Since a very, very long time ago, Konrad Curze had been pondering a question: How did one kill a god?
Nightfall sailed calmly through a field of debris.
As early as two centuries ago, Curze had been unable to find any fuel at all, yet its engines could still provide power at maximum output. This made traveling to Terra possible—Holy Terra, humanity's former homeworld, the starting point of the Great Crusade... He had not returned in a very long time. His last visit had been thousands of years ago.
Back then, he had killed Fulgrim on Terra.
The lord of the Eighth Legion rose thoughtfully. The hem of his floor-length robe brushed against the ground, making a soft rustling sound.
He left the meditation chamber at a slow pace and arrived at Nightfall's main bridge. Once, three hundred and twenty-seven crew members had worked here, handling every matter in perfect order. Now, there was no one. Thin mist drifted between dust-covered cogitator arrays. The surroundings were dark and unlit, frighteningly silent.
Like a ghost, he drifted through it all. Surrounded by emptiness and dust, he came before a viewport and saw a shattered planet.
The wreckage of countless warships layered around it, like some peculiar kind of tombstone.
Nightfall slowly approached them, passed over them, and finally left them behind.
Konrad Curze withdrew his gaze, left the bridge, and returned to his meditation chamber.
The room could not be called small, but only a few meters of it truly remained for him. Most of the space was occupied by weapons or armor. They belonged to other primarchs, to those who had once been his brothers. He walked to the center of the room, sat cross-legged, and used the Calibanite meditation method personally taught to him by the lord of the