#sanguinius

The False Advent

The Blooded of Baal had beseeched the Angel of legend to set foot upon their soil, to bring an end to the endless war and the reign of death. Yet what descended was not the Angel, but the false and savage Beast—come to seize the scepter and the seat that were not wrought for it.

This continues the 'Fallen-but-Untainted Sanguinius' alternate timeline.

You menstruate forever for a week every month but Sanguinius is your life partner and eats you out during this + you never have to work more than 20 hours a week ( finances magically balance to a default living wage )

Summary

As reality splinters around her, Kellaran finds herself lost among dreams and possibilities. One of them in particular beckons to her, and reaching it will change the fate of this world in ways no one — not even the gods — could have predicted.

Warnings: Unreality, dreams of plot relevant events, implied violence, screaming

masterpost

one | two | three | you are here

Five and a Half Minutes

Kellaran watched the portal close as she floated down.

Strange colours bubbled past her, burning her eyes, but she relaxed. Escaping the cult had taken some power, which demanded rest.

She used just a little more of her power to heal her physical aches and injuries; otherwise, down she went, floating through unrecognizable shapes and colours, forms almost familiar and yet distinctly foreign.

Something about it was gentle, and hypnotizing. She was laid softly on the ground, and rested there for some time.

The bright sun warmed her back to life.

Hot, iron-red sand shifted beneath her feet as she rose; dunes and crops of crimson stone extended as far as she could see. Dry breaths of wind filled the air with clouds of rust, and the sky above was a hazy yellow.

In the distance was a dull roar.

There were two suns in the sky. One of them flared and pulsed, brightening as it rocketed down –

She jumped out of the way just in time, the impact pushing her upward like a feather on the wind. From above, she watched a tiny child, no older than four, slowly crawl out of the pod.

The child looked up at her.

His eyes were as black as the stone beneath him as she brought down the mace on his chest one final time, cracking the bloodied plate almost in two. After it was finished, she gave her command – he was to be crucified on the wall, his mangled body and broken armour chained between pillars for daemons to feast upon.

But she did not watch this. Instead, she watched the descent of his soul, a smile tugging at her lip as the True Gods clawed it apart.

The scream jarred her awake.

She looked down at her hands – hands that had mercilessly killed someone mere moments ago.

Why had she felt no remorse for that? Why had she revelled in the destruction? Why had she rejoiced in his blood making the floor slick, in the sickening cracks of his bones, in the damnation of his very soul?

The thoughts were haunting, but she shook them away as best she could – the blood was gone now, and strange things tend to happen in dreams. Besides, the environment around her was far stranger.

First of all, the silence was deafening. There seemed to be no semblance of life anywhere – no guards, no prisoners, not even a weed growing up from a crack in the floor. Not even a mark on any of the glassy surfaces; no sign that anyone had ever been here except for the person who built it, and had anyone even built it at all?

The walls reflected everything she could ever imagine and more. She saw the cultists she had escaped, regrouping and planning new rituals – she saw their former lives, wasting away in factories like everyone else on that pitiable world she had left; she saw the lives they could have lived. She saw herself, helping that first stranger; exploring the world of red sand from her dream… as a child, trapped and stifled in her parents’ home, wishing to grow up and be free.

She turned away from that unsettling presentation only to see herself living out that child’s dreams – a scientist, a mathematician, a successful person by the world’s standards – old dreams she had long given up in favour of newer ones. She saw herself living out dreams she’d never even had: model, lieutenant, movie director, entrepreneur.

The visions made her shoulders tighten, and their numbers made her head spin, but curiosity, ever deadly, drew her forward. The crystal walls sparkled with billions of possibilities, timelines, universes, all on display for her to see.

They showed her things she could have never even dreamed of, people she would never meet and places she would never see. They showed her all the worlds she would never visit, then all the worlds in which she visited them.

She walked on, almost in a trance, for a long time.

A billion people, worlds, pasts, and futures spread out before her meant a lot of things to look at, and as sickening as it was she found herself too curious to resist trying to look at them all. Yet, out of all the flickering colours of impossible dreams, her eyes were eventually drawn to one of them in particular: a tiny, very jarring shard of black amidst a rainbow of mirrors.

It was only a small blemish on the shimmering wall, but it pulled at her gaze like an itch on the skin, and she found herself reaching out to touch it, bring it closer –

Suddenly, the world was very dark, and very loud.

She jumped to cover her ears against the sound, but it permeated the very air, threatening to tear her apart atom by atom. More potently, though, it threatened to crush her very spirit.

The sound was an anguished scream, heartbreaking and hoarse from effort, pausing only to sob, too tormented to even beg for rest, underscored by the laughter of dark gods.

Was this her fate?

She turned, trying to find something other than darkness as the sound ebbed slightly, dissolving briefly into a string of sobs.

Was she to be trapped here with this tortured soul, doomed to join it in its eternal torment?

She tried to find it. It gasped for breath.

Had she done something to deserve this? How did she get here?

Something grabbed her leg.

She tried to jump, but its hold was too firm. She looked down to see some indistinct form, appearing as if to be rising from a pool of blood.

Its proximity made the sound even more deafening. She froze.

The gods were still laughing.

Breathe.

Despite everything, Kellaran knew that this wasn’t right.

This person… does not deserve to be here.

She bent down, extending her hand.

Notes

the man of the hour makes his first appearance, even if we can’t see him very well :)

Field of Memories, Chapter 2, Rules of the Forgotten God

So, I got a lot of Ideas in general for this chapter and I’m very exited! I really want to flesh out Ynnead as a god, and Emps and Aeldari relationship (not so good ;3)

Good excuse to draw more space elves