Sister of Nurgle
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Sister of Nurgle
This is some weird shit guys. Everything from spiked dildos to necrophilia can be found here. Enjoy you sick fucks.
The corrupted Sister Apphia roamed across the battlefield, the scorched earth crunching sickly underneath her boots, like bones; as she made her way around the rotting dead. Father Nurgle had been successful in the battle and now all that remained was to enjoy the spoils of war. His daemons had made quick work of the pitiful planetary defense force and the first steps were being taken to completely consume the planet. Apphia still retained most of her former beauty, but her loveliness was only skin deep; beneath this veneer she had been blessed and filled with gifts from Nurgle. Her new purpose in life was to spread those blessings.
The moans of a worthless mortal, alerted her to a wounded Guardsman twitching weakly and gurgling in his own blood. She was surprised that any human had survived, but now she had a chance to bring another into the fold.
The Guardsman looked up at the Sister of Battle that approached him with glazed eyes, though her face was clean and healthy, her armor was encrusted with filth, and all manner of polyps, fungi, scum and other scourges were nestled among it. The noble fleur-de-lis, which symbolized her former order, had been replaced with the pulsating mark of Nurgle. The overwhelming stench of death and decay followed her like a billowing mantle of pestilence she wrapped around herself; the Guardsman had begun to choke the moment the fetid air had enveloped him. Apphia smiled at her luck, she had found someone in need of help and as her grin widened a worse smell began to fill the air. She straddled the lying Guardsman and forcefully thrust her tongue into his mouth, choking him as the putrid slime worked its way down his throat, forming lesions and sores wherever it touched. Her thrusts deepened as his tongue stopped resisting and soon she began to feel the first signs of deep infection forming. She lowered his head down and smiled again, for she knew her first gift was appreciated.
Apphia opened the lower part of her filth-encrusted armor, exposing her grotesque and defiled womanhood that seemed to pulsate sickly, as if it was breathing in the air. It had been personally blessed by a greater unclean one of Nurgle. It now would bear her no young, but rather new diseases to spread for Nurgle, a sick mockery of its former purpose.
The diseased and dying flesh covered with engorged pustules and weeping sores, formed a deep contrast with her flawless face. Noxious mucous dripped from her as her excitement grew. She felt no joy about the act itself, but she knew it was the best way to spread new diseases, by letting him access the root of her gift.
With her claws she removed the crusted fabric of his clothes, letting her caress spores into his bare skin, she worked her way down exposing his hardened phallus, the aphrodisiac in the spores doing its job. Grasping it, she positioned it under her and let him penetrate. She felt the head of the phallus rasping against her rough inner walls. She increased the tempo of her thrusting; his member becoming increasingly battered with each thrust, her abrasive insides letting her prepare him for her coming climax. In her increasing ecstasy she undid her upper armor and began to fondle her bloated breasts; and as she squeezed them a pestilent secretion leaked from her nipples and splashed across his skin. The pus beginning to eat away his skin, as she began to writhe in pleasure for the care she was giving him. She increased her pace and loosened her bowels as she approached her climax. When she could bear no more, she knew he was ready for her gift. Apphia let her cervix open and volatile sludge cascaded over his member. She let loose her second climax and shit poured from her anus. The large and slick pile writhed manically as daemonic worms emerged and slowly began to burrow into the Guardsman’s now pasty skin.
His body was in different states of infection, with his member being the most "blessed"; her initial gifts to him paled in comparison, as Nurgle's rot and the other myriad of gifts began to envelop him; slowly enshrouding his body in contagion and his soul in the pit of Nurgle. After they consumed him completely, his soul would join Nurgle in the Warp, a never-ending reward. If he only knew what he was about to experience.
She rose and refastened her armor. As she did the clasps and the armor sealed itself, she admired the infections that were spreading across his body. His veins pulsed with black contagion, spreading from his groin and going straight to his heart, as his skin blistered and shriveled. The rate was faster than she had expected, but she had given him expert care in this regard. Sadly he could give her no new gifts, but there were many more left on the battlefield and even if she could not gain a gift from them, she could always share with them hers…
Apphia woke from a disturbing and impure dream that was now only beginning to fade. She felt unclean in both body and mind; she was covered in sweat and the sheets clung to her wetly.
Her other Sisters would start with prayers or possibly self-flagellation every morning, to purge themselves. They were both good, but one could not be pure without a thoroughly clean body. She disentangled herself from the bedsheets and stretched in front of the elegant full body mirror. Her defined muscles blended seamlessly with her athletic form, with the swell of her ample breasts perfectly complemented her light frame, giving her a feline beauty that few could match. Short white hair framed her face, highlighting her aristocratic features and hard obsidian eyes; this, her flat stomach and chiseled legs, from wearing heavy amour, gave her the look of a lethal and alluring warrior. After studying her reflection for a few moments she made her way to the bathroom; she couldn't forget her morning enema, but right now she only wanted to shower.
As the burning hot water washed over her she slowly rubbed her body with soap, taking care to cover every spot and letting her enjoy the sensual experience. The very strictest Sisters would eschew such practices, but even they had their own twisted kinks. All Sisters had their little pleasures; Apphia's were fairly mild for her rank. What was wrong with taking a longer shower and letting her hands wander?
She slowly rubbed the suds over her toned and lithe body. Making sure to slowly stimulate her sensitive spots with nimble hands. She devoted most of her attention to her clit; she abstained from inserting her fingers in her fundament. Other Sisters did, but she never was highly aroused by it. Two fingers began to slowly circle, the circle drawing closer with each revolution and increasing in speed. The pleasure was intense as she reached her climax. She would not normally allow herself this luxury of taking cleansing showers so often and so long, but circumstances were different. She reached for more cleansing fluid to make sure her entire body was clean before she left the showering unit. She let her hands wander again; she still had some time to kill.
Apphia had been taking more showers than was usual even for her. This whole planet was worthless. Covered in swamps and decay, the constant showers were the only way she could deal with it. The former monastery, in which they were stationed, was built on solid ground but even here it was still unbearable; the air alone was nauseating.
But even worse was the fact that her battle squad had been assigned to serve as an escort for Orders Hospitaller. Some of them enjoyed cleanliness and purity, but most were content to deal with all the filth and uncleanness. They debased themselves by letting the grime live, nurturing it.
There were some suspicions of a Nurgle cult, who often caused outbreaks like this but the planetary governor only had enough pull to warrant those who were nearby. The small monastery had been commandeered to serve as a makeshift hospital. It was an unfeeling gesture, her forces were insufficient to do anything but barely protect this corner.
Apphia's quarters were currently one of the larger prayer chambers. It was spartanly decorated and somewhat too small for her liking but it would have to do. Being in the same building as the diseased was torture though. If she had had her way, she would have let the diseased, who were coming here in ever-greater numbers, face the wrath of her blessed flamer; the promethium would cleanse them and their souls would be free from corruption. Sadly, none were in such a grievous state, forcing her to do nothing but stay in her room and keep clean, or keep a look out (but that would mean having to deal with tides of the sick and ill). At least she didn’t have to, and she gave a shudder at the mere thought, assist her lower healing sisters and try to "cure" the infected hordes.
If a Nurgle cult was really involved, they could do no good here. There were only twelve other Adeptus Sororitas protecting the monastery, they could hold off a full-blown cult for a while, but eventually the last bolter rounds would be fired and the promethium would run dry, while the infection continued to spread. And if there was no cult (and this turned out to be a simple outbreak), their presence was wasted here.
Her Sisters were keeping watch, sparing her from having to deal with the trash outside. She pitied them, but there were some benefits of being a sister superior; and this allowed her to pass away the time with the pursuit of pleasure. She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, as she did so her gilded chrono chimed. Apphia looked at it, only three hours had passed since she awoke. Through the stained-glass window, she saw only the depressing visage of fog and swamp.
She felt a cramp in her gut; shit was beginning to painfully build up. Damn, she thought, she had gotten so caught up in her cleansing that she had forgotten her morning enema. As she sat on the ornate commode, she felt the pieces of shit slowly inch past her anus. The smell began to hit her, noxious and sickening; to feel each piece of filth that left her was degrading. She had finally pushed the last piece of shit out; this experience was a reminder to keep to her schedule. She sealed the commode and made her way to the shower again. She would keep it quick this time, but afterwords she would have some fun.
Freshly washed and clad only in a loose robe, she called for her newest Servitor. She had picked this one up five months ago, but with her downtime she finally had a chance to have some fun with her. On an earlier mission she had encountered a young and supple psyker, her skin was creamy underneath blazing red hair. She took pity on this nubile young psyker and, transformed into a mindless Servitor, her body was too fine to waste by just burning it. Now Apphia would let the body suffer for her previous sins. The Servitor appeared before her; the machinery was recessed and did nothing to distract from what lay before her, Apphia licked her lips in anticipation. For the moment the Servitor was wearing a simple silk robe, so light it was nearly transparent, it barely obscured the young and tender body.
Leaving the young pysker, she turned around and opened a finely decorated box, in it was a monstrous double-headed phallus attached to a complex leather harness. It was a tool of punishment, along it ran a variety of spikes and hooks, wickedly shaped and stained from previous uses; the other half was designed for pleasure, a true tool of the Adeptus Sororitas. She slowly let her robe open and strapped on the tool.
“Get on your knees,” Apphia commanded sternly. The tone was unnecessary, but she felt it lent the proper air to the occasion.
The Servitor obeyed and with a brush of her hand Apphia removed the girl's robe, taking a moment to enjoy the exposed view. She grasped the shapely buttocks, and positioned the head of the barbed phallus against the tight, virgin asshole...
Apphia stood on the verge of penetration. The head of her "organ of torment" pressed against the witch's anus. She hesitated to savor the anticipation of her upcoming pleasure and the witch's suffering. The anticipation alone was intoxicating. She was in control and at her whim she could brutally punish the Servitor, she was at Apphia's mercy. Apphia ran her fingers across the creamy skin, lightly toying with her sinfully red hair. The depraved thorns of her instrument would brutally rip through her flesh, a favored implement of punishment for the Adepta Sororitas.
A frantic knocking on the door brought her back to the present. It must be important, as her Sisters were under strict orders not to disturb, her unless it was dire; and she would feel little sympathy towards the incompetent fools who dared to disturb her otherwise. She would see to their punishment personally.
Two fully-clad Sisters rushed into her quarters; they stood silent in the face of their superior. They had interrupted her and no comment would be made till Apphia questioned them.
“Sister Superior! We have to depart immediately. There have been reports of possible warp activity on the far side of the western continent!”
“Ready the Sisters then, I will take nine with me. We shall leave in fifteen minutes.”
She looked longingly at the virgin ass before her but she could enjoy it later. Apphia took off her harness, letting her robes slide to the floor and began to prep her armor. Her Servitor would stay as her mistress left her, on her knees, ready and waiting for Apphia's return. The armor of a Sister was a complex work of art and craftsmanship. Each piece was hand-formed and the amount of detail that went into its creation was astonishing. Symbols of her holy order, the noble Inquisition, purity seals and holy scripts adorned the armor showing her purity. As a Sister rose in rank, her armor grew in detail, the highest Sisters' armor were masterpieces; to look upon them was to see the glory of the Empire before them. The cool armor touched her warm flesh, the crafted armor fitting perfectly with her body.
She exited her rooms and made her way down the stairs on her way to the courtyard. She did the final clasps and the powered armor fully sealed itself. She normally wore no helmet in battle, but in this hellhole she knew it would serve its purpose. She strode outside, past the lines of the frail sick, coughing and pallid. Nearby she saw the three Valkyries that had just landed and were waiting to carry her to battle. Before them stood nine of her best Sisters and twenty of the local defense force's finest Guardsmen, they were weak and pathetic, expendable amateurs. She walked into the command ship with her Sisters following, quickly strapping herself in, as the flight would take a while.
The long flight gave her mind time to wander. Punishing the guilty was a pleasure and responsibility as a higher Sister. In the Adepta Sororitas, pleasure was never without pain though. Older Sisters eventually learned how to savor both equally. After they indulged themselves, new Sisters normally would go lightly on the lash, trying to minimize the pain. If they were caught, older Sisters showed them the error of their ways. Apphia had done her fair amount of punishing, but was never overly cruel about it.
She still remembered her first time seeing a public punishment; Apphia had been only a Sister at that time, almost finished with her training. A younger Sister had been overly indulgent in the last few weeks and had been skimping most of her punishment.
All Sisters were allowed to indulge in pleasure, but punishment always followed. Younger Sisters often formed temporary couples or simply participated in the many orgies. The "rules" were fairly lax. Some activities required certain "cleansing rituals", but most were fine. An ever-popular item in these events was a harnessed phallus as Sisters were forbidden the touch of a man. Sisters of the Adepta Sororitas swore to keep themselves pure for the Emperor, and nor were Sisters allowed to engage in activities that would limit their battle effectiveness. In addition, any activity that bore the taint of Chaos was punishable by torture, followed by death. Self-pleasure was somewhat looked down upon, especially when there were other Sisters around to join in, but it was still accepted. Older Sisters were forbidden to join in such orgies; they were supposed to be above such things. However, they "invited" younger Sisters to spend an evening with them. No one refused these offers; as it was a matter of bad taste and dishonoring an older Sister was never a good idea. To face the wrath of one of these Sisters was foolish, as an older Sister reserved the right to punish any younger Sister at the slightest break of tradition.
Once again, she remembered the young Sister who had overindulged herself. Lydia was her name and, from what Apphia had heard, she had refused a direct invitation from Canoness Commander Mara herself. A week later, when the Canoness was in her "red rage", Lydia was found too lightly punishing herself. The enraged Canoness had her bound and carried to the cloister for her punishment.
Mara was an older Sister, head of the small convent. Her body was well muscled and scarred from decades of constant warfare; she was satisfied and her expression showed it. She slowly made her way to the center of the courtyard, knowing each moment would be one of agony and uncertainty for Lydia, serving as prelude to what lay ahead.
The other Sisters had gathered around the courtyard. While in the convent, none wore armor, they were only clad in simple robes; several hundred Sisters trained and all of them were watching.
Lydia was bound, lying naked on the tiles in the blazing midday sun. She was still young, her body shapelier than the normal sister and her muscles not yet coming into full definition. Her normally cheerful and insolent face was wracked in fear and terror at what was going to happen. The faces of the Sisters that surrounded her were mixed; some shone with looks of joy, as they waited for what was coming next. Others wore looks of confusion, sharing with her the same uncertainty of what was to come next.
“We are here for the punishment of this Sister. She has shown herself to be undevoted to the cause, but we shall give her a chance at redemption.”
With that, Canoness Mara handed her a flail whip. Seven braided leather extensions flowed from the handle, each ending in a metal stud. The whip was designed to inflict greater pain than that normally caused by self-punishment. A cruel smile split the Canoness’ face.
"You know what to do."
Already sobbing, Lydia grasped the whip and proceeded to punish herself. The strokes were clumsy and no blood was drawn. Noises of disapproval from her fellow Sisters followed each lackluster stroke.
Enraged, the Canoness knocked the whip out of her hand. Her battle-hardened strength was enough to cause the poor Sister to be knocked to the ground, her body smashing against the tiles. Her cries rung out through the cloister.
“Bring my personal equipment, now!”
The Canoness’s Servitors woke from dormancy and rushed off to retrieve her personal gear. These poor girls were conscripted from the nearby villages. Taken at a young age they were lobotomized and fitted with machinery so that they better performed their duty.
They returned with several large boxes, each showing the fine craftsmanship that was common in their order. Apphia struggled to get a better look as the crowd shifted restlessly and saw hungry looks of anticipation from some of the older Sisters; but this spectacle was new to her.
Mara lifted a large phallus from the first case. The size was many times bigger than what the other Sisters had ever used on her. There seemed to be some sort of design on the surface, Apphia strained for a better viewpoint. She raised her hand to her mouth (in astonishment). It was not a design; they were spikes, hooks, barbs and blades, irregularly jutting out. This was not toy of pleasure, but a wicked instrument of pain.
When Lydia saw the Canoness's tool, she screamed out and tried to struggle away. Wordlessly the Servitors grabbed hold of her. Her repeated struggles to escape were stopped by the machinery-enhanced muscles.
“Gag her,” said Mara as she slipped into the harness.
The second box was brought forth. Mara lifted her personal flail whip out and raised it above her, the inlaid metals catching the sun. From the end extended nine whips, each ending in a wickedly curved spike. Mara gave it a test. With a mighty crack she struck Lydia, her back was sliced open, blood dripping to the flat stones beneath.
“I will give you one last chance, Sister Lydia, are you truly sorry for your sins?”
The Servitors removed the gag, Lydia whimpered as she tried to respond.
“Yes...Mother, I am...truly...sorry for my sins.”
The sentence seemed to take much out of her and she resumed her sobbing.
“Good. Then we shall start the healing.”
A smile shone on Mara's face. Around her the other Sisters were getting excited, they did their best to conceal their pleasure. Though no punishment would be given for them enjoying the spectacle, discretion was always important. The older ones knew what was coming. The younger ones stared on in amazement.
“Bring the holy promethium.”
The large chalice was brought forth. Attendant Sisters carried the related items of purity.
Without warning Mara delivered three more strokes to Lydia. Her cries rang out through the convent. Her back was sliced while the sisters of the chalice were sprinkling cleansing drops of the holy promethium on her back. The pain increased and Lydia's screams grew more ragged.
While Lydia was still in shock, with blood weeping from the fresh wounds, Mara grabbed Lydia's firm rear and fully penetrated her womanhood. The brute strength of the Canoness forced the entire phallus in. Lydia screamed out, while the other Sisters watched.
Apphia was entranced by the spectacle unfolding before her, but she noticed some sisters were otherwise getting excited. She herself felt a trembling below; a wet spot began to show on her undergarments. As the blood splashed on to the tiles, Apphia began to appreciate the scene even more. The way Mara's phallus penetrated and ripped into Lydia's flesh was enthralling. Three more strokes of the whip soon followed the penetration, along with another blessing of promethium. It carried on in a similar fashion with the brutality increasing as the floor became slick with blood. Apphia began to notice more and more Sisters having wandering hands as it continued. She herself soon followed suit.
After one hour, Lydia was lying on the ground. She had stopped screaming out in pain long ago and had accepted her fate and only the faint whimpers and constant tears showed her true feelings. Mara smiled. Her older daughters had been aroused by this display and the younger ones had learned the penalty for disobedience. She would have wished to continue this in the dungeons below; where the order had assembled a large and interesting display of punishment tools. They were normally reserved for heretics and witches, but she still saw the look of complete defiance in Lydia's eyes. She would let her heal and wait; Lydia would be broken down. There was no doubt about it.
“Carry her to the Hospitaller. She needs to recover.”
The Servitors lifted Lydia's broken and bloodied body off the stained tiles.
Apphia drifted back into the present and leaned back in the seat. Her face flushed under her helmet as the memory of punishment filled her with joy. The engines droned on, it would be a long flight...
As the long journey continued, Apphia slipped back into her memories. She remembered that several weeks later she had received an invitation from the Canoness. Knowing full well the penalty for refusing, she quietly ascended into the inner sanctum at the designated time.
A large wooden door had stood before her separating the personal quarters of the Cannoness Commander Mara from the rest of the inner sanctum. She had knocked three times and the door had opened shortly after. Entering, all she could see at first were the dripping candles that dimly lit the room and threw flickering, dancing shadows across the walls.
“Ah, Apphia, are you prepared?”
The Canoness was lying on her bed, barely clothed in a flowing silk garment. Her looks were mature, though her beauty was well preserved. Her oiled and muscular frame glistened in the soft candlelight. Years of service to the Emperor left her with scars that ran across her body, pock marking her skin. Her face was hard; she had seen many years of ruthless combat.
Apphia trembled; she knew not what lay before her. Mara rose from the bed and sealed the door. Walking gracefully over, she disrobed Apphia and let her hands reach towards her bosom. The fingers were surprisingly gentle as they embraced Apphia. She was in a state of shock, of such gentleness from the woman who, she had seen to be so brutal.
“Lie down on the bed...”
Apphia thoughtlessly obeyed. The Cannoness's voice, though soft at the moment, carried power and authority that betrayed her years. The covers were of fine cloth the feeling was very different than the materials used for the beds of her fellow Sisters. She was pushed down by the Cannoness. Mara was experienced and within moments, Apphia was drowning in pleasure. Even when she had the luck to find herself in the center of a Sister orgy, there was no comparison to the expert ministrations of Mara.
And now as she brought her tongue to probe her fundament, deft strokes left Apphia panting as she struggled to breathe. She had never felt anything like this before and, as she reached climax after climax, pleasure filled her and...she felt nothing else. Without warning, Mara stopped. The sudden absence of euphoria came as a shock.
“Mother, will you not continue?”
“Patience, my child. I have need of your services now. To receive but not to give is a sin, child.”
“I am yours, Mother.”
Mara gave a laugh.
“Oh, child. How it pleases me to hear that.”
Mara repositioned herself so that her womanhood was brought to Apphia's face
“Child, I must relieve myself. Drink my gift.”
Before Apphia could reply, the amber liquid streamed into to Apphia's open mouth. The warmness and slightly sweet flavor with odd aftertastes surprised her. Mara seemed to be in great pleasure; the submission of Apphia aroused her. The last drops splattered on her face.
“My child, you have shown yourself to be worthy. But your enthusiasm is greater than your discipline. We must work on that, you don't want to make the same mistake as Lydia did, do you?"
“No, Mother,” said Apphia with a shudder.
“Good, then return the pleasure.”
Apphia obediently began to lick the nether regions of her Canoness, she was not skilled in oral pleasure but she did her best. Mara smiled, Apphia was unskilled but she would teach her. Mara thrust her hips forward and began to grind it in Apphia's face. This was much better. But she was not cruel; Mara's hand slipped into Apphia's cleft and returned some of her pleasure. This continued for what seemed like an eternity to Apphia; Mara's nimble and experienced hand left her in the throes of ecstasy, but the roughness of this act added another dimension to the experience, she had never felt anything that was this extreme before.
Mara sensed that she had utterly exhausted the poor girl. Her stamina was pathetic, but it could be worked on. The key point was that Apphia was a willing and pious sister, so young and inexperienced. She loved playing with them, but Apphia was special; she could mold her.
Apphia left the room. Clad once more in her light robe, she had trouble descending down the stairs to the shared quarters of initiates. She still felt drained from the multiple orgasms which had consumed her body throughout the whole night. The Canoness had amazing stamina.
The Canoness was strong and brutal at times, but she had also shown herself to be gentle and caring in her own way. Apphia wondered what might have happened had she not been so pious and submissive. She could have ended up like poor Lydia; after she had been healed she had been dragged down to the dungeons to remove all taints of heresy. Her screams had been heard for months. And yet for some reason Apphia had wished she could be punishing Lydia and showing her the path of the righteous.
The strained whine of the engines disrupted her reminiscence and, with a slight bump, she felt the ship touch the ground.
They were here.
This was no time for remembering the past. Her mind had to be clear and focused. She was ready to lead her Sisters into battle; her flamer was filled with promethium and her bolt pistol stood at the ready.
Apphia walked down the ramp with her sisters following. The Guardsmen were nervous with their lasguns at the ready; she saw no purpose for their presence other than for the planetary governor trying to impress them. She could see their fear and they would have ran at the first sign of trouble had it not been for her presence. They had heard the stories of the fanatical daughters of the Emperor who would slay all those who would threaten him. Apphia decided, they could be used as bait, as she left the ramp.
The engines whirred back to full power and the Valkyries rose off. They would return if needed. She pressed the rune of activation on her auspex. There was odd activity ahead. She advanced into the swamp. The filthy water was befouling her clean armor. She would stay dry, but it pained her to see it in this state.
Her auspex started to encounter interference. It was as if some unholy force was nearby, clasping it back on her belt. She strode forward with weapons drawn.
A rustling of the trees put her on alert. She was a veteran, serving for many years. In battle, she was without peer among her many sisters. Apphia knew in a couple of years that once she advanced to the proper age, she would become an honored older Sister and hold ever-greater authority. But, more importantly, she would hold access to all but the deepest dungeons; but now was not time for self-indulgence.
The swamps surrounding them began to bubble as if something was rising out of the depths. She saw bloated bodies, thoroughly infested, maggots writhing from open wounds and fungus ridden, rising up to attack. Partially infected cultists burst from the undergrowth. They were not mindless yet like their swamp-dredged cousins, but would soon be there.
Apphia cried a battle hymn with her Sisters taking up the shout. Her bolt pistol let loose rounds which buried themselves in the infected and exploded shortly thereafter. The effect was marvelous, causing fragments of the target to rain down. Seven of her sisters answered the call. The holy sounds of bolter fire and the wet thump of the rounds hitting echoed through the swamp. In response, the other two Sisters used their flamers, burning promethium cleansing all that it touched. Apphia's other hand held a compact flamer; it was not as powerful as a normal one, but it still purged the heretics with ease.
The cultists were dropping. The Sisters were victorious. Only a few Guardsmen remained. Some had run off, others fell to the cultists with several being mowed down by the overenthusiastic Sisters. The last few cultists ran off, but something was amiss. The air seemed to turn over itself as the very fabric of reality appeared to ripple. Things seemed to warp and bulge as all sounds stopped. Nothing moved for what seemed like an eternity until Apphia realized with a growing sense of dread what was happening. Her greatest fears were true; this was not just a cult. They had gained the eye of Nurgle.
Sickening images appeared in the air before them. These were true forces of Chaos, warped beyond belief and barely held together. But these paled before the sight that towered above them. It was a Greater Daemon of Nurgle. The skin was ripped and falling apart with its organs spilling out and all manner of scourges graced its skin. In its hand it held a mighty blade from which a pestilent green dripped. It effortlessly swiped through the air, slicing clean through four Sisters. The daemons ran forward, hoping to quickly finish them off. Apphia charged forward, smashing her way through the endless ranks before her. If she could manage to destroy that festering mountain of plagues, the daemons would lose their grip on this world and fade back to the hellish Warp.
With a furious cry, she charged the Greater Daemon. Apphia would stop the spread of filth and Chaos if it was the last thing she would do...
Apphia woke to find the frantic battle gone; it had been replaced with a twisted jungle that spanned as far as she could see. The strong stench of decay made her choke and gag just out of reflex. The only sound was the buzz and scratching of insects, broken every few seconds by the pop and splat of pustules bursting. The cries of her fellow Sisters had been replaced by the apparent stillness of death, but behind the facade of silence everything pulsed and writhed, rejoicing in the decay. Everything seemed to twitch with life, but something was out of place. She realized, but this was a false mockery of life: Chaos. The taint was everywhere, gnawing at her soul, filling her mind. Her flamer was empty and her bolt pistol had no rounds left. Gnarled and rotting trees wove their way through this "garden" of Chaos. Bloated fungi were nestled everywhere, spores bursting out, filling the air and covering the ground. Rotting carcasses hung from vines, vicious feasting maggots bursting out from the flesh. Unending clouds of black plague flies blotted out the sun, filling the air with a menacing clicking noise. Dark rivers of noxious sludge twisted their way through the landscape, a loathsome miasma rising out of it. From the rotting and excrement-strewn ground, fungi were already working their way up her armor. Pops, clicks, and splats all blended together to form a symphony of decay that only made her increasingly uneasy.
Upon seeing the growing corruption that was befouling her armor, she gave an unearthly scream. She struggled to wrench her feet from the enveloping fungi; She gave her last bit of strength and with a sickening sound her foot was free. Thrown off-balance, she grasped a nearby bough to keep from falling over, but this sudden exertion only worsened her struggle for breath, the putrid air only making it harder. Her thoughts could barely coalesce. The surrounding taint of Chaos ripped through her mind again, and again forced her mind open and spread through her. Her training had taught her to keep the corruption of Chaos at bay, but she had never fought against anything like this before. No mere daemon could do this. It was pure and undiluted. Apphia tried to resist, but it bent her to its will, viciously defiling her mind more and more with each passing second.
The decayed bough finally gave way under her slumped form causing the lower half of her armor to become submerged in the sickening mire. It began to slowly pull her in. Apphia desperately tried to find something that would allow her to save herself; grabbing a vine, she managed to break free. Her armor had been completely defiled. Already parts began to rust away, while others burst out in Chaotic infestation. She struggled to unseal her armor before it reached her clean skin.
A Sister's armor was a treasured piece of artisan craftsmanship. It was a sin to just leave it there to be defiled by Chaos, but what choice did she have? Standing disrobed in the midst of all of the chaos made her feelings of vulnerability and isolation only worsen.
The filth and corruption was maddening; she ran as fast as she could, but there was no end to the madness before her. As the sights of evil only grew, her pace quickened. As the exertion took its toll on her, she stopped, ready to collapse. Apphia felt a mass squirming beneath her foot and realized that she had trodden into one of the numerous piles of excrement that lay scattered throughout the jungle. Daemonic worms burst from the pile, burrowing into her skin. Her initial reaction was one of shock, but waves of pleasure began to cascade through her; the intensity almost knocked her to ground. With each second, her euphoria only increased and her body trembled as it did. Her fundament twitched as she orgasmed; she had never felt anything like this before. It consumed and devoured her. A pleasure that never seemed to leave her but, like the infections, grew steadily.
Understanding began to finally dawn on Apphia. What surrounded her was not decay, but life in its truest form. Gone was the vision of a twisted jungle of death. It had been replaced with a garden of life and caring. In her unrelenting ecstasy, she finally dropped to the ground, finding it hard to move as myriad pleasures surrounded her. Near to where she laid a twisted fungus liberally oozed puss onto the ground. Her fingers reached towards it, letting them slip into the fungus, enjoying the feel of her skin decaying. Satisfied, she began to spread the noxious puss into her womanhood where it took on a life of its own and began to infect her further. Spreading slowly, it began to warp her formerly pure insides. The ecstasy was beyond intoxicating, trapping Apphia in delirium; her flesh was already beginning to rot and fester, but she still needed more. A bloated and plague-ridden corpse was lying nearby. Making her way over to it, she spied the diseased asshole with beautiful pustules ready to burst surrounding it. She extended her tongue and traced a circle, pustules bursting under her tongue. The fresh pus infected her tongue creating a powerful aphrodisiac, causing her to quicken her pace. The asshole convulsed and opened under her gentle attentions. After a strong twitch, shit began to flow out. Apphia excitedly began to gorge herself on this new offering; it slowly slid down her throat with more cursed worms bursting forth to ravage her insides.
As she began to give herself over to Chaos, the environment responded. From the rotting ground rose more bloated corpses to greet her. She eagerly took the rotting meat of its member into her mouth, savoring the sensation with each thrust, pustules bursting on her tongue. Two more took position behind her, the rotting flesh pushing deep inside her. More took position around her with the vines springing to life from the rotting trees and began to embrace her, causing twisted boils and sores to form. She felt ready to pass out from the raw fervor, but the orgy of decay only increased in intensity.
As she writhed in ever increasing agony and pleasure, plague insects began to envelop her. They bit her with dripping mandibles and caused new pestilences that only increased her euphoria. Fresh spores landed on her fraying skin, fungi taking root in her and sending another surge of pleasure through her. Apphia slowly stood up. Her body was almost entirely consumed; her stomach had burst, entrails spilling out with all manner of infections filling her body. She was the vision of chaotic beauty but she was not done. With her last bit of strength, she slid into the pestilent river. The raw Chaotic infection ripped through her and as her body fell apart she knew only one thing.
This was paradise...