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This is my first draft of a short story about a Dark Eldar Succubus being maimed by an Imperial soldier. Feedback in any form is more than welcome.

Editor's note: This piece of work contains things about the Dark Eldars and should likely not be read by children and other people who easily suffers from nightmares.

Succubus Dirach'Nyrr was known to be a particularly lovely creature. Nobody matched her grace, her movements both in and out of the arena was so graceful that all swooned over them. Her long golden hair was perfect for her work. She didn't cheat like Lelith by barbing her hair. No her hair was free of such unclean things. She was tall, with a full figure, cat-like golden eyes, clad in only a red leather bra and thong, small black lips with a perfect smile, which she smiled as she rapidly charged towards the blue armoured Mon-Kieg she had heard the slaves refer to as Space Marines.

Unlike her more clumsy Wytches which she heard gargling and exploding behind her, Dirach'Nyrr had zero problems avoiding the bullets of the clumsy though fast-moving Mon-Kieg elites if such a word could be used. Their use of cowardly cover sealed their death as they were standing with their backs to a ruined wall which they had used as cover against the main force of the Dark Eldar which attacked from the other side.

The Mon-Kieg without a helmet packing a bolt pistol and chainsword yelled something outlandish as he tried to land a blow on her. She smiled sadistically as she with contemptuous ease dodged his swinging chainsword before she perfectly severed the head of the man with a graceful pirouette making sure she wasn't hit by a drop of blood from the torrent that spewed out from the body of the fallen man, spraying the grey wall behind him red-brown with blood.

Two more of the Mon-Kiegs rapidly followed as they tried to bayonet her. She had nothing for contempt for that, not only were the Mon-Kiegs poor shots, but they dared adding bayonets to their inferior weapons trying to stab her. Three swift backflips brought her into the striking-range of the Mon-Kieg with the really clumsy gun. He struck at her with it, she side-stepped easily severing his spine with her monofilament blades savoring the death of the man as he screamed in pain.

Then she rolled into the midst of the last three. Two of them shot each other as she rapidly spun out of the way, eviscerating the final of the blue armoured Mon-Kieg. With a decadent smile on her face she turned towards where she heard an explosion.

To her surprise it wasn't a Mon-Kieg tank blowing up. No she saw to her horror it was one of the Raiders who literally went down in a fireball, tossing away the maimed bodies of the Dark Eldar Warriors riding it. The upper body of one of them landed by her feet, his helmet was torn off, she could see the shock and pain in the twisted face of the Warrior. She scanned the horizon looking for the culprit.

She saw him, not bad looking for a Mon-Kieg, average height for them, clad in black, an odd black peaked cap balanced on top of his head. She knew the slaves called such guys Commissars. He was sheltering behind a huge rock from the accurate fire from the approaching Talos Pain Engine who slaughtered the Storm-Troopers as the Mon-Kieg called the guys with greenish heavy armour, yet not as heavy armour as the Space Marines around him in particularly gory ways with blood and intestines flying everywhere.

The black-clad Mon-Kieg popped out from behind the rock he had covered from the fire of the Talos. He fired some clanky gun at it, which just melted it into twisted goo of metal and flesh. Dirach'Nyrr smiled glumly, finally she had found what she was seeking, a challenge. She rapidly sped towards the young Mon-Kieg looking forward to savor his death, or maybe more.

He noticed her, and not long after laspistol-shots started raining down around her. She had to really focus, as unlike the other Mon-Kiegs this one actually could shoot. Flips, spins and rapid dodges should seal the deal she thought as she quickly closed the distance employing that technique which had kept her unharmed for over a millennia in battle, at the arena and when jealous Wytches had tried to ambush her. This should be no different.

The Mon-Kieg with a grace unbecoming of him suddenly had something the slaves never had told her what was in his right hand. He carefully took aim despite her being within less than five meters of him. It was a jet-black long barreled gun, round-tubed, a jet of pain hit her. She realized the Mon-Kieg had shot her as she hit the ground writhing in the most intensive burning pain she had ever felt.

He didn't finish the job. A pack of Clawed Fiends charged him, so she saw him rapidly turn cathing three of them with his long pistol, quickly turning them into sludge as he pulled the trigger of the outlandish gun he hefted at his right hand, while his left drew a disgusting parody of a sword, jet-black, the guard was basically a Mon-Kieg skull, the last Clawed Fiend had it's face impaled by it, the creature merely died without a struggle as the young man swung the sword with a speed and grace which totally contrasted him, the creature who normally was a fierce fighter just slumped to the ground while Mon-Kieg just kicked it back getting his sword out of it's skull. Nothing of that mattered as Dirach'Nyrr landed in the mud with her body burning. She screamed in agony, not just over the burning physical pain but also her mental anguish over that she had lost her looks thanks to that young Mon-Kieg.

"Shut up witch!" She heard the voice of the young Mon-Kieg snap, before an armoured boot crushed her left and unwounded shoulder. They quickly exchanged glances. His eyes, they were innocently blue, not unlike the eyes of Mon-Kieg newborn she favored the souls of. Qa'leh that soul deserved to be harvested in the most gruesome way possible, yet she heard his harsh voice ring through the pain as he continued to fire his strange hissing gun at her war-band while barking orders. "Trooper Holden, tag her, I want her evacuated for interrogation." That was the last thing she heard before a brutal kick followed cracking her skull knocking her out.

Dirach'Nyrr woke up, her body was still in horrible, horrible pain, she felt silky sheets of the bed she was laying in wrapped around her, with the bandaged right side. The room was dark, too dark, the sounds was.... She gasped she was home in Commorragh, not a some Mon-Kieg laboratory she had never been so vulnerable here, yet she felt something new as her left hand felt at the shoulder of the right. It felt like she had two arms spouting out of that shoulder. Screaming she sat up in the bed with scarlet silk-sheets.

"Anything wrong?" Grinning at her was the pale face of Haemonculous Hralarich. The eight limbed ancient creature with four mad yellow eyes regarded her. It was dressed in some blackish robe better left unexplored. The voice was surprisingly, almost mockingly soft. She rubbed her right shoulder. "What the hell have you done to me Haemonculus?" She screamed.

"Improved you." Hralarich turned on the lights. Her four eyes burned, she blinked time and time again. Watching the twisted parody of life, the room was expensively furnished, chairs made of bones of Mon-Kiegs decorated the room, drawn with red silk, the roof showed some depraved sex-act, the walls as well, she turned towards a mirror.

"AAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEKKK!!!" She screamed as she saw herself in the mirror, she had two more arms added on her right side, her eyes had been replaced with that of a Void-Spider, her right side was a charred husk, her hair were just three tentacles. Dirach'Nyrr watched what she had became in horror. A Wrack. She shivered in abject anger.

"Now you are truly beautiful my child." She heard the sweet voice of the Haemonculus behind her along with a soft laugh. He smiled a broad smile, barring his yellowish teeth. "Only my most advanced craft managed to save you." He looked disdainful down at the previously beautiful Succubus. She looked back at him with pure hate. "Of course you must take out the Mon-Kieg that did that to you, if you want your old beauty back." Hralarich floated away speaking with his sweet voice, while Dirach'Nyrr vomited on the red carpeted floor. She now had a mission in her life, to kill that Mon-Kieg for that slight against her. She had to retain her former beauty, and that Mon-Kieg should pay that price.

Wow, this story is messed up. I suppose that since it's about Dark Eldar, it'd be bad if it wasn't. Overall, this is very well written. And messed up. I'm interested in seeing more writing from ya.

Damn.... And you like to read stories with something else than violence in them? Well my hat off to you, this was good. But still horrible in a good way

@ LoneLictor. Thank you was a pleasure writing it. Was actually something I concocted for http://www.thedarkcity.net/ I actually have written something else http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/429250.page but people here like pure violence not works based on Ciphas Cain.

@ Trondheim. Thanks LoneLictor called it messed up, and that's the Dark Eldar for you. I can write with violence, I just prefer the space-drama with personalities instead.

I'll be sure to read that other piece when I have the time. Also, thanks for commenting on "Serfs."

Hm since this is oddly popular I guess I can continue.

Years passed. Dirach'Nyrr often saw battle, usually of the most gut-wrenching kind. Her memory of being a beautiful Succubus was a dim one. More arms and weapons was added by Hralriach. Slowly she had turned into a Grotesque.

Now she was involved in yet another raid against the Mon-Kiegs. She looked forward to this. Maybe she could finally savour the release from this wretched life.

It was in the middle of the battle, she hacked and slashed, letting her attached guns fire. Mon-Kiegs fell everywhere. Blood and guts sprayed the streets. Anyone getting close to her died while they screamed as she ripped them apart in a shower of blood and intestines. The hive-city was teeming with life,

Hralraich often unleashed her alone so she could savagely take out whatever she saw fit in the dirty gutters.

One day she came upon a task-force of about 100 Arbites. She dimly remembered the slaves telling about the square-jawed guards. They were known for their famous resolve. From a dark street-corner she charged a small group of them, maybe twenty. Her two drills rapidly bored hulls through five of their numbers, her swords quickly downed four more. Too soon the battle was over, Mon-Kiegs, or rather the ramains of their intestins and bodyparts laid sprayed everywhere after her rampage. "Battle is sweet." She thought as she grabbed the man with a golden eagle-shoulder with power armour. She savored the death of him as he squirmed in her arms as she tore him apart like a piece of flayed skin, letting herself get showered by his blood and guts.

Then she heard an explosion, another Raider. No this couldn't be. She scoured the shattered landscape. A Jetbike exploding finally pinpointed him. It was him, the commissar, the one resposible for her misery.

She saw him, he was difficult to spot, the other Mon-Kieg soldiers far easier. Over one hundred of them blocked her way to him. She didnt care, her guns sang while her swords and drills swinged. Mon-Kiegs died screaming as they evaoporated in showers of blood and guts, though unusually they held the line like something were to be more feared than a true Grotesque on the rampage.

Those shouldn't be able to do that. They were supposed to run and die, not hold the line, in the corner of her eye, a desperate Mon-Kieg threw down an Archon. He was flayed alive for the effort, another managed to break his shield. Then she saw the commissar. He dared to not only slay an Incubi with his gun, he dared decapicitating the Archon, the blackish blood sprayed into the air like a fountain. It was not enough. He struck against another Incubi, it blocked, didn't matter his disgusting sword tore throgh the glaive, right into the head and chest as the disgusting sword cleanly cleaved a black path for the young Mon-Kieg while the Incubi's inner organs spilled out on the ground as the Mon-Kieg just turned towards her with a smile on his face as he merely shot the last of the Archon's Incubi who sullied his honor by fleeing. He sprang behind some rubble to escape her shooting him.

Then she felt pain, unimaginable pain. Her body was opened up, and a blade who seared like a pain she had never felt before smashed through her body. She saw her, and realized she had died the first time. She saw a female commissar as the Mon-Kiegs called them. Same disgusting style of sword, it was on a rampage inside her. The smoking bolt pistol in the left hand of the woman revealed she had seen her. The female was less than average height for them, brown completely merciless eyes, long brown hair flowed out of her peaked black cap, a scowl on her lips. "Frakking Xeno-filth!" The hoarse voice of the female commissar rang in the ears of Dirach'Nyrr.

Dirach'Nyrr so wanted that soul, it had so many facets. Instead she saw the two swords. They met at her throat. She saw the two commissars kiss, embracing right over her. Then it all went black as they chopped off her head.

She woke up with a gasp, her body ached, she was again lying in the silky sheets of Haemonculus Hralarich. Everything about her ached. She smiled a bit.

The lights was turned on. Hralarich stood over her, not caring about her nudity. He smiled. "Yet again you died. Why shall I keep you awake Wych?"

Getting sort of up as much as her Grotesque form allowed Dirach'Nyrr sat up. "Because I know about a soul you would want just as much as a certain male Mon-Kieg commissar." She smiled, she for once had the upper-hand, not Hralarich.

"Interesting my beaut, tell me more." The sweet voice of the perverted eight-limb toyed through the unchanged room. Dirach'Nyrr merely shook her head.

"What do you want for the information?" Hralarich looked at her, his frown said that he sensed that she had a secret he wanted.

"My old form back." Dirach'Nyrr smiled. She was sure in her victory.

Then she awoke again. She tried to enter the floor, but no, her new wings brought her crashing down. Hralarich laughed softly. "Anything wrong child?"

"WERE THE HELL IS MY ORIGINAL FORM?" She screamed as she laid on the floor under him, watching up the black robe better left unexplored. She heard his soft laugh. "I doesn't yet have my souls, those two souls, and your old shape is back." He snickered as he left the room, while Dirach'Nyrr again vomitted on the floor over the recent change, yet she knew it was better. At least until she felt at her belly...