No way, absolutely no way!"
On a green plain, a handsome young man with black hair, black eyes, and pale skin shouted at the sky. His name was Ron, a young office worker from the twenty-first century. Last night he stayed up late playing a Warhammer game, felt a sharp pain in his chest, and fell asleep, only to wake up in this place.
"This is not transmigration. This is a beautiful dream," Ron said with confidence.
Because he was surrounded by beautiful women.
On the grass and by the small river were girls of every style.
Mature women, cute girls, beast girls, long legs in high heels and black stockings, every one of them hit his personal tastes hard. What was worse was that he could vaguely recognize many familiar faces from his old hard drive and his favorite anime heroines.
"What the hell?"
Tifa Lockhart? Ayaka Kamisato?
So dreams really did have everything.
With a "since I am already here" attitude, Ron decided to enjoy this dream properly. He walked toward the girls, wanting to talk and get closer. But a vague sense of danger made him stop in his tracks.
"Something feels wrong, like I forgot something important."
Ron carefully examined his surroundings. A gentle breeze brushed his face, carrying the sweet scent of flowers and grass, and the solid ground beneath his feet felt real. It was far too real.
As Ron hesitated, the sweet smell in the air grew stronger and seeped deep into his chest. The surge of hormones it stirred flooded his mind and slowly robbed him of clear judgment. It was just a wet dream, so what was there to worry about?
What if he delayed too long and woke up?
By the time Ron came back to his senses, he was already standing in front of the girls. Their eyes shimmered as they looked at him with anticipation.
"Come on." "I feel so uncomfortable." "Won't you hold me, sir?"
Their trembling voices were soft and numbing, like whispers straight into his ears, completely breaking down Ron's resistance.
To hell with it.
Ron could no longer suppress his desire and let it run wild, sinking into it without restraint. In an instant, darkness wrapped around everything. His consciousness seemed to fall into an endless abyss, sinking without end.
What was this place?
The last scraps of Ron's awareness turned over that question as they drifted toward extinction. At the very edge of that darkness, a beam of light suddenly shone in. A mysterious and warm force woke his mind and granted him a moment of clarity.
"I remember now!"
Ron snapped his eyes open and looked at everything around him. Green fields, tempting scents, soft female bodies, and endless pleasure filled his senses. "Damn it, this setting is basically Palace of Slaanesh, isn't it?"
That was right. Ron had transmigrated.
Last night while gaming, he had been joking around with his teammates. He had said things like "God-Emperor of Mankind above, Slaanesh below" and "I never skip scenes, I am a Slaanesh believer."
His keyboard had been clacking as he typed, "If I enter Warhammer, I will devote myself to Slaanesh, Slaanesh for ev…"
Before he could finish, his heart seized and he lost consciousness, only to arrive in the Warhammer 40k universe.
Ron felt numb all over. Jokes were jokes, but how did it turn real? The Warhammer 40k world was brutally cruel, and ordinary people barely had any way to survive.
Either you became cannon fodder on the front lines and died fighting aliens or Chaos. Or you ate corpse starch and tightened bolts in Imperial factories until you dropped dead from exhaustion. Even that counted as a lucky death.
At least it meant contributing to the great God-Emperor of Mankind and receiving His blessing.
What was more terrifying was corruption by the Chaos Gods. They twisted people into monsters through endless torment. You could not live, and you could not die.
The miserable truth was that Ron had already fallen into the hands of a Chaos God. This place was that god's palace. That god was named Slaanesh.
An androgynous god of pleasure that no one could resist.
This was bad. He had really become a believer of Slaanesh.
Ron was filled with despair. At this rate, he was going to be violated by Slaanesh. No, he did not even have that honor.
Those worthy of that fate were at least Primarchs or Daemon Princes. At best, he would be taken by Slaanesh's daemonettes. And the place he was in happened to be where the daemonettes were most numerous.
The third ring of Palace of Slaanesh, the Ring of Excess, a wicked land filled with fleshly pleasure.
Ron looked at the girls, who seemed so real and so enchanting. But he knew in his heart that they were all daemonettes of Slaanesh. They took on the most alluring forms to seduce followers of Slaanesh.
They dragged people into extreme pleasure, twisted them, and finally corrupted them into monsters.
This was hopeless. Was the difficulty set to the maximum right from the start?
Honestly, what Warhammer fan could withstand a trial like this?
"Hiss… breathe… stop it."
Ron struggled to restrain himself and stay as clear-headed as possible. He pushed the daemonettes away, but they quickly closed in again.
"Am I not beautiful?" "I will try my best to make you happy." "Tonight, you belong to me."
"Get away from me!"
Ron pulled his hand free from "Mai Shiranui," shoved "Tifa Lockhart" aside, and knocked away the succubus that lunged at him. In that instant, he saw the truth. The sweet cooing turned into hoarse whispers and low growls.
The daemonettes' bodies twisted, their faces became ugly, and their eyes and ears turned into black voids. Their long, thin tongues licked Ron's body and face, leaving behind sticky and disgusting fluid. They were daemonettes of Slaanesh.
Soon, the daemonettes returned to their earlier forms and became even more alluring. They intensified their seduction and used every trick they had. How was anyone supposed to endure this?
No. This would not do.
Ron gathered all his willpower to resist the erosion of desire. He did not want to become nourishment for Slaanesh. But the corruption had already begun, and he discovered in despair that his hand had twisted into a dark, clawed shape.
What could he do?
Who could pull him out of the hands of a Chaos God?
A flash of inspiration struck Ron, and he thought of that great man. He had many titles: the Emperor, the Immortal Emperor, the great God-Emperor of Mankind, the Omnissiah, the cold sun of the void. As humanity's faith, God-Emperor of Mankind truly existed and wielded godlike power.
Blessings, protection, even resurrection were all possible, and the Legion of the Damned was proof enough.
Ron decided to grasp at this last straw and pray for the protection of God-Emperor of Mankind. As a transmigrator, he should get some special treatment, right? And he was fairly loyal to God-Emperor of Mankind, probably.
He felt a bit guilty, but no matter what, right now he was the most loyal believer of God-Emperor of Mankind. No one could stop him.
Ron closed his eyes and prayed loudly, offering his loyalty to God-Emperor of Mankind.
"With every bit of my strength, with every inch of my will, with every fragment of my soul, I swear that my soul and my faith belong to the Immortal Emperor, the shepherd of mankind."
The prayer did not work, and the corruption deepened.
Ron's eyeballs began to loosen, and his skin started to peel away. He was about to turn into a monster. Boundless despair surged over him.
Yet he did not give up, and his prayers grew even more fervent as he tried to seize that final chance.
"Please look upon me with Your mercy. Watch over Your servants and warriors, and protect me in this danger."
The prayer ended, and nothing happened.
At this moment, Ron did not even have the strength to speak. Desire had taken deep root and embedded itself in his consciousness. He would completely fall and become a servant of Slaanesh, never to be freed.
But he wanted to live.
Even if it was in this extremely cruel world.