
[Time and space transformed once more. The sensation was becoming familiar now, almost expected.]
[Through the chaos of transition, you heard a voice. Old and contemplative, coming from somewhere both distant and impossibly close.]
["This mortal boy has a powerful soul," the voice observed with what might have been approval.]
[You had no opportunity to consider the meaning of those words.]
[You stood on what appeared to be the bridge of a Gloriana-class battleship. The scale was vast, the ceiling soaring overhead, every surface decorated with ornate details befitting a vessel designed for the mightiest of commanders.]
[You started to turn, to assess your surroundings, but movement stopped you.]
[Astartes in black and gray power armor surrounded you in a loose semicircle. As one, they bowed their heads in respect.]
["Wolf Lord!" they shouted in perfect unison, their voices resonating through the massive chamber.]
[You glanced down at yourself. Terminator armor encased your body. Not ordinary Terminator plate, but something exquisite. The craftsmanship was exceptional, every detail perfect. The armor was painted white, pristine despite the countless scratches and battle scars marking its surface.]
[A complete white wolf pelt was draped across the shoulders, the head positioned above your own like a hood. An ornate metal wolf's head decoration adorned the breastplate, its eyes set with gems that caught the light.]
[A red-haired Astartes approached, his movements confident and familiar. He carried himself with the ease of someone who'd stood at your side countless times.]
["Wolf Lord," he said, bowing slightly, "please use your great psychic power to destroy the irredeemable Chaos planet before us!"]
[His eyes were the dim yellow of a Fenris wolf. Familiar eyes. You'd seen them before.]
[But his name escaped you completely, hovering just beyond reach in your memory.]
[He continued speaking, urging you to act, to unleash psychic devastation upon the world displayed in the main viewport. His words flowed together, persuasive and insistent.]
[Something felt wrong. A subtle dissonance, like a note played slightly out of tune in an otherwise perfect melody.]
["Psychic power?" you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Where would that come from? The Space Wolves hate psykers. We rely on Rune Priests, not... wait."]
[The red-haired Astartes kept talking, his voice growing more urgent. The constant pressure of his words grated against your thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate.]
[You stared at your gauntleted hand, confusion written across your features.]
[Then understanding dawned. A smile curved your lips.]
["May the Emperor bless you," you said, raising your arm toward the red-haired warrior.]
[Warp flame erupted from your palm. Not the controlled power of a sanctioned psyker, but raw, untamed energy from the Immaterium itself. The fire was impossible colors, burning with heat that consumed matter and soul simultaneously.]
[The red-haired Astartes screamed. His voice rose in pitch, distorting, becoming something else entirely. The entire bridge scene rippled and twisted, reality folding in on itself as the illusion collapsed.]
[This time, you experienced the transition with full awareness. You felt the pull of the Warp, the sensation of moving through impossible dimensions. Your consciousness remained intact, observing, understanding.]
[A new destination began to form around you. You caught glimpses of a garden, but not one any sane being would cultivate. Green mist rolled across the ground in thick banks. The earth itself was composed of pus and rotting flesh, squirming with countless maggots and pestilent life. The stench would have been unimaginable.]
[Then everything changed again.]
[The bone-melting heat returned. The soul-freezing cold crashed through you simultaneously. Both extremes at once, tearing at your existence.]
[Your eyes opened.]
[Pain. Every nerve ending in your body screamed in agony. It felt like you'd been flayed, then reassembled incorrectly. Your muscles spasmed. Your bones ached. Even breathing hurt.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric's face hovered above you, his expression grave with concern.]
[Nearby, Lucas sat slumped against the cavern wall. The red-haired Astartes looked like he'd been through a war. His face was bruised and swollen, one eye nearly swollen shut. Blood crusted his nose and split lip.]
[He stared at you with those dim yellow eyes. His expression was complex, unreadable, but you thought you detected regret beneath the pain.]
[Three other figures stood in a semicircle around your prone form. Rune Priests, their age apparent in weathered features and long beards. They looked even older than Ulric, which seemed almost impossible for Space Marines. These were ancient warriors, keepers of traditions that stretched back to the Chapter's founding.]
[They slowly lowered their hands, breaking whatever ritual or working they'd been performing. The air still crackled with residual psychic energy.]
[The Rune Priests exchanged glances. Shock registered clearly on their weathered faces, though they remained silent. Whatever they'd witnessed, whatever they'd seen in your ordeal, had shaken them profoundly.]
["Russ above," Wolf Priest Ulric's voice rang out like a bell, resonating through the underground cavern. Relief flooded his words. "And thank the Emperor for His blessing. The mortal boy finally woke up!"]