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There was nothing Dante could hate more than life itself as he sat there, accepting of his fate. Not that there was much to love about life in the grim dark of the far future. After all, there was only war!

Dante Creed was like any other Terran born man in the forty-first century. Born under the thumb of the Imperium of Man. Expected to either work in the factories building war-machines, or running across an alien battlefield using the aforementioned war-machines. It mattered little whether he had been conscripted by his father at a young age. Either way, he would have ended up contributing to the war one way or the other.

War was in his blood. It had been drilled into his bones. The human was a warrior. It was hard to be a human and not be a warrior.

So why were his skills being wasted? Why was he sitting on a private transport ship, heading into the farthest backwater of the galaxy imaginable surrounded by mutants, rogues, xenos and outcasts? Why was his military uniform missing, replaced by a pair of tatty, scuffed boots, olive green cargo trousers with integrated pads on the knees and the flack-vest covering the plain black tunic? Why had his bolt-pistol been taken and replaced by a pair of las-pistols brazenly strapped in holsters to his chest like he was some rogue looking to draw attention to how well he could find his way in the dark? Why was his hood pulled up making him look shady as fuck; an image utterly ruined by a girl hardly into young adulthood sleeping with her head on his shoulder and a thin line of drool connecting his fatigues to her open mouth?

Because of his mission. Because of his commanders. And he wasn't entirely sure which he resented more.

The resentment was probably a sign or heresy considering his heritage and upbringing. That would be ironic; after all Dante was an inquisitor whose sole duty was to stamp out corruption and heresy within the Imperium of Man... though perhaps donning the rank of 'inquisitor' was being a bit pre-mature.

Dante had finished inquisitorial school. He had graduated. But the rank was not yet his to claim. He was still just an 'inquisitor-in-training.'

"Inquisitor-in-training!? There is no such rank!" Dante had argued, dressed up to the nines in his shiny new inquisitor's uniform. He'd been proud of it, from the hat right down to the polished boots. With a bolt-pistol on his hip and a sabre on the other, he was a crimson clad badass whose presence permeated fear and respect from all; the enemy included.

He had stood in the hall of the inquisitors on Terra to deliver his case of unfair treatment. Before the high inquisition he stood like a child throwing a tantrum over some candy that had not been bought for him. Though in reality, the tantrum was well deserved. The young man had after all worked his ass off to earn his shiny hat and boots (not to mention the sexy-sexy trench coat). Hard work, it seemed, that didn't pay off.

"I demand an explanation!" the young inquisitor-in-training paused, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his fingers as he added, "that is, if you don't mind."

The high inquisitors had glanced among themselves to confer for a moment. To demand something from them was impressive. But with all they had seen of Dante Creed's personality, not impressive enough. He had a noble bloodline, descendant of a well-known military family who had served the Imperial Army for generations. He had excellent scores in every one of his classes.

There was just one problem though.

"You're a pussy, dude," the centrally seated inquisitor stated blatantly.

Dante's eyes had bugged at that statement. And all of a sudden his hat felt a lot less badass and way too poufy than he was comfortable with.

"You make a demand and then you back out asking us if we don't mind?" another inquisitor chuckled. "You a major puss-bot, bro. I heard the emprah himself say 'damn that's such a big pussy, he's got vag-lips stuck to his face'!"

"But!" The central inquisitor took over raising a hand to silence his giggling fellows. "Since you are of a prestigious blood-line who have served the Emperor loyally, we'll give you the chance to pull a tactical fucking genius out of your ass." - the other inquisitors sniggered as Dante muttered "no relation" softly under his breath - "Prove to us you are a capable inquisitor and you will be given your rank."

"How should I prove myself?" Dante had asked, and to reply the head inquisitor let a devious smile twist his face so grotesquely it had given the young man nightmares for a few days. I mean; imagine it! An inquisitor smiling! Had the man no mercy!?

"You'll undertake a very special mission for us, inquisitor-in-training."

Back on the private transport with the girl sleeping on his shoulder drooling more profusely now, 'Inquisitor-in-training' Dante Tobias Mitchell Gary Whittaker A. Creed gnashed his teeth merely thinking back to the inquisition HQ. Gone was the glitz and glamour of the Imperial homeworld. Gone were the simple aristocratic pleasures afforded to the social elites living in the Imperium's capitol. Gone were his shiny boots, hat and badass trench coat.

"Unprofessional assholes," he muttered before pausing with worry to shift his gaze and make sure nobody had heard him say that about his superiors.

Back he was, on an independent civilian transport ship feeling out of place, like the unpopular kid trying to gain the favour of the cool kids by wearing stylish clothes that didn't suit him. Only in this case, he was a popular kid trying to dirty up so he could fit in with the common riff-raff. And even though he looked like a typical enough scumbag of the universe, he seemed far too clean and polished in the gritty atmosphere surrounding him.

Whereas his las-pistols were shiny and new, the transport ship around him was splitting apart at the seams with age. Oily and rusty, mottled with rot and mould. It was cramped, with passengers sitting shoulder to shoulder in confined seats surrounded by loose plating, exposed wiring, and a hazardous pipe - every so often there would be a hiss as the emergency valve let loose a jet of steam, and with every hiss for the past twenty hours it was coupled with a Wilhelm-scream as a cluster of individuals were brutally doused with each venting cycle.

Whereas Dante was shaven and his fatigues were clean, his surroundings were stained and filthy. Long multi-limbed insects would scuttle out from under seats from time to time and nip at the heels of the unfortunates who didn't even have shoes. Among the other passengers, Dante was the only one fully clothed. Others were missing shirts or pants, the odd few even completely naked to reveal unattractive features and discreet mutations of the flesh.

On many of his fellow passengers, Dante couldn't tell where the fat ended and the clothing started. On the others they were so skinny he wasn't sure where the bone ended and the skin started. And on all the rest he couldn't tell where the cybernetics ended and the mutations started. Having grown up among aristocracy Dante had met his share of lazy fat-asses and over the top war-scarred muscle-heads. He was aware that there were some ugly folk out there but...

Dante turned his head and looked at a woman sitting across from him. At least, he was pretty sure it was a woman. There were breasts. They were in her lap, but they were there. Then again, there was an awful large bulge between the legs, but he wasn't sure if that was what he thought it was or just a strangely placed fat deposit.

The human twitched in repulsion as the 'woman' looked back and cackled, her massive lips twisting up into a grin so the hair on her gums was visible.

Dante had seen ugly before, but daaaayuuuumn!

The sweaty, smelly bodies choking him in the filth encrusted passenger deck were a constant reminder of the horrible stain on his chair he preferred not to think about. Dante couldn't even feel his ass anymore for fear of shifting and grinding the stain into his trousers.

But Dante's suffering was for the mission, so he bore the burden. His mission was simple in principle. He had been sent by the inquisition on a fetch-quest. Travel to a planet far from the frontlines of war that dominated the Milky Way, into a backwater corner of the galaxy and fetch an Adepta Sororita canoness.

The Adepta Sororita was a matriarchal division of the Imperial Army. An all-female branch of the inquisition, these 'daughters of the God-Empror' served to protect mankind from the taints of heresy, corruption, mutation and xeno invasion. They were the God-Emperors seraphim, His archangels ready to deliver His judgement on a whim. Sexy little penitence engines of death.

And Dante had been sent into the arse-end of the galaxy to fetch one who had put herself under new management. Canoness Dibella of the Seraphim Order had defected. Such an event was bound to affect morale, especially if news were to get out that a highly disciplined member of the 'incorruptible' was capable of falling to the ruinous powers of Chaos.

So it was up to Dante Creed to find and deal with Canoness Dibella. Either present the high inquisitors with a canoness to judge, or a corpse to burn.

The galaxy was a big place. Vast, and filled with life and death every day. To find one 'bolter-bitch' in the mess of mutants, xenos and heretics was a seemingly impossible task. But rumour had it that she had fallen to the seductive taint of Slaanesh. And as such, there was only one place Dante could begin his search.

"Ladies, gentlemen and thingies, we are approaching Anomaly planet now," came the crackling voice from a few speakers embedded into the ceiling of the passenger bay. Through a few blasts of static the voice continued to say, "please ensure seat backs and tray tables are in the upright positions, and that your seatbelts are securely fastened... oh, wait. We don't have seatbelts. Oh, well. Fuck da' inquisition! We are going to Anomaly to party, bitches!" the pilot whooped, joined by his co-pilot as all professionalism was suddenly thrown to the wolves and allowed to be torn apart for sport.

Dante grumbled under his breath, reaching into one of the pouches on his waist and producing a pen and pad. You're on my list buddy, the human thought as he noted the pilot's name and offence against the inquisition and the Imperium of Man. Four more offences and I may need to officially write you up!

Anomaly was an aptly named planet; it was an anomaly. Set in a small star-system, Anomaly was a hive world. An urban sprawl covering one hundred-percent of the planet's surface, and even below the surface in a honeycomb of bunkers, catacombs and sewers. And packed tight into the little moon-sized world was enough sin, debauchery, crime, excess and heresy to make the Chaos God of lust, greed, pleasure and pain blush.

There was no power struggle between the species for Anomaly. There were no xenos or daemons seeking to consume the planet for it had already been consumed. It was under every tower-block, in every festering alley, illuminated by ever dirty neon light. This world had already been consumed. Consumed in sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. And not to mention all the other stuff considered immoral by not just he Imperium of Man. It was a shining example of what might happen to the galaxy if the Gods of Chaos were allowed to run riot.

Dirt, shame, fornication and blood for as far as the eye could see. And all that on the bottom of the transport ship's ramp allowing Anomaly's new arrivals to disembark.

It was awesome.

Dante cringed as he got a face-full of this festering place. A single breath of the musky, polluted air made him feel he'd instantly caught a lethal dose of herpes. He wasn't even off the transport yet and he realised there wasn't enough pad and pen in the universe to write up all the infractions against the Imperium of Man within his field of view.

Already the new arrivals were being mobbed by a mixture of whores. And not just humans either. Xenos and mutants of infinite varieties and description. Any number of limbs, cocks, heads, breasts, orifices or other appendages were available. Sharp teeth turn you on? Well this Tyranid genestealer hybrid is the partner for you, don't you think? You like feet? Well this lady has nine! That one there has armoured lingerie. But you like to bleed a little while doing the dirty? Not a problem, she's Dark Eldar so her metal lingerie has spiky bits!

There was a creature of lust and desire for just about every taste or kink imaginable. And then some.

Most were clad in scraps of fabric that left nothing to the imagination - and in fact only served to attenuate certain aspects of their nakedness. In a way, similar to the little pixie perched on the ramp beside Dante, her own clothes only drew more attention to her bare limbs.

She was a good bit shorter than the young man - her eyes level with Dante's chest - clad in only a shoulder-less little red dress with black frills over her slightly curved pre-teen-looking chest. Held in both slender hands was her bag, clasped on her front as she rocked back and forth over the flat soles of her bulky black combat boots, not too dissimilar from Dante's.

She was very skinny, almost frail looking with long slim legs and petite features. Her eyes were huge specimens of the most gorgeous glimmering green. The eyes were slanted lightly with the rest of her elegant porcelain features that simply oozed easily corruptible innocence. But in her eyes there sparked something. A hidden maturity. Evidence that there was more to the girl than met the eye.

But what did meet the eye was a girl born into the Imperium of Man with a physical affliction. She was physically mutated into what was known as a 'fur.' She had the appearance of a delicate anthropomorphic antelope. Her spindly legs ended in fetlocks with hooves meaning her boots had to be 'liberated' from a Tau warrior. Her hands had four slim digits each ending in pointed enamel fingertips. Covering her skin was a light coat of sandy-chestnut fur turning greyish-white on her hands and fetlocks, with paler fur forming from her cheeks and her collar down over her chest and belly, ending somewhere between her slender legs. Where the pale fur ended between her legs though, Dante was terrified to look.

Protruding from the top of her head and sweeping back elegantly were a pair of black horns ending in a light twist at the point. But her mutations ended there. Physically she was different from other girls. Mentally she was the same.

It was such that young Claudia had joined the Adepta Sororitas unit known as the 'sisters repentia' to repent for her sin of being a mutant. To hope that the immortal God-Emperor would have mercy on her soul if she were to give her life for Him.

So it was the tender young seventeen-and-eleven-twelfths year old girl served as Dante's companion, for Claudia had served under Canoness Dibella before and would be able to point her out for him. But not only was she Dante's only backup on this sinful planet, she was part of his cover.

Anomaly was rife with Chaos cultists, other cultists, criminals, bounty hunters, xenos, assassins, Jehova's Witnesses, rapists and other scum of the galaxy. Dante couldn't simply wander around claiming to be with the Imperial Inquisition and expect not to be sodomized by a thousand assault rifles. He had to play it tactful. So he filled the role of a Cadian deserter fleeing the Imperium with a young lover he freed from the grasp of the Adepta Sororitas.

It wasn't perfect, but it was easy enough to believe. Simple to remember.

Even in a den of immorality there were bound to be some upturned eyebrows towards a twenty-something year old man walking around with a scantily clad girl. One such glance came from the captain of the transport waiting at the bottom of the ramp. The squat man chuckled with his hands resting on his wide hips, toothless sleazy grin wide.

"You kids shouldn't have too much trouble finding an insta-wed kiosk around here," he growled with a suggestive glance up and down Claudia's exposed parts.

Dante blinked hard a few times before he followed the captain's glance. Scoffing as he realised what was being said he held out his hands, shaking his head defensively.

"Wh-... o-oh, no-no," the young inquisitor-in-training stammered. "No, we're not... we're not looking to marry. We're not like that."

"You're not lovers?" the captain asked, confused. "I only brought you this far on what little you paid because you said you saved her from a bolter-bitch convent."

Realising he was breaking his cover story only moments after the mission had officially started, Dante was at a loss for words. He had no idea what to say or do, looking to Claudia for some indication of how they should handle this. Catching on quickly, the girl smiled at the captain before reaching out and hugging Dante around the ribs - the petite girl couldn't actually reach any higher.

As she held her 'lover' tightly with a flash of her pointed corner teeth, the antelope lifted her leg seductively, grinding her crotch along the man's leg with an affectionate rub. As she made the motions, her skirt lifted a little over her delicate round tush, revealing she was completely bottomless.

"What my master means to say is that our love is purely physical," Claudia said in a sweet angelic voice laced with the kind of innocence that could turn devout puritans into raging sinners. "I'm his nasty cock-hungry slut whose only purpose is to buck her hips and moan with ecstasy as he ravages my juicy little pussy with the vigour of an Ork warboss pounding the life out of a squig."

Captain didn't move. He didn't even twitch. All he did was open his mouth before a breathless little groan escaped his throat under the din of the busy docks. It was clear why he groaned, as a large bulge formed in the crotch of his trousers.

Dante swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. What she said."

Managing to pull himself out of his stare, the captain wordlessly disappeared up the ramp into his ship, possibly heading straight to his bunk to masturbate furiously on the mental imagery Claudia had given him. Dante grinned, letting out a breath of relief.

"That was quick thinking, Claudia. Good work," he commended.

Feeling a cold dampness rubbing against his leg he noticed the girl was still dry-humping him like loyal dog.

"Okay, Claudia. You can stop that now," Dante told his quick-thinking companion.

The girl didn't stop though, still smiling up at her commander. "But I'm not finished yet, master. Let me feel nice a little longer?"

With a wide eyed frown, Dante turned his gaze down at the girl's bedroom-eyes. Her mouth had fallen open a little, allowing a small moan to escape as she bobbed back and forth, her humping no longer possible to be described as dry. First she had been drooling on Dante's shoulder, now she was drooling on his leg.

Prying himself from the girl, Dante shouldered his backpack a little higher and stepped off the transport ship's ramp; taking his first few steps into the mould and STD infested urban rot-land.

It was as he pushed past the first few ranks of whores assaulting him of promises of a good time and vendors obnoxiously trying to peddle alcohol and drugs that'd sooner turn the human blind before they made him feel good, Dante suddenly became horribly aware he was groping for a clean needle in a stack of used heroin needles. Anomaly certainly was the kind of place Chaos cultists - Slaanesh cultists in particular - would hang out. It was definitely a good place to begin his search. But there was so much of the chaos packed together it would be impossible to find even a fully armoured Adepta Sororita among it all.

Dante's only hope to get a lead was to ask random by-passers. So ask he did. Starting with a sweet looking elderly woman at the side of the busy body-packed road just watching the people shove their way this way and that.

"Excuse me, ma'am," You wouldn't happen to have seen a-..."

Her wrinkly lips peeled back into a toothless smile as she cackled, the breath from her mouth shimmering with the stench of rot and disease. "I'll suck 'yer cawk 'fer a nickel," was all she said, catching Dante completely by surprise. So much so he actually jumped back as if her words were a chain-sword swinging at his face.

"Oh. Ew. Not in a million years."

The woman cackled again. "I'll call 'ye in a million-'n-one den?"

Taking his leave from the old lady as quickly as physically possible, Dante delved back into the crowds before waving down a xeno with a friendly smile. Not exactly a gesture he'd be seen giving a xeno inside Imperial space, but out here there was no harm showing a little friendliness. Especially if it got him what he wanted. Then he could come back with his full rank and have the authority to orbital-bomb the fuck out of the whole planet. It begged the question why such action hadn't been taken earlier.

The xeno was an Eldar woman, identifiable mostly by her pointed ears. She had slight features, a tall lithe form with little left to the imagination thanks to her strappy armoured bra and panties. There was little more to her costume, unless you counted the various deep-space-coloured tattoos twisting their way across her perfect pale skin.

"Excuse me, miss," Dante started as he stopped her. "Have you seen an Adepta Sororita in these parts before?"

The Eldar woman paused, shifting her balance to one leg with a seductive slant of her bare, birthing hips. "I might've. But the information will cost you," she added with a smirk as her pointed teeth bit her bottom lip.

Dane frowned, figuring he should have expected as much. He didn't have much in the way of money, but it wouldn't be any harm finding out her price. "How much?"

The Eldar suddenly held up a long curved knife as wicked as her smile. "An organ."

"Whoa, okay! Move along!" Dante cried, many questions popping up in his head. Among them were 'what did she need his organs for' and 'where did she pull that knife from?'

The latter was probably best left unanswered.

His next attempt was on a member of the public of the male persuasion, since all the females seemed to be out of their minds. Dante tried his luck stopping a massive Ork with a metal lower jaw and a pair of bionic eyes that looked like they'd been fashioned out of a pair of toy binoculars.

"Excuse m-..."

"Get out th' way, ya' bloody git!"

And the males it seemed were completely anti-social.

Scoffing, Dante did as the Ork demanded, but not without complaint. "Well good evening to you too, fucker!"

The lumbering hulk stopped in his tracks, a smaller individual making contact with his muscular buttocks so hard he dropped to the ground comatose. Rounding on the inquisitor-in-training, the Ork gnashed his mighty metal jaw, bits of enamel from his top row of teeth spraying into the air as his eyes shrank into tiny little infuriated dots. "Wot's that, ya' puny cock-muncha?"

Eyes wide, Dante innocently fidgeted with his fingers. "Nothing, sir. Have a good evening."

With a huff the Ork moved on and Dante let out a breath of relief, adding under his breath so nobody would hear, "hope you catch Catachan Barking Clap, ya' dumb lout."

So it went on for a good while. Dead end followed after dead end followed by general un-helpfulness from the folk of Anomaly. Truthfully, Dante wasn't sure what else he should have expected. Returning to where Claudia stood with her bag the young man sighed. The girl gave a concerned frown as she leaned to get a peek under the inquisitor-in-training's hood.

"Master, you look frustrated," she said brushing a few strands of her short chestnut hair out of her eyes.

"Frustrated?" Dante gave a chuckle of feigned pleasantness. "I'm completely discouraged! How am I to find a single deserter of the civilised systems among this whole mess of deserters?"

Claudia smiled encouragingly, reaching out and squeezing Dante's hand. "There-there, master. It will be alright. You are clever. You will figure it out. Perhaps we should find somewhere to spend the night? Hopefully the streets will be quieter in the morning and our search will be more fruitful."

Dante sighed with a nod. That was actually a very sober plan. Probably the best either of them had come up with since landing. He'd need time to process the norms of this world before he attempted to hunt the canoness again. A good night's sleep would do him good.

"That's a very good idea, Claudia," he admitted. With a glance through the crowd, he pointed to a bright neon sign just off the docks. "That looks promising. A traveller's inn."

Claudia sidestepped, her bight eyes following the direction Dante was pointing. Her eyes fell upon a corner building unit. Stretched on further across the docks were buildings reserved for the sale of various illicit materials and personnel. Leading deeper into the heart of the sprawling hive city that engulfed the planet were even more of the same, maybe the odd grocery store or useful services department crammed in between whores on one side and drugs on the other.

But right there on the corner facing them was a little beacon of light. All the grubby windows were lit up, but the smears of dirt and mould made it impossible to see through. The door was open, warm light pooling on the sidewalk outside. Tall and crooked, the inn was topped by patchy slates with thick black smoke stacks rising from the single chimney, only adding to the pollution hanging thick in the air.

Emblazoned above the door in dirty multi-coloured neon lights was the name of the place. Sawyer's Sanctum Inn.

... Saye's Sacum nn...

Wait, no! Beg your pardon. Some of the neon lights were faulty and flickering. It really was Sawyer's Sanctum Inn, some of the letters - particularly the green ones for some reason - were flickering epileptically.

Taking Claudia by the arm, Dante led her through the shoving crowds of degenerates and put her next to the door, handing her his backpack. He was going to make sure it was clear, then fetch Claudia once he'd secured them a room to spend the night.

"I'll go in first, make sure it is sanitary. Will you be alright keeping watch out here?" Dante asked the girl.

Smiling, Claudia nodded vigorously. "I'll be fine, master."

Not fully satisfied she was entirely up for standing watch, Dante figured he'd never find out if she was dependable if he didn't let her prove herself. Returning the nod, Dante felt like he was taking his life in his own hands. "Okay. Remember, if you see any trouble coming our way you come and get me."

"Of course, master."

As she took the backpack from him, Dante patted his las-pistols and tucked them a little deeper into the holsters. Then taking a breath, stepped into the inn, squinting though the sudden change of lighting.

Whereas outside was grim and dark, inside the Sawyer's Sanctum was well lit by a plethora of lamps hanging from the ceiling and walls. It took a few moments of adjusting before the white light in his vision settled and Dante was able to focus and look around. The whole inn was decorated in an archaic, rustic style. Exposed dark wood panels and support beams. Wooden tables and chairs, with a bar over to one side to which several beer taps were attached. Stools lined the bar, and running above it was a gantry lined with doors, likely leading to rooms with a single staircase running up to the balcony overlooking the whole inn.

Hung from the centre at the highest point of the ceiling was a massive chandelier home to dozens of burning candles, seemingly fashioned out of some heretical totem. It was made out of simple brushed steel, shaped in a jagged comet trailing fire.

Though despite the old-school tavern feel the inn had, it seemed more like a xeno strip club than a tavern.

To one side was a long stage lined with vertical poles, the central runway leading into a back area blocked from view by stained velvet curtains. To either side were massive speakers with subwoofers pumping out a glitchy beat that was nearly heretically catchy. Hanging from the poles were numerous 'professional' women putting on a show. Though this time instead of ignoring them, Dante couldn't help stop and stare. He was having trouble purging his dirty thoughts as he realised the women inside were much cleaner than those outside.

Sawyer's Sanctum was home to individuals with less grotesque mutations. What could best be described as 'plain' furs - like Claudia - were swinging from the dancing-poles, barely clothed twisting their bodies in erotic displays of stamina and dexterity. With them were some more humanoid xenos. From the typically common attractive Eldar ladies to the less common sight of slender, blue-skinned Tau girls.

The nearest dancer to spot him staring swung around her pole and landed right in his line of sight. She was a Tau female, her smooth skin a shade of clear sky blue with only a hint of grey. Her long slender limbs seemed to go on forever, and scanning up along her legs Dante felt like he had been standing there for the better part of an hour.

She twisted, rocking and twisting her hips from side to side while raking both hands through her voluptuous crimson hair; pulling it down to one side as she slowly bent over. It was at that point Dante became aware of her attire, a pair of panties and bra following the profile of a typical Fire Warrior's set of armour. Angular plates of sandy coloured armour covered her unmentionables, all held in place with what looked like string - improvisation that could land her honorary Ork status.

With her long legs still held perfectly straight, hooved feet parted widely she bent all the way over showing the full roundness of her shapely rear-end as she licked her own ankle. Then as smoothly as the Tau had lowered her torso to the ground, she straightened up, the slender digits of a hand stroking up along a perfect leg before she locked eyes with the inquisitor-in-training, looking seductively over her shoulder at him.

Raising his eyebrows and blinking hard, Dante managed to clear his mind and look away. Flabbergasted, the young human turned from the stage and awkwardly found his way to the bar, wondering why his pants felt like they were suddenly a size too small.

Making it to the war, Dante waved to get the innkeeper's attention. He was a broad man, with dark skin wearing a white apron and a military style cap. His jawline was home to some stubble as black as his hair and eyes, and screwed into the corner of his mouth was a chewed up stub of a cigar that looked like it had survived as much hell over the years as the owner.

"Excuse me, sir? Do you have a room for two?" Dante asked, clearing his throat and feeling he needed to elaborate with some detail. "A room with one bed... for me and my... um... _slut_so we can... um... do... dirty things?" he was glad of the hood pulled over his head so he could at least partially hide how hard he was blushing. He felt like he might pop a vein in his cheeks as the inn's room-temperature felt like it rose a few degrees.

The man stared for a good while before he burst out laughing so suddenly he nearly lost his cigar. "Sit down before you hurt yourself, son," the innkeeper told Dante. "I'll go check the ledger and let you know if we have anything."

Shuffling sheepishly on the spot, Dante didn't really feel like sitting. The only spot at the bar not taken was between a hulking Ork and a mountain of a human man touched by the machine spirit. His left arm from the shoulder down to the weaponised fingertips were extensive lengths of steel, wiring, scaffold and servos. He looked dangerous to even look at, never mind sit beside.

Stepping back from the bar as the innkeeper went to check the ledger, Dante for a moment considered the empty seats littered around the tables by the stage. He was discouraged from those too as it seemed some of the dancers served as waitresses and pleasurable company too, drifting between the sad old riff-raff as they took drink orders and provided some company in the hopes of getting a tip.

Sighing, Dante didn't dare look back at the stage for fear the Tau woman might subvert his mind's purity again, the young man felt his eyes drawn to a congregation he was surprised to have missed earlier. Through the mass of multi-coloured female flesh and some fur surrounding the table, Dante caught a few flashes of bright yellow and crimson decoration. The group of girls were all draped over a single figure, which at first seemed impossible at first as they seemed to form a small mountain of writhing bodies at least ten feet tall.

Curiously, Dante moved closer, rounding the flank to approach the mound of women from the front where a single unoccupied seat sat shuffled up against the table-for-two currently overloaded with occupants. It was through a gap of the exposed skin and fur of xenos and mutants alike that the inquisitor-in-training was struck with an awe-inspiring sight.

At least, it was _supposed_to be an awe-inspiring sight.

'They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give of themselves to me,' went the time-tempered quote that was one of Dante's favourites. 'Like clay I shall mould them and in the furnace of war forge them. They shall be of iron will and steel sinew. In great armour I shall clad them and with the mightiest weapons they will be armed. They will be untouched by plague or disease; no sickness shall blight them. They shall have such tactics, strategies and machines that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity.'

So the God-Emperor had proclaimed himself, before finishing up by identifying his angels of death;'They are my SPACE MARINES™ and they shall know no fear.'

Dante watched with a mixture of awe and revulsion twisting his gut as he slowly pulled out the only other seat at the table and sat down before the hulking Space Marine - a proud celestial battle monk currently giving into all of the sins of the flesh and then some.

He was huge, at least seven feet tall with about the same dimensions in width bulwarked by the typical bulky shoulder pads the Space Marines were known to adorn with purity seals, decorations, scrimshaw and other emblems. The Space Marine in question was clad in bright yellow power armour, broken up by the crimson decorative trims, tell-tale red glowing eyes and a silver mesh grill forming the rebreather unit in the faceplate of the helmet - the expression seemingly twisted into a permanent war-cry. The markings of his chapter - a massive black armoured fist depicting the chapter of the God-Emperor's finest siege warriors, the Imperial Fists - emblazoned the bulky pauldrons with a crimson two-headed Aquila spread across the chest-plate.

He sat there casually with a drink in one hand, on what looked like a specially re-enforced chair, adorned with extra girders and steel H-bars welded to it so the furniture wouldn't buckle under tonnes of flesh and armour. Adding to that weight were the girls. Individuals of various descriptions all draped over his smooth armour that gave in to a few patches of rust and damage. They had what looked like notes of old-fashioned money, bit-cards and IOUs stuffed into their lingerie and hosiery.

In the Imperial Fist's lap were two sleek figures. One was a vixen, a fairly common fur mutation in the galaxy. She had rusty-red fur broken up by white on the chest revealed as she only wore what could best be described as a string bikini. Her wavy red hair cascaded backward like a voluminous waterfall of blood as her muzzle pitched upward where she lay with her eyes blissfully shut, and body curled so her legs were up and knees were out.

Between her legs was a less common mutagen, a snake-like individual that could only be described as part-anthropomorphic. From the waist up she was much like a humanoid woman, slender curves, rounded breasts with a neck that fanned out into her hooded snake-head. Her rough lips were pressed into a trail of kisses trailing up the vixen's neck until they met her mouth.

From the waist down, the woman's legs merged into a long snake body that coiled on the floor beside the Space Marine's chair

The snake's hands were raking up along the vixen's black tights before slipping off the silky fabric and raking hungrily through the soft fur on her firm behind. With a firm grip on either side of the fur's bushy tail, her narrow hips thrust forward, vigorously grinding into the pelvis of the fox whose legs were wrapped around the naga's waist. The fur's pleasured cries were muffled by the naga's mouth as the fox enthusiastically bucked her own crotch against the snake-girl's exposed snatch.

Higher up the marine's body a fur, a tall giraffe with a long slender neck, lay draped over the Imperial Fist's right shoulder like a model posing across the bonnet of a fancy car - her sexy curves putting those of the car's to shame. Her length meant she was posed right across the marine's back-mounted power plant with her hands interlocked across the other shoulder, chin resting seductively across her knuckles. The way her leg curled over one pauldron and her sizeable breasts were squished against the back of the Space Marine's head only drew more attention to the fact the only things the giraffe wore were her fur and a grin.

Lifting the vase that looked more like a shot-glass in his massive armoured hand, the Space Marine tipped the contents back. The frothy ale poured directly into the silver grille embedded in the face-plate, gurgling through into the waiting mouth somewhere behind. When he tipped forward again, slamming the base of his mighty jug against the table, a mushroom of foam the marine's mouth didn't consume flowed back out the face-plate and flowed down across the Aquila on his chest like a small white waterfall.

Either not noticing the defilement of the Imperium's icon, or just not caring, the Space Marine rattled his glass against the wooden table, letting out a mighty belch that sprayed the girls surrounding him with a few flecks of froth that still clung to the silver grille on his helmet. Dante was shocked to say the least. To see a blade of the Emperor, a Space Marine, an_Imperial Fist_ no less squander the time that could be better spent destroying the God-Emperor's enemies with heretical girls and booze... shocking wasn't quite the word to describe it! Appalled didn't quite say it right either.

Dante wanted to yell heresy, but couldn't find the motivation to even move his lips. He was stale as the stench of sweat, booze and sex filling the inn. Suddenly unambitious. Unmotivated, apathetic, dull. The Space Marine, a warrior - no, an _icon_of inspiration was leaving the inquisitor-in-training completely uninspired.

He needed to sit. So he plonked himself down in the free seat right across the Space Marine at his table.

Pausing in the admiration of the ladies draped all over his defiled armour, the Space Marine turned to consider the little man seated gaping before him. His head came a little inquisitively as his metallic voice came rumbling out through the silver faceplate of his helmet.

"Can I help you?" a simple enough statement, but coming from the Imperial Fist it normally would have sounded like poetry. Like a command, but a request at the same time. Like a phrase so well put you were inspired to answer, rather than feel compelled.

Not in this case. It was just a blunt, rude demand in a gruff voice sounding like he was talking into a pot.

Dante was beyond the stage of caring, simply shaking his head as he answered. "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing here, Space Marine?"

The Imperial Fist twitched with visible surprise, nearly shrugging off the giraffe and catapulting the touchy-feely girls in his lap across the room. "SPACE MARINE!? WHERE!?" he bellowed, looking wildly from left to right. When he realised he was the only hulk in bulwarking power armour, he seemed to sigh with relief. "Oh. You're talking to me. I'm not a Space Marine." He shook his head, adding a little softer, "not anymore."

A moment of silence passed between them. Not total silence, the tavern's strip-music continued and the chatter around them didn't pause. Neither Dante, the Space Marine or the girls said anything for a while. Eventually though the blade of the Emperor grew weary of their uncomfortable silence.

"You got a problem, kid?"

Dante shrugged honestly. "I... I'm just shocked to see you here, Imperial Fist. To see you waste your time with heretics and... and... well, heresy! It's... it's heretical just to think of such a heresy even having the possibility of taking place!"

The Space Marine chuckled, looking Dante from the hood to his pistols and back up again. "You really like that word, don't you little man?"

"What word? Heresy?"

"That's the one. And who are you to judge me anyway? You the inquisition or something!?"

Dante gulped. "N-no," he lied discreetly.

"Good." With the girls still balanced all over him, he leaned across the table, wood splitting and spraying splinters into the air as he lowered his voice to sinister levels. "'Cuz you know what we do with inquisitors around here, right?"

Dante somehow managed to keep a neutral expression. "No?" he squeaked innocently.

"Nuthin'!" - Dante released his breath with some relief - "C'ept we string them up and disembowel them!" the Space Marine suddenly seethed so hard a distorted haze of rage-related heat sizzled from the metal top of his helmet.

Dante gulped again.

"You look familiar," the Imperial Fist continued. "What's your name?"

"Dante Creed," the young human blurted out in a squeak. His mind was so numb he couldn't figure out the fact that he was capable of lying.

"Creed? Oh, SHIT!" the Space Marine curse, raising his voice hysterically. "EVERYONE, THERE'S A TACTICAL FUCKING GENIUS IN THE BUIDLING!!!"

Everyone cheered as Dante felt his face burn with all the attention directed towards him. As the wave of 'yay's passed along with the wave of booze spilled by several glasses hap-hazardly raised, Dante muttered under his breath, "no relation."

The Space Marine let his laughter die in volume, leaning back with a groan of his custom chair. "Anyway! Pounder's the name. Booze, drugs, girls (whenever the ol' crotch-equipment decides to get to work anyway. Haha!) 'n heresy is the game. And Anomaly is the place for it." He paused, considering Dante for a moment and for that moment the scowl of his helmet seemed to soften. Though it could have just been the light. "Judging by the lack of cum-stains, you're probably new here. So how are you enjoying Anomaly so far, little man?"

Not sure how he was supposed to answer that, Dante opted for lies. "It's... err... nice. Just, I'm a little confused as to how this world hasn't been victim to an Imperium Exterminatus, or some xeno conquest yet."

Pounder laughed hard enough it caused the glasses stored behind the bar to rattle. "Alright, girls," he told the ladies draped over him with a casual wave, accidentally backhanding one of the xeno's at the next table, knocking him clean out. "It's time for the adults to have a conversation. Go on! Piss off!"

The girls all moaned with disappointment, becoming a whole lot more clingy as the marine made the announcement for them to take a hike.

"Aww." An Eldar woman licking one of his pauldrons sighed running her manicured 'talons' down Pounder's abdomen armour and scraping along the patches of chipped paint on his cod-piece. "But Pounder, I almost got a rise out of you this time. When am I going to get a go on your big..." she paused, leaning in closer to add even more suggestively, "powerful... bolter?"

That was all she got to say as a large armoured hand wrapped itself around her comparatively tiny face. With a single shove, Pounder launched her into the next table, breaking it in half and burying the woman in debris and half-full glasses of swill. "Keep dreamin', honey! This ammunition is thoroughly expended until further notice." He turned his head adding to the others, "now beat it!"

The vixen in his lap reached up and stroked Pounder under his chin. "I'd love to."

"Fuck off!"

Giggling, the giraffe lain across his shoulders smoothly slid off and landed on her hooves with a light click on the wooden floor. "I'd love that too," she said suggestively, cocking a hip and turning her head to look over her shoulder.

Catching a look at Dante as he glanced between the girls sliding off of Pounder's hulking form to find other clients to mooch some tips from, the giraffe grinned, licking her lips. As he met her eyes with his own, she winked, before walking to the next table, her naked hips rocking from side to side as she walked.

Obliviously wondering what she was winking at, Dante looked behind him, but only looked at the back of another patron's head. Completely missing the fact he'd just been flirted with, the young man turned his attention back to Pounder. The Space Marine leaned forward on one forearm laid across the table causing it to groan tiredly again.

"Anomaly holds no strategic value or significant natural resources," the marine began to explain. "Nobody can be fucking bothered conquering this sinful little rock. Besides, it's tricky enough to get here in the first place."

"How so?" Dante asked and Pounder gave a small laugh.

"You didn't look out the window on your flight in, did you?" - Dante shook his head - "It's a romantic notion that Anomaly is on the outer fringes of the galaxy, in neglected space. Actually, we're in the heart of the galaxy surrounded by dying suns, black holes consuming other black holes and rogue warp storms that don't seem to end."

That revelation made the young man turn a little pale. Not because he was suddenly aware of the fact that Anomaly may drop out of existence at any given time, either swallowed up by the immaterium of the warp or crushed into nothingness by a black hole. Dante gulped at the mere concept of finding a safe way home once he had his prize and his cover was completely blown. He'd be revealed as an inquisitor and an agent of the Emperor, surrounded by mutants, xenos and heretics who'd love nothing more than to murder him in the most brutal way imaginable. No captain in their right mind would let him on their ship, so he'd have to commandeer one of his own.

And then he'd have to fly it through a mess of exploding stars, solar system swallowing holes and volatile warp anomalies? This mission seemed to be getting trickier the longer he spent on this damned planet.

"Who in their right mind is going to fly an Imperial cruiser into that mess, eh?" Pounder continued with a chuckle before adding, "and besides that, everyone here likes the life they lead. It's a free life, and they'll all take up arms to protect it."

Dante looked around at the patrons around the inn. They were shining examples of the Anomaly average-joe. The dirt on the galaxy's shoe. The vermin living in the cracks in the floorboards. Dirty, carnal, deprived of any shred of civilisation.

Some life, he thought sarcastically with some revulsion.

As Dante was contemplating what drove a soul to actually want to live on a planet like Anomaly, the door to the inn swung open and more of Anomaly's colour swished in. And they were very colourful as everything about them screamed cultist.

Maybe it was the robes that barely maintained their modesty. Maybe it was the extensive piercings. Or maybe it was the excess of leather, gas-masks, ball gags and a plethora of BDSM gear, but something about the cultists told Dante they may have been with Slaanesh. Because it was definitely not the permanent raging erection pitching tents in their tight garments.

...

Okay, perhaps sarcasm doesn't read so well on paper.

As the conglomeration of scant clad cultists made their way to the bar, Dante cast a confused glance to Pounder. "Slaanesh cultists? What are they doing here?"

Pounder snorted, holding out his arms to indicate the filth and superfluous carnality all around. "Look around, kid! What are they not doing here?"

Dante had to give him that one. But of all the dingy joints on the planet, why did Slaanesh cultist have to walk into his? "I meant here in_this_ tavern of all places."

"Eh, they're probably looking to recruit off the transport of fresh meat that arrived," Pounder mused into his vase before chugging back a good few gulps.

Two of the cultists in particular stood out as they turned their heads to where Dante sat and they started moving over. The first had an impressive amount of steel on his face, a full bandit mask of black rings piercing his skin. It could have been like facial chainmail if the rings didn't look so flimsy.

The other wore a gas-mask that hissed with every breath, the style reminiscent of Armageddon's 'Ork-killer' Imperial Guardsmen from the Steel Legion. The dead, tinted eyeholes hid the cultist's eyes from view, and the tube from the mouth-piece ended in a filter dangling down by his bare chest, branded with several emblems of Slaanesh.

"You," the cultist with the piercings stated simply, breaking the ice as they stood near the inquisitor-in-training.

Dante cleared his throat carefully before answering. "Me."

"You're new on Anomaly, aren't you?"

A straight forward enough question, and it was only in hindsight Dante figured he was maybe being a little too evasive. "Maybe."

"I don't like you."

Honestly though, there was no need for that. After all, these guys didn't even know Dante. He could have been a cool guy willing to join their fruity little club... okay, obviously he wasn't, but he could have been.

"What's your name?" the cultist with the gas-mask demanded.

Dante scoffed at that. "I don't see that it is any of your business, chaos-whore."

The cultist with the piercings developed a furious little twitch in his eye. Dante was obviously pushing his luck. "I don't like your attitude, boy!"

"Careful," Pounder warned between drinks from his mug. "That there is a tactical genius. He's a Creed."

"No relation," Dante reminded.

"An Imperium whelp, eh? I could use a new bitch."

"You should reconsider," Dante suggested with a genuinely sympathetic frown.

"Or what?" the ring-masked freak demanded clamping a hand on Dante's shoulder - an action that was literally begging for trouble.

So trouble is what Dante gave him, snatching the hand off his shoulder. Straightening up out of his seat with his feet widely planted for balance, Dante curled the cultist's hand downward, twisting his arm out of the shoulder-socket. At the same time the young man's free hand grabbed the cultist's face, his fingers working between the plethora of rings and gold chains piercing the tender flesh.

Leaning into the foe, Dante worked his knee upward, smashing the hardened pad etched into his trousers dead centre in the cultist's crotch. The subsequent crunch was loud enough to momentarily drown out the inn's deafening music, coupled with the high pitched wail escaping the cultist's throat. A moment later though the music took over again, shortly after a distinct 'bang' of his face meeting the edge of the table.

The cultist literally bounced off the table he was levered into by Dante, flipping head-over-heels backwards from the force. With front row-seats to the takedown performed with extreme prejudice, Pounder triumphantly threw up his fists with a loud "YEAH!" roaring through his faceplate.

When Dante held up his hand with the cultist crumpling by his feet, his fingers were still curled tightly, smeared with blood and several of the facial piercings wedged between his knuckles.

"Or that," Dante explained coolly to the unconscious cultist.

The human barely had any time to savour his victory when things escalated exponentially.

A deafening crack filled the inn, momentarily drowning out the thrum of conversation, music and the squeals of carnal delight wafting from the rooms above. Dante had heard a crack like that a million times in training, in his active duty as an infantryman whelp and plenty of times on the range at the inquisitorial training academy. It was the distinctly snappy 'whack' of a las-rifle.

Even as the crack filled the inn, Dante saw it. the distinct torch-like muzzle flash coming from somewhere between the cultists. It didn't take a genius to figure out they'd pulled steel on him and he was about to be turned inside out by a bolt of lethal light. Fortunately for him though, something stepped into the line of fire at exactly the right time.

Unfortunately she was wearing little more than a string-bikini.

The fur-covered waitress fell, her tray of empty glasses falling and shattering on impact with the ground. The smell of burnt fur and flesh filled Dante's senses as he looked up to see the waitress take the round meant for him to the mid-section, the force of the blow causing her to twirl around and double over before dropping to the ground.

They were aliens and mutants. Dante shouldn't have cared. Being a human from Terra he was conditioned to hate the xeno and the mutant. Xenophobia was practically a part of human culture. But at the same time Dante felt revolted.

The victim was a civilian. She was a non-combatant. She had been defenceless. And she'd been purged of her existence without so much as a trial. Granted, the trial an inquisitor might have given her would be swift and borderline unfair, but it was an 'err' before death at least. And that was the fine line between 'judgement' and 'murder.'

It was as the waitress fell in a cloud of gore that Dante felt his blood boil. As an inquisitor - even though he was just an inquisitor-in-training - a 41st millennium MP, it was his job to deal with murderers.

So deal with them he did.

Dante quick-drew one pistol from his chest-holsters and aimed it out, firing off two bolts of light that sizzled across the inn. They smacked into the chest of the cultist who'd fired, tearing two bloody chunks out of his torso before he crumpled to the ground.

The other cultists snapped up weapons that seemed to have been pulled out of their asses (metaphorically, let's home) and fired back, filling the tavern with live rounds. Whipping around, Dante yanked the second las-pistol from his set of holsters and held it out next, putting three more shots downrange as he ducked. One enemy round shot over Dante and smacked into the back of the head of a patron whipping an enormous shotgun out of his pants. As his head exploded, the shotgun went off, aimed in the general direction of the cultists, showering them with buckshot.

By now the cultists had flipped up tables as the patrons scattered for cover, the metal surfaces causing the bolts of deadly energy from Dante's pistols to glance upwards and scorch he ceiling. Dante did the same as they did, but with significantly more style. Diving backwards, firing both las-pistols in tandem he slid over the top of a table, then tipped it up as he tumbled over the far side, putting an obstacle between him and the cultists who were popping up to return fire.

At the same time the inn door was flung open and a few more cultists who must have been waiting outside streamed into the building, las-rifles shouldered. Several more pops of gunfire filled the tavern as other patrons started whipping out guns and started shooting.

Though not all of them were shooting at the cultists. Some started shooting each other for no other reason than to jump on the corpses and start rifling through pockets for valuables. Dante even spotted one squat little human dancing a merry little jig, the brim of his humungous Stetson pulled down over his face as he fired a pair of pistols wildly into the ceiling and belted out a mighty; "yeeeeeee-haw!"

It was anarchy to say the least.

Leaping up without thinking, Dante unloaded his pistols into the cultists, caring very little for the antics of the patrons around him. The only ones interested in him were the cultists, so he focused on that for now. However, as he sat up he got a good view of what was going on.

While everyone was going fucking nuts, the only one remotely calm and unfazed by what was happening was Pounder, calmly leaned on his table as he continued to sip his over-sized stein of beer. A round even pinged off his helmet leaving a little dent in the yellow armour, but he just shrugged it off and continued chugging at his leisure.

Out the corner of his eye he caught two tall and slender figures break cover from the tavern. They ran around behind Dante looking for a hiding place, possibly looking for an exit. As they moved though the enemy fire intensified, thickening the layer of live bullets exchanged throughout the inn.

Whipping around, Dante put more rounds down range in quick succession, tapping two exposed cultists in the head and forcing others into cover. In the brief moment of reprieve Dante wrapped his arms around the figures and tackled them into the cover of his upturned table. There was just about enough space for all three of them. Things would have to be cosy for them to avoid incoming fire, but they'd be sheltered at least.

Blinking away the spots the blinding muzzle flashes of the las-weapons were leaving in his retinas, Dante looked down on the half-naked duo he was covering. They were girls... well, in a manner of speaking.

He actually recognised them, which was worrying enough in itself. The first was the Tau dancer he'd laid eyes upon when first entering the building. The second was that giraffe lady who had been draped over Pounder's shoulders and flashed him a wink earlier. And she was still very top-less.

As Dante gaped with a little surprise, the girls glanced at each other, then smiled up at the human seductively. The Tau lady ran her fingers through her hair and rested back as if in anticipation of the human mounting her.

Blinking a few more times, Dante was saved by gunfire. Though it wasn't enemy fire it seemed. It was a steady rat-tat-tat of assault weapons fire.

Sitting up on his knees between the xeno and mutant dancers Dante exposed only the top of his head to see what was happening now.

The dark skinned innkeeper who was supposed to be finding him a room for two had popped up over the bar, a bulpup assault rifle Dante did not recognise shouldered and aimed at the cultists.

"The patrons are trying to sleep!" the man yelled through the glowing cigar stub lodged in the corner of his mouth before he opened up the gates of hell, unloading the weapon in full automatic.

Round after round tore into the cultist cover as Dante joined in, silently thanking the Emperor for this little stroke of lucky support. Likely the innkeeper didn't give two damns about supporting the inquisitor-in-training. He was just looking out for his assets, I.E. the bar and the dancers.

When his weapons clicked, Dante ducked down and ejected the battery packs from his las-pistols. As the human was fumbling for the replacements stowed somewhere in his utility belt, awkwardly reloading one pistol at a time, the dancers he'd saved from being shot to pieces were picking themselves up off the floor.

Knelt in cover next to Dante, the taller giraffe flashed a smirk to her fellow 'professional' dancer. "It's not every day we see a handsome young human stand up for us poor little outcast-girls is it, Kally?"

Sat on her hip with her legs curled beside her, the Tau girl giggled in response, a slender hand laid elegantly over her mouth as she did. "It is certainly a rare occurrence to see a strapping lad defend mutants and xenos, Cassy." Lowering her hand to reveal a broad, excited smile she added, "I'm not sure if there is anything else in the universe that gets me so wet."

Without further ado, and before Dante could do anything about it, the two of them lunged into his crotch. Wide eyed, the human accidentally dropped one of his magazines as two pairs of slender hands went to work unclasping his belt and the fly of his trousers with practiced skill. Their slim digits were a blur of motion as they quickly manipulated the silkies underneath and unleashed the prize within.

Producing the inquisitorial cock, both girls reacted like a pair of giddy, gossipy teenagers.

The Tau girl, Kally - though her real name was more likely to be more like Kal'set or something to that effect - giggled playfully.

A joyful squeal came in response from Cassy - likely just short for Cassandra or something like tha-... wait, why does that even matter?

As he was pretty much molested, Cassy wrapping her soft grip around the shaft and gently rupping from base to tip then back again, Dante wanted to yell _"leave me be, mutant,"_but then remembered he wasn't supposed to be acting like the blade of the Emperor. So he just bit his tongue and tried to keep his mind on the firefight. Of course, he could have just brushed the woman off, but unfortunately he was so focused on returning fire on the cultists he didn't even think of doing that. He ended up just taking it.

Or should I say; _she_ended up taking it.

Keeping the base of his erection firmly gripped between her fingers, she leaned forward. Her eager mouth then engulfed his whole length like it was a precious delicacy, or some piece of delicious candy.

Dante's right eye twitched and he froze for a second as the giraffe's warm mouth engulfed him, her lips clamping tight around the base of his cock. Her long tongue slithered up and down the bottom of the shaft, teasing and tickling all the way up to the tip. As it moved her moist lips slipped along the shaft until she was suckling just the tip like a lollypop.

With an opportunity arising, Kally's mouth joined in the assault on Dante's boner. She quickly wrapped her mouth as best as she could over the shaft while Cassy worked the tip, her alien tongue wrapping right around and slowly working up and down like a glove of soft, wet flesh.

Double the fun! Mind you, double the heresy.

Dante's mind clouded. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on anymore. But reality quickly snapped into focus when a round sizzled past his head. Jerking back into action, he sat up straight while the girls worked him orally; the inquisitor-in-training aimed both pistols down range again and fired into the cultists. His devastating return volley cut into them as Cassy pulled her head back, his erection freed from her lips with a wet 'pop.'

Though as she did, she didn't leave him in the cold. Turning her head she worked her lips and tongue down the opposite end of his shaft and met Kally's mouth. Immediately the two seemed to forget what they were at and started kissing each other _around_Dante's now uncontrollably throbbing erection.

Dante twitched again, looking down as he felt their tongues dance over his shaft and attempted to wrestle each other for control. As they did they were moving their lips up and down his dick until eventually they both engulfed his head in their mouths, still kissing, their tongues still trapped in an endless fight.

A round cracked into the edge of the upturned table and Dante forced himself to focus again. Moving on instinct he ducked backwards, landing flat on his back, head and guns exposed around the side of his cover as he fired another volley of shots, decapitating another cultist. As he fell back, the girls fell on top of him.

Kally had assumed initiative in the shift of position and the blue skinned alien engulfed his attentive cock from the head right down to the base, her throat muscles caressing him gently. Her tongue slowly dragged back up along the shaft at the same time as her lips as she pulled back, giving Cassy some space to move in. her long giraffe tongue slithered down along the base of his erection and teased the inquisitor-in-training's balls, lathering practically the entirety of his crotch in her saliva. The girls clearly didn't care much about making a mess.

But Dante secretly had to admit, he didn't care. It felt good - fantastic in fact, and it took every ounce of discipline for him to not just throw down his guns and use his hands to encourage the girls rather than protect them.

The human quickly thrashed through the murky molasses clouding his mind and fought his way into sobriety again. What the heck was he thinking? This was heresy on the highest levels!

He told himself not to give in. he had to focus. Not just for the mission, but for survival.

Struggling to purify his thoughts despite the impurity of his body, Dante he saw one of the cultists stand with a heavy looking rifle in his hands. It didn't have a stock to support the bulky, bright red casing pulled over a brushed metal internal frame; it had a gaping stubby muzzle and a massive, curled magazine between the handle and the foregrip.

The weapon was fired from the hip, and though either a stroke of impossible luck or incredible skill, a humungous explosive round was ejected from the 'bolter's muzzle and slammed into the innkeeper's face.

The innkeeper disappeared behind the bar again, remnants of his brains splattering the shelves of booze behind him.

Dante's eyes widened as he saw the bolter turn and aim in his direction.

"Oh, crap. DOWN!"

Scrambling up, Dante accidentally pulled his cock from Kally's mouth as he grabbed the ladies by their mid sections and forced them flat on their backs. As he did he curled over them protectively as the bolter let out its murderous roar.

The inferno bolt left the muzzle with a slight spin, propelled on a cloud of fire. Travelling with enough velocity for a vague vapour cone to erupt from the conical tip of the round, it soared across the inn, past several patrons breaking cover to dash across the building. One patron watched with a dumb expression, gaze shifting to follow the bolt as it soared past his face close enough for him to feel the slip-stream of the upset air.

The tip of the round finally made contact with a glass, passing right through and causing shards of glass and dregs of beer to spray into a cloud of tiny daggers and pungent swill. Pounder didn't even react as his stein exploded, bits of glass bouncing off his armour with little 'plinks' and waterfalls of frothy beer splattering his chest and face-plate.

The round continued onward until it made contact with the table behind which Dante and his horny charges took shelter. The impact with hard cover caused the mass-reactive fuse in the tip to crumple and ignite. The depleted uranium core and casing crumpled and split at the seams as the oxy-phosphorous payload caught alight. Fire spread over the surface of the table as it was lifted into the air, flames curling and licking into the air with the intensity of a sun, leaving a glowing scorch mark on the surface of Dante's cover.

Dante just about managed to catch the table as the force of the impact caused it to take off and set it right again so their already diminutive cover wasn't completely compromised.

As the fire and heat faded, Dante opened his eyes and looked down to see where he'd landed. The Tau woman lay by his side, un-injured thanks to the inquisitor-in-training's quick reflexes. Directly under him was Cassy. He was straddling the woman's chest, his cock firmly buried between her plump, bare breasts.

Looking down too, the giraffe gave a naughty smirk before squirming, rubbing her silky breast up and down over Dante's erection. Kally must have felt useless, because she moved in to help. Grabbing her friends boobs, she squashed them tightly over Dante's cock and began helping Cassy move them up and down so his tip only just about became visible in her cleavage, then quickly disappeared between the furry orbs of delectable suppleness.

Dante gritted his teeth, feeling his vision narrow a little. It was horrible in the best of ways, like trying to stay awake while a thousand sexy sirens seductively invited him into the warm embrace of unconsciousness. The human sat up and grunted, trying to keep his mind straight.

But already he could feel himself slipping, between the gentle caress of Cassy's breasts and the emulated moans of ecstasy escaping Kally's throat. There was a fire building up in his loins and he fear he might burst if he looked down to lock eyes with the Tau, the giraffe, or catch sight of Cassy's large bouncing breasts.

He did his best to focus on his shooting, zipping off rounds in the direction of the cultists, but it was hard with his focus wavering and his aim swaying from side to side. He got lucky though.

The throat of the cultist beside the one wielding the bolter exploded. As he fell under a fountain of blood, the one with the bolter recoiled, watching his fellow fall. At nearly the exact same time Dante's next shot caught him in the temple and the bolter clattered to the ground.

As the cultist's head exploded, split down the middle by a bolt of energy, Dante's own head exploded too. Though not in a gory mess, mind you. It was a sticky, gooey mess though.

The human grunted ducking down as his eyes clenched shut involuntarily. Every muscle in his body contracted, especially those below the belt. His legs tensed, his toes curled and he felt a thick load rip its way up through his cock, swelling his erection from base to tip for a moment. He clenched, purely instinctually as if trying to hold it all in.

He succeeded for a split second before his body ordered him to release, and complying shot a stream of cum across Cassy's neck.

As she felt the first string of warm goo unload across her slender neck, the giraffe let out a long throaty moan. "Oh, Creeeeeeeeeeeed~!" she cooed with her eyes shut contentedly, savouring the warm feel of a second load streaking across the fur on her throat, this string just about reaching her chin.

As Dante clenched again to unload the next stream, Kally dove in to rapidly engulf his erupting cock the same way Cassy had done the first time. Ramming his convulsing erection deep into her throat, Dante felt her slick oesophagus muscles caressed the tip as if trying to milk him.

Dante clenched and spurted a third time, right down Cassy's throat before she pulled back and sucked hard, drawing the fourth and final fifth spurt into roof of her mouth. The fourth and final clench caused creamy heat to spurt against the roof of her mouth, spreading the slimy texture and salty taste she so desired over her tongue.

She moaned, still suckling as the icky warmth drooled down her gullet.

Pulling back slowly, she balanced her salty treat in her mouth and lapped up the little bit of mess that had breached the corner of her mouth and dripped down to her chin. Cleaning Dante off, Kally smiled with a mouthful down at Cassy.

Driven by some kind of morbid desire the giraffe reached up and trapped the alien's head in her hands, pulling her down for a forceful kiss. At the same time she greedily lapped the semen out of her partner's mouth as if forcefully demanding her friend to share.

Even as she sucked the cum from Kally's mouth, Cassy gazed past the Tau girl and looked Dante in the eye, content of a job well done.

As Dante was watching the slutty show with some disbelief, Pounder was still staring at the remnants of his glass, the little cogs in his brain still ticking over as he comprehended what had happened to the remnants of his beer. As the seconds counted on, the crimson glow of his eyes seemed to intensify. The top of his helmet began to sizzle like a hot radiator, the air beginning to waver with heat above him.

Anger quickly turned to fury as he squeezed hard, the glass handle still gripped in his hand suddenly ground into dust, and the Space Marine leapt to his feet, chair flung one way and table tossed another to wipe out an exposed cultist.

Reaching up to the heavens, head thrown into his neck, Pounder let out a mighty cry of fury that shook the very foundations of Sawyer's Sanctum Inn. He didn't waste any more time, reaching back and grabbing the nearest chair before charging into the fray, powering his improvised weapon into the nearest willing face.

Extremities were broken and torn free. Torsos were squashed into the ground. Heads were popped and eyeballs were flung across the inn as Pounder went to town. Tables and chairs were thrown one way and another as he just ploughed through everything in his path.

As the din of the firefight dimmed to the whisper of a few last bouts of fisty-cuffs and Pounder throttling the last of the cultists, Kally and Cassy finished sharing, swallowed their respective treats and bid their goodbyes like nothing had happened.

Managing to dress himself again as the ladies skipped away giggling like schoolgirls who'd seen a penis for the first time, Dante hooked one of his las-pistols over the top of the upturned table and pulled himself up to get a good look at the calming situation. Pounder had already dispatched the last of the cultists and was still going to town on the last one still breathing. Unfortunately the way he went about doing this was so gruesomely graphic it requires a vague description so you don't violently projectile vomit all over yourself while reading.

Pounder was sodomising the cultist with his own rifle, so violently it'd made Slaanesh himself cringe.

"Where's your God now!?" Pounder demanded in a bellowing roar while defiling the cultist's anus. "WHERE!?"

His voice was only matched by a deafening gunshot as the gun in Pounder's hands went off, putting a round through the cultist and turning his head into a mess of pulp and shards of bone. Ripping the bloodied rifle from the now dead cultist's rectum, he turned the rifle upward and sniffed the flash hider through his faceplate.

The disgusted glare on his helmet must have mimicked his expression as he threw down the rifle then admired his handiwork with a satisfied nod.

"Was that really necessary?" Dante asked, indicating the sodomised and decapitated cultist.

"Nah, I didn't mean to kill him. The trigger was just slippery."

Dante glared. "What? No, was it necessary to use the rifle to ra-..."

The inquisitor-in-training didn't get to finish that sentence as the tavern door was thrown open. For a dread moment he feared more cultists were piling in, but turning to the door he saw only Claudia. She looked like she was in a panic, concern in her eyes as she waved her arms frantically.

"Master! Master! I saw Slaanesh cultists!" she cried.

Dante scoffed, holding out his pistols incuriously as he glanced around the inn riddled with smouldering bullet-holes. "Thanks for the heads up!" he said sarcastically before squinting at Claudia's face. There was something in her mouth, a bit of the thick, spermicide coloured gloopy liquid drooling from the corner of her lips and down her chin.

"What's that in your mouth?"

Claudia instinctively gulped down her mouthful and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Nothing," she lied rolling her eyes to avoid Dante's gaze.

Dante's eye twitched. And not just because she was so obviously lying. Because she wasn't holding the bags either. She'd left them outside with a mass populace which Dante wouldn't even trust to sit the right way round on a toilet-seat, never mind leave their bags alone.

"You assholes!" a familiar voice suddenly cried.

Dante was pretty sure that voice belonged to the innkeeper whom he was pretty sure had been shot in the face. Though lo-and-behold, when the inquisitor-in-training turned confusedly to the hole-riddled bar he saw the burly dark skinned man standing behind the counter, his face intact and even a freshly lit cigar screwed into the corner of his mouth.

The innkeeper threw up his arms frustrated. "When the boss sees the state of this place I'm gonna die... again!" Turning his glare to Dante, he pointed with a shaking finger. "You shot up the inn, you maniac!"

Dante gaped and with good reason. He'd obviously just tried to help. "I'm sorry, sir. But they fired first. I was just trying to help."

"Get the hell out of here before I blast your ass into next week," the innkeeper warned without caring for details or semantics.

Dante just held out his arms for a moment then nodded as he holstered his pistols. "Okay-okay. We're leaving."

Turning he quickly ushered Claudia out the door before they had to do any more shooting. Out in the street, Dante slammed the door shut behind him and followed the girl to where they had left their bags. Unfortunately there was something missing.

Their bags were gone, obviously stolen. But for some reason Dante couldn't even get mad. Getting madder wasn't even possible as he was already bat-shit fucking furious!

Though it didn't show on his calm exterior as he massaged his temples. The only evidence of his feelings were the slight breaks in his voice as he said, "well this could be going much better."

Smiling sympathetically, Claudia gently reached out and rubbed Dante's arm. "I thought you were very brave, master," she praised.

Dante chuckled and grinned at the young girl. The way she had said that in her angelic voice with big dilated eyes; she was way too cute for the human to stay mad at her. So with a sigh, he slowly shrugged and reverted back to their original plan.

"Let's just look somewhere else for a place to stay."

Fate it seemed had a design concerning where they would be sleeping. Behind them the door of the inn was thrown open with a thundering clang as a hulking figure had to duck and turn sideways to scrape out of the seemingly diminutive doorframe.

Laughing at the top of his lungs, Pounder followed Dante and Claudia out into the street before doubling over and slapping a hand across his armoured knee.

"I haven't had that much fun in years, little man!" Pounder whooped before pointing at Dante with and air of respect. "You know what, Dante? You're a pretty cool customer! You and your jail-bait girlfriend can stay with me at my place."

All of that seemed to have slipped over Dante's head as he only focused on one part of what Pounder had said. Holding up his hands defensively he quickly said, "she's not my girlfriend."

It was a purely instinctual outburst, and Pounder was clearly confused by the admission. As the hulking Space Marine cocked his head in confusion Dante realised his mistake and swallowed hard, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

Claudia came to the rescue, quickly scooping up Dante's hand and pressing it against her chest. "What my sweetest master in all the galaxy means to say, is he prefers to call me his dirty little cum-dumpster." She moved in a way that made it look like Dante was greedily groping her.

A passing woman cocked an eyebrow and looked at the couple. "Oooooh, lucky girl," she cooed jealously before Dante realised it was the giraffe woman, her neck still stained with fluids.

Clearing his throat, Dante nodded and tried not to look awkward as he peeled his hand from her grip. "Yeah, what she said."

Pounder just laughed with his hands on his hips before turning down the street and waving them to follow. "Well, c'mon you kids. My palace is this way!"

Leading the way down the street, the towering man cut a swathe through the crowds for them. But even though Claudia skipped after him with almost child-like glee and wonder, Dante was hesitant.

Staying with a heretical Space Marine wasn't exactly on Dante's list of 'things to do.' Then again, considering he did just ejaculate between a mutant and xeno; technically he was a heretic too... but he was still on the mission, trying to maintain his cover...

God-Emperor help me, the inquisitor-in-training thought. If he was going to survive this he had to keep his cover intact. That might involve doing things he wasn't proud of. And something told him the heresy was only just getting started.

When in Rome. He was pretty sure Rome didn't actually exist anymore though. Dante sighed, then followed Claudia and Pounder silently. He just knew this was going to be a long mission.

"Mister Pounder? Why are you called 'Pounder?' It's an odd name for a Space Marine."

"Little girl, if my cock wasn't just a fucking layabout I'd gladly show you! Ha-hahaha!"

A very long mission.

SniperSpartan-977 presents...

"In the grim dark of the far future, there is only..."

"..."

"Really, really fucked up shit. Seriously. Have you seen how hard Slaanesh parties? Holy fucking shit!"

FUBAR 40k