Cultist-chan v. Common Sense and Decency

Nurglebro cackled with inhuman delight, and the skies of Simi Secundis roared in sympathy. A bolt of disfigured light briefly linked ground and sky, igniting a conflagration in one of Simi Secundis' last, desiccated forests. The wildfire would go on to burn 3,172 homes, 211 businesses, one hospital, and cause 287 casualties – all of those at a nightclub where the New Kids on the Block were still plying their hideous trade. To the collective relief of most of the planet's inhabitants, no one escaped from the concert alive. Nurglebro had no way of knowing this, however. He was transfixed by the beautiful object before him. After years of painstaking labor and Nurgleslist searches, his great, monstrous project was finally complete.

Cultist-chan shifted in her sleep, stirred by the sound of thunder, and she slowly and unwillingly returned to consciousness. She'd been out late the previous night running errands for Dranon, who'd promised her five shiny pennies if she returned with all the items he requested next never. Finding headlight fluid had been especially difficult for her. Cultist-chan hoped that the admixture of saliva, discharge from her pet Kay-oss' anal glands, and one can of warm PBR she'd compounded would suffice. Another rumble of thunder rolled through her apartment.

"Hwuell, hour afhthernoon nap ith shot," she reflected ruefully.

She rolled off her mattress and glanced around her fetid apartment for something to do. Cleaning was, naturally, an option, but it was against her religion to straighten up the filth in her small studio. After all, Chaos should apply to her life at every level, from planetary crusades right down to the moldering clothes strewn about the small studio apartment situated two blocks from the BloodSea. There must be some secret order to the arrangement of stained socks and torn sleeves; in a pair of semen-crusted underwear she saw her pious adoration of Slaanesh. A box of moldy, maggot-covered Chinese takeout was a dedication to Nurgle. The pattern of rumples in her stained and matted duvet symbolized Tzeentch. And, of course, the ruthlessly massacred roaches that still twitched in one corner showed her faith in Khorne. Chaos was like an undulating river of love – full of individual eddies and whorls, but still a flowing, undivided whole.

Cultist-chan vigorously scratched her asshole and pondered what to do for the rest of her day. Dranon had demanded that her task take her no fewer than three days, so it wasn't yet time to return from the scavenger hunt. Slaanesh-chan was on vacation on Commorragh, disguised as a Dark Eldar. That left Nurglebro, and, as luck would have it, he lived a mere three blocks up the same street.

"Kayyyy-otthhhhh," Cultist-chan called out in a singsong lisp. "Hwhere are hwou?"

Kay-oss bounded out of the warp and tackled her. Gleefully, she allowed one of his searching tongues to enter her mouth and intertwine with her own. After a minute, she finally broke free of his embrace and shoved the large, enthusiastic creature off of her.

"Hwou tasthe leik hyour ballth," Cultist-chan reflected aloud, drawing from personal experience.

He thrashed his tail enthusiastically.

"Hlet'th go for a walkth, boy! Leth go see Nurglebro!"

One of Kay-oss' three heads barked enthusiastically, and Cultist-chan grabbed him by the scruff of his nearest neck and dragged him down the stairs behind her. Her door shut with a thump, and was immediately opened by a pair of daemonettes who used Cultist-chan's apartment as a makeshift brothel whenever she was away.

The day was exceptionally picturesque, as things on Simi Secundis went. The air was pregnant with static electricity; the bolt of lightning Nurglebro inadvertently conjured wouldn't be the last strike of the day. Brown, dusty clouds billowed furiously and blocked out the sky which was no bad thing. Warp storms boiled in the space above the world and emitted intense radiation across the ultraviolet spectrum, and the barrier of dirty clouds ameliorated the worst of it. Simi Secundis was ensconced deep within the Eye of Terror, or, as it was known to the locals, the Smiling Nebula. Kay-oss did his best to bound after Cultist-chan, but it was hard for him to maneuver with her hand clamped tightly around one of his throats.

"Hwu ith the thweetitht little boy? Hwu ith? Hwu ith it?"

Kay-oss managed a strangled bark out of his bruised voice box.

"Thath right!"

Cultist-chan skipped cheerfully down the street. Many people were out taking full advantage of the brief lull in radiation to take a stroll down Bloody Beach Boulevard, and Cultist-chan was surrounded by Humans and Orks and Eldar alike, all loving devotees of Chaos. There was even a corrupted Zoanthrope, a curious sight even for Simi Secundis. Cultist-chan peered at it and Kay-oss suddenly started barking angrily.

"Thhhhh, be nieth," Cultist-chan cooed gently to the agitated beast. "Hwue can have frienth of all races."

Kay-oss eyed her dubiously, but obediently quieted down.

The broad street was lined with shops, cafés, restaurants, and small offices. Cultist-chan passed an architectural firm, a law office that specialized in mediating conflicts with chainsword cage matches, a brewery, and a druggist. The pair stopped at a vendor cart to get waffles, and the daemon manning the stand gave them to her for free, knowing that she was a good friend of Slaanesh-heika and could inadvertently call down the wrath of the Warp goddess at any time. Kay-oss chomped on the waffle greedily and Cultist-chan patted one of his heads with a broad smile. They strolled onward.

Cultist-chan pounded furiously on Nurglebro's door when they arrived. Kay-oss patiently returned to licking his balls, paying careful attention to the most sweaty and pungent patches of hairy testicular skin. After a minute, Nurglebro opened it and glared at her suspiciously.

"Hiiii!" Cultist-chan enthused.

Nurglebro sighed. "I guess it would be nice to have someone to share this moment with. But of course it just had to be you. Why don't you come inside and follow me to the garage?"

Cultist-chan entered Nurglebro's small suburban home. It was kept meticulously clean, except of course for the diseased and ruinously mutated houseplants in pots scattered throughout the house. Nurglebro winced as Cultist-chan left dirty footprints on his sparklingly clean tile floors, but he was secretly relieved to see her. He hoped that she'd be proud when she saw what he built – and maybe proud enough to allow him to bend her over one of the seats and hatefuck her pussy raw. He opened the door to his cluttered but clean garage and ushered her inside.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Nurglebro asked her, admiring it himself all over again.

"Hwuat ith it?"

Nurglebro was irritated. "It's a 987.M39 Folkswagen Type 2! An absolute classic of spaceship engineering! I've been assembling it in my garage for years now, and today, I finally finished. I ran all the diagnostic routines this morning and it's officially spaceworthy!"

Cultist-chan eyed it dubiously.

"Ith lookth a little… hurickethy," she observed.

It did. The ship was rectangular and boxy, and the engines looked like they were connected to the ship by nothing more than duct tape and prayers to the Heretek god. The brushed metal exterior was pockmarked and scarred, and there was a big crack in the forward windshield of the ancient vessel.

"Shows what you know," Nurblebro countered. "I built half of this ship by hand and I can guarantee you it's as safe as anything that takes off from Simi Prime Spaceport!"

"Naht reathurringh," Cultist-chan muttered under her breath, but Kay-oss barked excitedly, moved by Nurglebro's obvious enthusiasm.

"Hwuell, if Kay-oss thinkth ith safe, I believe him," she said, hugging the strange, unnatural creature. "Hwhere are we going?"

"Who said we were going anywhere?"

"Road tripth," Cultist-chan suddenly shouted at the top of her lungs.

Nurglebro winced; his ears were ringing. "What?"

"Road tripth. Hwou know, geth a bunch of friendth togethther, go thee the sigthth somewhuere?"

At first, Nurglebro was hesitant, but the more he thought about the idea the more he liked it. He wanted an opportunity to show off his hard work to his friends, and getting off Simi Secundis sounded like a great idea. It'd been ages since he'd been offworld, and it would provide him new opportunities for him to spread the loving embrace of Nurgle to new locales.

"For the first time since I've known you, you might actually have a good idea there, Cultist-chan. Got anywhere in mind?"

Cultist-chan bit her lip, drawing blood, and carefully pondered the question.

"Hwuell, hwhen hwe hwere a little girl, hwe usedth to get the tathtieth groxburgerth you could possibleh imagine. There hwas a resthtaurant called BolognaTown with hundredth of franchizeth on my homeworld. Of coureth, hwe'd have to go into Imperium spaeth…"

"We're doing it!" Nurglebro said, surprising himself with his own sudden conviction. "Let's get the crew together and we are all going to eat a BolognaTown groxburger."

"Yayyy!" Cultist-chan cried, while Kay-oss barked with glee.

"I'll call Dranon."

"Hwuill he want to come?"

Nurglebro smiled evilly. "He will if I tell him Khorne is sending him on a Crusade."

Cultist-chan shrugged; she'd already lost the thread of conversation. She idly stroked her hand along Kay-oss' ample flank, drawing three gargled, disharmonious purrs, and, she also noticed, an erection.

"Thhhh, not now," Cultist-chan told him, drawing a disappointed whimper from the beast.

"That's right," Nurglebro finished, speaking into his vox-caster. "So you better get here right away, Dranon."

He turned back to the girl, and toyed at the ground with the toe of his boot. "To tell you the truth, Cultist-chan, I've never actually been on a road trip. What do we need to pack?"

"Has little as poththible," she replied with a nod. "Idth more advethurous that hway."

With that, she bounded up the open gullwing door and aboard the small spacecraft. A Type 2 Folkswagen was meant to be a short range craft, capable of carrying 11 people uncomfortably through Warp space for no more than a few days at a time. Kay-oss jumped in after her, knocking her into the seat and drawing a bemused grunt from her compressed chest.

"Thit in the back and be good," Cultist-chan ordered, pointing towards the rear of the passenger compartment. "Go on."

Kay-oss clambered over the seats and sat on his haunch in the rear corner of the cabin. Cultist-chan reached under the bench seat for the customary board game and was disappointed when she came up empty. Still, she was looking forward to the road – that is, space – trip more than she'd anticipated anything in years. It would be an opportunity to bond with her friends and with any luck make new ones. The vinyl seat was discolored and worn through in several places, exposing the yellowed, wispy insulation within. The passenger cabin was surrounded by transparasteel windows, allowing an almost 360 degree view of the inside of Nurglebro's garage. The ceiling was quite low and Cultist-chan would have to bend halfway over if she wanted to stand up; she hoped that Dranon would be able to sit fully upright without having to hunch over the entire time. The command seat was surrounded by buttons, levers, switches, pedals, panels, and screens, and reminded her of the time she was the proud but brief owner of her very own spaceship. Everything seemed out of date and disheveled which was no surprise – the Folkswagen was over two millennia old and many of its parts had been cobbled together by enthusiasts.

Other than that, the passenger cabin had a few amenities specially selected by Nurglebro for the comfort of his passengers. The middle row of seats had been removed from the compartment, leaving an open space just large enough for Cultist-chan to fully lie down. In one corner of the living space left by this omission stood an elderly but hard-working minifridge. There was also a bong, which Nurglebro must have spared no expense upon. Apart from the central bubbler, there were three diffuser chambers stacked one on top of the other, further cooling the smoke and removing particles and impurities. It was astonishingly clean, lacking the yellowy resin that built up over time in all but the most meticulously maintained pieces. It amused Cultist-chan to think that a devotee of disease and decay would go to more trouble to keep his bong clean than the average Imperium hippie.

Nurglebro boarded the Folkswagen and lovingly stroked the old-style mechanical helm.

"We'll be leaving soon, sweetheart," he crooned to the vessel.


Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "Not you. Her."

Cultist-chan looked around in confusion, trying to figure out who Nurglebro was talking about. "Hwho?"

"You… you're so damn stupid! Her. The ship! The ship is the her!"

"Hwadth her name?"

Nurglebro paused. He hadn't decided yet, but it would be bad luck to depart before naming his vessel. Suddenly, he had a flash of insight. At just that moment, Dranon burst in.

"Where's the Crusade?" he demanded, eager to get away from Slaanesh's constant sticking him with the task of babysitting Cultist-chan.

"Hwe're righth here," Cultist-chan exclaimed with a wave. "Hwue are leavfing on a gloriouth BolognaTown groxthburger cruthade!"

Dranon's face was completely hidden by his helmet, but it fell anyway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he groaned. "What's she doing here?"

Nurglebro grinned, overjoyed to have an opportunity to twist the knife. "Khorne said he was totally pissed at you. You have to come with us and spread the glory of kayyy-oth to BolognaTown."

"Fuck you," Dranon replied wearily.

But the truth was he'd already given in. He was so used to being sent on unpleasant errands by the Warp gods for no appreciable benefit that he automatically assumed that Nurglebro was telling him the 100% unvarnished truth. Plus, he still had a guilty conscience after adopting a small kitten he found huddled under a broken-down groundcar; it wasn't the kind of thing becoming of a battle-hardened Chaos Marine. Even more damningly, he'd named the kitten Snuggles. Kay-oss barked.

"Now that we're all here, it's time to christen the ship!" Nurglebro exclaimed. "I dub thee, Ebola Borealis."

With that, Nurglebro smashed a bottle of Korbel champagne across the ship's hull, rocking the vessel from bow to stern. The bottle cracked before finally giving way, and left a large dent in the outer shell of the ship that seemed to have done more damage to the vehicle itself than the light glass bottle. Disregarding common sense and decency, Nurglebro ushered Dranon into the passenger cabin, refusing to give him enough time to reconsider risking Khorne's theoretical wrath to avoid the guaranteed agony of spending days in cramped quarters alongside Cultist-chan. The hulking Chaos Marine only barely fit in the small passenger cabin, and the top of his helmet barely brushed against the ceiling whenever he sat straight up. He groaned again.

"Enough bitching," Nurglebro ordered.

Dranon groaned again.

Nurglebro clambered into the pilot's seat and shut the gullwing door. "Okay, let's go on a road trip!"

Ebola Borealis' engines coughed, sputtered, and finally flared to life. The rickety vessel lifted off the garage floor and out into the small amount of wan warplight that managed to force its way through the heavy cloud cover. Nurglebro angled the ship towards space and throttled up the engines, ignoring a half-hearted attempt by Simi Prime's traffic control to offer him departure clearance. Nobody ever paid the remotest attention to Daemon Prince Ronald Reagan's union-busting control tower, and midair collisions were a weekly occurrence over the capital city, often killing hundreds at a time. It took ten minutes of hard acceleration before the Folkswagen escaped the atmosphere and entered the harsh light of the Eye of Terror.

"Ith so beauthiful," Cultist-chan said pensively, staring out the window and gently rubbing Kay-oss' belly.

"I need a fucking smoke," Dranon muttered.

Even knowing that it would do nothing to his genetically engineered physiology, Dranon took a giant hit from the bong anyway, struggling to line the glass lip of the water pipe up with the mouthpiece of his helmet. He drew a big puff of smoke through the successive chambers, and, sure enough, didn't feel a damn thing. Still, just the sensation of smoke in his lungs was a profound relief. He'd been trying to give up cigarettes rather unsuccessfully, and smoking out of the pipe restored some of the thick, black tar his lungs were so acclimated to. To his mild surprise, Cultist-chan held out her hand, demanding the next hit.

"Fuck, whatever," Dranon groaned, knowing it was going to be a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very long trip either way.

Cultist-chan greedily took a huge gulp of smoke from the bong. Kay-oss padded over, and she opened her mouth into his and shotgunned the used smoke into the lungs of her darling pet and lover. She started coughing furiously, and Nurglebro busied himself by fiddling with the navicomputer, trying to convince it to orient itself to something within the swirling storms that characterized the Eye of Terror. Minutes passed in silence as the ship's climate control desperately struggled to keep the cabin at room temperature despite the pounding radiation filling the Eye.

"So, where are we really going?" Dranon asked Nurglebro.

The other man shrugged. "Wherever the beloved Powers take us, I suppose. I can't get this navicomp to work for shit."

Cultist-chan gazed out of the window into swirling maelstrom. Contrary to expectations, cannabis actually made her quiet and introspective. Her brain felt like it was ringing between her ears, and she could hear an illusory sound in her ears that reminded her of tinnitus. She continued to rub a very content Kay-oss, who was also feeling vaguely high from the secondhand smoke and welcomed her caress with quiet enthusiasm.

"Shit fuck ass balls," Nurglebro announced.

"Fucking what?"

"The Warp drive isn't working. God damn it, all the diagnostics said it was fine this morning!"

In direct contradiction to his words, the Warp drive finally engaged and the Ebola Borealis went "higher" into Warp space. For an hour, the Folkswagen was buffeted randomly by the intense energies of the Warp. Dranon and Nurglebro joked, swore at one another, worked to repair an exhaust line that ruptured and spilled radiation into the passenger cabin, and waited, wondering where the Warp would ultimately spit them out. Meanwhile, Cultist-chan gazed out of the windows, enraptured by the hypnotic, undulating rhythm of the Immaterium.

Some time later, there was a small explosion and all the lights in the ship went dead.

"God damn it, what the fuck was that?" Dranon demanded.

"I don't know!" Nurglebro pounded the computer, hoping that a round of percussive maintenance might bring it back online. "All the systems were green when we left!"

Cultist-chan realized that the ship's Warp shields were down just as a daemonette stepped out of unreal space directly into the cabin of the Folkswagen. The Warp was kinder to Chaos devotees than it was to the fascist Imperium, and the daemonette waved to the three with her claw.

"Hey, guysssss. Iiiiii'm Wendy," the daemonette hissed.

Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Iiiii'm just here to say hiiiiii."

Wendy caught sight of the minifridge, and over Nurglebro's irritated protests she opened the door and absconded with a beer before vanishing back into the Warp.

Nurglebro hauled back one more time, and smashed the screen of the main computer so hard it cracked under the force of his blow. This was enough to get the stray wiring back into place and it flared to life, along with the rest of the lights on the ship. The Warp shield came back online, too; hopefully that would spell an end to the beer pilfering. Nurglebro brought the ship back under control and throttled up its engines once again, trying to surf the undulating waves of raw energy that made up the deep Immaterium.

The three tried to keep themselves occupied as minutes ticked into hours. They played I Spy, which rapidly became disappointing since most things in sight began with C for Chaos. The ID Transponder game was a non-starter, since there was no vessel close enough to pick up its identification frequency and Cultist-chan was illiterate anyway. The same went for the time-honored game of Geography. No one took Cultist-chan up on her offer to play "Things I just found in my panties." Finally, Nurglebro dimmed all the lights and suggested they move on to spooky stories.

"I suggested it, so I'll go first," Nurglebro announced. "One day, a daemonette was babysitting her best friend's spawn while she was out on a Crusade. She was the best babysitter a cultist could ask for. She fed the fingerlings from her ample breasts, she played card games with them, she gave them all a bath and only drowned a few, and she tucked them all in at night. Then, she got a call on her vox-caster."

Cultist-chan leaned forward, listening intently to the story.

"She picked up the vox-caster and heard, 'I'm going to finnnnnd you and eaaaat you,'" Nurglebro said, mimicking a spooky voice.

Cultist-chan whimpered, and Kay-oss nuzzled her with one of his faces.

"Well, she hung up the vox-caster and got really scared. But people make prank calls all the time, so she finally got over it and went downstairs to watch a movie. It was a reenactment of the 11th Crusade, and she got really into the story of the heroism of bold and glorious Chaos forces. So much so that when the vox-caster rang again, she peed herself right there on her couch. Terrified, the daemonette picked up the caster. 'Hello?' she asked nervously. 'I'm going to eeeaaaaaattttt you!' screamed a voice on the other end of the line."

"The daemonette was so frightened that she slammed down the receiver and immediately called 666. 'Hello, this 666, what is your emergency?' 'Oh, I've been receiving the most terrifying vox calls! Someone is threatening to kill and eat me and I'm all alone with my friend's spawn in my cave!' The emergency operator didn't answer for a minute while she traced the call."

"Yeth? Yeth!?" Cultist-chan demanded, terrified out of her wits.

"Finally, the 666 operator came back on the line. 'Get out of the cave right now!' Because you see, the vox call was coming from inside the cave!"

Cultist-chan let out a piercing shriek, which rang throughout the cabin forward and back. Dranon just rolled his eyes.

"Nurglebro, that's the oldest one in the book. Now let me tell you something really scary…"

"On the battlefield, you see a lot of fucked up shit sometimes. But the scariest thing I've ever seen was a tall, thin man with no face wearing a suit and tie. I only ever saw him once, during a fight on Cadia. He moved without making a sound, and he didn't show up on heartbeat detectors or infrared or ultraviolet imaging either. He didn't have an aura and he made no psychic impression on the Warp. I saw with my own eyes as he walked up to one of my mates, a good man, a true paragon of Chaos, and then the slender man tapped him on the shoulder and they both disappeared. Neither of them was ever… seen… again."

"Sooo scary," Nurglebro answered sarcastically, ignoring the girl's whimpers. "How about you, Cultist-chan?"

She thought about it carefully and then started telling her story. It started out uneventful, even boring, and then Dranon gasped in disgust and then horror. It built upon itself, creating the most biologically explicit things he'd ever heard. He'd seen men carved with chainswords on the battlefield, and that wasn't nearly as disgusting as the words coming out of Cultist-chan's mouth. Dranon shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat.

She finished, "Hand then, zthey dithcoverthd that her womb wath full of squirming, wiggling blowflieth!"

Dranon groaned in repulsion, but Nurglebro sported a bulging erection he didn't even try to hide.

"Oh, Cultist-chan," he whispered. "I never knew you could talk so dirty."

Dranon turned to glare at the Nurgle worshipper. "You are fucking sick."

Nurglebro preened, causing one of the boils on his face to erupt and drip pus down his cheek. "Some of us realize that all life is precious to Papa, even things most people find abhorrent."

The ship's computer pinged, and Nurglebro returned to the pilot's chair to discover that the Warp was just about to spit them out in an unknown location.

"Better strap in, we're coming out into realspace," he advised his much-relieved crew.

All at once, Ebola Borealis crashed through the veil separating the material from the Immaterium and came to a halt relative to the central star in the system they'd just infiltrated. Nurglebro immediately started fiddling with the navicomp, trying to convince it to divulge their location based on its analyses of the star fields that surrounded the ship. It was slow going; the computer was thousands of years old, and, while well-maintained by a hobbyist, it simply wasn't up to spec with the latest equipment from Nolevo or Shotiba. Finally, it spat out an estimated answer.

"Oh, shit," Nurglebro said. "Imperium space, Segmentum Tempestus. We appear to be in the Tuchanka system. But, hm, that's funny – the navicomp says there's a huge gravitational anomaly present in the system. In fact… holy shit, it's close! Wait, what the…!?"

There was a resounding clang as Ebola Borealis ran directly into the anomaly, and, for a full minute, the ship spun completely out of control.

Stay tuned for the next chapter, Cultist-Chan v. The Space Hulk

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