A group of Night Lords scattered silently through the vast space hulk like phantoms. Agile and swift, they slipped soundlessly through the labyrinthine passageways between the ship's compartments.
Every one of these Night Lords was a master assassin. Well versed in the art of concealment, they began a thrilling campaign of assassination against the unsuspecting Orks, relying on exquisite skill and exceptional agility.
Every strike was incomparably precise, like the arrival of Death itself, effortlessly wiping out Ork after Ork.
These cunning and cruel Night Lords were not satisfied with that. They deliberately toyed with the poor Orks.
Sometimes they flashed before the Orks' eyes, then vanished without a trace in an instant; sometimes they let out chilling, sinister laughter, intending to make the Orks shudder in terror.
Yet the Orks felt no fear. Instead, they were thoroughly enraged, frantically searching everywhere for the Night Lords' shadows, only to find nothing. They could only sink into endless madness and fury.
In a dim corner, a Night Lord lay silently in wait. His sharp, hawk-like eyes fixed on the group of Orks not far ahead, their backs completely exposed to him. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a scornful sneer.
"Heh heh! You stupid fools actually dared to leave your backs exposed to me? You're simply asking to die."
The Night Lord muttered to himself in a low voice.
He lightly activated the silent jetpack on his back. Its powerful thrust sent him streaking like lightning toward the few Orks facing away from him.
At the same time, the curved blade clenched in his hand gleamed with a chilling, icy light beneath the faint illumination, as though heralding the arrival of death.
Just as the Night Lord was about to close in on one of the Orks, an accident