"He's a war machine on the battlefield… but in our bed? Hehe, Let's just say there's a reason I needed three hours to walk straight again. The way he touches me, the way he—ugh, fills me up… it's almost unfair. I married a god. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat." Daisy Blazkowicz Dawnstar, first wife/queen
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The heavy steel doors groaned as they opened, and light spilled into the chamber that had been Daemon's cell for three long months. The air was dry, still carrying the faint tang of oil, iron, and stone. Chains rattled as they were unlocked from his limbs for the final time.
Daemon stood slowly, towering over the guards that flanked him. He didn't resist. He didn't speak. His green eyes looking forward.
At his side walked King Norvick, robed in ceremonial battle-leathers, his crown shaped like the fanged mouth of an ancient beast. Beside him was Valen, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath his scarred helmet.
They moved through the stone corridors in silence, boots echoing against steel-plated floors. At last, the king stopped before a large set of black-forged doors adorned with glowing runes. The sentinel guards posted outside gave way, and the massive gates slowly opened.
Inside was the Armory of the sentinel wraith, one of Argent D'nur's most sacred vaults.
Inside were racks of weapons lined the walls—bolt rifles, flamers, plasma launchers, crackling power swords, and brutal chain-axes. The smell of oil and gunpowder filled the air. Resting on one rack, separate from the others, sat a jagged chainsaw bound in runic wards, and beside it, a short, stocky double-barreled bolt shotgun with a name engraved on the side: "Mercy."
Daemon's eyes scanned the weapons. No emotion flickered across his face. But something old stirred behind his gaze—recognition of many toys.
The king stepped forward.
"Your first trial begins now, Daemon."
He gestured to the table in the center of the room. A large circular device hummed to life, projecting a glowing blue hologram of multiple continent surrounded by mountains, forests, deserts, and dead zones marked in red.
"This world is called Argent D'nur. An ancient military colony world of mankind—rebuilt, repurposed, and home to billions."
He reached into his robe and placed a small metallic chip onto the table.
"This holds everything you'll need—languages, terrain data, cultural codes, planetary history. It also contains a real-time map, synced with our satellites."
Valen's brows furrowed and whispered. "Is this a military campaign. Are we really giving him free reign already? He hasn't even trained with our squads—"
"Because he doesn't need to," the king interrupted calmly and quietly. "He fought his way through the Warp itself, Valen. He overpowered our elite warriors the moment he arrived—starved, disoriented, and weakened. No standard test will measure what he is. So we'll let action speak."
Valen's jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.
King Norvick turned back to Daemon.
"Your target is a Chaos-afflicted priest named Garrin Vhelt, who's gathered a sect of corrupted followers. They've been disappearing into the wastes. Reports indicate growing Warp activity—rituals, abductions, and disturbances around the area. You will find him. Stop him. Eradicate him and all who follow him and his evil god."
He paused, then added, "You have three months to track him down. No backup. No resupply."
Daemon finally spoke, his voice quiet but powerful.
"Where is he?"
The king smiled faintly. "That's what the map's for."
He reached for a white, blue, and black suit of Sentinel armor, built slimmer and more flexible than the standard plate, and gestured to the guards to bring it forward.
(pic<—)
"You'll wear this. We Modified for your frame. It won't slow you down."
Daemon took the armor silently, his gaze still fixed on the armory wall. He reached out, picked up the chainsaw with one hand, and slung the double-barreled bolt shotgun across his back and a full auto bolt pistol on his hip holster.
Valen glanced at the weapon. "Mercy," he muttered. "Fitting."
The king turned back to Daemon.
"If you return alive, we will assign you another trial."
Daemon nodded once.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the transport bay, his steps echoing behind him like war drums.
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AN: meme of the day