[When that scene of fury and glory, composed of endless skulls and boiling seas of blood, faded from the screen, the air in the theater did not become any lighter because of it.]
[On the contrary, a thick, cloying silence, more unsettling than violent rage, began to quietly spread.]
[If Nurgle is the end of life and Khorne is the process of struggle...]
[...then the one you are about to see represents the most primitive and powerful driving force in the hearts of all sentient beings in the Universe—Desire.]
[He is art, passion, love, and beauty—the ultimate sublimation of all good things.]
[At the same time, He is decadence, obsession, selfishness, and pain—the endless abyss into which all good things inevitably fall after reaching their peak.]
[He is the youngest of the four Chaos Gods, and His name is Slaanesh.]
The images on the screen were no longer terrifying seas of blood or rotting gardens, but instead presented a dazzling and intoxicating sight.
Palaces shimmering with light, constructed from crystallized tears and laughter;
The air was filled with fragrances that evoked the deepest memories;
The most perfect melodies, which mortal musicians could not compose in a lifetime, echoed in the ears.
However, beneath this extreme beauty, a chilling strangeness was hidden.
Those grand statues showed extreme pain and extreme pleasure in their twisted poses;
The deepest background noise of those beautiful melodies was the screams of countless souls shattering in bliss.
[The birth of Slaanesh was itself the ultimate tragedy regarding the 'pursuit of perfection'.]
[He has not existed since ancient times, but was 'conceived' by an ancient race that was once brilliant to the extreme—the Aeldari.]
[The Aeldari were once the rulers of the galaxy, having defeated all enemies and reached the pinnacle of civilization.]
[In endless peace and abundance, they began to pursue the ultimate sensory and spiritual experiences.]
[A painter, in order to mix the most perfect colors, exhausted all his pigments and finally turned his gaze to his own blood, tears, and soul.]
[A musician, in order to compose the most moving music, exhausted all notes and finally discovered that the most wonderful tone originated from the most sincere aria emitted by life between bliss and extreme pain.]
[A lover, to experience the deepest love, tried all forms of romance.]
[Finally, he realized that true passion is the most thrilling spark obtained only at the boundary between possessing and being possessed, between pain and suffering.]
[They constantly broke through, constantly pursuing 'more', 'better', and 'more stimulating'.]
[Their desires converged in the Warp like a greedy embryo, absorbing the life force of the entire civilization.]
[Finally, accompanied by a collective climax that echoed through the entire galaxy, mixing endless pain and supreme ecstasy, Slaanesh... was born.]
[His birth instantly consumed the heart of the Aeldari Empire, killing billions of their kin and almost all the gods in their pantheon.]
[That once-brilliant race became exiles in the Universe overnight, paying an eternal price for their ancestors' endless debauchery.]
[Slaanesh's domain is the World of extreme senses. He is the God of Beauty and the God of Ugliness; the God of Love and the God of Hate;]
[The Prince of Pleasure and the Lord of Pain.]
[What He promises His followers is not power, not eternal life, but something simpler and more fatal—Experience.]
[He will satisfy all your desires, no matter how noble or base those desires may be.]
[He will let you see the most beautiful colors, hear the most moving music, feel the deepest love, and taste the most exquisite delicacies.]
[But His gifts have no end.]
[Once you have seen the most beautiful painting, you will feel that all things in the World are gray;]
[Once you have heard the most perfect music, you will be bored by all sounds; once you have experienced the most extreme love, you will feel that all emotions are as flat as water.]
[Slaanesh is a well that can never be filled, a thirst that can never be satisfied.]
[He lifts you high into heaven, only so that after you grow tired of heaven, you will willingly and actively plunge into that sensory abyss of endless emptiness, deeper than hell.]
This narration, like a whisper mixed with drugs and honey, echoed in every theater.
This time, there was no physiological vomiting as with Nurgle, and no angry roars as with Khorne.
Instead, there was a deeper psychological fear and trembling, as if the soul were being strangled by a cold hand.
Super God Universe
[Nebula · Demon Wings]
Smash!
A crisp, loud sound of glass shattering.
Morgana stood up abruptly from her throne. Her face, which always carried a hint of playfulness and flamboyance, was now covered with an unprecedented, thoroughly enraged ferocity.
She slammed the goblet in her hand onto the floor, and the crimson liquid splattered like blood.
"Bullshit! What the hell is this?!"
Her voice was no longer cynical as usual, but a hysterical, overwhelming rage born from having her faith and philosophy plagiarized and distorted in the worst possible way.
"Depravity? Freedom? He thinks he's worthy?!"
Morgana paced back and forth on the bridge, the sound of her high heels hitting the floor sharp and angry, as if venting her explosive fury.
"Why do I, the Queen, promote depravity and freedom?"
"It's so that those lives, who have been suppressed for tens of thousands of years by that bitch Kaisha and her hypocritical Order of Justice, can find themselves again!"
"It's so they have the right to choose their own form, the right to experience joy, pain, anger, and sadness!"
"It's so they can live like real, flesh-and-blood beings!"
She pointed at the screen, her beautiful face flushed with anger, as if she were about to spit fire from the screen.
"The depravity I speak of is the liberation of the will! It's the self-selection of life forms!"
"It's the sublimation of the soul achieved through rebellion! It's being your own master, even if you turn into a demon!"
"But this... this sissy named Slaanesh! What is he doing?!"
Morgana's voice became sharp, filled with disdain and disgust.
"That's not liberation! That's slavery! The most despicable, malicious, and hopeless ultimate slavery!"
"He turned desire into chains and pleasure into a cage!"
"His followers aren't making choices; they're being chased by the mad dog of 'craving'! They aren't experiencing life; they're drowning in a tide of senses!"
"They think they've reached heaven, but they're actually just circling in a more elaborate toilet encrusted with diamonds and jewels, until even their own reflections become blurred!"
"A painter, in pursuit of beauty, finally doesn't hesitate to paint with his own soul? Fart!"
"The demons under me paint to express their own ideas, to screw over those sanctimonious Angels! To tell the whole Universe, 'Because I feel like it'!"
"A warrior falls in pursuit of the perfect duel? Nonsense!"
"My warriors fight to protect me, to hack down that bitch Kaisha, to win! For the revelry and wine after victory!"
"It's not the same thing at all!"
Morgana waved her hand violently, and black Demon Wings unfolded furiously behind her.
"He defiled the word 'depravity'! He turned what should have been a magnificent soul revolution into a meaningless, self-indulgent revelry of masturbation!"
"He made all acts of pursuing senses and experience just like him—cheap, hollow, and disgusting!"
"Fuck!"
She finally let out a curse of extreme indignation, her voice filled with endless nausea after being associated with a clumsy imitator.
"I'd rather fight that Old Timer Kaisha for ten thousand years than admit that this piece of shit, who knows if it's male or female, has even the slightest connection to my philosophy of depravity and freedom!"
Ato stood to the side, watching his Queen, who was in such a rage for the first time because her 'philosophical concepts' were violated; he didn't even dare to breathe.
He realized for the first time that beneath Queen Morgana's seemingly chaotic theories, there existed an insurmountable bottom line—the freedom of will.
And Slaanesh was precisely the most malicious mockery of that freedom.
Hellsing World
The Major stood quietly in front of the screen. On his face, which always wore a childlike, innocent smile, the smile disappeared for the first time.
He was not ecstatic as when he saw Khorne, nor excited as when analyzing the Imperial wars.
His expression was a mixture of disappointment, disdain, and a hint of... annoyance at having his precious time wasted.
"Dr."
He spoke, his voice as flat as if he were stating an experimental report, but beneath that flatness was the silence before a volcanic eruption.
"Yes, Major."
The Dr. responded respectfully.
"Completely delete this... 'thing' from my gallery of 'perfect war' artworks." The Major's tone was beyond doubt.
"This is... a failed work. A worthless, clumsy imitation full of impurities and noise."
He slowly turned around and looked at the Vampire soldiers beside him, who were feeling a bit uneasy and restless because of the scenes on the screen, and said in a cold, almost admonishing tone:
"I once praised Khorne because He is honest."
"He sublimates the essence of war—pure violence and destruction—into divinity. That is the most naked and sincere hymn to war."
"But this one before me, Slaanesh... what is He?"
The corner of the Major's mouth curled into an extremely contemptuous arc.
"He takes the least important 'by-product' of war, which should be discarded most—the sensory experience of the individual—and makes it the purpose of war."
"What a complete reversal of priorities! How... stupid!"
"A perfect war is a symphonic poem composed of steel, fire, and will!"
"What does it need?"
"It needs absolute unity of will! It needs to melt the lives of millions, billions of individuals into a single War Machine pointing toward victory!"
"It is for individuals to sacrifice everything of themselves without hesitation for the collective victory, including life, emotion, and those boring, so-called 'personal experiences'!"
"The beauty of war lies in its grandeur! In its dehumanization!"
"It lies in tempering humans, these fragile, selfish creatures, into pure tools of destruction that transcend themselves!"
"In the face of this grand aesthetic, do your personal feelings... whether you are pleased, in pain, or happy... matter?!"
The Major's voice was filled with extreme disdain for this 'hedonism'.
"No! It's not important! It only becomes the most useless and obstructive noise in the precision machinery of war!"
He pointed at the screen like an art critic criticizing a clumsy painting.
"Look at His followers! They fight to pursue a more stimulating combat experience?"
"They listen to the 'wonderful' screams of enemies before they die on the battlefield?"
"Waste! This is the most shameful waste of war resources! Their wills are not concentrated on victory, but are scattered in the pursuit of their own senses!"
"They are not warriors; they are just a group of addicts in armor, having a collective drug trip on the battlefield!"
"A soldier who delays military opportunities to carve a more perfect human skin statue should be shot immediately!"
"A gunner who gives up a finishing blow to listen to the enemy's wailing should be thrown into the furnace!"
"They defiled war!"
"They turned what should have been a pure collision of will and will into a messy sensory party full of individualistic impurities!"
In the Major's eyes, there flickered an almost obsessive-compulsive hatred for 'impure' things.
"I love war."
He finally summarized in a cold, unquestionable tone.
"I love everything about war. But what I love is the beauty of collective destruction forged with discipline, sacrifice, and absolute will."
"And this Slaanesh, what He represents is pure, individual, and worthless self-indulgence."
"It's not war; it's just... a large-scale, tedious... orgy."
"Dr., record it."
The Major's voice returned to its usual calm, but beneath that calm was the final sentence for a completely failed work of art.