The Blade of the Void swept through golden sand, its tip sending a string of rolling gold flying as jewel-encrusted multicolored silk reluctantly tore apart against its edge. A handful of blazing fire followed the sword's upward arc and was cast into the golden sand, burning countless exquisite, dazzling crafts into molten iron.
Mors forcibly tore a length of iridescent brocade gauze from the heaps of gold and silver. Incantations crawled along the brocade, turning it entirely into the plainest black burlap.
He draped the burlap over himself to cover his body. Once he completed the act, the blazing golden sand within several inches around him turned into dull black ash and scattered away, leaving only a patch of scorched earth devoid of all beauty.
The scorched earth spread forward with his steps. Though countless jewels and gold coins from the surrounding dunes collapsed in from every direction to replenish the ground behind him, not a single coin or gem could approach the void itself beneath that black cloth.
His actions displeased many creatures. Those unknown beings, crawling upon the ground with their servants, shrieked at him in fury. Yet when they saw this dead thing fashioned from pure incantations, they fell in terror into the vortexes of gold, silver, and jewelry, burying their heads amid the scorching coins and gemstones in a laughably ugly display.
"You do not like these?" A weeping voice, soft and delicate, whispered tearfully in his ear. "You do not delight in this sight?"
Before him, countless towering mountains of gold collapsed. Beneath every one stood a glass statue carved in Mors's various forms, and beside each glass statue stood a gilded sculpture depicting the beautiful appearance of the Lord of Hue.
Countless servants kneeling beside the glass statues turned their heads in unison. Thousands upon thousands of voices, harmonious yet strange beyond measure, completed every fragment of every syllable in a single sentence: "I made this anew for you, my one of void. For thousands upon thousands of days, tens of thousands upon tens of thousands of nights, I waited for the moment you would desire something. Why have you only let me see you now?"
"Then stop this pretentious nonsense." Mors spoke bluntly. The incantations accompanying his words became black arrows that shattered every glass statue in an instant.
He scooped up a handful of gold coins from the sand and reforged them into a tiny golden bullet. "I'll take this."
The Joyful One's tears caught in her throat. Perhaps even she had not expected Mors to openly rob her of her gold, jade, and jewels.
The golden sand rolled downward, and a black hole opened amid the sinking quicksand. Mors leaped into it and fell straight into a boundless lake of deep red wine.
Thanks to having no physical body at all, Mors opened his eyes underwater and rose to the surface. His blade pierced a soft platform paved in flesh, and he used it for leverage to flip onto the shore.
Here, blood and bone formed structures of unparalleled splendor. Winding, shadowy corridors connected pavilions and towers across islands scattered like stars, while banquets were laid out within the towers on six thousand six hundred and sixty-six islands. Countless fresh ingredients were extracted and prepared on the spot before being served upon the feast tables.
Countless grotesquely obese gluttons fought to stuff the table's delicacies into their bellies. Their ruptured organs spilled from split skin, and blood flowed into the wine lake beneath the towers. Other Thirsting ones buried their entire heads in the lake and gulped down the water itself until they drowned and sank to the bottom as dry bones.
A fair-skinned girl as beautiful as a mountain sprite stepped out from a white wall. Holding a golden plate, she gracefully looped her arm around Mors's empty black cloth. Her white teeth held a delicious pastry that writhed and changed shape, and she lifted her neck to offer it to Mors's lips with a giggle.
Mors swept his sword sideways and cut the girl in half. Her upper body fell onto the smooth floor tanned from skin, her cheerful face still faintly smiling. "Why do you eat nothing, my guest? Are you not hungry? Are you not thirsty?"
Mors picked up a long, slender bone from the table. There was no telling what creature it had come from.
He brazenly stuffed it into his black robe. "Next level."
The Joyful One's face turned savage, her skin splitting into three equal sections.
"You took my things again!" she shrieked sharply. The towers collapsed, the islands sank, and the lake surged into towering waves that scooped Mors up and shoved him toward the far shore.
Languid melodies were chanted from the mouths of revelers. Soft gauze lay scattered across the ground, and amid drifting mist, countless people indulging in pleasure cried out in sweet voices, their forms vague and flickering like phantoms. Beautiful beings enjoyed every kind of delight, intoxicated together in an inescapable embrace.
A tender hand stroked Mors's black robe and sank into its inner folds, for there was nothing within it.
The inviter gave a coquettish cry and clung to Mors without letting go. "What will you steal from me this time, my thing of void? Other than myself, you cannot take anything away."
"How could you call it again?" Mors said calmly. He turned, seized the stunningly beautiful girl, ignored her voluptuous body, raised his sword and cut off her head, then sliced a lock of incomparably perfect, silky hair from it.
He tied that lock of hair around the bone he had taken earlier and tucked it into some unknown pocket of his black robe.
The Joyful One screamed in alarm. Her sound waves sliced horizontally like threads, instantly severing the bodies of countless creatures here. "You have made me imperfect! How can you fail to recognize kindness?"
The headless body lunged at him, desperately clawing at Mors's black robe as though trying to claw some compensation from that void. Her hand slid over the incantations and suddenly clenched tight. When she opened it, her palm was still empty.
Mors smiled and strode onward.
Beyond the foothills, endless servants suddenly knelt below the mountaintop where he stood. Boundless armies, kings, nobles, courtiers, workers, and farmers all prostrated themselves throughout the valley, while deafening welcomes and praises resounded to the edge of the sky.
When he stepped onto the speaking platform atop the mountain, countless servants rushed to prostrate themselves at his feet, raising both hands high to offer endless bouquets, banners, tapestries, swords and shields, medals, robes, documents, and crowns.
One among them held up a sharp golden dagger in both hands. As Mors approached him, the man sprang up from the ground, the dagger aimed directly at Mors's body, his eyes filled with vicious hatred and pained fury.
Mors held his sword crosswise and slapped him off the mountaintop as though kicking away a small stone.
He caught the fallen golden dagger and casually tucked it at his waist.
"In that much of a hurry?" He raised a brow as an angry shriek came from the valley.
Beyond the mountaintop lay an endless forest. A forest that should have held fragrant flowers, birds, and beautiful mirror lakes now laid its terror bare.
Trees tore their roots from the earth and gave chase, while countless sharp, terrifying thorny vines lashed their poison-coated spikes. Mors swung his sword, ignited flames, and rapidly carved a path forward.
He had already taken everything he needed, so there was no need to sneakily pull off a couple of vines to bring along during this process.
"Why bother?" Mors murmured, leaving the layers of traps chasing him behind. "Classic and trite."
Breaking out of the forest, he arrived once more upon a vast beach. This time, the sand was no longer irritating jewelry, but merely the softest fine sand.
A gentle breeze carrying cool moisture softened the visitor's body. Soothing songs everywhere softly stroked hardened hearts, making one unable to resist growing drowsy, lowering weary eyelids, slowing ragged breaths, and falling forever into sweet, deep sleep.
Before Mors could sit down and rest, the entire scene underwent its final change.
He had passed through the endless, wondrous palace gates, strolling slowly through layer after layer of paintings and crafts. He had also passed up the chance to listen in the halls to strange music that could not exist in the human world, and missed the opportunity to converse a little with countless masked dancing girls or whatever else. Before him now was a soft couch, shrouded in layers of light gauze and extending infinitely in every direction.
Upon the curtains, fine brushes depicted the myriad states of all beings. All sentient spirits, countless and boundless—those with form, those without form, those with perception, those without perception, those neither with perception nor without perception—all fell to their deaths and perished from this pavilion of bliss, entering nirvana through this fallen heavenly pass. Thus, no beings were extinguished, and no beings attained nirvana.
Behind the curtains were myriad voices and myriad forms, yet no appearance of person, no appearance of sentient being. Neither female nor male, neither long-lived nor young; at the utmost limit of endless beauty lay endless sin. There was no exit around this couch, no entrance, no road by which to leave. Only the depths of the curtains offered deeper descent.
"Come to me, my thing of void." Hundreds of forms upon the curtains spoke together with temptation from the curtains' depths, filled with infinite lust and yearning, and equal arrogance, jealousy, and hatred. "You have entered my hall. You will enter my belly."
Its laughter was crisp as bells and venomous as poisoned wine. "You accomplice to that thief! There is nowhere for you to go!"
Mors laughed with it. Then his smile vanished, and he roared, "Where are you?"
The rune-carved blade in his left hand shattered, and vast, cold golden light poured from it. Incantation runes erupted at their greatest intensity at the same time, answering in perfect coordination. In the blink of an eye, they carried Mors out of the Hall of Pleasure, leaving behind only a stretch of burnt gauze that drifted down from the Lord of Pleasure's couch.
Mors Character Card (under 40k10E rules): M: 12 T: 8 SV: 2+ W: 10 LD: 5+ OC: 2 Invulnerable Save: 3+ Ranged Weapons: -Farewell: RANGE: 24 A: 4 BS: 2+ S: 4 AP: -1 D: 2 [Pistol] [Anti-Daemon 2+] [Precision] [Ignores Cover] Melee Weapons: -Dead Eagle: RANGE: Melee A: 6 WS: 2+ S: 6 AP: -2 D: 2 [Sustained Hits 1] [Precision] Abilities: Core: [Deep Strike] [Leader] [Lone Operative] Blood of the Saint: While a friendly unit is within 6 inches of this model, each time a model in that friendly unit makes a ranged attack, add 1 to the Hit roll. Undying: While this model is leading a unit, models in that unit have a 4+ Feel No Pain against any attack. Fall of Babel: In your Shooting phase, you may select one enemy unit within 48 inches of this model and roll one D6; on a result of 1, reroll one D6; on a result of 2–5, that enemy unit suffers 2D6 mortal wounds; on a result of 6, that enemy unit suffers 3D6 mortal wounds. Keywords: Monster, Character, Epic Hero, Fly, Psyker, Eternals, Mors