The Emperor’s Angel of Death

As a Chaos Space Marine of the Night Lords who came long after the Great Scouring, Seze occasionally wondered if the predecessors who walked the halls of the once-named Queen of the Night, now called Nightfall, felt the same way. Did their long-dead Primarch stare at every life on board as intently as 'it' does now?

But such thoughts were fleeting. He quickly reined in his consciousness. Here, the Primarch was a taboo. 'It', their master, did not like the Primarch, and even less did 'it' like hearing that name. Anyone in the past who mentioned the Primarch was torn apart, their soul ripped from its bindings and shackled to the ship's hull.

Thus, there was a saying everyone knew but dared not speak aloud:

'It' hated its own Primarch.

Walking through the pitch-black ship's bowels, traces of the ship's past trauma were visible everywhere in the structure and internal construction. Rows of fangs were frozen in the doorways, with twisted beams and passages. Claws and demonic faces were petrified into the hull. Rooms grown with ribs and flesh resembled the guts of some hellish beast. Small demons still lurked in the dark corridors, and abominations waited in the shadows, ready to spread madness at any moment.

Nightfall was never a safe place. Even the mutants who had lived here for generations dared to venture only into its limited, less than 10% habitable areas, because 70% of the ship was utterly unknown. Even Seze felt this way. Nightfall was not just a ship but a terrifying labyrinth. Seze had heard from some veteran warbands that a vast maze was built inside the ship during its construction, a "gift" from one of the Primarch's brothers. Their former Primarch enjoyed throwing prey into the maze, relishing their despair and bewilderment. Perhaps even now, there were still poor souls thrown in ten thousand years ago, desperately searching for a way out.

Besides the maze, another major threat was the daemons. This was not surprising. When Nightfall was "dragged" into the Warp, it was inevitably corrupted. It became a daemon ship, and naturally, a large number of daemons bred inside. They might not be strong, at least not to Seze, but they were deadly to mutants and slaves. They could only huddle together for warmth or use crude totems and worship of the Dark Gods to protect themselves.

As he passed through a vast hall, Seze glanced sideways, upwards.

Countless chains hung down from the ceiling like tentacles, making him feel as if he were walking through a jungle. Hanging from these chains were many corpses, many already weathered into skeletons. But through their power armor, one could vaguely identify their past identities, from legion to chapter, of all affiliations and origins. There were also many half-rotted and fresh ones; his master loved to hang corpses.

Some said this was a clumsy imitation of the Primarch, but that person soon appeared up there as well, and since then, this had also become a taboo.

Perhaps his master had complex feelings about the Primarch indeed. Though so hateful, he imitated him in every way. Was it inferiority or arrogance? Seze could only grumble about it occasionally.

Finally, he arrived at his destination, a shrine, a graveyard, or rather, a castle.

Everywhere were shrines and totems dedicated to the Dark Gods, their surfaces stained red with sacrificial blood. Ritual flames had scorched the ground black. The stone making up the surrounding walls was full of cracks and ancient, with the scabs of dark power and the Warp piecing them together.

At the gate and under the pillars, the master's personal guard stood clad in spiky, dark blue Terminator armor, the plates covered with human skin, strung across their backs, and pale bones hanging from their waists, wielding chainswords fitted with bolters. Some of their helmets had grown horns and were molded into beast-like faces.

They were called the Kentar, said to be the elite warriors of the former legion, but Seze had heard they were just "crude imitations." The real Kentar had long scattered. No one wanted to follow their master. But out of some intense pride, his master had formed his own "Kentar," even though their armor looked pieced together, of all models, from Iron Pattern to Indomitus, and even a fusion of Tartaros and Indomitus.

As for how these guys fought, Seze couldn't say, but their arrogance was definitely arrogant enough. And they always liked to go up and reap after others had almost finished fighting, and then mock the others who had worked so hard as trash, and take most of the slaves and spoils, a bunch of guys whose fists weren't fierce but their voices were loud enough. So in private, the warband would call them "stitched-up dogs."

Besides these Kentar, there were some other warriors in the hall, all wearing somewhat faded dark blue lightning-patterned armor, but the symbols of the former legion had been erased. Only the bright bat skull emblem still reminded everyone of their identity.

They were the Night Lords, the Sons of the Night, the eternal nightmare of the Imperium!

As he stopped, a thirty-meter-high, hundred-meter-wide curtain of human skin slowly opened to the left and right, revealing a throne made of sharp bones and steel, upon which sat a monster-like Daemon Prince.

It was draped in twisted Tactical Dreadnought Armor, with a winged skull on its chest. The dark blue armor was entwined with lightning and bulged like flesh, embedded in the daemon's red flesh and gnarled muscles. The towering creature wore a crown of stacked horns, its face long and gaunt like a beast that had been starving for a long time. The helmet grille, which had become part of the nose, occasionally exhaled hot steam. A pair of demonic wings were retracted behind it. Its right arm had a huge power fist, with two gun barrels on the back of its hand emitting hellish light.

"My lord, the great Count Mazerius."

Seze knelt on one knee, bowing his head deeply, appearing utterly humble.

"I bring the information you require."

"Oh? Then—"

Count Mazerius leaned forward slightly, his voice eager.

"Speak."

"The Shadow Ghosts warband was indeed destroyed, but it was not the Imperials who destroyed them, but another force hidden in the Maelstrom. They also seem to have a feud with the Red Corsairs. Ulan Huda was likely discovered by them."

After a moment of silence, Count Mazerius spat out that name.

"Vandred the Grim, haven't you really died? You stubborn old cur, hiding under the Red Corsairs' noses, what a case of hiding in plain sight."

Then the Daemon Prince nodded.

"That makes sense, that makes sense. It fits what the divination said, 'the return of the dead.' So where did Ulan Huda and his lot hide?"

"The current information is, an unmarked fringe system in the Tempest Sector, but because it's too remote, we can't get more information."

"No need to investigate. Once that dead rat Vandred catches a whiff, he'll run away."

Count Mazerius slowly stood up.

"Notify all ships, prepare for immediate departure. Once the flagship sends a signal, launch a full-scale attack! Once we get Ulan Huda, our hegemony will truly begin! Abaddon, Primarchs, all of you get out of the way! I will be the new Night Haunter! The true Everchosen! The era of Count Mazerius is here!!!"

Version Preview: Necron Awakening and Tyranid Swarm are coming soon—