My Fanfic Stash and Favorite online quests

Words:110k+

Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/spawn-of-the-well-a-warhammer-40k-warp-entity-self-insert.981372/

(You emerge from a swirling vortex of insanity and raw creation itself, your vision is blurry and disorientated. Then your vision clears and you realize that you'd want to go back to that.)

Chapter 1

AN: The greatest enemy of mine is my muse. It deserves to die a painful death. But alas, I am but a slave, and it is my master, so, I have no other choice but serve her whims.

Spawn from the Well (A Warhammer 40k Self Insert)

Chapter 1

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Do any of you… Who are you? Who the fuck am I talking to? Ah well, I'm just going to chuck it to my slipping sanity. It isn't as if such a thing had been of much use in this particular plane of the universe. Apparently only the insane thrive in this reality. Those who ain't just are not flexible enough to adapt to the myriad apocalypses and shitstorms that happen almost on a daily basis in this reality… or realities. So I'm just going to go with the flow.

Have any of you tasted shit before? Before you ask, no, I have not, as I do not suffer from coprophagia. But I guess I have gotten the next best thing with this screeching thing on a stick I have with me.

The taste is… it's something truly special, but I think we can go on about it after I had made my introduction.

I will not tell you my name. Gods dead and old, you learn pretty quickly that doing that is practically a death sentence here… or anywhere for that matter for beings like me. Not that I had given my name to anyone actually, but ever since I became awake in this plane of existence that seems to run on crack, LSD, nightmare fuel and the wails of billions upon billions of souls I had been kind of protective of my name… to say the least. However when I met the neighbourhood I immediately knew why I had that instinct so deeply instilled into me.

Basically, if anyone knew my name, I would be fucked seven ways to Sunday and possibly being bound into eternal service to whoever heard it or being eaten after a long, loooong torture session just because.

However, labels that you bestow upon yourself are not so damning. Sure, if you use a name someone may also have at the same time both of you would hear whenever it's spoken and if it's of some big shot motherfucker that only shows up to kick bubble-gum and chew ass then they may know who else shares the name. It's pretty much like a name radar. 'Say my name and I will show up' kind of thing. Of course, the more names you have the less powerful this effect is, and a name given cannot be taken back unless forgotten. And you learn pretty quickly that everyone here has some really good memory for those things.

Just ask those multi-limbed giggling pink dribblies with chronic pyromaniacal backstabbing disorder.

So, just for completion's sake, call me Nameless One. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Now you might be asking yourself 'what are you?' since I have such a particular set of quirks. Well, if my wings and beak… oh I did not mention them? Well, simply put, I am a particularly large Fury.

You know those lost and damned souls of psykers that fell to Chaos but never actually picked any one of the Giant Tumors to worship? Yeah that's me. Well… kind off, all that I know is that I look like one… just with an alien beak head and three eyes.

Also my colours are off, because last time that I checked most chaos daemons are not a dull metallic blue with rich cyan and orange trims. Well… maybe Tzeench's army of deluded mad fucks could have those colours… but then again, it's easier to list the colours that Squid Fuck's army of nutjobs hasn't used. And I think they ran out of real colours a few million years ago and decided to make whole new ones just for fun. The most fabulous gay pride parades ever got nothing on these fuckers.

Likewise, another thing that separates me from them is that I am not obsessed with plots and secrets and forbidden knowledge. What I want is to make it to tomorrow… or whatever constitutes a tomorrow in this plane of reality. You kind of need stars and planets to make that.

Thankfully I don't need to sleep as I am unknown species of warp entity. Likewise I don't need to eat.

But I have picked up such a habit. Living in the warp is not an easy thing. It's like I am in some kind of hellscape filled with demons and shit… because I am. In this place, there is an unending war for survival and power and everyone is trying to one up each other. So it is not surprising that I have come across a couple…dozen… hundred daemons and other assorted warp dribbles and lost a limb or two. So that is something I have to regain again. Either I heal on my own, and that takes a lot of time, or I get energy from an external source.

And that constituted a problem. You see, everything here one way or another is poisoned by the Taint of Chaos. It seeps everywhere, poisons the mind and body (or soul considering that I am a metaphysical being) and twists and perverts everything.

Thankfully, cleansing the taint is rather surprisingly a not too difficult thing to do. It's mostly just takes time and you have to know what you are doing and have the patience to do it.

I think it's because I am a fellow warp entity that I can recognize the miasma of chaos almost on an instinctive level and therefore, since I know what I am looking for, I can remove it. I have learned to seep my own energy into what I want and mould it, twist it to my own needs and cleanse away whatever poison was within. It manifest to my eyes as a pale flame that burns the world off its impurities. And this flame was my way to cleanse the shit I eat to make it safe for ingestion.

Of course I could eat it without proper cleansing like I did the first time and suffer the worst case of indigestion in history. But after that I learned to never, ever not cleanse the shit clean off its daemonic miasma.

Never want to live that episode of my life again. It was miserable, nauseating and filled with metaphysical gastro-intestinal movements that would scar your mind for the rest of your life. And the vomit… oh by the Well, the vomiting… It was everywhere! I think that's how that thrice damned horror kept finding me! It just followed the trail of indigestion by-products.

Anyway, I learned my lesson from that. Unfortunately, no matter how much you dress it up or process it, shit is still shit. And every daemon tastes, one way or another, like shit. And this is my first time trying out Nurglite kebab and they look the least appetizing by far, but well… I have to get back at the little shit for ripping off my middle finger just as I was flipping it the bird.

"Don't… kill me..!" I look down at the weeping gross mass of puss, putrefaction and despair that I have skewered with a stick. I guess I wasted too long thinking out to my non-existent audience and forgot about the nurgling I was about to eat, and during that lapse of time, it managed to grow out a new mouth and tongue to speak.

I lifted it to my eye level. "Why would I want to spare you?" I asked the thing and it grasped onto that sliver of hope like a lifeline.

"I-I could show you Granpa's love! He loves us all! And-And he can love you too! And- AAA!!!" It's loud shrieks of pain echoed across the rainbow patterned black cave of singing stone. Yes, this stone sings, and it's a tune that does not make sense what so ever. Hopefully the cave's properties could drown out the noise of agony of the very lesser nurglite daemon. I lifted the smoking pile of shit from the pale flame that I had set up a while ago. "W-why?"

"Because you are a pile of shit and I don't want to be part of a family whose very idea of love is to live in eternal despair and be infected with every known STD in the known galaxy. Also, you were laughing when you ripped my finger off and ate it, so I am taking it back one way or another."

Its black eye pits turn hateful. "I curse upon you Nameless One! Grandfather Nur-EEEEEE." And there go again, back to the fire. It's still too raw if it can spit angrily at me.

I reach out with my other hand and plunge it into its body, severing the threads of despair and love and decay around parts of its being until I pull out its melted heart/liver out and focus on its pulsating, oozing mass. I invoke my heatless pale fire once more, but more precise and refined. Like tendrils of soft light I delve into the sturdy, yet almost gelatinous neverborn meat, finding any and all traces of the taint of its patron undivinity and the malevolence of their ilk.

Like a carcinogenic poison that seeks to devour and destroy and decay all into nothingness yet pathetic in its every shape as it shies away at the mere prospect of its true and permanent destruction, ever forgetting that its own victory means its own defeat. Such is the nature of Chaos. Weak, craven and all so pathetic. Lies and perversions of what should be. And as such, like all lies are, they cannot stand before the truth and are painfully, and oh so wonderfully baptized in annihilation.

Green tongues of energy mixed with black and corrupt daemonichromic hues move out to intercept the pale fire, but my essence envelops it, sealing it and cutting it off on a meta-tempo-spiritual level from its patron gestalt. Nurgle would not, could not protect it, and without a source to draw power from, its attempts at resisting my power came down to a battle of endurance, one that it could not win.

It still took long to fully cleanse. There was a reason why daemons are so hardy, considering the absurdly immense font of fuel it has in the shape of the Imperium of Man and the countless hardships and suffering that it performs on a daily basis. Likewise, the shit stains of Nurgle have always been known as the hardy type. No problem anyway, I got time.

And eventually, I had cleansed every portion of the meat off its malevolent taint and I decided to look at it. It's no longer an oozing mass of something nauseating, now taking a slightly off colour hue and with a slightly hard exterior. It still looked like something that a normal man would gag at looking, but I had grown accustomed to this hell, so here goes nothing.

I open my beak and bite down and cheUUUUUUUUUURRRGGHHH!!!!

FUCK! *Spit* FUCK! *Cough* FUCK! *Gag* FUCKING HELL! *Hold back vomit* FUCKING WARP CUNT FUCKERING FUCKERY FUCK!! *Fail miserably.* Uuuugh…. Fuck…

That was, the worst experience that has ever assaulted my tongue. It tasted like the most malformed fusion of despair, sadness and happiness in existence, then bathed in puss, putrefaction and sickness and AAAH! Fucking gross!!

As I rubbed my tongue clean with my claws I heard a noise to my left and see the still burning mass of puss and shit giggling at me. I snarl and get up, turning to it and inhale and then released a torrent of raging pale fire at the neverborn, letting it bathe in my disdain for it and all its kind. Then as its screeches of torment I reach into the diminutive folly of the Old One's legacy, hand raging in pale light as I tore through the threads that made the creature what it was. And then I reached its core essence and gripped it in my flaming hand.

I did not have the eons that it could take to decipher its name. Nor did I care for it. Whatever name it takes, shit will always be shit. And that it's a fine name if you ask me for every one of their kind.

I pulsed my power once more and unmade the thing's essence in its entirety, letting its foetid vessel crumble into neverborn flesh and puss that was rapidly and readily being consumed by my flames until its energies return to the ether as untainted warpstuff.

Then I retracted my hand and cleaned myself off.

I should get moving. It's never safe to remain in one place for too long. I'm going to the Wastes again. Maybe I can hunt a fury and season its parts with khornate flakes. Get a decent meal out of it and then continue on with my journey.

I picked up my journal and sickle and then began to make my way out of the cave. I had a mission to do. Not sure how, but the Directive calls and I will fulfil it.

Also… I'd rather not end up with Chaos any more powerful than it already is.

For all of our sakes.

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End