Six Rings of Bliss

The Blade of the Void sliced through the golden sand, its tip flicking away a string of tumbling gold. Colorful silk, inlaid with gems, broke apart reluctantly along the sharp edge. A torrent of fire was flung into the golden sand in the direction the sword tip was raised, burning countless exquisite and dazzling artifacts into molten iron.

Mors forcefully pulled a soft, iridescent silk fabric from a pile of gold and silver. Incantations flowed along the silk, transforming it entirely into the most unadorned, pitch-black hemp cloth.

He covered himself with the hemp cloth for concealment. As he completed this action, the scorching golden sand within several inches of him turned into dull black ash and scattered. Only a patch of unbeautiful scorched earth remained.

The scorched earth spread forward with his steps. Although countless jewels and gold coins from the sand dunes collapsed and replenished from all directions in his wake, not a single coin or jewel could approach the embodiment of the void clad in black cloth.

His actions drew dissatisfaction from many creatures. Those unknown beings, prostrate on the ground with their servants, shrieked at him in annoyance. When they saw this lifeless object created by pure incantation, they fearfully tumbled back into the vortex of gold and silver jewelry, burying their heads among the scorching gold coins and gems, revealing a ridiculous spectacle.

"Don't you like these?" a weeping voice whispered to him, soft and tearful. "Don't you find this scene pleasing?"

Before his eyes, countless excessively tall mountains of gold collapsed. Beneath each mountain, a glazed statue was revealed, carved with various likenesses of Mors. Beside each glazed statue stood a gilded sculpture, depicting the beautiful visage of the Lord of Hue himself.

Innumerable servants, bowed and kneeling beside the glazed statues, simultaneously turned their heads. Myriad voices, harmoniously and strangely, completed every fragmented syllable of a sentence: "I made these new for you, my person of the void. For thousands upon thousands of days and nights, I waited for the moment you would have desires. Why have you only shown them to me now?"

"Then stop this illusion," Mors said impolitely. The incantations accompanying his words were like pitch-black arrows, instantly shattering all the glazed statues.

He scooped up a handful of gold coins from the sand and remelted them into a small gold pellet. "I'll take this one."

The Joyful One's tears got stuck. Perhaps she never expected Mors to openly seize her gold and jewels like this.

The golden sand rolled downhill, and a black hole opened in the quicksand. Mors leaped into it, falling straight into a boundless lake of deep red wine.

Thanks to having no physical form, Mors opened his eyes and surfaced in the lake. His sword blade pierced a soft platform made of flesh and blood, allowing him to push off and reach the shore.

Flesh and bone had been used here to construct exquisitely beautiful pavilions and grand structures. Winding, secluded corridors connected scattered islands and towers. Feasts were laid out in the center of sixty-six hundred and sixty-six islands' towers, with countless fresh ingredients being prepared and served on the banquet tables on the spot.

Innumerable, extremely obese Taoties greedily stuffed the tables laden with delicacies into their bellies. Their bursting internal organs spilled from their ripped skin, and blood flowed into the wine lake beneath the towers. Other famished beings buried their entire heads in the lake, gulping down the lake water itself until they drowned, falling to the lakebed and turning into dry bones.

A fair-skinned maiden, as beautiful as a forest spirit, emerged from a white wall. Holding a golden platter, she gracefully took hold of Mors's empty black cloth. She bit into a piece of delicious-looking pastry that was actively shifting and deforming, tilted her neck, and offered it to Mors's mouth, giggling.

Mors swung his sword horizontally, slicing the maiden in half. Her upper half fell onto the smooth floor, tanned from skin. Her cheerful face still wore a slight smile. "Why aren't you eating anything, my guest? Aren't you hungry? Aren't you thirsty?"

Mors picked up a long, thin white bone from the table. It was unclear what creature it belonged to.

He boldly tucked it into his black robe. "Next stage."

The Joyful One's face contorted, her skin splitting into three equal sections around her.

"You took my things again!" she shrieked sharply. The towers collapsed, the islands sank, and the lake churned up monstrous waves, scooping Mors up and pushing him to the other side of the lake.

Melodious tunes were hummed by the revelers. Soft, thin veils scattered across the ground, and within the drifting mist, countless individuals indulging in pleasure cried out in soft voices, their forms hazy and indistinct like phantoms. Beautiful beings enjoyed every kind of pleasure, lost in each other, unable to break free.

A soft, tender palm reached out and touched Mors's black robe. Because the robe was empty within, the hand sank into its inner lining.

The inviter let out a coquettish sound and held onto Mors, refusing to let go. "What are you going to steal from me this time, my creature of the void? You can't take anything from me except myself."

"How can you say 'again'?" Mors said calmly. He turned and grabbed the extremely beautiful maiden, ignoring her voluptuous body. He raised his sword and severed her head, then cut a lock of incredibly perfect, smooth long hair from it.

He tied this lock of hair to the white bone he had previously taken and tucked it into a pocket somewhere within his black robe.

The Joyful One let out a startled cry. Her voice, like threads, cut horizontally through the air, instantly severing the bodies of countless beings present. "You've made me flawed! How can you not appreciate kindness!"

The headless limbs lunged forward, desperately scratching at Mors's black robe, as if trying to snatch some compensation from that void. Her palm slid over the incantation and then clenched tightly. When she released her palm, it was still empty.

Mors smiled and walked forward with large strides.

Beyond the foothills, an endless host of servants suddenly knelt before him on the mountaintop. Infinite armies, kings, nobles, courtiers, workers, and farmers all prostrated themselves in the valley, their deafening welcome and praise echoing to the edge of the sky.

As he stepped onto the speaking platform on the mountaintop, countless servants scrambled to fall at his feet, raising their hands high, offering him endless bouquets, banners, tapestries, swords and shields, medals, robes, official documents, and crowns.

Among them, one person held up a sharp golden dagger with 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 extreme, malicious hatred and pained fury.

Mors swung his sword horizontally, swatting the man off the mountaintop like flicking away a small stone.

He caught the discarded golden dagger and casually tucked it into his waist.

"In such a hurry?" he raised an eyebrow. An annoyed scream echoed from the valley.

Beyond the mountaintop, a boundless, vast forest lay ahead. The forest, which should have had fragrant flowers and birds and beautiful mirror lakes, now directly revealed its terror.

Trees uprooted themselves and chased after him, and countless sharp, fearsome thorns brandished their long, venom-covered spikes. Mors swung his sword, igniting fire, and rapidly carved a path forward.

He had already obtained all the items he needed, so there was no need to sneakily pull out a few vines to take with him during this process.

"Why bother?" Mors said softly, leaving the pursuing traps behind him. "Classic and cliché."

Bursting out of the forest, he arrived at another vast beach. This time, the sand surface was no longer made of abrasive jewels but only the softest fine sand.

A gentle breeze carrying cool, moist air softened the person's body. Ubiquitous soothing songs gently caressed the cold, hard heart, making one involuntarily feel drowsy and want to lower their weary eyelids, slow their rapid breathing, and sink into sweet slumber forever.

Before Mors could even sit down to rest, the entire scene changed for the final time.

He had passed through the process of slowly strolling through endless beautiful palace gates, admiring paintings and artifacts. He had also missed the opportunity to listen to unheard-of exotic music in the halls and even declined exchanges with countless masked dancers or whatever else. What appeared before him was a soft couch stretching infinitely in all directions, shrouded in layers of light veils.

The veils were meticulously painted with the myriad states of all living beings. All sentient spirits, countless and boundless, whether with form or without form, whether with perception or without perception, whether neither with nor without perception, all died and perished from this pavilion of ultimate bliss, falling from this heavenly abyss into nirvana. Thus, there was no extinction of sentient beings, and no sentient beings attained nirvana.

Behind the curtains were thousands of voices and thousands of forms, devoid of human form, devoid of sentient being form. Neither female nor male, neither young nor old, the ultimate beauty was the ultimate sin. There were no exits around this couch, no entrances, no passable routes to leave. Only the depths of the veils allowed for sinking deeper.

"Come to me, my creature of the void." From the depths of the veils, the hundreds of forms on the couch simultaneously transmitted their temptations, containing infinite joy, desire, and craving, along with equal arrogance, envy, and hatred. "You have reached my hall, you will come into my belly."

Its laughter was as crisp as bells, and as venomous as poisoned wine. "You accomplice of bandits! You have nowhere to go!"

Mors laughed along with it, then his smile vanished, and he roared, "Where are you!"

The sword, etched with runes, snapped in his left hand, and a torrent of ice-cold golden light flowed out. The incantation runes simultaneously erupted to their maximum extent, cooperating with it perfectly, and in the blink of an eye, they whisked Mors away from the hall of pleasure. All that remained was a patch of burnt veils, drifting down from the Lord of Pleasure's couch.

Mors Character Card (Under 40k 10E Rules):

M:12 T:8 SV:2+ W:10 LD:5+ OC:2

Special Protection: 3+

Ranged Weapon:

- Farewell:

RANGE:24 A:4 BS:2+ S:4 AP:-1 D:2

[Pistol][Anti-Daemon 2+][Precise][Ignores Cover]

Melee Weapon:

- Dead Eagle:

RANGE:Melee A:6 WS:2+ S:6 AP:-2 D:2

[Chainstrike 1][Precise]

Abilities:

Core: [Deep Strike][Leader][Lone Operative]

Blood of the Saint:

When a friendly unit is within 6 inches of this model, each time a model in that friendly unit shoots, add 1 to the hit roll.

Undying:

When this model leads a unit, models in the unit gain Fearless 4+ against any attack.

Fall of Babel:

In your Shooting phase, you can select one enemy unit within 48 inches of this model and roll a D6; on a 1, re-roll a D6; on a 2-5, the enemy unit suffers 2D6 mortal wounds; on a 6, the enemy unit suffers 3D6 mortal wounds.

Keywords:

MONSTER, CHARACTER, EPIC HERO, FLY, PSYKER, ETERNAL, MORS