Chapter 48: The Pleasure Prince's Mistake
Godzilla couldn't just leap from one planet to another. That kind of space-traveling feat belonged only to the most extreme Godzilla variants—like Hell Godzilla, Snow Godzilla, or the anomalous Singularity Godzilla.
There was also Space Godzilla, though calling him a Godzilla was… debatable.
Technically, Space Godzilla was born from Godzilla's cells, but he wasn't truly Godzilla. Unlike the King of Monsters, he didn't possess the iconic Godzilla skeleton. His internal framework was made of crystalline matter—an alien lifeform in its own right—only coated in a layer of Godzilla's genetic residue. That anatomical discrepancy was official canon.
So while Space Godzilla might have the power, the posture, and even the roar, he lacked the soul. Just like Biollante or Mechagodzilla Type-3, he was a chimera—some human-engineered amalgam of Godzilla DNA with plant, machine, or tech components layered in. Imitators, not originals.
And as for that infamous second-generation Godzilla? Sure, he could fly. Once. By blasting his atomic breath downward and using it like a rocket thruster. It was ungainly, ungraceful, and utterly humiliating.
After that incident, he never used the technique again.
Even if it worked, it was deemed a "dark history" by Godzilla himself—one best left buried.
Back on the surface of Godzilla's planet, as he marched toward the Webway Gate, a different kind of battle was taking place beneath the ground.
Isis descended into the dungeons—where the captured Dark Eldar were being held—and immediately sensed something was wrong.
An intoxicating aroma coiled into her nostrils like smoke. Even the cold-blooded Lizardmen, who found pleasure in nothing but incense and death, stirred uneasily in its presence. Isis could feel something probing at the edges of her mind, as if an invisible hand were prying open her thoughts.
She knew this presence.
Slaanesh.
The power of the Chaos God of Pleasure was creeping into her psyche, testing her defenses.
Unlike Roboute Guilliman, who possessed practically negative magic resistance and was often swamped by psychic influence, Isis had unusually high resistance to the warp. Still, she wasn't immune—and the temptation of Slaanesh was insidious.
The moment she whispered the name—"Slaanesh."—she could feel the psychic tongue of the Prince of Pleasure licking across her skin. It was illusion, yes. But it was also real. Slaanesh was paying close attention to her.
Fortunately, Isis was not Eldar. Were she one of them, lacking a soul stone, she would already be lost. The Aeldari soul is Slaanesh's favorite delicacy—and the god feasts freely when they die unprotected.
But Isis was something else.
Her will was iron, reinforced by the brutal discipline of her god—Godzilla. Slaanesh could not corrupt her with whispers or perfume or sensual tricks. The warp around her strained as she held her ground, unmoving.
Up above, even Godzilla paused and glanced toward the temple. His massive head tilted slightly.
'…Is it just me, or did the air over there just turn purple?'
Far away, aboard a retreating Eldar vessel, the Farseer Alana was watching too. Her expression twisted in disgust and fear as she watched the veil of Slaanesh fall over the planet.
"The Hungry One…"
Slaanesh had many names. Prince of Pleasure. Lord of Excess. Lady of the Endless Feast. King of Indulgence. In the tongue of the Eldar, Slaanesh was often rendered as female—soft, terrible, and always hungry.
"Damn it. The ground troops are still down there. I hope they recover the soul stones in time…"
Isis could feel the pressure increasing. The more she resisted, the more eager Slaanesh became. The greater her will, the deeper Slaanesh tried to burrow. Dark Eldar women—now hollowed-out, twisted servants of the warp—began to emerge from the shadows of the dungeon. Their forms were lithe, seductive, almost untouched by mutation.
But everything about them screamed wrong.
They slithered around Isis like snakes, brushing against her, whispering promises. Their hands and thighs caressed her skin; their tongues flicked near her ears. It was an illusion crafted with care, meant to erode resolve one drop at a time.
Even a lily-pure soul would buckle under such siege.
The air filled with the scent of madness. The dungeon twisted into something more like a luxurious pleasure palace: silk beds large enough for dozens, golden halls littered with feast and finery, and instruments of both torture and ecstasy, all pulsating with pink and violet light.
This was the prelude to corruption.
If Isis broke, even for a moment, she would be absorbed into Slaanesh's realm. Her body would twist—multiple arms, silken flesh, demonic eyes—and her soul would be lost forever. Worse, the dungeon would rip open a portal to the warp itself, possibly creating a localized Eye of Terror.
But Isis did not bend.
She clenched her jaw, her thoughts clearing like a blade slicing fog. The whispers were still gentle in her ears—but to her, they were nothing more than buzzing insects.
"So noisy…"
The Slaanesh maidens giggled. One leaned in closer.
Isis exploded.
"QUIET!!!"
The roar that burst from her mouth wasn't human. It echoed through the dungeon like a miniature Godzilla bellow, amplified by rage and willpower. Warp energy cracked and shattered. The maidens were thrown back like ragdolls, smashed into the dungeon walls.
The illusions—perfume, silk, sensation—all vanished.
"You actually doubt my loyalty… to Godzilla?"
She tilted her head, cracking her neck.
Isis was rarely angry. But now she was incandescent with rage.
"You really looked down on me…"
She stalked toward the nearest Slaaneshi maid. The creature barely had time to rise before Isis stomped down on her skull.
BOOM.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the stone. Her armored boot had the weight of a hammer of justice—and the Slaaneshi's head burst like overripe fruit.
"What do you think loyalty means? Loyalty isn't conditional. It's not partial. It's not fragile. It's absolute! It's either there—or it isn't."
She grabbed the second maid by the throat and slammed her into the wall, punching through her face with one clean strike. Blood splattered. Bones broke.
The third she yanked by the hair, twisted her neck—and ripped her head off.
No finesse. No restraint. Just raw, volcanic violence. Godzilla's kind of violence.
Even Khorne, watching from his skull-throne, briefly considered clapping.
Slaanesh, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
Last time, she had been hoping to see the lizardmen disgrace the Dark Eldar with something deeply indecent. Alas, lizardmen had no genitals, so that plan failed.
This time, she was ready to watch Isis fail—or win. Either outcome promised pleasure.
And as Isis tore through her servants, the Dark Prince purred with joy. The death screams of the maidens, their agony at the moment of impact, it was all so… delicious.
But that feeling wouldn't last.
Because when Isis got angry—truly angry—something else began to stir in the Immaterium.
In the far reaches of the warp, somewhere deep in Slaanesh's domain… a shape began to form. Something vast. Monstrous. Reptilian.
It looked a lot like Godzilla.
But that's a story for another time.
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