Chainaxe Porn

"By Khorne, I certainly enjoy committing licensed-murders in service to the state!", he exclaimed. His commanding voice conveyed rage, it's true; a deep and boundless rage that weaklings feared would tear the cosmos asunder. Yet, at the same time, in his words there was obviously deep strategic wisdom, and a surety of purpose that came from sincere religious (Khornite) conviction.

The already impressive effect of his words was further accentuated by the way the blood of freshly butchered Imperial commissars (three that morning) flowed delicately down his body, accentuating his rippling muscles and tastefully toned abdominal physique. Which is not to say his calf muscles were not also notably Mighty. The concept of skipping leg day was evidently as anathema to him as that of peace among the stars.

Suddenly, in front of him, an Imperial ecclesiarch appeared, snivelling in his pretended loyalty to the Emperor of Terra whom he (the Imperial Ecclesiarch, that is) secretly hated and resented for His evident Might.

"How are you so strong and handsome!", he sneered pathetically, "And why are all the Sisters of Battle incredibly desirous of engaging in sexual congress with you even though you'd only indulge in such lewd acts under those social and physiological conditions most likely to produce more warriors for the glorious state you serve so loyally? Our cowar..."

-- At this point Ilīpīšumu had to stop reading, as Nabtušēme's snorting laughter was too loud to speak over. As she wiped the tears from her eyes she just about managed to say:

"Oh my Blood Lord that was all one sentence wasn't it!? "Desirous of engaging in sexual congress"! How do the Office for the Propagation of Pertinent Information write this stuff!?"

"Believe it or not", Ilīpīšumu replied, "M'arīísū: Hero of the Sanguinary Utnapishtim was OPPI's most widely read production last year. They swear down it generated a 13% MPM-spike wherever it was sufficiently widely diffused. Anyway, lemmie read on I ain't got to the best part yet." --

"... Our cowardly scheming was meant to prevent anyone realising a person could be so Mighty as you!"

M'arīísū didn't answer the mewling cur, as in that moment he was too busy mentally perfecting the formula which would optimally balance bloodshed from slave whippings against the decrease in productivity each lash produced. He simply shot the priest through the chest and moved on, vowing to report his results to an appropriately mandated logistician when next at basecamp.

Rounding the next corner, M'arīísū was shocked to find 8th Philia somewhat lagging in their slaughter, only diffidently wading their way through the orphanage they had been instructed to purge. M'arīísū immediately challenged their Katogaur to a trial of Might and bested him easily, taking command of the 8th to the universal acclaim of the now invigorated warriors. He then inspired them with a speech:

And everybody clapped.

-- Ilīpīšumu and Nabtušēme were still laughing uproariously as the shift bell rang and they went back to their desks.