*OOC* so finally yeah I know its a lot this last story takes place a few years later

Another convoy, another spectacle of death and overindulgent gore. The Imperial
ships had been poorly defended, only a pair of lightly-armed escort vessels, one
with half of its armament completely non-functional. The freighters had been easy
targets, the mercenaries charged with defending it putting up only a meager fight.
The two escorts burned in the nuclear cold of space, breached plasma reactors
spewing radioactive flame into the void, and now only one freighter remained. Its
engines were blasted apart, its hull pockmarked and scorched.
Lilith recounted the losses for a moment. Two of her wyches dead, one wounded.
The Haemonculus would have fun putting her back together, though violation in
every sense of the word was guaranteed. Her fault for allowing herself to be struck
down by the crude, fumbling humans and their equally awkward weapons; she
would learn her lesson well.
A malicious chuckle leaving her lush, bright red-painted lips, a twisted smirk upon
them, she strode forth to the boarding door of the Impaler Assault Module as it
rammed into one of the pressurization hatches on the crude human vessel. She
was, as always, dressed to kill, resplendent in her thigh-high spike-studded boots,
pushed up onto her tiptoes by the spike-shaped heel that ended in a deadly bladed
point, an over-hip G-string, and a metal brassiere shaped into two needle-fingered
hands that pressed firmly into the flesh of her full breasts, bulging the nightranslucent skin out around the metal grasps. Her hair was tied into a single
ponytail, the night-black locks adorned with dozens upon dozens of lethal blades
designed to hook into a foe and tear their flesh from their bodies like a flail with an
aesthetic whip of her hair. Her unyieldingly firm buttocks flexed with the motions of
her thighs, her boots far too esoteric to be wielded in a practical fashion by any but
her.
Besides, she knew she was dangerously beautiful. Why not flaunt it right in the
faces of her foes? Tempt them with the flesh even as she tore theirs from their own
bodies? All the better to milk the succulent souls from their bodies with a faint
garnishing of lust hidden deep within the agony and despair.
The lancecutters of the assault module finished cutting the insertion proboscis into
the target vessel. Her wyches, similarly adorned in garishly tempting wargear,
shrieked in ecstasy at the prospect of fresh blood and slaves to be taken as they
leapt past her into the ship. Lilith smirked coldly, her heavily penciled and
mascara'd eyes narrowing in anticipation as she stepped coolly into the blocky
vessel's poorly-constructed corridors, taking a slow, deep breath through her
nostrils. She could smell the fear. A guttural yelp alerted her to a group of human
males as they began to flee. Her wyches fell upon them in an orgy of blood and
carnage, thin bladed weaponry working to flay them alive, to kill them in the most
excruciating ways imaginable, their blood spraying across the corridors.

Motion at the other end of the corridor. Another human with a primitive, tubeshaped weapon. He pulled the weapon's trigger, sending a spray of small metal
projectiles down the corridor at her. Lilith moved, her lithe form writhing and
contorting into an elegant display of precision and flowing grace, dancing through
the air blindingly fast around each miniature projectile in the ballistic spray as if
they were moving in slow motion. The man had no time to react to this astonishing
visage, no time to gawk at the way her breasts heaved and swung in their meager
holdings, the way her legs bent and flexed, the way her hair whipped out and
around, the bladed tips hooking into his body in perfectly spaced intervals away
from one another, no time to begin to comprehend the beauty in the sadistic
perfection... no thought to any of this, other than to scream in anguish as with a
flick of her head the blades tore his flesh completely from his body, baring muscle
tissue and blood-carrying veins across every inch of him, the hyperstimulants in the
blades keeping him from going into shock, awake to feel every painful moment as
he fell to the ground, writhing and screaming.
Another creature approach, This one draped in a long coat made of a thin material
that was as dark as the void itself. Long, flowing black hair framed his crude,
angular face, but what was most unusual was the solid white eyes set into his skull.
He stood taller than most of these other creatures... taller even than she, slighter
than most, too. His hands were concealed by the robe-like sleeves, and his face
betrayed no emotion.
She licked her lips and teeth hungrily. She had not finished sating her thirst for soulessence. He was lovely, too; the joy of tearing such an enticing creature to shreds
would feed her ego further. With a single push of her endlessly long legs, she
careened through the air at him, a shriek of eager laughter keening from her lips as
she flew towards him.
The creature moved, faster than she could ever have thought possible.
She leapt towards him, as if rushing to a lover she had been parted from for
decades, ululating laughter of delight as she prepared to embrace him in her
deadly, talon-gloved hands.
Aiden moved, too fast for the human eye to see, a blur of motion. She barely had
time to let shock at the sudden motion register on her face before the first impact
landed on her sternum. With a colossal whoosh of air leaving her lungs, she flipped
over his head and landed unceremoniously on the ground, struggling to take a
breath before her lungs unhitched, and she sprung to her feet dexterously. She
twirled, whipping her bladed hair at him with a sashaying motion of her head that
send the glittering blades hissing through the air, aiming to hook into his flesh and
skin him as they had to the other human a moment ago.
But Aiden was no mere Eldar. He was a weapon. He was a Trueborn. His feet slid
across the metal bulkhead flooring as if the soles of his tight-fitting boots were

greased, and his body whipped back into a hard curve, one hand whipping back to
press the tips of his fingers to the floor, flipping himself nimbly backwards, the
blades cracking the air just an inch from him as he righted himself.
Lilith hissed her ire at him, and even twisted and pinched into the beginnings of
frustration her features were perfect. Even her anger was perfect. She danced
forwards on her bladed heels, lashing blurringly-fast kicked towards his throat,
pivoting and launching another to his stomach, aiming a coordinated strike-afterstrike kick with each of her legs towards his face and thighs, whipping up and
around to whip her bladed hands into his chest, swiping the other hand up into his
chin, flowing around him and seeking to gouge out his spine. And to her growing
frustration, and with a twinge of disbelief, none of her strikes could land. Every blow
missed by the smallest fractions of space, his form twitching and jerking the most
minimal of distances to escape each of what would have been lethal or at least
incapacitating blows. As the clawed gauntlets of her hand moved to stroke his
spine, he whipped around, following her motions, and even outpacing her. Before
she could alter her strike, he whipped his elbow into the side of her head. The blow
sent her momentarily into darkness, and for the first time in her long life, her body
moved ungracefully and without its own accord; it careened into the wall, slammed
into it, and bounced off, sending her sprawling to the floor, her metal brassiere
screeching against the plasteel floor as it dragged against it. Her vision swam, and
she struggled to focus, the effect of the concussion rattling her senses. Vaguely, she
was aware of his voice speaking with an almost cultured tone to it... and it was full
of malice and contempt.
This... is what I have hunted? For twenty years... I have hunted THIS? You are
unworthy. This is a waste!
Liliths lips pulled back into a snarl, indignation and fury at being talked to in such a
way by such an unworthy creature, at being laid low by such a pitiful being. She
rolled onto her side and whipped her clawed hand up, and was rewarded with a
strangled grunt of what she assumed was pain. The Eldar jumped back, gazing
down at the five red slashes across his chest. But, with extreme disappointment,
she realized they had been little more than superficial wounds. The concussion was
still affecting her; she had gauged it to be a killing blow.
Maybe there's something to this after all, Aiden growled, a mild note of relief
entering his voice. He leapt forwards again, sending a bullet-fast sideways dropkick
to her face. She bounded up on one hand and twirled in midair; as he hit the floor,
missing her entirely, he pushed himself with one hand, sending him across the floor
as she spun up and around into the air, her body arching into a hard 180 degree
angle to drive her bladed heel down towards his head. She missed by the smallest
fraction of a centimeter, and spun on her landed foot to deliver a vicious full-body
spinning kick to him as she stood. His arm whipped up as the other pushed against
the floor, spring-boarding to his feet and blocking kick, hooking his elbow around

her knee and twisting it around, knocking her momentarily off-balance. She spun
through the air, out of control for the briefest second before he kicked against the
ceiling, twisting her body around into an impossible angle to drive her elbow into his
back. To her delight, it landed. To her immediate dismay, he moved into the blow,
absorbing it and denying her its impact. He rolled as he hit the floor, transferring all
the impact away, as she did the same as well, twisting free of his grasp and rolling
to her feet, breathing deeply.
Aiden windmilled onto his feet, hands up into a esoteric fighting stance. That's
much better, he purred, and despite herself, Lelith shuddered at the tone. She had
never been bested. Never been matched. Dozens of other fighters had tried to take
her on all at once and had never even landed a blow. By himself, he was already
backing her into a corner.
It was... sexy.
Lilith Decried. I know who you are, Enigma shot back in a low, sibilant whisper. I
am Mark Five-Three-Seven. Secondary; Enigma. And I am the end of your long spree
of torment and despair, tainted xenos witch! He darted forward suddenly, but as
Lelith spun to dodge and to whip her bladed hair into his side, he zig-zagged into a
different course, right into her. The sudden move was brutal, crude, unexpected,
and it took her entirely by surprise, spearing her body with his own. He slammed
her against the bulkhead, fracturing four of her wing-shaped fused ribs. For the first
time in as many eons as she could remember, she felt pain. Actual, sharp, bodyinvading pain. As they fell to the floor, she screamed, unused to the sensation. She
was the giver... not the taker. She danced around blows, she didn't take them. The
human fell atop her, driving his knee into the underside of her damaged ribs in a
quick, powerful, fluid motion, slamming one hand open-palmed into the side of her
shoulder, impacting it into its socket and breaking her collar bone and fracturing her
upper arm with a sickening crack. Lelith shrieked in agony, silenced by his other
hand impacting into the side of her face, smacking it violently against the floor. She
lost consciousness for a moment, but a moment later was awakened to a groggy
world of shooting pain coursing across the left side of her body. Her vision was
cloudy, blurred, stars exploding before her eyes. She tried to scream but the
human's hand pressed to the side of her face, mashed her cheek against he floor,
forcing her lips into the grotesque parody of puckering for a kiss. Her eyes mashed
tightly closed, the swimming of her vision making her nauseous. Or maybe it was
the vicious concussion, she wasn't sure.
Aiden breathed slowly, steadily, perched atop his prey, solid white eyes narrowed in
contempt.
I have won, witch. I am your end.

Lilith shuddered underneath him. For a brief moment, he thought it was fear, of
terror. But then, muffled by the floor, she moaned, and he felt her body warm
underneath his. He stopped, completely frozen in disbelief by the bizarre reaction.
He was right. He had won. Within mere minutes, he had overpowered her,
outmatched her, flowed around her attacks as readily and easily as she had for so
long flowed around the attacks of her own opponents. He had lain her low, shown
her the experience of mind-shocking, body-crippling pain, forced her flawless face
into the floor of a human vessel, into the surface upon which HUMAN boots had trod
upon countless numbers of times, pinned her, completely overpowered her. And
then he had spoke, again, those words. She was in pain. She was humiliated. She
was everything she had visited upon others and hasnt felt in a long time. And then
came his voice.
She couldn't help herself. Her body tightened, a great wave of heat shot through
her, the pain only amplifying it, coursing down her spine.
She came hard, her juices all but squirting against her wychsuit, trickling down her
thigh and lower cleft curve of her buttocks. A moan, hot and needy, ripped
unbidden from her full, rouge-painted lips.
Did you just... have an orgasm?
She couldn't respond. Not in any sense. She couldn't respond because her senses
were overloaded with an agonizingly sensual mix of extremes of pleasure and pain.
She couldn't respond because she was too humiliated, too ashamed to admit it. The
very idea revolted her... and as it revolted her, it threatened to make her cum again.
She couldn't. She wouldn't. And the more the idea repulsed her, the more the
thought of his defeat and domination of her aroused her to the point of an orgasm
caressed her awareness, the worse it got until with a scream laced with selfdisgusted ecstasy ripped from her lips. Her body heated again, hotter than before,
her entire body going to the greatest of extremes to tighten, defying the norm of
eldar muscular physiology to coil like springs as she came, violently, this time her
juice actually squirting out and spraying around her wychsuit's lower garment, her
body trembling violently underneath Aiden. She became aware, in her lust-hazed,
pleasure-wracked state, of a low, guttural chuckling sound. Aiden. He was laughing.
You DID. TWICE, he crowed, laughing loudly. You whore. Does the realization
you've been beaten cause you so much pleasure? Or perhaps it is my prowess, my
domination of you, that enchants you so.
Lilith tried to speak, tried to say something to insult him, to wipe that smug smirk
off his face. Off his... handsome... angular face. Another wave of revulsion washed
over her. She was ATTRACTED to this creature! But... he had beaten her so soundly,
had done so with so little effort, with such... efficiency, with such brutality, such
power and grace. He was so primal, so... so... deadly. So perfect. The thought ran

around her tunnel-visioning mind, and her body went limp. She could say nothing to
defy him. She had always thought she was the most perfect manifestation of death.
She had been proven wrong. Her entire world had been shattered as surely as her
collar bone, her ribs, and her arm were.
So she nodded, humiliation etched onto her immaculate features, which now were
smudged with her paints of vanity, the mascara running down her cheeks, the rouge
smeared across her lips and mixing with the black eye paint on her cheek.
Then SAY it, he growled... like a beast snarling its dominance to its mate. The
notion sent chills down her spine. She spoke in short, hiccuping bursts.
I... I-I-I... am b-beaten... you are... t-too... good... I am-am... beaten... I am... ininferior.
Aiden smirked coldly. The words were more satisfying than her blood. He tilted his
head back and let out a scream of victory that filled the corridor, a feral howl of
triumph, before seething through his teeth as he regarded her. Lithe, luscious,
lustful. Huge, heaving breasts. A tight, perky ass. Fair, nigh-translucent, immaculate
skin, a lush, taut physique, long, shining locks of hair as dark as Abaddon's soul.
Sharp, angular, death-entreating eyes, full, delicious lips. He paused, hearing a
clattering, looking up in time to see Liliths wych-cult turning the corner swiftly,
swords and splinter-pistols raised. They froze, seeing the position of their cult-leader
and her assailant. Liliths eyes turned up at them, empty depths conveying the
magnitude of her defeat.
The wyches were stunned momentarily. Even if they had not been, it would not have
mattered much in determining the extent of their lifespans. Aiden pounced up from
Lilith, leaving her broken body immobile on the floor. She could only watch... only
WANTED to watch, as Aiden blurred amidst them. A punch to the throat collapsing
the trachea. An arm whipped into the nose of another, shattering her face and
shoving shards of bone into her brain. A hand twisting at another's neck, snapping
the vertebrae, before dropping the dying body to the ground. A kick to the stomach,
pulverizing the organs, the same kick translating into a spinning heel kick to the
back of the head, shattering the skull, a hail of blows to the chest, a dozen in a
single moment, all open-palmed, impacting the ribs and shoving them into the heart
and lungs, before both hands grab the dying individual, slamming her into another,
breaking both bodies against the wall, an elbow to the chin, chattering the jaw,
followed up by a vicious uppercut a fraction of a second later, sending shards of
bone up into the cerebral cortex, the insides of the wrists impacting opposite
temples of the head, bursting the head open, before the last one was grabbed and
hauled into the air, screaming, before being brought down upon a knee driving up,
breaking the wych in half, but not killing her. For that, he took her splinter pistol,
pulling down her wychsuit's pants. As she mewled in pain, she jammed the barrel of
the weapon into the tight pucker of her ass, pausing a moment for her to scream in

agony and terror before he fired the gun, tearing her organs apart from the inside
out, before discarding the ravaged body of the former torturous murderer. Ten of the
deadliest dark eldar wyches in Commoragh... killed in under five seconds. Aiden
turned his gaze back to Lilith.
She was spasming violently, choking on her own screams, chain-orgasming. Aiden
smirked.
Victory but this was not the only prize he would take from this...
Fear. She felt fear. Somewhere inside the tempest-tossed storm of extremes of
pleasure and pain, the part of her that had led Lilith to become an indomitable
embodiment of beautiful lethality felt shattered. It was a crisis of identity, the
complete and utter ruination of her entire sense of being, leaving her more broken
than her body was.
How could this happen?
You love it, you twisted whore, came the guttural reply. A desperate sob ripped
from her lips as her strength began to desert her. Finally, he pressed flush against
her back and she found one of his hands releasing her damaged arm, to replace
itself on her throat.. I can break your neck, or crush your throat, with the simplest,
quickest of motions.
No... please... she whispered weakly. The last of her strength left her, and she lay
slack against the floor, arms splayed out submissively, eyes closed to spare herself
the humiliation of letting him see the self-disgust and absolute destruction of her
self-esteem behind them. Spare me... I... I do not wish to die.
Aiden smirked cruelly down at her, squeezing slowly. Spare you? And why would I
do a thing like that? As he spoke, he sat up, grabbing her shoulder and rolling her
onto her back, before yanking her good arm out to the side, pinning it roughly to the
floor plating, his body straddling her bare, bruised midriff.
Lilith finally opened her sharply-angled eyes as he flipped her over and pinned her,
desperation and terror clear in her gaze. I will serve you... service you... do
whatever you wish of me! Make me a servant, a slave, anything, just... I beg you,
don't kill me! she blurted, voice growing in pitch and diminishing in volume as his
hand squeezed tighter, blocking more and more of her airway.
Please! Anything! I'll... do anythi-! she finally managed to choke out, before her
airway was choked completely shut by his grip, her eyes bulging in terror, mouth
open wide in a desperate bid to gasp in a breath that she had no chance of pulling
in, her long tongue lolling out. She bucked her body, anguish overwhelming her
mind. The world began to grow dim, and she could almost hear an insane, eerie
laugh echoed across her senses... She Who Thirsts.

But suddenly the pressure eased. She sucked in a hard breath, the darkness that
had been pressing in receding slowly, coughing violent as she sucked air into her
lungs.
Yes... yes, anything... Aidenwhispered. You fear death... You heard the laughter of
your damnation, didn't you? He laughed coldly as her head bobbed rapidly in reply,
her body still taken by coughing fits. Would you kill for me? Another rapid nod.
Would you bow to me? Another nod, a note of desperation in the motion as she
felt his hands tighten their grip threateningly once more. Would you render your
body unto me? Another furious nod. I... I would be... eager! Hungry to kill for you!
To... to bow to you! To give myself to you!
Aiden's grin grew as she choked out her words. Good, he purred, releasing his grip
on her and slowly climbing to his feet, only to deliver a vicious kick into the side of
her head. Already struggling to cling to consciousness, Lilith finally was pushed into
the darkness by the spiteful strike, her lithe, battered, bruised, and beaten form
going limp against the floor, only the faint motions of her breathing any indicator
that she was still alive.
The miniscule loin covering and the insides of her thighs were still glistening from
her heavy orgasms. Livid bruises covered her in a dozen different places and were
accompanied by a score of cuts and scratches and lacerations from which dark red
blood trickled. The side where he'd broken her rib plate was a dark purple, and
black rivulets ran down her face from the tears of pain and exertion running the
vain makeup on her eyes, the visage matched by the smear of her rouge around her
lips, from which more blood trickled as well. One of her eyes was blackened. She
looked so beaten, so utterly demolished.
He removed his foot from her neck and she took a shuddering breath, coughing
fitfully, body twitching involuntarily, before resuming her normal breathing, albeit
wheezy and fitful. His eyes swept her form again, and that feeling he'd felt when
he'd looked upon her before she had made her last-ditch attempt to escape... the
way she had been shuddering, choking on her own screams, her abdomen and legs
spasming and convulsing as she came over and over at the spectacle of his
domination of her and her filthy whorish minions... it came back. It was his turn to
feel revulsion, this time...
He longed for her. A sneer crept over his face, but it melted as he gazed over her
long, supple torso... the sleek, smoothly-rounded contours of her breasts, bulging
out over her harlot-envy armorpiece. The long, slender legs, the pale, flawless
skin... well, flawless where he hadn't battered her into defeat, anyway. The angular
eyes, the plump, soft lips, the silky locks of ebony-black hair. Every smooth,
rounded, feminine curve of her body appealed to him, appealed to his desires.
He gazed upon the plush mounds of her breasts and the smooth, flat plane of her
stomach and the flare of herhips.

He began to look for something.

He examined a number of instruments on his way down, until finally he found what
he was looking for... a binding collar. Tuned to the neurosignatures of the holder of
the 'leash,' the collar could send a harmonic frequency powerful enough to cause
the head of the one it was attached to to explode. He smirked. Perfect.
As he descended the ladder into his shuttle, he was greeted by a soft groan of pain.
He approached Liliths prone form, kneeling next to her. Her eyes slid open, lifting to
focus on him, before they turned to focus on the collar in his hand. They widened
slowly, and she began to struggle weakly as he grabbed her hair, yanking hard on
it. She cried out hoarsely in pain, eyes squeezing shut.
No... she moaned as he opened the collar, closing it around her neck and tightly
fastening it. It clicked shut, beeping once. She jerked as an electrical jolt coursed
through her, before going limp again. Aiden smirked. You know what that is, don't
you? She didn't respond. Aiden waited, then yanked hard on her hair. DON'T
YOU? he asked again loudly. Lilith squealed, then nodded in defeat. Yes... yes, I
do.
Good. It's tied to my signature. If you disobey me... if you fight me, try to escape...
I will blow your head like a radgrenade. Do you understand? Lilith let out a quiet
sob, nodding again faintly.
Yes... she whimpered.
I can't hear you, Enigma snarled.
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes... master... Lelith whimpered.
What do you intend to do with me? she whispered as he approached, her gaze
following him. Aiden leaned over, removing the cords, letting her limbs fall limply to
the floor. A strangled groan of pain left her as her damaged arm flopped to the floor.
He didn't answer, instead grabbing her by the hair again and dragging her across
the floor. Lelith screamed, reaching up to grip at his wrist, though the threat of what
could happen stopped her from sinking the blades into his flesh, instead only
holding at him to try to ease the pressure on her hair. He hauled her onto her knees,
yanking her head back to face the ceiling.
Get on your feet, whore, he ordered her, which she readily complied, shakily
climbing to her feet, stumbling, her concussion still ruining her balance. He released
her, and she fell against the bulkhead wall, clinging to it for support. He smirked at
the sight as he pressed a few buttons on a nearby panel. It slid open, a medicae

servitor sliding out from its niche, a series of mechanical arms brandishing syringes,
blades, cauterizing tools and various other medical implements, a metal table
sliding out underneath it. Lelith lifted her gaze to it, then to him, eyes widening
slowly.
What... what do you intend to do with me?! she asked again, her voice shrill with
terror this time. He rounded on her, grabbing her by the neck, hauling her over to
the table and slamming her down onto it. She began to struggle until he drove a fist
into the side of her head, stunning her. The darkness pressed in around her vision
once again, threatening to send her back into unconsciousness.
Consciousness brought with it a horror Lilith had not known in time immeasurable, a
fear of the unrequited agony that had rendered her senseless to begin with, but to
her relief, the agony was gone. All the pain was, in fact. Her eyes slipped open, but
she could see nothing. The darkness in the room was so absolute that there was no
light of any kind that even her highly-tuned senses could pick up. Absolute
darkness, like the void the empty space between galaxies. That's all there was.
There was no sound, save for her own breathing, and the silence, she realized, was
maddening. It was horrible. She began to struggle. Another emotion she had long
forgotten she could possibly feel. Lilith was not a strong individual. She was not raw
force. She was dexterity and grace, speed and agility. That did not help her here.
She screamed. Terror rang through her voice, but it did not ring back. It was as if
she were in a vacuum. The sound was hollow and muted. The fear grew. Her eyes
were wild, staring at the vast nothing all around her. The part that continued to
regard her in detached, clinical amusement noted that she was naked now. At some
point the machine that had tortured her into senseless had cut the miniscule
amounts of what counted for modesty from her body. It was then that she realized
how little she could feel, too. Even as she wriggled her wrists into the metal cuffs,
drawing blood that trickled down to the metal beneath her (which, strangely, felt
just as absent as everything else), there was no pain. There was a minor sensation
of discomfort, but it was muted.
Aiden stood beside the platform that held his captive prey.
She screamed once more. He knew plenty enough of the eldar, , to know that in
terms of emotions, they felt things to such extremes as to make his own, or any
save for the Astartes themselves, seem like bland, muted grays and blacks and
whites, contrasted to vivid purples, reds, blues, and greens. Dim, dull, too subtle.
"Horror" was not a word he could use to describe what her voice and expression
were conveying now. She had stopped struggling. Sobs were filling her screams.
Rapid, cyclical, choked, laced with words in a language few in the Imperium
understood. He understood them well. Pleading words to what she very well thought
to be a silent void, describing feelings he simply could not possibly comprehend.
The words flowed like poetry. Her vivid green eyes were staring wildly, everywhere
and nowhere, looking upon everything and seeing nothing.

"Be still," he said simply, softly.

"What did you do to me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and flimsy. The Dark Elar
stood up, and now she could see his eyes, the faintest glint of the light touching
them, casting their silver-white oculars upon her prone, trapped, helpless form with
a mix of contempt...and hunger. The contempt she was familiar with. She had seen
it many times in the eyes of his kind...the hunger, she was familiar with, too, but not
on such features. Others of her kin, yes. Countless times in the eyes of her kin.
Somehow, on him, it was both more brutish, primal, and more terrifying. She felt a
shiver tickle its way down her form, but it was dull, muted, and made even more so
by the lingering touches of the wild, frenzied terror that still pressed in insistently on
her senses as surely as the numbness did. They were synonymous in her mind, now.
youre about to witness pain and pleasure that you could never fathom he said
"Prove it," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his, even as her pale, nude form
tensed under his contempt-filled regard. He did not reply. Not with words. He
responded with action. He released her neck, and yanked at the needles sunken into
her fair skin. A trill of pain sang up her arms, but she ignored it. Pain was not
important...something much worse was coming. He did nothing, said nothing. No
words of incantation, or movements of the body. But the effect of his non-action was
instant. Her vision tunneled into nothingness. A blanket of nothingness wrapped
about her body, suffocating all sensation with its absolute, horrible lack. Her ears
were filled to the limit with absolute silence. The smell of nothing permeated the
nothing, and she tasted a complete tastelessness. A moment passed, and the panic
surged up from her chest and into her conscious awareness. There was nothing, and
it was too much for her to handle. Her mouth flew open.
And she screamed. She screamed so loud that even if she could hear something
over the deafening muting, she would not be able to hear his laugh. But she knew
he was laughing. He was triumphant. She was helpless. Her terror was great. Too
great for words. And then, just as suddenly as the nothingness had enveloped her
and surrounded her, it receded mercifully, like curtains drawn up to reveal the great
play of life once again. And there, center stage, stood Enigma. He said nothing. He
did not need to. Words were meaningless now. She only stared, her chest heaving.
She didn't have enough time to catch her breath before his hands had shoved down
onto her chest. Her breasts, handfuls each, capped with stiffened nipples, were
squeezed to the point of pain. The sensation clashed against the receding voice; the
red of lust slamming into and pushing against the black of the void. A song filled the
air. A moan. Hers. And even before his hands had slid around to curl his fingers
around the outer and under curves of her pliant, pale mounds of flesh, exposing the
nipples for his mouth to wrap around, lips clamping to them and sucking so hard
that they stretched slightly into his mouth, she was singing a song of boundless
desire, the wantonly seductive note pushing the muteness away. Oh yes, she was

surrendering to him entirely and absolutely. What better way to see off the absolute
nothingness, than with the most ecstatic sensation of all?
A few moments later, and with a lewd, slurping pop his lips came free. At the same
time, his hands left her plush mounds and he drew back. Lilith sucked in a breath,
an irate tirade upon her tongue; he had not so much pushed her buttons so much as
he had jammed a fork into them, and regardless of the bigger picture of her
situation, she ached for more than the underwhelming tease. But before she could
begin to demand him to get back to work, his lips clamped onto hers, effectively
cutting her off before she could begin. Her eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowing into
a frown as she muffled her annoyed protests into his mouth, hands balling into fists
and wrists twisting uselessly in the clamps that held her down. Cutting her, beating
her, breaking her bones? That was not torture, not for her, anyways. No, this was
the torture, giving her nothing but the most chaste examples of carnality. Suddenly,
Aidens lips forced hers open and he literally sucked her tongue into his mouth. He
did not stop there, clamping his teeth upon the slick muscle aggressively. Her
impatience dimmed; this was more to her taste, and much to her delight, he did not
stop at that. As her eyes wrenched themselves open so that she could watch,
Enigma's lips wrapped around her captive tongue, his teeth still aggressively biting
down to the point that he was in danger of drawing blood, and then he drew back,
stretching the muscle out, though this was not the improvement. The escalation
came in the form of one of his hands reaching up and taking a fistful of her bloodred locks, the aggressive act accompanied by his other hand delivering a harsh slap
to the underside of one of her tits, a brilliant red imprint blazing upon her deathlypale flesh. No cry of protest or pain left her lips, which were now parted wide with
her tongue stretched out between them. Instead, the sound that ripped from her
throat was decidedly approving, encouraging even. The intensity of the sound grew
sharply as the hand that had delivered the strike wrapped aggressively around the
same mound, fingers clenching painfully hard into the pliant, silky-smooth flesh.
Liliths back arched harshly into his hand, silently urging him onwards. His hand
departed again, only to return with another vicious slap that was followed by a
sharp back-handed strike and finished with his thumb and forefinger gripping the
stiff peak of her nipple and yanking up until her tit stretched to its limits in
conjunction with his hand giving a sudden, sharp yank to her hair and his teeth
finally clamping to the point that he broke skin and they both tasted her blood. A
heady, gushing moan of glee ripped from her throat and her eyes rolled up in their
sockets momentarily. Like all of her tainted kind during sexual congress (consensual
or not), pain traveling its way up her nerve endings to her brain got fucked up and
mistranslated somewhere along the line, ending up as a sickly perverse form of
pleasure to her mind.
She felt Enigma's tongue swirling across her own and, with a surge of excitement,
she realized he was licking her blood from the ragged cuts his teeth had caused.
Her hands clenched tightly, nails piercing her palms and drawing more blood from

her. It ran in thin, brackish red rivulets down her skin, the colors of flesh and vital
fluid creating a sadistic contrast. His fingers twisted at her stretching nipple, and in
response her back arched higher, her inhumanly lithe form allowing her configure
herself into an angle unimaginable by a lesser creature, her range inhibited only by
the bindings.
Just as she was on the verge of trying to wriggle away for the sake of getting him to
move on and get on with something else, he released her tongue, lips sucking at
the tip for a split second as he leaned his head back. His silver-white eyes leered
down at her, and she could not help but drag her bloodied tongue across her lips,
painting them an even more sinister shade of red, tugging them into a smirk as her
own hazel-gray eyes narrowed in as good an approximation of a 'come-hither' stare
as an eldar could make. Aiden's own eyes narrowed then he let go of the leash, and
let the animal take over.
A hand wrapped around her neck, long, dexterous fingers squeezing hard as he
could. His other hand joined, and together their thumbs pressed into her throat,
choking the air from her. Lady Decried eyes flew open wide, mouth opening to try to
suck in a breath that could not pass to her lungs. She should have felt fear, but she
didn't. In fact, she couldn't. All she felt was aroused. She had long been kicked to
new heights of lustful need by this creature, and it seemed he was adamant that
she be given no satisfaction, no release for the overwhelming pressure. She tried to
cry out; not in terror as her vision swam and tunneled into darkness, but in
frustration. Her wrists yanked and tugged at her bindings until the skin was rubbed
raw, and then she yanked harder. The metal cut into her flesh, her blood dripped
onto the metal table, her claws dug into her palms to reopen the healed punctures
anew. She kicked her legs half-inches at a time. Her head tossed side to side. All
feeling was draining from her; she was at death's door, she could all but hear The
Devourer howling for her soul and all the riches of murder and bloodshed and
torture it contained, and yet in spite of facing the greatest terrors known to her
kind, all she could think about was how much she wanted to snap that which bound
her down so she could rip this creature's vestments off, stuff his manhood into her
drenched vessel and take him for every iota of feral need he had. It did not matter
how, or in what way. Any of her holes would suffice at this point. She would not even
balk at the idea of him cutting ones of his own if that was what it took, but she
needed it in some way. Her sanity, already hanging by razor-thin threads as it was
on a good day, was threatening to snap. She was on the verge of being reduced to a
gibbering wreck, and a horrifying thought crossed her mind: What if she did snap?
What then? Would she even be aware of satisfaction if it was finally, mercifully
granted to her? Or would she spend the rest of her days wanting something without
even knowing she had had it?
It was with no small amount of relief that the need for this question tumbled away
as his hands eased their pressure. She sucked in a harsh, retching breath of air,
coughing violently; this was not helped by her tormentor, who squeezed his hands

at each cough, forcing her retch even harder, her eyes squinching shut, tears
running down the corners and into the loose red locks of hair trapped underneath
her; and as she gagged on her own coughs, her slit; tight, untouched, trickling her
need onto the cold, unyielding surface beneath her clenched and with a scream that
was choked off in her throat, she peaked, her honeyed juices ejaculating from her a
long, streaming spray. Her lower body bucked up off the table, tears of exertion
pouring from her tattoo-decorated eyes as the lids forced themselves together as
hard as they possibly could. She heard her tormentor let loose a low, malicious
laugh. She forced her eyelids open as her body shuddered and twitched in their
bindings, eyebrows furrowed into an angry frown. She spat curses at him in her kin's
language, elegant words tainted with a contradictory mixture of frustration and
gratification, anger and ecstasy. Enigma did not reply. Instead, he reached a hand
down and, at long last, touched her. First along her stomach, fingertips tracing at
the taut, toned flesh, and then down further. He wasted no time when he reached
the point she yearned for, those teasing digits sliding down across her labia. Index
and ring fingers rubbed up and down, sending jolts of pleasure racing up her spine,
chased by an even more intense cascade as his middle finger slipped into her
depths. Virgin-tight without actual virginity to resist his entrance, her depths
clenched madly at the intrusion, squeezing and desperately trying to pull him in
deeper. His hand eased from her throat and replaced itself over her eyes, blocking
her field of view but leaving her free to speak without effort.
"Give me...give to me..." she hissed, unable to focus enough to finish her sentences.
"Give...let me take...I will...let-me-have-you!" she finally let the words tumble in a
near-incoherent babbling rush from her plump, silky soft lips. "Yes, you will," came
the curt, assured reply. His fingers rubbing her glistening folds abandoned their task
to join the vanguard of their assault, forcing themselves alongside his middle digit
to burrow into her snatch, working themselves to the knuckle into her. Her depths
clamped down around his fingers, not against the assault but instead with it,
searing-hot slick walls tugging and pulling as the tips of his probing manipulators
tapped and stroked and clawed at her depths. Liliths mouth flew open and she let
loose a moan that was weighted with the unbearable weight of erotic gratitude.