She didn't have to wait long. The man coughed and stirred. He opened his eyes and quickly began to feel himself with his hands.
"Rejoice, knight, for..." the Fallen Goddess began proudly.
She was interrupted by a booming laugh. An unpleasant chill ran down the Goddess's spine. The knight laughed—joyfully, maliciously, triumphantly. He clenched his massive fist, so tight that his knuckles turned white, and threatened the sky.
"Vici! Scientia vincit omnia!"
The man easily jumped to his feet. He turned to face her, then calmly stretched his shoulders and neck. The girl couldn't help but admire his figure. The knight was tall, very tall, and strong. Despite his height, he had a well-proportioned body, clear muscular definition, and broad shoulders.
The impression was marred by the blue feathers covering his chest and upper belly, as if a harpy had mixed in among his ancestors, and an unusual red dent on his forehead.
But the man's eyes displeased the Goddess. The knight looked at her with a sharp, heavy gaze, as though assessing where to strike.
The man opened his mouth and tested the air with the tip of his forked tongue.
"Quo vos?" he asked coldly and clearly.
"I don't understand," muttered the Fallen Goddess. Until today, she had been confident that she knew all human languages. "Perhaps he belongs to a new people."
The Goddess smacked her forehead with her palm.
"How foolish I am!" she exclaimed. "Lingvo-morphing! Right now, right now."
The Fallen Goddess concentrated on the sounds. She quickly studied the structure of the unknown language, established correspondences, and changed the man's speech.
"Who are you? Where are we?" Amon repeated the question, not at all embarrassed by his nakedness. Without armor or weapons, the sorcerer felt a little uncomfortable, but Chaos be damned. The most important thing was that he was alive. The bolt hadn't pierced the power armor, and the sharp fragments had only lightly damaged his head, passing tangentially.
Although one of them had knocked out his third eye, a gift from Tzeentch, Amon wasn't concerned about that. He was sure: the eye would grow back. It's not easy to get rid of the marks of the Dark Gods.
At that moment, the sorcerer was more concerned with another question—what had happened?
He remembered how the Templeman, hidden among the corpses, had managed to break the spell. The Chaos Space Marine had lost control over the portal, and the ship was consumed by a warp storm. For several minutes, Amon had fought the flames, opposing the uncontrollable force with his iron will. He had delayed the inevitable as long as he could, but then the strength had left him. After that, there had been darkness.
And now he had awoken in this strange place. A murky, uncertain light broke through the gray clouds. Wherever he looked, there was nothing but a desolate, lifeless plain. No breeze stirred the air. The space felt infinite and yet cramped, like a prison cell.
But even in this monotone desert, there was room for a bright spot. Directly in front of the sorcerer, on a lavish throne, sat a girl.
A diadem adorned the stranger's head, skillfully crafted and decorated with huge (and rather tasteless) gemstones. Long black hair fell over her bare shoulders. A neat fringe covered the upper part of her forehead. The girl had perfect facial features, a perfectly attractive nose, and plump crimson lips.
Her expressive eyes, lined with black mascara, fluttered with sensual lashes as they looked at him with undisguised interest. The sorcerer's gaze slid lower, to her high, firm chest, and then to her long, straight legs. The stranger was wearing a revealing dress that, instead of concealing her body, only showcased its charms.
For a moment, the Chaos Space Marine's heart stopped at the wonderful sight. And the reason for this was—he didn't suspect what kind of intense exposure to demonic energy his body was undergoing and what it could lead to, but at that moment, the heretic grew angry. It was harder to shake off unfamiliar emotions than he had expected.
"You won't fool me with beauty!" Amon muttered angrily. He immediately noticed a small detail that gave away the demoness as a servant of Slaanesh. The smell.
The sorcerer's sense of smell detected not a single hint of living flesh. The girl emitted a soft, alluring scent. There were no undertones of sweat or other bodily secretions. Amon had never encountered such a thing, not even among the Eldar. Amon stared at the stranger's face and couldn't find a single flaw. She possessed such perfect beauty that she simply could not be real.
"Now, where was I?" the demoness said offhandedly. "Ah, yes!"
She struck a regal pose and proclaimed in a voice full of grandeur:
"Rejoice, mortal, for the Dark Goddess, the True Supreme, has bestowed her attention upon you! No noble hero of the past has been rewarded with such honor and joy. Bow before me, your new mistress!"
Amon felt a sharp desire to snap her neck, but caution, born of bitter experience, stopped him from making a rash move. He decided to start with a magical shield. The spell didn't constitute an act of aggression and opened up a wide tactical space for further action.
The sorcerer tensed as usual, drawing power from the Immaterium, and... nothing. The inner call remained unanswered. Not a single spark of energy ran through his nerves. The sorcerer exerted more effort. Again, unsuccessfully. It was as though the Warp didn't exist. At all.
At the same time, Amon felt perfectly fine. There was no emptiness in his chest, no unconscious anxiety, and no other signs of null-fields or pariah. The sorcerer shuddered. The worst nightmare he could have imagined was becoming a reality. Amon had lost his ability to cast spells.
Meanwhile, the girl poutingly stuck out her lip and asked:
"So, will you bow or not?"
"First, introduce yourself," Amon gathered his courage. He hadn't survived on the burning ship to give up so easily at the first signs of trouble. "Tell me your name."
"I already told you, didn't you hear? I am the Supreme Goddess, the Creator of Being," the demoness paused, "in exile. I am also known as Fallen Goddess, the Dark Mother, the Mistress of Depravity, and so on. Now it's your turn."
Loud titles didn't inspire Amon's respect. The Unborn loved to pass themselves off as gods. Just yesterday, he would have laughed at the demoness or fought her. But now, deprived of magic, the sorcerer found himself in a situation where any wrong step could spell his doom. The Chaos Space Marine had a bad temper, but he was never a fool.
"Amon, Harbinger of Change, Chaos Space Marine, at your service," the sorcerer said with dignity, slightly bowing his head. "I am your guest, Fallen Goddess. I hope I can be of use," he hinted at other possibilities, besides soul devouring or bloody, sensual games, typical for the offspring of the Lady of Pleasure.
The girl gave him a languorous look and seductively crossed her legs.
"You will be useful, don't worry. It's so boring here... so lonely... You are lucky, mortal. You will spend eternity with me, in conversations and amusements. And not only..."
Amon's heart sank. He understood what the Unborn was hinting at. The Chaos Space Marine remembered the consequences of dealing with the demons of Slaanesh and what awaited those unfortunate enough to fall for their sweet words.
'Think!' the sorcerer ordered himself. 'Think! What can I offer the Unborn in exchange for myself?'
Amon clenched his fist, cupped it with his palm, and brought it to his nose, thinking hard. At the same time, he never took his eyes off the demoness. The sorcerer felt time slipping away, and with it, his hope of survival: "the girl" slowly melted into a hungry and predatory smile, revealing pearl-like teeth. A little longer, and…
'Think!'
Suddenly, it hit him. How had he not realized this before?! The grim, ghostly world, unlike the Eye of Terror planets, the absence of magic, the unusual behavior of the demon—it all explained everything! A prison.
The demoness was securely locked in an interdimensional fold. But the spells keeping the Unborn in place shouldn't have power over a human. The demoness surely knew how to get him out of here.
The sorcerer grinned crookedly.
"I have a better idea, 'Goddess.'"
He crossed his arms over his chest and struck:
"Your freedom—in exchange for mine."
He struck. He hit. And he succeeded.