Night King

"Come out. ♙💣 ♦🐟," Konrad Curze Curze said.

He calmly extended his left hand and picked up an Alpharius that was not yet completely dead. The sharp claws, crafted from Adamantium, affectionately rested on the man's exposed spine, and he casually peeled away the intertwined nerves and flesh bit by bit.

Even so, Alpharius wasn't completely dead; his vitality was astonishing. However, this was certainly not a good thing, as he wouldn't receive medical assistance.

Curze grinned at him, then reached back and shoved his fingers between the wound and the man's still-beating internal organs. A muffled groan of pain came from behind the elaborately decorated, embossed silver-blue helmet, but it elicited no pity.

Curze released his grip, tossing the half-dead corpse to his feet as if it were trash, then slowly raised his foot and crushed the chest cavity.

Blood splattered out, and he smiled softly in the darkness.

Thick fog rolled in all around, so dark that not a single ray of light could be seen, and corpses littered the ground. Even a rough estimate would be that hundreds of the Alpha Legion soldiers had died here.

"To fight me in the dark, that takes courage, brother," he said casually. "Just as courageous as you were leading your legions to attack Nostramo. Now look what you've gained!"

He spread his arms wide in enjoyment, his black hair flowing, and his pale face revealed undisguised malice.

"The position of Warmaster should really be given to you," he said with a smile. "Horus sits on it, some people will be unhappy. If Lion sits on it, some people will still be unhappy. So, why don't you take it?"

"After all, you have nothing but courage. Fools can be forgiven for anything, don't you think, Alpharius?"

No one answered in the darkness, only the faint sound of the wind whistling past. A few seconds later, a voice slowly rose from the thick fog.

"A good provocation, Konrad Curze."

"This is my honest opinion."

The person in the darkness chuckled hoarsely, "You can say that, but I don't believe you'd tell the truth to anyone. Your hypocrisy frightens me."

"Oh?" Curze raised an eyebrow. "That's an interesting assessment. Some people think I'm an executioner or a butcher, others think I'm a corrupt judge who treats human life like dirt—but you actually call me hypocritical?"

"Isn't that right?" Alpharius retorted.

His faint voice grew even fainter in the thick fog, which was becoming increasingly dense, meaning Nostramo would face an attack from more Daemon — Curze squinted, but wasn't worried.

Using the power of the Warp to fight Night Lords is a shortcut to certain death.

"You've always shown a deep aversion to the Warp, but what about now? Look at your legion, the great Lord of the Blades."

Alpharius mimicked him and chuckled, "Even the Word Bearers of Lorgar wouldn't dare say they're closer to the so-called 'divine grace' than you. Don't you think that's a bit too ironic?"

"Yes, that's true," Curze replied calmly, turning to look at something in the mist. "But you talk too much, brother."

As soon as he finished speaking, a blade leaped from thin air onto his right hand, obediently fitting against his gauntlet, allowing five sharp claws to grip it tightly.

A cold glint appeared, and a chilling wind roared from the darkness, churning the fog apart as if it had been pierced by countless blades, leaving it riddled with holes and scattering in all directions. More fully armed Alpharius were exposed, with no more cover.

The wind seemed to come from tens of thousands of years ago, from a night when humanity was still in its ancient times, from outside the dark, lightless cave inhabited by some primitive tribe.

In the barbaric era, in the era before the flames were ignited, darkness can always represent fear.🍭💜  🐜★

No one knew what lurked in the darkness, hungry and waiting; no one knew what they would encounter if they ventured out. The primitive people slept soundly huddled in their smelly furs, while the watchmen could only stare wide-eyed at the dark cave entrance, listening for strange noises and screams.

It blew in from the wild ages, and Konrad Curze Curze was nowhere to be seen, only his voice lingering in the wind.

"I will enjoy this slaughter, Alpharius."

A second later, the carnage began as promised. The Night Haunter appeared beside the Alpharius like Ghost, his blood-red cloak billowing wildly in the cold wind. A low laugh rang out along with the sound of blades slicing through flesh, followed by screams.

The screams never ceased.

The Alpha Legion has never known fear; every member possesses unparalleled courage. Otherwise, how could they dare to come to Nostramo and face those blades lurking in the darkness?

Until now.

Until they met Konrad Curze Curze.

Thirty seconds later, he vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only a pile of mangled corpses.

Alpharius's elite troops were routed without any resistance, their formation shattered, and they didn't even know how many of them had died in those short thirty seconds.

The ground was covered with fragments of corpses, as if they had been cut into pieces, and blood. The blood had somehow formed streams that had submerged their steel boots.

Everywhere you looked was a crimson expanse, and even those who were still standing had the mutilated bodies of their brothers hanging from their bodies.

A soft laugh drifted on the wind, reaching their ears like a murmur, followed by a gentle humming, as lingering as a lullaby.

But the Alpharius knew that this was death itself announcing, extending an invitation, and expressing gratitude for their folly.

"Alpharius asked me to give you some advice."

The person humming began, his voice brimming with undisguised laughter; he was so happy that even the ending sounds between words carried a simple, joyful quality.

"You can hide, you can run, you can fight, and you can gather your legions and have them surround you. But I can see where you are, I know who you are, and I have marked you. And I will not kill you unless I kill every single offspring you have brought with me first."

He burst into wild laughter, the sound echoing around him. A silver light then appeared, flashing before their eyes like lightning. The Boltgun immediately opened fire, but none hit their mark.

Darkness was just darkness, and that glimmer of silver light vanished into the wind as if it had never existed.

The Alpharius' hearts began to pound. They couldn't determine the enemy's location, or even see through their goggles what was lurking in the darkness that enveloped them.

Just then, a gentle breeze blew by, and the gunfire resumed. By the time the commanders angrily ordered a ceasefire, several men were missing from the edges of their respective units.

Their weapons were neatly thrown on the ground, but the people had vanished without a trace; only their screams echoed in the wind.

No one knows what they went through, and some have even begun to refuse to believe that these are the voices of the warriors they know. They believe themselves to be of unwavering will, having long since abandoned personal emotions and transformed themselves into pure weapons.

Now, they are beginning to realize something.

Fear is not an emotion; it is a basic human instinct. No one is immune to fear. The word "courage" simply means maintaining rationality in the face of it, nothing more.

"Assemble!" someone shouted from the darkness. "Gather together, he can't possibly do it all at once—"

"--You're too noisy," the Night Haunter said gently.

A flash of crimson light disappeared in the darkness, gunfire erupted, illuminating a deathly pale face, as pale as Ghost, and his smile.

A head flew high into the air; the person who had shouted was now decapitated, and the headless corpse flew out and crashed into the crowd.

A blinding flash of light erupted in the next second, the explosion engulfing the squad, and the silver and blue dragon scales turned into fragments that flew through the air.

"He's here!" someone shouted again. "Fire! Fire!"

"Wrong answer, sir."

The Ghost chuckled with a hint of regret as it descended from the sky, creating two more corpses. Then, silence fell. They began communicating using tactical hand signals and the built-in tactical voice communication channel; neural links would automatically send pre-edited messages.

Then, as if it were a matter of course, a jarring static noise filled their communication channel, along with Konrad Curze Curze's soft humming, which sounded as if it came from the land of the dead.

"Nowhere to escape," he said with a soft laugh. "Nowhere to escape"

Darkness surged again, and he transformed into Shadow, sweeping over their heads and unleashing a barrage of explosives. Then he charged straight at the front of the crowd, satisfied as he pierced several chests with his Adamantium claws.

Hearts were ripped out, entrails became offerings on the blade, blood splattered, death was everywhere. Discipline, will, courage—all were useless, for these only served their purpose in battle.

What they are experiencing now is not a battle.

"Regret it now, brother?"

Konrad Curze Curze asked the question intimately in the darkness.

"You infiltrated my homeland, planted bombs, created chaos, and sent people to infiltrate our orbital weapon defense platform. I'm sorry, this is Nostramo, and your invincible infiltration tactics won't work here."

Alpharius did not answer, so a head was thrown at him.

His eye sockets were deep-set, his eyeballs nowhere to be seen. His jaw was gone, and a mangled tongue hung from the stark white bone, dripping blood. Konrad Curze Curze's voice brushed past his ear the next second.

"I told you, I know who you are, Alpharius."

Another burst of fire rained down, but it was all in vain. The mist dissipated, and darkness had already taken its place. Alpharius, whose figure was no different from the Alpharius, raised his right hand in the crowd, stopping their actions.

For the next five minutes, no one made a sound; only breathing could be heard, until raindrops of liquid fell from the sky and landed on their heads.

The Alpharius looked up, their morale finally wavering irreversibly—they finally knew where the warriors who had vanished into the darkness had gone.

But they preferred not to know.

Above them, corpses and entrails intertwined to form a giant net. Bones formed the base, entrails clung together, blood was the base color, and death was its very name.

The cold wind blew again, and a series of footsteps seemed to come from underground, followed by two heavy thuds, as if someone was knocking on the door—knocking on the door beneath their feet.

"Alpharius, are you there?" the Night Haunter asked with a hidden smile. "I've come to pay a visit."

Alpharius looked down at the ground and sighed softly. "Your mysticism is a real headache, brother. If I had known your true nature beforehand, I would never have taken this suicidal mission."

"It's too late for regrets now, brother," Curze said. "Besides, you yourselves were the ones who started this defeat. If this war had never happened, if those Warp evils hadn't plagued Horus Lupercal, we would never have possessed this power."

"You actually sound quite rational now," Alpharius said in surprise. "I thought you would be angry about what we did."

"That's true, but that doesn't prevent me from having a conversation with you," Curze said calmly. "I know what you're up to; it's nothing more than a two-pronged plan."

"If the infiltration plan fails, then have the main force leap out of Mandeville Point, creating chaos while using sacrificial rituals or arrays to summon Daemon and transform Nostramo into a planet tainted by Chaos."

"But I didn't expect that not only could you not be infiltrated, but there were also no souls to sacrifice on Nostramo," Alpharius replied with a wry smile. "It itself had already been corrupted by that so-called Chaos power."

Konrad Curze Curze responded with a burst of laughter.

"So--"

The next moment, the Night Haunter's voice rang out from behind him.

"Are you ready to die, brother?"

A cold glint flashed.

--

The mist was blown away by the cold wind, and the darkness followed closely behind, dissipating together. Konrad Curze Curze, his armor soaked in blood, appeared in the wilderness of Nostramo.

Over the years, there are not many places left that can still be called "wilderness," as most areas have been occupied by industrialized equipment and newly built cities.

Moonlight streamed down, illuminating his pale face. Curze stared thoughtfully at the head in his hand, remaining silent until the voice of Eighth Company Commander Anric Barbatos rang out, at which point he moved again, as if the dead had come back to life.

"Primarch— " Anric Barbatos rasped, black flames burning fiercely in his eyes. "--The civilians have been evacuated."

"Are they all evacuated?" Curze asked, turning his head.

"Yes."

"What kind of efficiency is this?" the Lord of Blades asked, utterly bewildered. "Only three hours into the war, and you've already evacuated civilians from all over the world? Damn it, if only you were this efficient at handling paperwork normally."

"These are two different things, sir."

"What do you mean two different things? They're completely the same thing. I think you guys just don't do enough of this."

As Curze spoke, he casually tossed aside Alpharius's head, as if it were trash.

He gave a cold laugh, stared at Anric Barbatos for a while before looking away and bringing up another matter.

"So, what is the current situation in Nostramo?"

Anric hesitated, tapping his helmet, and didn't answer immediately. Curze glanced at him, then put his arm around him and led him towards the shuttle parked not far away.

"You dare not say that? Then I'll say it for you: the power of the Chaos Gods is vying for and tearing apart this Nostramo with the power of our dear instructor. That's it, it's that simple. Tell me, is this simple or not, Anric?"

The 8th Company Commander nodded with a wry smile, echoing the Primarch's words. A crack appeared on his face as he moved, and dust rose upside down, drifting into the sky.

"Damn Warp."

Konrad Curze Curze looked at him, stopped, glanced up at the abnormally bright moonlight, and muttered a curse in a muttered tone.

"And that idiot Karyl Lohars"

"Uh--" Anric paused for two seconds, then suddenly took a deep breath. "--That's not a very appropriate thing to say."

"How?"

"Unjustifiably insulting superiors is a serious crime under the internal regulations you drafted."

"He's not my superior, and I didn't insult him without reason. I had a reason, Anric."

Curze glared at him, his Adamantium claws tapping threateningly on his shoulder armor.

"He's not even here, why are you still speaking up for him?"

The Eighth Company Commander gave another bitter smile, broke free from the Primarch's restraints, and transformed into a black flame that dissipated on the spot. When he reappeared, he had already arrived at the hatch of the shuttle.

"I will wait here, Primarch," he said.

The Lord of Blades glanced at him coldly, said nothing, and turned to leave.

His steps were hesitant and slow. The blade had somehow appeared in his right hand, and the next second, he began to run at an unimaginable speed.

He traversed burning cities, deserted mines, and bright yet desolate Hive City, finally arriving at a small house perched atop a building.

The grand gate that Rogal Dorn had built was gone, replaced by a simple, unpretentious wooden door. Curze pushed it open, his cloak billowing across the doorframe.

The room was simply furnished with a table, a chair, and a corner covered with a mattress. This was vastly different from what he remembered; they didn't have such comfortable conditions back then.

The Night Lords slowly raised his right hand, the blade vanishing like a shadow and flowing into his gauntlet. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, jet-black flames blazed within them.

The sky over Nostramo suddenly darkened, and a burning, shattered crown appeared in the air. Countless people witnessed this scene, but only a very few understood what it meant.

Inside the room, the air grew increasingly chilly. The Night Haunter waited calmly until a certain critical point was reached, at which point the world before him changed in an instant.

Before him appeared a narrow passage shrouded in mist, and an old man holding Aquila scepter.

"Your father awaits, Lord of the Blades," the Sigillites Malcador spoke softly.

"Which one?" the Wraith asked deliberately.

Malcador looked up at him, but didn't answer; he just sighed.

"That knife—" he held out his right hand. "—We need it."

"I know, otherwise I wouldn't have come here." The Wraith nodded calmly. "But I need to see him."

He's not here.

"Stop lying, Malcador. I can always tell a lie from a lie. He's right here. Let him out."

The Sigillites nodded silently, tapping the ground lightly with his staff. The lies vanished, and the Webway- like scene instantly disappeared. The wasteland filled with ashes took its place, and the pale palace was now brighter than ever before. This world had never been so vibrant.

A skeleton stood before him, its mask firmly fastened to its face.

The Night Haunter smiled slightly and casually summoned a blade.

"Take off the mask," he said softly. "I want to see my father's face."

--

Twenty minutes later, Konrad Curze Curze boarded a shuttle and left Nostramo.

He will head to Terra.

With boundless hatred, with immense sorrow.

This chapter is 5k words long and is now complete.

I was supposed to update 3k today, but I'm a bit tired, so I'll postpone it for another day (hopefully it won't snowball).