Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 644 Slaanesh's Attention

The golden light of the Emperor's Sword still flickers in the rifts of the real universe, like the final sigh of a dying star.

In this delicate interlude of creation and annihilation, Shalasi the Devil descended upon the deepest, most intimate corridors of Slaanesh's Silver Palace, stepping on iridescent ripples.

Her arrival was not like time travel, but more like a heart-stopping rest in a carefully composed musical movement, both ending the prelude and foreshadowing a more complex and lingering variation that was about to unfold.

The winding corridors seem to have been infused with new life today.

The ground, paved with frozen sighs and melting pearls, undulated slightly beneath her feet, like a sleeping beast awakening.

The fragrance in the air became exceptionally rich and complex, and countless subtle whispers of desire flowed between the pillars, transforming into visible rainbow-colored mist that entwined around her flawless ankles.

The lazy smile that was usually on the face of the Shalasi suddenly froze, as if a connoisseur who had been engrossed in his studies had suddenly smelled an unimaginable delicacy, and his entire being trembled at this unprecedented perception.

She slowly raised her hand, her fingertips tracing the air as if caressing an invisible brocade.

“Such a breathtaking incompleteness,” her voice trembled gently in the lingering corridor like honeyed spider silk, “even the broken form is breathtakingly beautiful.”

She could sense the precise collection her master had just completed: the remaining fragments of Fugen's soul had been gently guided here, becoming another irreplaceable treasure in the divine treasury.

This feeling made her involuntarily take a deep breath, savoring the complex fragrance of new life in the air—the lingering aftertaste of an extreme longing for a rare existence, and the delicate recollection of a magnificent destruction.

The surrounding melodies shifted accordingly, the notes seemingly materializing and weaving together every detail of the destructive feast that had just taken place in the air.

The dramatic transformation of hunter into prey, every arc of struggle, every desperate cry, becomes a work of art worth savoring repeatedly.

Charlaxi's fingertips trembled slightly, as if tracing the lines of these memories in the void.

She could taste every nuance of that feast: the resolute way the Emperor's sword fell, Fugen's confusion and fear at the last moment, and even the complex emotions of shock and relief in the hearts of the onlookers—all of these became delicacies at the Slaanesh's feast.

The twisted spines and blooming flowers of flesh on the pillars began to slowly recombine, presenting an even more exquisite form.

She sensed the host's meticulous attention to the smallest details of the performance—the regret that someone hadn't been able to take a more graceful bow.

A smile, almost indulgent, appeared on her lips: "Darling, you could have said goodbye more gracefully," her fingers traced a sorrowful curve in the air, "Why did you show that...unnecessary panic at the last moment?"

Her eyes suddenly lit up with an unusual brilliance, as if she had discovered an unprecedented treasure.

“But you…” her voice trembled slightly with excitement, “my dear stranger, what a moving prelude you have presented to us.”

She could sense her master's keen interest in this novel existence; a desire to explore and analyze it in detail permeated the air.

This feeling is different from possessiveness toward Fugen; it's more like an artist discovering a new paint, a composer finding a new scale, or a poet encountering a new rhythm.

Charlaci bowed gracefully, his posture conveying both reverence for divine power and a sense of artistic resonance.

“Let me continue this tender moment that has just begun,” her voice was like the most exquisite poison, “I will make every touch a poem, and every resistance he makes a deepest confession.”

Her bow was not a humble act of obedience, but rather a gesture of respect from an artist accepting a commission—full of eagerness to create and gratitude for the recognition.

As she turned to look in the direction of the real universe, her eyes burned with creative fervor.

“My dear Chen Xi…” The name lingered on her lips, like both a caress and a curse. “The prelude you unintentionally played was so moving; now let us compose an endless symphony together.” Her gaze seemed to pierce through the dimensional veil, landing on the audacious judge.

In her perception, Chen Xi was no longer just an ordinary person, but an unfinished work of art, a rough gem waiting to be carved, a creative material full of infinite possibilities.

The surrounding light and shadow began to dance eerily, and countless dreams and sighs intertwined to create an even more exquisite illusion.

Sharasi could sense his master's anticipation for this eternal game—not in a hurry to end it, but to savor every moment in the most exquisite way.

Her smile deepened and became dangerous: "We will be very patient, after all, the most intense intimacy deserves the longest wait."

This patience is not ordinary endurance, but more like the luxurious attitude of a collector who, after acquiring a rare treasure, does not rush to appreciate it all at once, but plans to savor it slowly over the rest of his life.

Deep in her mind, she had already begun to conceive every detail of the next passionate encounter.

The Emperor's Son's invasion of the Medusa region will be elevated into a meticulously choreographed symphony of depravity, where every act of atrocity is imbued with symbolic meaning, and every attack is a gift of art.

She imagined how to transform atrocities into rituals, destruction into performances, and pain into poetry.

All of this was to please the supreme observer, and also to have a long and elaborate "dialogue" with that mortal.

Sharasi waved his hand gently, and a scene woven from light and shadow appeared before him—a projection of the Medusa star system.

With a light tap of her finger, a planet rippled with waves.

“This,” she whispered, “will be our first melody.”

Wherever her fingertips touched, the image of the planet began to change. The originally hard metal structures became soft and twisted, the buildings began to show organic curves, and even the light on the planet's surface became softer and more alluring.

“You will see,” Sharasi’s voice gradually blended into the melody of the lingering corridor, “that this tender moment will be more…unforgettable than any previous work.”

Her figure began to gradually dissipate in the iridescent light, not simply disappearing, but like paint blending into a painting, becoming part of the overall artistic conception.

Before completely dissipating, she took one last look at the star projection, her eyes gleaming with the fervor and anticipation unique to creators.

Even after Sharasi had completely disappeared, the Enchanted Corridor did not return to its former tranquility.

On the contrary, the melody in the air became richer, and the dance of light and shadow became more frenzied, as if the entire space was excited for the new drama that was about to unfold.

In some unseen dimension, an invisible hand is gently plucking the strings of fate, setting the tone for the next symphony of depravity.

Meanwhile, in the Medusa Starfield of the real universe, Judge Chen Xi is reviewing the latest patrol report, completely unaware that he has gone from being an observer to a character in the play, and even less aware that what awaits him is an endless artistic creation with his soul as the canvas.

On the outskirts of the empire, some subtle and eerie changes are taking place: inexplicable delays in communications in certain areas, patrols reporting sightings of impossible rainbow auroras, and even claims of hearing unsettlingly beautiful melodies emanating from among the stars.

All these subtle anomalies have not yet attracted attention, but they are like the few notes the tuner plays before the symphony begins, foreshadowing the grand performance to come.

Deep within the warp, Sharasi the Calamity has begun weaving her web of art, preparing to use the entire star system as a canvas and the fates of billions of lives as paint to create a masterpiece worthy of pleasing the god of darkness.

(End of this chapter)