What if the Primarchs were Women?

On the blasted and scarred fields on one of the tens of thousands war-torn planets that dotted the galaxy, something was stirring. Amidst these bloodied battlegrounds, a creature driven by animalistic fury tore into one of the thousands of broken corpses that littered the area. Nails like claws tore through armor and flesh, ripping through muscle and artery like paper until the corpse's neck was torn open and oozing crimson blood. The creature squeezed the corpse against its body in a powerful grip, forcing every last drop of blood from the body's open wound and into its gaping mouth. Thick torrents of crimson liquid gushed from the broken body, messily gulped down by the feral creature, its pale face stained red by what little blood managed to escape its maw. When there was no more blood to be found within the corpse, the creature tossed it away and its powerful form fell onto the next nearest body in a mindless desperate frenzy to sate its endless thirst.

Unseen by the creature, a figure hovered above the battlefield, carried in the air by a pair of magnificent, feathered wings, like the angels of the Old Faiths of ancient Terra. The angelic being looked down at the mindless creature gorging itself on the spilled blood of the dead with pity and when she spoke it was with a voice heavy with guilt and grief. "Another one… lost to us forever." The angel's hand fell to her hip and unsheathed a gleaming blade that crackled with energy. On the ground below, the creature suddenly went still, and its head slowly turned, catching sight of the sword-wielding angel above it. The feral creature let out a blood-curdling wail, an animalistic shriek of fury that would have sent a lesser being fleeing in terror. The angel, however, was unperturbed and swooped down on the creature with grace and lethality of an eagle. Whatever meager resistance the creature might have attempted to put up was for naught, as with surgical precision, the angel's power sword cleaved through the beast's ceramite hide, penetrating through armor, flesh and bone until its tip pierced through the creature's heart. The creature went silent, black eyes wide. As the angel pulled her sword from its chest, the creature's face relaxed, no longer so harsh as death brought to it peace. The creature fell and would have collapsed to the ground if the angel had not caught it in her arms. In its mother's embrace, the creature breathed its last, its eyes closing as the Red Thirst finally faded.

The angel cradled the body in her arms for some time, before at last she stood. Sanguinia, Primarch of the Ninth Astartes Legion – the Blood Angels – sighed mournfully. Once again, one of her daughters had been lost to the Red Thirst. This affliction was her and her legion's greatest secret, a gene-flaw that would strike her daughters in the heat of battle, driving them mad with a ravenous hunger for blood. It mattered not where this blood flowed from their enemies, or from there allies, only that the blood never ended. Most who succumbed to the Red Thirst died in battle, their madness unnoticed and uncommented on by their allies. Those few who managed to survive, however, found themselves put down at either Sanguinia's hands or those of her elite Sanguinary Guard. With the body of the former Astartes sergeant in her arms, Sanguinia took flight once more, her angelic wings unfurled and glimmering in the setting sun as she returned to her flag ship.

The Red Tear was the Glorianna-class battleship that served as the mobile command center for the Blood Angels legion. Like its master, the Tear was a beautiful sight to behold, a marvel of gold, copper, and crimson steel that cut through the blackness of the Void like a gleaning dagger. While her daughters recuperated from their latest victory, the Primarch of the Blood Angels sat alone in her private chambers, her mind heavy with thoughts. The Red Thirst was getting worse. When Sanguinia had been first reunited with her legion, each of her daughters had been mindless, blood hungry berserkers, just as likely to rip apart their allies as they were the enemy, to be herded into dropships and sicced on their opponents like feral dogs. It had taken a great deal of time, energy, and patience, but eventually Sanguinia had been able to transform her daughters from the savage Revenants into the noble Blood Angels: defenders of order, civilization, and humanity. The Red Thirst was what remained of those blood-soaked early years, however, a gene-curse that continued to dog her daughters and one that was growing more and more prevalent with each passing battle. The Angel of Baal was beginning to fear that there may come a time when each and every one of her daughters were once more under the feral thrall of the Red Thirst and all their nobility lost to the ravenous blood hunger.

A sound from her private vox-com broke Sanguinia from her despairing thoughts and voice came crackling through from the other side of the door. "My lady, I have an urgent message for you." The voice of Abelard Pranath, the Master of Astropaths aboard the Tear came through the vox. "It's from the Warmaster."

Sanguinia instantly rose to her feet and opened the door, allowing the far smaller psyker within her chambers. The astropath walked in, leaning heavily on his psi-staff, sightless eyes still managing to home in on the Primarch.

"Speak, Master Pranath," Sanguinia said, her voice gentle and yet still anxious to hear what news Isis had for her. Out of all her sisters, the Warmaster was who the Primarch of the Blood Angels was closest to, a bond that was envied by more than a few of their sisters. Isis Lupercal alone was the sole being Sanguinia had entrusted the knowledge of the Red Thirst to. After Isis found Sanguinia herself nearly consumed by it. If any of their sisters found out… if the Empress found out…

…Her daughters would be killed to the last and Sanguinia would be the third of their sisters to be lost.

"The Warmaster has ordered the fleet to head to the eastern fringes of Segmenta Ultima where a new planet has been discovered. The population is largely human, but dominated by a race of powerful Xeno-psykers." The blind Astropaths informed her.

Sanguinia frowned at the lack of information. "Is that truly all the intel we have on this planet?"

"I'm afraid so, my lady." Master Pranath said. Psychic communication was not a precise field of science, often times more ritual than it was technical. Even this much was an unusually detailed for such an obscure practice.

The Angel of Baal sighed. "Very well," she said. "Inform the admiral and the navigators of our new heading, Master Pranath."

"As you will it, Primarch Sanguinia." The psyker said with a bow. As he turned to leave however, Sanguinia could not help but ask one final question."

"Master Pranath, do you at least know the name of this planet?"

The blind astropath stopped and turned back to the Primarch, sightless eyes meeting her blue ones. "I do, my lady."

"It is called Epithymía."

-

There was a time when the daemon world now known to the galaxy as Epithymía was a verdant maiden world of the ancient Aeldari, a planet terraformed to await the return of their empire and inhabited by the humble Exodites. Those days have long ended, however. In the 31st millennium, Epithymía is no longer a verdant garden awaiting cultivation by the Eldar, but a locus of the powers of Slaanesh, She-Who-Thirst. Under the lordship of Baren, the Exalted Serpent of the Dark Prince, it was a haven of debauchery and indulgence. A place where each and every one of your darkest hungers could be sated. Atop the highest peak of this fallen world stood Baren's place, an immaculate acropolis of pearly white marble that stood in mockery of a long forgotten pantheon from ancient Terra. It was hear where the Daemon Prince of Slaanesh known to the universe of Baren resided, sitting atop his throne and waiting for his most loyal servant to deliver him the good news.

The Daemon Prince smirked as the doors to his throne room were flung open. Relaari, the Daemonette that served as his chief lieutenant darted in, grinning wildly, every razor-sharp tooth gleaming. The Slaaneshi Daemon came to a halt before his throne, her bountiful assets bouncing wildly. Relaari bowed before her lord, practically shivering with barely-restrained excitement. "Baren~" she cooed. "We have special guests coming all the way from Baal."

"Wonderful news, Relaari." The majordomo of Epithymía squeed in delight as her master affectionately patted her horns. Baren's grin became vicious. Standing from his throne, the Daemon Prince summoned a gleaming double-headed spear of silvery metal. "Marshall the hosts, 'Aari." He ordered. "Let's make Sanguinia feel… at home, shall we?"

The Daemonette's grin became blood thirsty, and she licked her lips with a long and barbed, black tongue. "Ohhhh… yes sir~." The daemon purred. From her wide hips, Relaari unfurled a long whip knotted with razor blades. "It's been so long since we've given our guests a show, hah…"

Baren grinned savagely, snatching the length of the whip and giving it a mighty tug, pulling the Daemonette sharply forward under her massive bust squeezed up against his broad chest. His other hand swiftly snagged her long, violet tresses, causing her to let out a soft gasp as he firmly tilted her head back. Through half-lidded eyes, Relaari watched as her lord lowered his face closer to hers, her mouth parted slightly, plush lips pursed expectantly…

…only to let out a soft whine of disappointment as Baren pulled back before their lips could meet. Instead, the Daemon Prince waved his most favored servant and oldest ally away with a dismissive hand. "Go, rouse the old warriors. Get their blood pumping and hot for our newest arrivals." Looming over his daemonic subordiBaren, Baren added one final order. "And remember, I don't want to destroy the Blood Angels… I want them to lose control."

Relaari smirked. "Don't worry, sir," The Daemonette assured her master. "That's my specialty."

-

Captain Veriah of the Eighth Company was one of the oldest living members of her legion, certainly the oldest who had yet to be interred within one of the weaponized sarcophagi known as Dreadnoughts. She had been born on Terra during the final years of the Unification Wars and was one of the first to be raised from the dirt and shaped into an Astartes of the Blood Angels. Of course, back then they weren't the Blood Angels. They didn't have an official name, but most referred to them as the 'Revenants'. It was more than the name, though, it was how they acted. They had been monsters, blood hungry and mindless, savage and cruel. Where they were deployed, no life would be left in their wake, no blood left that had not been drained in an attempt to quench their endless thirst. They were little more than animals, unfit to serve the Imperium and the Empress of Mankind. Even the barbarity of the World Eaters or the Night Lords could not match the atrocities committed by the Ninth Legion in those early days. They had done as they were told, but there was no room in the Imperium's bright future for such broken monsters and for the longest time, it seemed as though the Revenants were destined to share the same fate as the long extinct Thunder Warriors – executed in mass once they outlived their purpose. It was only through their Primarch's intervention that saved them from extermination. Sanguinia, the Angel of Baal, had saved her daughters' souls and turned them from a legion of blood thirst monsters into the defenders of humanity.

Despite how far they'd come and despite their mother's best efforts, there was no escaping the truth. That blood hunger, that insatiable thirst for death and fury still remained, locked away in each and every member of the Ninth Legion, eager to be let loose on their unsuspecting prey, manifesting itself as the ravenous Red Thirst. It could strike without warning, on each and any one of their number during the heat of battle. In just a single moment, you could go from a skilled and disciplined soldier into a mindless beast. Their gene-mother and her Sanguinary guard had done everything in their power to suppress the knowledge of it from the wider legion, but soon it would be of no use. Soon, every Blood Angel would know the name of the Red Thirst and they would know to fear it.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

And right now, it was Variah's day to fall.

Th Imperial forces had met resistance upon landing on Epithymía as was to be expected. What they didn't expect, what they could never have predicted, was just how the locals would respond to their invasion. Whenever the Imperium encountered human civilization in the galaxy, responses typically ranged from eager acceptance to stalwart defiance. The humans of Epithymía on the other hand? They met battle with rapturous ecstasy. To call them human would be a disservice to those Veriah had fought both with and for. These men and woman threw themselves into the thick of conflict with little regard for their own wellbeing or for the wellbeing of their allies. Some seemed to be outright intoxicated on whatever narcotics were available here and threw themselves into bolter fire screaming and firing their weapons wildly. One man practically threw himself onto her chainsword, the fire from his laspistol harmlessly bouncing off of Veriah's ceramite helmet. Instead of screaming as the monomolecular sharpened teeth of her chainsword churned flesh and bone, the man moaned and shuddered in sensual delight. Variah glowered in contempt and utterly obliterated the enemy's head with her bolter. The damnable scent of blood managed to slip its way past her helmet's filters and Variah barely managed to hold back an electric shiver as the intoxicating scent filled her lungs.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

The Space Marine was broken out of her brief miasma as something wrapped itself around her arm. With an unnatural strength, Variah was pulled forward, nearly losing her step and her weapons from the sudden, unexpected movement. Instinct acted before thought and Variah instantly had her bolter raised in the direction of what was pulling her, firing off three shots in quick succession. Something purple gracefully dodged her bolter fire with an unnatural speed that rivaled even that of an Astartes. When the thing stopped moving, Variah was finally able to get a good look at what had managed to ensnare her and what she saw took her aback.

It was a woman, or at least, it resembled a woman. A very voluptuous woman to be exact, with her bountiful curves squeezed into some leather and silver ensemble that managed to be both refined and obscene. In all honesty, the outfit looked rather out of place here, more suited for some hive city club than a battlefield. Anything human about her ended there, however. Her skin was a light shade of purple, her lithe legs were digitigrade, leaving her standing on her toes rather than her feet, which resembled that of some clawed lizard. Her dark violet hair hung in long tresses that seemed to move with a will of their own. Beetle black eyes started at the Astartes with a gleeful malice that was further enhanced by her too-wide smile. In her six fingered hands was a short, curved sword made from some black metal and a long whip threaded with razor blades that was wrapped around Variah's arm.

"Hi there!" The woman greeted Variah cheerfully, her peppy tone clashing with the blood that stained her body and dress. "Are you enjoying your visit to Epithymía?" Whatever response the Blood Angel might have had went unsaid as the mystery woman suddenly propelled herself at the Astartes using the whip, landing gracefully with her feet firmly planted on Variah's pauldrons and her grinning, razor-toothed face right in front of her visors. The Astartes as so caught off guard that she nearly didn't catch sight of the woman pulling her short sword back to bury it in her neck. Variah swiftly punched the woman off of her, managing to keep the sword from piercing her neck only for it to slash at her arm instead. Variah expected the blade to simply bounce off of her ceramite armor, only to feel biting metal slash through armor and body suit and bite into her flesh, cutting through several inches of power armor like a knife through butter. The woman pulled her blade back and her grin widened as she eyed the blade dripping with the Astarte's red blood.

BloodBloodBlood.

Variah watched as the woman held her sword close to her own face, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and ran her tongue across the sharpened edge of the sword. The blade cut into the woman's unnaturally long black tongue, splitting down the middle with a sickening and wet schlpp sound as she sampled Variah's blood. Black, steaming ichor seeped from the woman's bisected tongue, oozing onto the blade, its dark color mixing with the red of Variah's blood only to disappear against the black metal. The woman pulled her long, black tongue back, now forked like that of a serpent's, her eyes wide as she shivered in delight at the taste of Variah's blood.

"Mmm…Mortal blood…ahh…" The woman moaned in delight. She opened her eyes and smirked at the Astartes staring at her in shock and disgust. "How rude of me…" She cooed sardonically. "I haven't even introduced myself yet." She shook her head. "Silly, silly. I am Relaari, I'll be your host for the duration of your stay at Epithymía. Which, heh, won't be very long." The woman – Relaari – finished, spinning her blade in her six-fingered hand.

Variah revved up her chainsword in answer, her bolter already raised. She fired twice at the daemon as she ran forward, only for Relaari to spin out of the path of the bolts like a ballerina doing a pirouette. As she spun, the daemon lashed her whip again, once more wrapping it around Variah's arm. Without breaking her spin, Relaari brought herself closer and closer until she suddenly struck at the Blood Angel with her sword. As they fought, the daemon continued to mock Variah in her annoying overly-breathy voice. "You're holding back on me, mortal," she purred as she narrowly ducked under a swing from Variah's chainsword. "Why not relax? Enjoy yourself?" The daemon chuckled. "Afraid mommy might find out if you do something naughty?" Variah let out an animalistic snarl and threw herself at the irritating Daemonette, her sword swinging wildly, failing to hit Relaari as she weaved and slithered this way and that out of the Astartes's path. "Come onnnn…" Relaari whined. "Show me the real you." Her grin became much more malicious as her eyes twinkled his sinister glee. "Show me what you showed that boy on Yarant…" Variah froze. Relaari's cruel, almost loving voice slithered through the mental fog that held the Astartes in place. "So young… so proud. Eager to fight alongside one of the Empress's 'angels'. How did it feel? When you ripped his heart out from his chest just as the battle was won? How did feel when you sank your teeth into it? How did it feel, Revenant?"

Variah tightened her grip on her chainsword and charged at the Daemonette with a monstrous roar.

BLOODBLOODBLOOD!

-

The Red Tear lingered above the atmosphere of Epithymía, the warp-corrupted planet below remaining defiantly unconquered as it hovered on the edge of a Warp Rift. From the observation deck, the Primarch Sanguinia stared pensively down at the planet, mulling over what was the latest in a long series of ill-fortuned reports. Epithymía was proving to be a greater challenge than even the oracularly-gifted Primarch could have predicted. Not since One-Forty-Twenty – the Death World that the late Captain Katia Frome had dubbed "Murder" – had a campaign been so costly to the Ninth Legion. The fanatics of Epithymía – calling them an army would be extremely generous and implied a dignity and order that were neither accurate nor deserved – were ostensibly no less human than the members of the Imperial Army, but were so hopped up on the local brew of narcotics and their own frenzy that fear of death and pain did little to phase them. Normally, the Blood Angels would have had little problem with mowing through swarms of drugged-up berserkers. Except it didn't stop with the fanatics. It took awhile to realize it, but the berserkers were cannon fodder. Thrown at the Astartes in waves to slow them down and cost them ammo, only for the real powers behind Epithymía's warriors to reveal themselves.

Just what they were, no one could say for sure. Some said they were woman, others xenos. Whatever they were, they were far more dangerous than the madmen the Imperials had been fighting. They barely wore armor and used no guns, but they moved faster than ever the Astartes and their blades could shred through ceramite like a hot knife through wax. And there were always more. Sanguina sighed in frustration. Epithymía was proving itself to be a costly and bloody campaign, putting strain on the Expedition Fleet and her own legion alike. They could not call for reinforcements, the turbulent warp rift that the planet orbited left her astropaths near catatonic the last time they tried. As much as she didn't want to admit it, it was becoming more and more likely that the Ninth Legion may just have to make a tactical retreat and request reinforcements from one of her sister legions once outside of the rift's influence.

Just as Sanguinia was planning a new approach to the campaign, the atmosphere of the observation deck shifted. The lights dimmed, causing shadows to grow large in the corners of the room. Thick, snaking vines of blooming ivy crept up the metal walls, covering the gunmetal grey in a skin of green. The soft, but haunting sounds of flutes permeated through the air, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Sanguinia was nowhere near the psyker her sister Hecate was, but she was still psychically gifted, enough to that she was able to tell that there was an intelligence behind what could have easily been presumed to be a warp hallucination.

"Show yourself," the Angel of Baal demanded to the seemingly empty room.

"Gladly," A voice answered her, low and melodious, echoing throughout the chamber. The vines of ivy that sprawled throughout the ground suddenly writhed, rising from the floor, twisting and stretching themselves into the silhouette of a man. The ivy shuddered and bloomed and withered away, revealing a semi-transparent shade of a tall man with curling, bull-like horns and a pair of leathery wings. "Primarch Sanguinia, it is an honor." The warp-shadow bowed and smiled at her, and even Sanguina had to admit it was a charming smile. It did not lower her wariness, however.

"Name yourself," Sanguinia commanded the warp-specter. Her demand amused him.

"Come now, Sanguinia," the man said, laughing. It was a warm, but patronizing sound and one that made the Angel's choler rise. "I was told you were quite clever. You know who I am." Sanguinia did not budge and continued to wait for his answer expectantly. The shade made a show of rolling his eyes and with a huff, answered. "Very well, then." He bowed again, sweeping his arms grandly as he rose. "I am Baren and this planet you have so rudely trespassed on is Epithymía – my world, my paradise."

Sanguinia froze. Baren. This was the man their mother had warned the Primarchs about? "You… you're Baren?"

The man across from her seemed to find her incredulity amusing. "Oh? You've heard of me, good things I hope."

"The Empress warned us about you." Sanguinia answered.

"Ooh! Even better!" Barne grinned excitedly. The shadow of the Prince slowly began circling the Primarch, Sanguinia always keeping a wary eye on him was he strutted about. "So, tell me… little angel… just what has mommy told you about me?" He rolled his eyes. "Not much, I imagine. Honesty was never a strong suit of hers."

"What do you want?" The Primarch cut through what she assumed were more of Baren's lies.

The Daemon grinned. "Just to talk. Not here though. Who don't you come down here, little angel?" When it looked like Sanguinia was going to refuse, he added. "Tell you what, as long as your planetside, my Revelers will leave you alone. It's not as though your daughters couldn't use the recovery time."

Sanguinia glared at the daemon, but did not disagree with him. The campaign was straining the expedition fleet. A parlay, even the farce of one, could prove beneficial in the long run. With a reluctant sigh, the Primarch agreed.

Baren's grin widened, looking like the cat that had caught the canary. "See you soon, little angel."

`

The truth was, Sanguinia didn't quite know she was there, approaching the mountain that served as Baren's home. Her Thunderhawk had landed at the foot of the towering acropolis that served as Baren's palace. To their surprise, their arrival had been met with a rather unusual display. In an obscene parody of a military parade, Baren's 'revelers' had arranged themselves into two formations on either side of the walkway to his palace. Here, Sanguinia got her first good look at Baren's elites and what she saw shocked and repulsed her. Whatever they were, mutant or xeno, they were not women as initially believed, or at least not fully and certainly were they not fully human. Their skin was all some variation of pale pink or purple, though that was their only major consistency. Their bodies varied rapidly, some wielded humanoid hands – though usually with six-fingers rather than five – while others arms ended in massive-crustacean like claws or thick single blades of black bone. Their bodies were feminine, though rarely wholly female. Instead, either androgynous, or even outright hermaphroditic. The only one who broke this trend was the one waiting for her in front of the palace's entrance. Whereas her peers were dressed in some type of armor, skimpy though it may be, this one wore an outfit that blended noble finery with obscene gear that flaunted a body that was exceedingly womanly.

The head women-creature smiled impishly at the Primarch with the superiority of someone favored by the powerful without being powerful themselves. She bowed, though there was no disguising the mockery in it and greeted the Angel. "I am Relaari, Lord Baren's majordomo," The woman – Relaari – said, her voice sensual and clear. "Welcome to Epithymía, Primarch Sanguinia."

Sanguinia silently glared down at the daemon, feeling an intense and inexplicable dislike of her. Relaari defiantly stared back, wordlessly assuring the Primarch that the feeling was mutual. The Primarch spoke. "Where is Baren."

Relaari narrowed her eyes at Sanguinia. "Lord Baren is awaiting you in his chambers." The lieutenant answered coldly. "Please, follow me."

The daemon led Sanguinia through Baren's palace, though it seemed less a place of governance and more a shrine to indulgence. Everywhere she looked, there was some act of depravity or gluttony being performed that repulsed her. Some thick, red mist hung in the air; a sweet-smelling haze that was proving to be very distracting. Without even realizing it, Sanguinia rubbed her thick thighs together under her chiton, as the space between them grew wet. When they reached the door to Baren's chambers, Relaari left her. Sanguinia could hear the woman muttering something as she left and the Primarch opened the door.

Baren's master bedroom was more modest than she expected, barring the large, king-sized bed. Sanguinia stared at the bedding. She felt a tremble through her back, her belly coiling and uncoiling, though she had no idea why. Like her Astropaths, the Warp Rift was interfering with her foresight, making it close to impossible for her to make any predictions.

Baren was there waiting for her, a damnable smirk on his lips. He drank her in, seemingly appreciating her presence in his bedroom. There was a smug pride about his face and Sanguinia knew why. Not only had he successfully beaten the Blood Angels to a standstill, he had gotten her into his den willingly. He offered her a choice and she had chosen him. The Primarch felt her belly doing flips again. The man closed the distance between them until he towered over her. Even in his deeply purple chiton, Baren struck an imposing figure. "Welcome, Sanguinia. It's a shame that you're visit could not be under better circumstances. Epithymía is a place of celebration, not war."

"Is that what you call it?" Sanguinia asked. "To me, it seems more of place of reckless indulgence and depravity."

"A place of honesty, you mean." Baren retorted. "Here, there are no expectations to live up to, no masks to wear. Every man and women below are free to satiate their deepest hungers and not give a damn for anyone else. All that matters to them is them, as life should be." He saw the disbelief in Sanguinia's eyes and shook his head. "So much like your mother. Seeing the selflessness of humanity where it doesn't exist."

"What could you know about my mother?" Sanguinia scoffed, trying to dismiss the daemon's words.

"Oh, lots of things. Spent most of the Unification Wars under her iron fisted leadership." Baren snickered at Sanguinia's incredulous look. "Ah, that idea every child struggles with. Learning your parents had a life before you were born." The Lord of Epithymía shook his head with a smug grin. "Believe me, little angel, I know things about your mother that even that senile old windbag Malcador doesn't."

"Like what?" Sanguinia asked, genuinely curious despite her reservations.

The Prince grinned. "Like how she imprisoned the Mechanicum's Machine God within Mar's depths…. The time she disguised herself as a little girl to guide a dog through an impossible labyrinth… how she spliced wolf-DNA into your sister Runa just for kicks… one of those was a lie, can you guess which one?" He didn't give Sanguinia time to respond, though. "I've think we've been talking long enough though."

"What do you want?" Sanguinia asked quietly, a storm brewing in her eyes.

"Even before the blessing I received from the Goddess, I was considered beyond impressive," Baren quietly said. He came closer, far, far too close. As he drew near, the Primarch became abjectly aware of how flimsy her dress was, how thin the fabric separating her skin from his truly was. "Now? Let's say I have an abundance of pent-up energy."

"You want me to help you unwind?" Sanguinia spat mockingly, staring up into the human's eyes.

Baren smirked, an insufferable sight. Then he reached forward, casually undoing the belt of her chiton. Sanguinia nearly jumped as his hands came to her waist, her eyes widening at the man's pointed disregard for her personal space. The absolute nerve the daemon had was infuriating. 

"I'm sure a Primarch would be up to the task, no?" His barb came smooth and jovial, like he was teasing a lover instead of his blackmail target. He began to undo her chiton, slipping over her shoulders, down to her mountainous breasts. Sanguinia slapped the man's hands away. Glowering at him with blazing eyes, she began to undo the cloth herself. She kept her gaze locked on Baren, not looking away for even a moment as she slowly revealed her curvaceous body to him. He drew his hungry eyes slowly across her body, closing in on her until they were inches apart. He reached forth again with his hands and Sanguinia wanted to inch away from his foul touch. She found that she couldn't move, her feet, her body rooted to the spot. She inhaled sharply as his fingers grazed her exposed belly. They were like embers dancing on her skin.

He moved them, guided them towards his bed. Sanguinia's lips quivered as she tried forcing a scowl. Her mind raced, thinking of anything to make this just a little worse for the daemon. But the Primarch found that the longer his hands were on her, the longer she felt the heat radiating off of his body, the less her righteous anger raged.

"I'm not naïve. I've faced lustful brutes like you before." Sanguinia sneered as the man sat himself on his bedside, putting him at eye-level with the Primarch. She made a noise of disgust as he slid his arm from around her waist and brought his hands up to cup her breasts. Of course, her voice transformed into a low moan as Baren began to grope and fondle her massive bust.

His hands were upon her body, molesting her, violating her. Sanguinia fought back a whimper through clenched teeth, shutting her eyes as she felt the man's fingers tease her nipples through the black silk. He teased her nipples into hardness, pinching them between his big, beastly fingers, and rolling them. Sanguinia moaned then, loud and clear. It was unmistakable for what it was. The sound of a woman's pleasure. Sanguinia felt a heavy wave of despair crash over her. It was the final insult: Being betrayed by her own body. Baren seemed satisfied by it, finally pulling his hands away. He had stopped grinning, thankfully, instead regarding the Primarch with cool, hard eyes.

"I'm going to enjoy every inch of you." Baren grabbed her by the waist and tugged her closer, nearly causing Sanguinia to trip. The Primarch gasped as the man darted forward and buried his face in her bosom. She very nearly shrieked when she felt his mouth latch onto one of her breasts, sucking a nipple into his vile mouth. Violation. The word rang in Sanguinia's mind, deafening. He's turned me into his plaything. Baren kissed and licked one breast before quickly moving his attention to the other, repeating the process with fervor. After a time, he pulled back, his lips slurping away from Sanguinia's tit. He gave a wolfish smile, grunting. "Lovely."

"Animal." The Primarch seethed, slapping her hand against his chest again. This time she didn't care about the dull throbbing pain in her hand. "Low-minded barbarian."

Baren smirked at her. Get on your knees."

Sanguinia's heart nearly leapt into her throat. She felt the urge to strike him again, this time across his face. But she reminded herself why she had accepted his terms. She reminded herself of her daughters. The Primarch gave a short nod and knelt on the floor, positioning herself between the man's legs.

 Baren tugged his clothes down, his manhood, having been throbbing painfully in the confines of tight fabric, basked in the freedom of the cool air. Twitching, aching for a woman's touch, his prick seemed to aim itself right at Sanguinia's plush lips. "Revolting." The Primarch stammered, her nostrils flaring as she was struck by the scent of his musk. His cock twitched again, like it was laughing at her distaste. Anything else she might have said were lost as in one swift, fluid motion he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, hard.

Sanguinia's eyes went wide as she found her nose pressed against his groin, every inch of his hard cock buried in her throat. She tried to scream, to cry out, to protest, anything. All that came out of her mouth as a wet, gurgling noise as her gag reflex went into overdrive and saliva flooded around his cock. Her throat clenched around his length, and she coughed, trying to force the girthy intruder out. The grip on her hair tightened and Sanguinia was dragged back, the tip of Baren's huge cock emerging from her lips and trailing long strings of saliva back to her gasping mouth. She only had a few moments to enjoy the sensation of an empty esophagus before he shoved her down again. Spittle flew from the corners of her mouth, and she pressed her hands against his thighs, trying to brace herself. Baren's strength easily overpowered her efforts and Sanguinia seethed in anger and terror as he buried himself in her throat once again.

"Glaggh, glaggh, glaggh! Hrrrk!"

She could feel his cock swelling, the thick veins dragging against the walls of her throat as she used her like his personal fuck toy. With every thrust her strength waned, her hands falling limply to her sides.

"Not bad. I've had better, but still, not bad." Baren said with a casual shrug as his huge balls drew up.

"Mmmph, mmblggrg!~

Sanguinia's eyes went wide, tears streaming down her face as her protests were drowned out by spurt after spurt of thick cum spraying directly into her throat. The Angel felt a cold hatred for him settling into the pit of her stomach - along with one massive fucking cumshot - as he continued to pound her face against his cock, dragging her by her hair the whole time. The bastard didn't even bother to put forth the effort of moving on his own to violate her face. Even when the sensation of his cock pulsating in her throat stopped, he still kept her held down, making her gasp and shudder around him.

Baren gave her no time to recover. Instead, the Prince threw the sputtering angel onto his bed. Sanguinia rolled over onto her back, eyes wide, covering herself with her hands. She didn't want him to see how wet her traitorous pussy was.

It was a humiliation to have been brought so low. Even worse because it was at the command of this… daemon. The only proper reaction to such indignity was outrage, and so Sanguinia felt it burning. But there was something else that came to her alongside it, something too shameful for a woman of her standing to admit.

Pleasure. Damnable pleasure.

Sanguinia let loose a shuddering groan, unwanted pleasure racking her body with quakes and trembles. She planted her hands firmly upon the human's chest and let her hips and rear collide against his firm waist. His cock struck deep, ripping from the Primarch's throat a moan so lewd and wanton she could scarcely believe it came from her own lips. The blazing ecstasy that bloomed from the joining of their bodies remained as white hot as when they started.

"Animal. You're a damned animal. A savage. " Sanguinia spat. This whole affair was some twisted dream. It had to be. How else could she feel so furious and so good at the same time?

The Primarch quivered upon the daemon's cock, her own body betraying her as her slick cunt tightened around him. She let loose another moan then, this one low and guttural, like she was some animal in heat. Her blood was up, from both anger and arousal. The internal struggle was almost as heady and overwhelming as the one outside. That monstrous, disgusting pillar of imposing masculinity pistoning into her like some vile male machine, those heavy, cum-filled balls boiling-hot and ready for release slapping her poor upturned ass, and the awful sloppy, pounding noises that filled the air - they were all Sanguinia could think about for the longest time. Just focusing on the sensation as she was spread wide, forced open, and penetrated so deeply she started to worry Baren's dick would stretch her beyond the point of recovery. Every time she started to get her thoughts straight, another sudden, deep pounding would send her brain scrambling. And with her legs strained up behind her ears, in a pose she'd never would have assumed of her own choice, even the most valiant efforts would yield nothing. She couldn't struggle, couldn't fight, couldn't squirm out of this vulnerable pin. All she could do was lie there, spread, and get used, the way Baren intended. Maybe the way she was meant to. Her mind was struggling, but her body sure did seem to be taking that cock like a pro. The vice-like grip of her not-so-virgin-anymore pussy clung to that massive prick like her life depended on it, milking the length of the shaft with a velvety wet grip.

It was only when Baren finally paused that Sanguinia was able to gasp for breath, like she was nearly drowned. It didn't help that the tomboy's whole mouth, from the insides of her cheeks to the surface of her tongue, was still so thickly, gooey-coated with cum that she nearly felt like she was having trouble breathing.

The Daemon Prince was groaning over and over as he moved his hips, pistoning his hard cock in and out of her pussy. "Was this how you thought things were gonna turn out when you came over this morning, angel?" he teased.

In contrast, her eyes were dark and narrowed, glowering up at him as he fucked her hot pussy. She was as defiant as ever. The only sign on her face that she was getting fucked was her flushed cheeks and her slightly-parted lips sucking in air. He buried his cock in her to the base and started moving his hips in a circle, stirring her unavoidably wet pussy. But with this brief respite, her legs tense and aching from their spread, her toes tight from curling, her heavy, fat-titted chest heaving with panting breaths, she struggled for some semblance of control.

"Will you..." she heaved between breathy gasps, tits rising and falling, "Shut... the fuck up?" She propped herself up on her elbows, their intimate bodies slicked with sweat, her eyes half-lidded as if threatening to pass out from the harsh treatment. Surprising even the son of a bitch whose cock was buried inside her unexplored pussy, she reached out suddenly, grasping, however weakly, at his throat. She attempted what Baren could only assume was a glare, her hands rising to clutch at his head once more. She wouldn't let him look away from her. The woman wanted him to see the fury in her eyes. Baren found that he hadn't quite fucked the rage out of Sanguinia, much to his own delight.

"You're nothing more than a brute." She sneered up at him. Yes, she still had enough energy to talk shit to him. Even when he was nearly a foot deep into her womb. Baren growled into the Primarch's face, gripping her ankles tight and pushing them further into the mattress. The woman, folded as she was, couldn't move, couldn't escape. She bucked her body up against him, defiant even on her back, but that was the total of her retaliation. Her body was his to play with. His to use as he pleased. And Baren certainly pleased.

He fucked her. In the truest, boldest sense of the word. Pure primal rutting. Drawing his hips back before forcing them forward. Savage, hard thrusting. He speared her with his cock. Splitting her dark blue apart with his pale shaft. A battering ram pounding through. The castle walls had already fallen. Now, he was just plundering, claiming, conquering.

Their bodies collided, clapped together. Skin on skin. Devil on Angel.

Grunting viciously, his voice like that of a beast, he pushed her ankles deeper into the bed, bringing his pace to a maddening ferocity. But Sanguinia didn't simply take it. No, she cried out defiantly, clutching his head so that he could not turn away from her. Her forehead pressed into his as she snarled fierce, filthy words at him. But this only drove him to go harder, faster.

Baren' eyes darted down to where their bodies were joined and he watched himself drive in and out of her. It was a shocking sight, such a tight cunt being demolished by a cock so long and thick. Their fucking was hard and fast, those tight folds being able to take such enormity so quickly, so many times, and so deep , it was like witnessing a miracle. He drew back up to meet her eyes, wearing a wicked smile.

"Ha…" Baren chuckled darkly, black eyes burning into Sanguinia's blue ones. "You act like all of this is my fault…" Baren changed positions, laying fully on top of Sanguinia. At first it was just his hot breath burning her face as he snarled on top of her, but then he took it to the next level. The Daemon kissed her savagely, and Sanguinia found herself reciprocating it, their tongues dueling as she clung to his broad body. When he broke the kiss, Baren sneered. "Tell me, little angel… who sent you here to me?"

The Primarch's eyes widened, cogs turning in beneath that head of lustrous golden hair. Her angelic face was twisted in horror and betrayal as the truth slowly dawned on her. Realization washing over her along with a wave of red hot rage as she realized how the Warmaster had played her. Isis, her sister, the one she thought she could trust above all others, who she shared her darkest secret with… She had been tricked, served up to Baren like a virgin sacrifice to some unknowable, monstrous pagan god. A terrible, all-consuming Black Rage filled every fiber of her being and she did the only thing she knew how to do, fight back however she could.

"Is that all you've got, you limp dicked piece of shit!" She howled, too furious to try to hide the way her voice lilted in pleasure towards the end. "I thought you were going to fuck me, not bore me to death." She hissed, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts.

Baren growled and doubled down on the speed and force of his thrusting. Sanguinia's eyes rolled back, an orgasmic scream rolling off her lips as her legs flailed wildly from the force of his fucking. He grabbed hold of her ankles, and Sanguinia felt another thrill go through her as she lost even the ability to weakly kick at him. Her pussy clenched down instinctively around his length and she cried out, blushing as she felt him swell, stretching her wider before the sensation of his hot, thick cum pouring into her womb made her sweaty body shake in pleasure. "That it? You weak, dickless, pathetic idiot!" She screeched.

"You're really starting to piss me off…" Baren glowered, standing up.

Sanguinia gasped, another shudder going through her as the helmet of his cock dragged against her g-spot on its way out. Without him holding her hips in place she collapsed onto her back, covered in sweat, hot cum dripping from her.

"Then what are you going to do about it?" She hissed, terrified by his anger, but somehow wanting to see more. Baren shoved her over onto her stomach and she pushed up, arching her back and offering herself to him. Baren didn't hesitate in the least, stepping behind her and slamming himself balls deep inside her massive ass. Sanguinia screamed, pain and pleasure mingling in her voice.

"Oh fuck!" She gasped, her pussy spasming and clenching as the intense sensations brought on another body wracking climax. Baren continued to pound her, long, hard strokes that made her tight hole scream in red hot agony. "F-FUCK ME!" She screamed. Her gigantic breasts rocked back and forth as he fucked her ass senseless, claiming her like the bitch in heat that she was. The feeling of his hard member ravaging her was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. The sensation of being so completely used and dominated was…to her surprise…liberating. Baren obliged Sanguinia's demand… and then some. 

Gathering his strength, he focused his efforts into making the Primarch scream. Fast, hard, relentless thrusts followed, the burly daemon working his body like a machine. Sanguinia writhed beneath him, her fingers sinking into his bedding as if they were claws. The pain stung… but was drowned out by the ecstasy that bathed his cock. 

The Primarch was drenched, her impossibly tight cunt dripping with her and Baren's cum. Baren thundered into her body, a man gone primal. She had demanded more, but Baren needed more.

She was screaming, wailing so loud and so beautifully that Baren feared she might split his eardrums. But the Prince endured. If he was so damned lucky to be bedding a buxom angelic Primarch, then he ought to be able to handle the meager troubles that came with that. At least, that's what he figured. As a servant of the Dark Prince, he'd endured far worse.

Beneath him, Baren watched Sanguinia's magnificent body quake and tremble under his merciless attack. Those big pale tits jiggling, rippling with every thrust he punched into her tight ass, the sight had his blood on fire. And the sound of her whorish moans, weak and needy as he pulled his cock back so he could do it all over again… It didn't take long for both of them to tip over the edge.

Baren came with a beastly grunt, finishing inside Sanguinia's ass. The angel shrieked as she felt her ass flooded with hot spunk, her body quivering under his tight hold as he thrust one final time, as deep as her body would allow. Then, with a low sigh, Baren retreated, his prick slipping from Sanguinia's well-fucked body. No sooner than he did however, did the Primarch have him on his back, his throat firmly in her grip.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't tear your throat out," Sanguinia seethed. Below her, Baren merely smirked.

"Seeing as I'm the only thing keeping that Warp Rift from swallowing the planet – and you and your daughters with it - whole, I think that might be a bad idea." His grin widened as he felt Sanguinia's hands slacken slightly and added "Besides, if you're trapped in the Warp, who's going to tell Isis off to mommy?" Baren leaned forward and into Sanguinia's face, their noses almost touching. "If I were you, I'd get that sweet angelic ass of yours off to Terra rather quick."

Sanguinia snarled at him before bolting off the bed. With inhuman speed she swept up her discarded chiton and flew out the window. Baren watched the angel's retreating form – particularly where the Mark of Slaanesh was between her wings - with a smile as Relaari entered the room.

"Oh good, she finally left." The Daemonette flatly remarked, hand planted on her hip. She sashayed up to the bed, giggling as Baren swept her up and pulled her next to him. The Daemonette rested her head on her lord's chest affectionately. Glancing up at him, she said. "You know… Isis isn't going to like that you let her go like that."

"It doesn't matter what Isis likes," Baren retorted, as the bloody tear of the Blood Angel's formed on his shoulder. "It doesn't matter if Isis wins…"

…"Just that Apokálypsi loses."

Notes:This chapter should not have taken nearly as long as it did, but combine school with constant rewriting and this is the time it takes. A lot got cut out, including a part in the beginning with more Baren backstory in Revolutionary France with the Marquis De Sade. Also, with the story halfway to completion, would you be interested in bonus chapters with other characters from 40k or from prompts suggested by you guys?