Dominus Nox

[Gree]

Author’s Note: This is part of a Night Lords short story I wrote up. Expect two more parts to this.

 

 

******************

 

The figure in Terminator plate walked down the pitch-dark halls. A lesser man might stumble, but the figure needed no light to see. Like the rest of his brethren he was born in the darkness. Nostramo was not a kind world, but it did leave a few gifts for her sons.

 

He had a name, but his brothers simply called him The Bane. He was a great brute of an Astartes, clad in blue-black Terminator plate trimmed in dull bronze. One bore the winged skull of the VIII Legion while the other shoulder pauldron was forged into a black saber-toothed Nostraman lion, the sign of the Night Lords First Company, the Atramentar. His head was shaven and his face covered by a rebreather mask strapped across his mouth and jaw. Faintly one could hear the hoo-pah as the rebreather systems worked.

 

Skulls clacked against his ceramite plates as he moved resolutely towards the door. Then the Terminator stopped for a moment and then looked into the shadows. Murder-servitors stood resolutely in the darkness, weapons trained to protect the commander of the warband.

 

‘’It’s alright. I come with news,’’ He told them..

 

The cybernetic figures paused for a moment as they scanned him. Then after a few moments they ascertained his identity and stepped back. Bane walked past the cybernetic killers with saying a word. They wouldn’t appreciate any thanks regardless.

 

In the chambers here there was only one source of light, a single blu-glo strip, the type that had been used by the noble houses of Nostramo in ages past. It was one of the few affectations that his lord had kept after all these millennia.

 

‘’Lord Vayne?’’ Bane knelt, the servos of his armor protesting as he got on the ground.

 

Before him sat a dark figure on a throne. Jet black eyes looked up as the figure shifted. Bane was reminded of one of the Nostroman saber-lions of old, a proud, majestic creature of great grace and lethality.

 

Brutus Vayne’s armor was artificer-forged, a relic of the Great Crusade and the Heresy. His features were aristocratic and as pale as marble. He wore a pair of master-crafted lightning claws and a long ebony cloak over his blue-black war plate. His breastplate bore a golden bat while his shoulder guards depicted the winged skull.

 

‘’Speak,’’

 

‘’Your brother awakens with news,’’ Bane told him.

 

At this Vayne shifted up, power armor whirring softly to Bane’s superhuman senses. The Night Lord Captain walked past Bane as the Terminator rose from his position on the ground and followed him. The seer had finally given his visions.

 

‘’Who restrains him?’’ Vayne asked.

 

‘’First Claw milord,’’ Bane answered. ‘’Some of my Atramentar are present as backup.’’

 

Vayne stalked through his ship, mortal serfs cringing out of his way and his own warriors saluting with respect to their lord and master. He crossed through deck after night-shrouded deck before finally coming to the hallways he was looking for. Several warriors of First Claw, let by Drakon were outside the Sorcerer’s door. This was a forbidden part of the ship with few servants venturing here for good reason. Here the Sorcerer-Librarian of the 38th Company rested.

 

‘’Silly silly Stolos. Breaking some of his toys. You should really put him on a leash,’’ Hofnnar said as he mock-pressed his ear against the door. The marine was a monstrous figure, with filthy green-dyed hair and a pair of twisting scars cut into the sides of his mouths. It gave the disconcerting effect that he was always grinning.

 

‘’Shut up,’’ Vayne’s voice was cold. Hofnnar withdrew from the door and gave a mock bow.

 

‘’You know I’m right. I don’t recall him ever having a fit this bad,’’ Hofnnar mused.

 

A silken rasp silenced him as Vayne’s lightning claws slid from their gauntlets, a hazy blue field casting a faint glow over the Night Lords. Hofnnar did not fear death, but Vayne could be inventive in his tortures.

 

‘’Shutting up now,’’ murmured Hofnnar as he withdrew. The Night Lord Captain withdrew his attention away from him and to a scarred bald Astartes with one crimson augmetic eye.

 

‘’Is he lucid?’’ Vayne asked.

 

‘’Yes Lord Vayne,’’ The leader of First Claw nodded respectfully. ‘’He’s smashed up a few servitors during one of his fits though.’’ The sergeant told him. The Nostramo-born was Vayne’s trusted right hand, having served with him since they were initiates.

 

‘’Replaceable,’’ Vayne dismissed that and gestured for the door to open. The place inside was typically dark like everything else save for the faint flickering candles in the dark. There was a gasp of pain as a figure rose up from the ground.

 

Two of the Atramentar hauled a figure out of the room. Between the two massive Terminators was a figure in blue-black robes with the Legion symbol emblazoned on the front. Vayne knelt and stared into features that echoed his own.

 

‘’Brother,’’ Stolos Vayne nodded.

 

‘’What did you see my brother?’’ Brutus asked, helping him up to his feet.

 

‘’Us dying on that world. Our corpses picked apart by the ravens and everything burning. Everything burned and burned,’’ Stolos recalled his visions. That was the curse of the Haunter’s geneseed. The psykers of the Night Lords Legion gazed upon traumatic visions of death and destruction, often seeing the worse possible futures.

 

‘’Does it have what I require?’’ Brutus asked.

 

‘’Yes,’’ Stolos nodded. ‘’Stockpiles of armor and weapons to replenish the company. I saw them, lined up in long racks.’’

 

‘’Astartes-grade?’’ Brutus asked.

 

‘’Astartes-grade,’’ Stolos nodded.

 

‘’Can you take us to that world you saw in your visions?’’ Brutus asked.

 

‘’Yes. I have its warp-scent. I will aid the astropath in guiding it.,’ Stolos

 

‘’Good,’’ Brutus turned to the others.

 

‘’Leave,’’ He commanded. Quickly and quietly the Night Lords left the two brothers alone. Brutus looked into his brother’s eyes.

 

‘’It’s getting worse isn’t it?’’ Brutus asked.

 

Stolos grimaced. ‘’I can handle this. It’s our gene-father’s legacy.’’

 

‘’True, but it is also a self-destructive legacy. I will not see you burn out. Not after we have survived so much,’’ Brutus stated.

 

‘’I won’t, ‘’ Stolos grasped his brother’s shoulder guard. ‘’I won’t.’’

 

************************

 

Officially they where known as First Claw, the command group of the 38th Company. Unofficially they were nicknamed the Chiropterans, some sort of sly reference to the VIII Legion’s Terran origins. They contained Lord Vayne’s personal retinue.

 

‘’You can’t deny it you know. Do you really trust his brother’s visions?’’ Hofnnar asked.

 

‘’He’s Lord Vayne’s brother. His tolerance for you only pushes so far,’’ Drakon noted.

 

Hofnnar laughed. He did that a lot.

 

Drakon and Hofnnar were part of the same generation recruited from the slums of Nostramo. Drakon was the younger of the two, although favored more by Lord Vayne than Hofnnar. After all, nobody trusted Hofnnar. Nobody.

 

Drakon himself was cast in very much the same mold as Curze. His black hair was close-cropped and his dark intelligent eyes peered out thoughtfully. He wore a lovingly maintained suit of MK IV Maximus plate, scrawled with Nostraman runes and decorated with chains of bones. He carried his helmet under one arm, the augmetic one that replaced the limb that the Dark Angels took at Thramas.

 

Drakon was probably the closest thing that Vayne had to a second in command among the Chiropterans. He traditionally led the group when Vayne was not present, but that was really more due to the likes Hofnnar or Iruel Cifer not especially caring.

 

‘’What say you on this matter our brother of ours?’’ Hofnnar asked sarcastically.

 

Iruel Cifer grunted. The assault champion wore a battered suit of MKIII armor that was covered in his favoured trophies. He had helms from the Ultramarines, the Space Wolves, the Salamanders and others. That was just the trophies he wore on his person. His personal chambers had their own trophy room with walls full of especially cherished skulls.

 

Iruel Cifer was probably the best fighter in raw skill, if only barely beating out Lord Vayne himself. Cifer had a remarkable skill with blades that Lord Vayne had nurtured since he inducted the warrior into First Claw all those centuries ago. Now he served as Lord Vayne’s personal champion and the teeth of First Claw. Maybe Cifer could have made a play at leadership, but he was a killer, not a leader.

 

He wore an ornate masterfully crafted power sword on his back. The Night Lords boasted few knight-artisans compared to Legions like the Blood Angels or Emperor’s Children, but they did boast some. Cifer’s blade was a finely balanced blade with the hilt crafted into the Legion heraldry. With a touch of its activation rune the blade would be surrounded by a field of crackling energy,

 

‘’As expected nothing from our esteemed blademaster,’’ Hofnnar lamented sarcastically.

 

‘’Do I have to suggest that you stop prodding him?’’ Drakon told him.

 

‘’I’m just making a simple inquiry,’’ Hofnnar’s mutilated face twisted into a hideous grin. He wore a salvaged suit of MK V. The several heads of Eldar Harlequins hung from his trophy belt and his helm was shaped into a grinning daemonic face.

 

But he most notably fact about him was his gauntlets were painted a sinner’s red. It was an old Nostraman tradition that had carried over to the modern day Legion. The man with a sinner’s mark on him was walking condemned, his life at the whim of his commander.

 

Drakon knew that Hofnnar was on First Claw so that Lord Vayne could effectively keep an eye on him. If Hofnnar was bothered by the executioner’s blade hanging over his head, he made no indication of it at all.

 

Privately Drakon thought that Hofnnar held the stench of warp-taint about him, although he was not willing to press the matter further. His fellow Night Lord had a penchant for twisted murder that was notable even among the Night Lords.

 

‘’Don’t mock me with false innocence,’’ Drakon told him.

 

‘’Mocking is what I do best,’’ Hofnnar pointed out. ‘’After all, I al already a dead man walking. What do I fear from death?’’ he laughed. Drakon hated that warp-damned hyena laugh of his.

 

Eventually Hofnnar stopped chuckling.

 

‘’I’m sorry. I just find it amusing that our feared warlord still shows softness to his brother. After all the things we have done we still does that,’’ Hofnnar mused.

 

‘’It’s his brother,’’ Drakon pointed out.

 

‘’We killed many of our brothers before. What should blood matter?’’ Hofnnar questioned.

 

‘’Shut up,’’ Cifer said, his voice soft, but dangerous. ‘’We have had this discussion many times before. Silence yourself before I cut out your tongue. Try and laugh then.’’ The swordsman threatened.

 

Hofnnar wisely decided to shut up. Shrugging, a curious gesture in power armor, he walked off into the slave quarters of the ship, probably to satisfy his bloodlust. He did that whenever he got upset. Drakon watched him leave before moving off to the bridge. They had course corrections to make.

 

***************

 

Serfs and servitors moved around the dark arming chamber. Servo-arms and loading cranes moved weapons and various armor pieces about. Here the warriors of the 38th Company prepared for the war ahead. Some warbands had only a few slaves after ten millennia of bloody warfare. Not so the warriors of the 38th. Lord Vayne had carefully husbanded a stock of skilled labor to personally provide armament services to his warriors.

 

Stolos stood as a servitor lifted blue-black armor plates into his arm. A breastplate and leg plating had already been donned and piece by piece Stolos’s warplate was being assembled. There was a hiss of steam as his left gauntlet was secured.

 

Stolos’s armor, like many of his brother Night Lords, was a mixture of original Heresy-era plate and various scavenged pieces of armor plate. The Sorcerer himself took great pleasure in taking armor pieces from fallen Librarians. His left greave had originally been from a Dark Angel Librarian, while his right gauntlet and shoulder guard had originally been from an Imperial Fist Codicer. Both had long since been repainted and rune-etched by Stolos himself.

 

As a pair of serfs readied the plates for his right arm armor, Stolos looked up, closing his jet black eyes. He could feel the whisperers of the warp brush lightly against his mind. He steeled himself against the temptations of the daemons. He had seen many of his fellow Night Lord Librarians go mad or possessed by daemons. Stolos swore to never let that happen to him.

 

They had both been privileged children back on Nostramo. Brutus was his father’s heir, educated in ways of warfare and government to manage the noble estate that the Vayne’s had fiercely defended over the long centuries.

 

Then their parents had died, killed by a rival gangster. Brutus and Stolos got vengeance in a way, when the Night Haunter slaughtered their parent’s murderer and hung him in the spires of the Vayne family estates. He had remembered the awed look on his brother’s face when he had caught a glimpse of the Haunter in the night after the killer had been impaled. Stolos always though then Brutus was truly inspired to follow Curze at that moment.

 

Brutus and his brother were one of the first recruits to be taken from Nostramo into the VIII Legion. Brutus entered to instill justice on the rest of the universe in memory of his idol. Stolos followed him out of loyalty to his brother.

 

Loyalty was rare on Nostramo. Stolos had seen drug-addicted mothers sell their own children for a chance at another drug hit. He had seen son’s murder fathers for a chance to move up in the criminal hierarchy. Perhaps it was their parents’ early death, or their relatively sheltered existence that had bred such loyalty into Stolos. As a boy the sorcerer had always looked up to Brutus. Strong, smart and charismatic Brutus.

 

Service in the Night Lords Legion was not easy or pleasant. The initiation trials were hellish, but the brothers pushed through it. Brutus ascended the command ranks while Stolos himself had been taken away for tuition in the Night Lord fledging Librarium.

 

The Librarian program had been set up by Primarchs Magnus, Sanguinius and the Khan. Stolos had studied and served under the tuition of a Thousand Sons names Asten Aktar to learn how to harness his warp-spawned powers. And learn he did. Eventually he became a full Astartes and was promptly assigned to his brother’s squad. Brutus, then a senior company sergeant, led his squad through some of the most brutal conflicts in the Great Crusade while Stolos fought alongside him.

 

Nearby a serf-girl dressed in the midnight blue robes of the Legion serfs stumbled and spilled a bit of oil on the armor of a nearby Astartes. Stolos recognized Garlok of Tenth Claw by the ritualistic terror markings on his helm.

 

Garlok looked down at the stain over his armor and rose up, the hum of his active power armor reaching a loud buzz as he reached for a skinning knife at his belt. The girl gave a muffled squeak of utter terror as she fell back on the ground.

 

A single blue-black gauntlet reached out to grab Garlok’s knife-hand before it descended.

 

‘’What?’’ Garlok looked at the offender.

 

‘’She is mine,’’ Vlad Orloc stated. He was a massive brute of a Marine. His helm was crafted in the shape of a fearsome wolf skull with gargoyle wings spouting from the sides and sweeping back. It was a trophy taken from the corpse of a Space Wolf warrior and reworked in the image of the VIII Legion.

 

Vlad looked at the slave-girl. ‘’Show him it.’’

 

With trembling fingers the girl hesitantly lifted up a single silver disc. On it was unmistakably the heraldry of the VIII Legion. On it was daubed Vlad Orloc’s personal sigil.

 

‘’One of my personal serfs,’’ Orloc wretched Garlok’s hand to the side and released him. ‘’My property. Go find a slave of your own to kill. But do not touch mine.’’ He said coldly. One gauntlet gripped the haft of his bat-winged crozius, the Punisher.

 

Garlok stepped back. Orloc was a Claw leader and the former Chaplain of the warband. Ten millennia ago, the Chaplain edict had been established to watch over the disbanded Librarians after the Nikaea edict. With some amusement Curze had set up a group of Chaplains to monitor his disbanded Librarians, but then shortly after, the Legion declared for Horus. Orloc still retained his crozius, but he was now another squad leader, rather than Chaplain. He had supposedly sent to watch Stolos when he was forcibly retired by the Nikaea edict, but that had ended ten millennia ago.

 

The member of Tenth Claw retreated back, before barking at one of Tenth Claw’s own serfs to come over and clean it off. Orloc looked back at the serf-girl and gestured for her to move on. She did no quickly.

 

‘’That was merciful of you,‘’ Stolos commented.

 

Orloc gave a cold harsh laugh. ‘’I’m just teaching Tenth Claw their place in things,’’ He told the Librarian.

 

Stolos nodded. He hardly cared about the inter-Claw rivalry. Due to his powers he had always stood rather distant from his battle brothers. He had few brothers that he regularly conversed with.

 

‘’My lord. Your helm and sword,’’ A servitor droned. A powered backup was linked up to Stolos’s warplate and a low hum filled the Sorcerer’s ears. The servitor before him presented Stolos’s helm. It was a MKVI helm, crafted specially to resemble an owl’s beak. The Sorcerer accepted it and put it on. Nostraman runes crawled across his vision and targeting reticules displayed themselves. Two servitors handed a curved force sword to him. Rune flared along the blade’s edge as Stolos took it and sheathed it at his side.

 

Then he walked out. His brother was waiting for him.

 

************

 

The Prince of Shadows had translated in the far side of the Carias system, Void-Mistress Verenka keeping to a nebula as to avoid detection by the Imperial sensors, she need to have feared as no Imperial ships were present.

 

The Prince of Shadows was an ancient vessel, a masterful example of her kind. The ship had been one of the many tens of thousands of strike vessels used by the Astartes Legions to conquer the Great Crusade. Very few of its kind were in service to the modern loyalist chapters of today, but many of its type was still used by the traitor Legions.

 

Now it waited patiently at the edges of the Carias system. Soon it would move in, like a wolf preparing to snap up a wounded straggler. Inside the 38th Company of the Night Lords Legion met and planned the raid that they would soon undertake.

 

The tactical center of the Prince of Shadows was a room that had seen much. In the days of the Great Crusade Vayne had attended here as a line sergeant before reaching the rank of Captain. Then it was his turn to direct the wars that the 38th Company had fought. Here he had dictated strategy and tactics during the Heresy and many other wars beyond that.

 

It was a darkly lit room, with a set of holo-projectors being the only light. A black-robed Tech-Adept and a pair of maintenance servitors were the only non-Astartes in the room other than the naval officers. All around the holo-table were the assembled Claw commanders. The low hum of active Astartes power armor filled the room as Vayne walked up to the head of the table. First Claw was behind him.

 

‘’Carias,’’ Vayne gestured with one gauntlet. A single talon slid out to gestured at the light-orb generated by the holo-receptors. His warriors stared at the orb and the light-streams of data-concerning it. Many were veterans of the Great Crusade and the Heresy. Others were newbloods, uplifted with Curze’s geneseed after the Heresy from prisoners and indoctrinated cultists-slaves.

 

‘’This is all the information we have on it, apart from the scans we conducted. The world is a Mechanicus refueling depot station, built into an asteroid pulled into planetary orbit. Here Mechanicus freighters transport shipments of weaponry and armor,’’ Brutus stated.

 

The light orb zoomed in to a single point around the planet. It was an orbital station floating in high orbit around the planet. A crimson glowing light marked out the place Vayne had selected. They all recognized it as an STC storage and manufacturing dock. Vayne gestured to Veranka.

 

She was a woman roughly in her thirties with sharp, angular features and closely-cropped black hair. She wore the old uniform of the Legion naval crew, albeit with all Imperial symbols of allegiance ripped off. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

 

‘’So far no Imperial ships have been detected. I’ve been keeping a cautious route so far into the outer nebula. The depot should have orbital defenses, but

 

I’m confident I can move in quickly and trick the Imperial crews long enough for a boarding assault,’’ Veranka stated. She was a curious case among the

Night Lords. While Vayne possessed perfectly adequate skills in void war, the Night Lord preferred to leave that duty to the mortals of the warband. Veranka held much influence among the warband despite being a non-Astartes.

 

‘’I assume the shipments are our primary objective?’’ Kar Sarath asked. His winged helm was off, exposing his hard angular features and close cropped black hair. A Legion tattoo was inked into the side of his face.

 

Many often said that Kar Sarath should have been an Ultramarine or an Imperial Fist. The Night Lords as a Legion were never the most orderly of Legion, having recruited heavily from a hive world of murderers and criminals, but Kar Sarath’s Second Claw was the most drilled and disciplined unit in the warband.

 

Kar Sarath himself was a dedicated and skilled leader and he had rigorously formed his brothers in Second Claw into a squad that was as tightly drilled as any Ultramarine unit. He served Vayne with a quiet loyalty and dedicated unheard of among renegades.

 

‘’Correct. Second Claw will lead the assault here with the Third, Fourth, Seventh, Eight and Tenth Claws while I will lead First Claw and all our remaining forces here,’’ Vayne marked out the appropriate sections of the map here.

 

‘’My brother’s warp sorcery foretold the shipments would be here and here. Due to recent ork attacks in this sector the depot should be lightly defended. The Imperium had bled much to hold this area of space.’’ The Night Lords Captain pointed to another part of the planet, the holographic figure shifting.

 

‘’For the actual assault we move by boarding torpedo through the wide entrances here. This should be standard STC construction, so the defenses should be weakest here. We moved out to secure the landing bays for Thunderhawk and dropship retrieval,’’ Brutus indicated.

 

‘’Now isn’t that what we like?’’ Hofnnar mused. A series of chuckles sounded around the room.

 

‘’And what about resistance? What did Stolos foretell?’’ Kar Sarath glanced at the Sorcerer, who was now fully cloaked and armored and carrying a force scimitar at his side.

 

‘’Guardsmen. Skitari. Mechanicus dogs mostly,’’ The Sorcerer told him.

 

‘’Of course be prepared for Imperial reinforcements. Expect the unexpected,’’ Vayne gestured.

 

‘’Understood. Most likely mortals then,’’ Kar Sarath nodded.

 

‘’I was hoping for more Astartes,’’ Iruel Cifer mused.

 

‘’We don’t have the time to bleed it out with other Astartes here. We move in and grab the weapons then we withdraw. I do hope that is understood,’’ Vayne nodded.

 

‘’Of course. Mere mortals. But they’ll still be fresh prey for the hunt,’’ Dar-Garoth commented. The Raptor leader was a different breed then the rest of his brothers in the Night Lords. A sicker, leaner and crueler breed. He was the leader of Eighth Claw, also known as the Nightwing. They numbered twenty Raptors and served as terrifying shock troops.

 

His armor was vaguely avian, crafted in the same style as the Raptor cults often sported. No trophies hung on his sleek form, not out of lack of accomplishment, but more due to aerodynamic necessity.

 

‘’Supplies first. The pleasure of the kill second,’’ Vayne empathized. He turned to the rest of the Claw commanders.

 

‘’We need this run. Once we resupply we will head to greater wars were the rest of the Legion warbands are fighting. Then we shall cut down the rotting edifice of the corrupt Imperium. We shall become the blade of justice to avenge our fallen Primarch. Ave Dominus Nox!’’ he bellowed out he last word.

 

‘’Ave Dominus Nox!’’ the rest of the Claw commanders roared.

 

From behind Hofnnar watched from the back, observing the varied reactions of the Claw commanders. Some looked relatively stoic, such as Kar Sarath, others looked excited at the prospect of slaughter and death, like Toten. It privately amused him that Vayne still thought of this as a purely military objective. How funny of him to think that half the men he commanded were not originally murderers, thieves and rapists before they became Astartes.

 

It was the curse of the Night Lords, he thought. There was a certain duality to the Legion and their Primarch, once Curze had been a figure of warped justice in the streets of Nostramo, a figure bringing death to the wrongdoers.

 

Then when the Imperium came to Nostramo, Curze saw the ugly truth as it was laid out before him. His rule was not the only way. Other Primarchs had shaped worlds without the bloody slaughter he had inflicted on his own world. Hofnnar supposed that was when Curze’s darker half began to grow more and more advanced when his nihilistic beliefs grew. Less than a decade after Curze had left Nostramo the Legion’s ranks became filled with the scum of the Nostramoan hives.

 

Vayne of course stood above all that. As the scion of a noble house on Nostramo, he had entered the ranks with his blood brother in tow. Stolos became part of the Night Lords fledging Librarium while Brutus rose through the ranks as one of the Night Haunter’s Captains.

 

Oh, how he had fought on the front lines! Hofnnar should known, he was there. He had served with Brutus in the tactical Claw and then alongside the Raptors squads as they fought on countless alien worlds in the name of the Emperor.

 

Brutus had always had a sense of idealism to him. He honestly believed he was bringing justice and order to the heathen worlds that the Great Crusade came across. He used fear like a finely honed edge and never a tool.

 

Hofnnar meanwhile threw off all those pretentions when Curze declared for the Warmaster and the Night Lords. He always knew what he was at heart. A murderer and a killer. He saw the sad joke of existence that was the Night Lords Legion and he gave fully in to his impulses. Not Vayne though. Vayne still fought on, even after the Haunter’s death, still convinced he was part of some righteous cause to tear down a corrupt and decadent Imperium. Of course that was part of why Hofnnar was amused by him.

 

Of course now came the time for slaughter. He could feel it in his bones. Soon he would be taking Imperial lives once more in the long war. Hofnnar smacked his mutilated lips and gave a private rictus grin to himself.

 

Ave Dominus Nox indeed.

[BassWave]

Yay you are back! :)

 

Liking this so far. More than a few references to the Batman comics :tu:

 

Looking forward to more ^_^

[Paradigm]

The batman references are a nice touch. The story isn't bad. I think you could turn this into a great story with minimal editing, and a little rewriting. Great start, I'm going to keep coming back to this. If you want any specific constructive crit let me know. I'm one of those weird ones who likes editing.

[Gree]

Author’s Note: Here is part two of three. Tell me if I make any spelling or grammar errrors.

                                                                        Dominus Nox-Chapter Two

Void-mistress Veranka stood at the bridge of the Prince of Shadows. It was low-lit save for the faint light of the communications monitors. That would be a problem for other crew, but the slaves of the Night Lords had grown used to such conditions.

Deck crewmen, servitors and other menials were dispersed around the bridge. Some officers were the originals Nostraman naval officers, having been apart of the ship’s originals crew, now alive ten thousand years later as a result of the Eye’s time violation. Others were press-ganged Navy prisoners, or second generation Nostramans.

Veranka herself was Nostraman, having been recruited originally to fulfill a role as a gunnery officer before rising in rank to command a ship. She had shown an unusual talent for void warfare. Lord Vayne, although competent in void warfare, usually left such things to her, so he could personally engage.

‘’Take us in quickly. I want lances at full power.’’ She instructed. It was a real pleasure commanding the Prince. She was an old craft, having gone through centuries of repairs, but she was also a sterling example of her kind. Vestka felt a certain amount of pride commanding her.

The Prince of Shadows cut through the void brushing through a group of tiny patrols vessels and moving into the orbital plate. Quickly the ship moved rapidly in to boarding range of the orbital plate that had been outlined in the planning session before blasting away with lances and magma bombs.

‘’Their void shields are down,’’ reported a deck officer.

‘’Fire off the boarding torpedoes,’’ she commanded. Veranka watched the runes on the Prince’s command panel blink off as the wave of boarding torpedoes struck through space. She watched as the seconds ticked by.

‘’We’re in,’’ came Lord Vayne over the communications system.

’Good,’’ said Bane besides her. The massive Atramentar champion stood in his Terminator plate next to Vestka. He was personally on hand to oversee the drop and keep a watchful eye on the bridge crew. The Legion serfs were unlikely to rebel, but Vayne was a paranoid individual and had kept Ninth Claw, Eleventh Claw and the Atramentar back as reserves. Hoo-pah, hoo-pah, came the ever present hiss of the rebreather.

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of them. She knew they were the remnants of the Night Lords First Company, rescued by Lord Vayne and brought aboard many years ago, in the days when the Night Lords Legion splintered apart.

The other Legion masters had an air of swaggering superiority, but the Atramentar had a different sort of calm confidence about them, like a large predator in a pack of smaller predators. To Vestka it seemed like even the other Night Lords feared the Atramentar, except for Lord Vayne of course.

‘’The defenses are being taken out as we speak by our fighter wings. It should be easy prey from here on out.’’ Vestka told him.

‘’Excellent. Maintain course around here. I don’t expect any reinforcements, but you must be prepared to extract the Claws if that becomes necessary,’’ Bane told her. He had his helm off, but Vestka could hardly see much of his face, as it was obscured by that rebreather.

‘’As you command my lord,’’ the said.

Then Bane turned around and left. She didn’t dare ask where he was going.

******

Lord Vayne stood, fully armed and armored, as the boarding torpedoes exit hatch runes flashed red in the darkness. They had cut through the void after each pod had been fired from the Prince of Shadows. So far Veranka had done her job.

Drakon was ready, power fist flexing in one hand, its field off, allowing him to cup his bolter. Cicero had his chainaxe readied in one hand, his smiling helmet fixed over his scarred pallid features. Iruel Cifer had his bolter strapped to this thigh and Legion blade clutched in his gauntlets, horned helm on.

Stolos meanwhile stood at his brother's side, scimitar sheathed and bolter in his hands. His force sword vibrated slightly, as if echoing his own excitement towards the coming battle. Servo-muscles whirled as he suddenly held a hand up to his temple. A sharp pain launched suddenly through his skull.

Ravens, plucking at his eyes…

‘’Stolos?’’ Drakon turned to look at him.

‘’Nothing.’’ The Sorcerer said.

‘’Thirty meters.’’ Droned the mechanized servitor-pilot that was hardwired right into the boarding torpedo’s cognitor banks. Vayne’s gauntlets tightened as he opened up as vox channel.

‘’Twenty meters.’’

Drakon triple checked his bolter.

‘’Ten meters…contact. Cutting lasers starting up….breaching complete.’’ The runes flashed from red to green as Vayne headed towards the front of the torpedo’s assault hatch and unlocked it, the door falling away with a hiss.

Lord Vayne leapt into the hallway below. Nostraman runes crawled across his visor imaginging. He spotted Guardsmen, clad in grey-black puzzle camo and carrying lasguns. Apparently they had been alerted by the ship coming in system, but he hardly expected Astartes to come out.

His lightning claws extended with a harsh silken rasp and he beheaded the first Guardsman with a single sweep of his claws. Then two more were quickly diced into bloody chunks as the Night Lords Captain moved quickly through them. It had been too long since his claws tasted the blood of the Emperor’s slaves.

His armor registered point blank las-rounds, but they were not a threat to him. Like a whirlwind of destruction he hacked through the first squad of Guardsmen and then activated his ornate jump pack, blasting forwards into another platoon of Guardsmen.

‘’We have come for you!’’ he roared.

He hit the deck plating with a thud, crushing the body of a Guardsman beneath him. Bones snapped and organs were pulped as Vayne kicked away the body of the Guardsmen and laid into his comrades with his claws.

Bolters roared as Stolos, Cicero, and Drakon moved in on either side, flanking their Captain. Guardsmen exploded into puffs of crimson mist, the armor-piercing bolter rounds tearing their bodies apart in red chunks. Cifer’s blade flashed as he cut through a group of Guardsmen, each eye-blurring stroke removing heads and limbs with utter ease.

Cicero turned up the vox-caster in his helm and laughed. At maximum volume his shrieking insane laughter caused eyes to bleed and teeth to turn to powder. On and on he laughed, filling the air with insane unnerving cackling.

Across the room, two Guardsmen attempted to set up a pair of heavy bolters to fire on the advancing Night Lords. One of them almost completed his task before Stolos noted them and let loose with a blast of black lightning.

The warp lightning blasted through the bodies of the Guardsmen. Their limbs jerked and their headed exploded as First Claw ripped through the Guardsmen on this level with bolter and blade. In less than two minutes over a hundred and nineteen Guardsmen lay dead.

Then Vayne opened up the vox.

‘’All Claws report,’’ He commanded.

One by one his Claws ticked in. All of them had made it so far. Eight Claws were present so far on the Mechanicus orbital depot. Two Claws and the Atramentar had remained behind on the Prince of Shadows as a reserve.

‘’Fifth, Third and Sixth move in to disable to power generators. Let’s make this our fight.’’ The Captain commanded.

‘’Yes Lord Vayne,’’Orloc answered.

‘’Fourth Claw, seize the armory, Second and Seventh Claws follow on my position to seize the central command room. Everyone else, good hunting.’’ Vayne smirked beneath his helm.

******

Major Acksen tapped his finger nervously as he looked over the communications reports that were flooding into the station. None of them were good. Not only where they under attack, but they were under attack from Traitor Astartes.

He could scarcely believe it. He had seen Astartes before yes, but he had certainly never expected to fight against them. For nine years he and the Elysian 245th had served against the Orks in the Carias system, hunting down warbands of ork pirates.

The assignment of at Carias station was meant to be a cushy assignment where he and his regiment could relax after a long hard fought campaign. That had ended twenty minutes ago when an Astartes strike cruiser had entered range and taken out the station defenses.

Built above the world of Carias II, the Carias depot station was built by the Mechanicus primarily as a means of storing weapons and ammunition for Astartes and Guard regiments across the Segmentum Tempestus.

‘’Can you identify them?’’ he asked Tech-Priest Darfan, effectively head of Mechanicus operations on Carias.

‘’Negative,’’ came the reply. ‘’Explanation: Insufficient data.’’

Acksen bit his lip as he looked over the incoming data, casualties were rapidly mounting up on all sides. Originally his regiment had numbered three thousand men to defend a station that housed thirty thousand workers and servitors. Six hundred Skitari also served to reinforce the station.

Now at least a third of his regiment was dead and gone in less than ten minutes with losses rapidly increasing. The Skitari were also suffering heavy losses and they were the ones barring the way to the command center.

‘’Can you get Brother-Chaplain Werner for me?’’ he asked.

The Raven Guard were here, having dropped off forty Astartes to rest and resupply while their strike cruiser finished conducting anti-pirate operations in the local area of space. They had remained mostly aloof from the Elysian Guardsmen and remained in their own section of the depot.

‘’Establishing contact,’’ droned Darfan. After a moment the light went green.

‘’Brother-Chaplain, this is Major Acksen of the Elysian-‘’

‘’We know who you are. We are also aware of the situation and are moving to help,’’ A deep baritone voice sounded.

*********

Sergeant Thensen swore as the lights in his corridor flickered on and off. In the distance they could hear the loud roar of Astartes-pattern bolters in the distance along with the screams of the dying and obscene war cries.

Astartes. Fracking Astartes. He thought desperately. Thensen was no coward, having over a decade of combat experience against ork pirates in the Carias system. He had faced off against those massive greenskin brutes and lived to tell the tale. He and his men were Schola boys, Stormtroopers attached to the Elysian 245th to serve as shock troops. They were big, well-trained men, clad in massive carapace plate and armed with well-maintained hellguns.

But nothing quite prepared them for fighting Astartes. From what Thensen could gather over the comn net, these traitor Astartes were cutting through all levels of Elysian defenses and pushing deeper into the supply depot.

‘’Hurry it up!’’ he shouted at Lieutenant Carmichael’s heavy weapons platoon. A lascannon and a pair of heavy bolters were being hastily assembled in the chokepoint. Thensen had chosen a good place to make a stand. Here he would have excellent fields of fire to catch the enemy in a crossfire volley.

The doors at the other end budged, as if something massive was smashing against it. Thensen gripped the barrel of his Mars-pattern hellgun tighter and focused at the door while the rest of his squad nervously prepared. Military training never prepared them to fight Astartes.

Then the door was ripped open and darkness flowed out.

Thensen felt like his limbs were freezing, like when he had stuck them into an icy lake once as a child. His heart began to beat faster and faster as his vision swam. He dropped his hellgun to the floor as the terrifying sensations overwhelming him.

Oh God-Emperor....

He felt pain in his fingers. The Elysian sergeant looked down at saw rats that appeared to be gnawing off his fingers, tearing off strips of flesh right all the way to the bone. He screamed and screamed at that sight, his cries of terror mixing in with the rest of his comrades.

He heard a massive stomping noise as the huge figure of a blue-black daemon came in, eyes glowing like the pits of hell itself. There was no trace of pity or empathy in those blazing eyes. Its beaked helmet snarled at him as it raised its hands, darkness flowing out and overwhelming him.

*******

Fifth Claw advanced through the hallways, bolters blasting apart Elysian Guardsmen. A storm of las-bolts fired back at the advancing Astartes, but Orloc’s advance was just far too well executed and swift for them to respond. In the tight corridors the Astartes were tearing apart the Guard in close quarter combat.

Targeting runes selected another terrified Guardsmen and the Fifth Claw leader methodically shot him before switching to another target and blasting the Imperial to bloodied chunks. Really, it was almost too easy to slaughter mortals.

Orloc ’s objective was the power generator rooms. There he could shut off the lighting and life support aboard the depot had he so wished. The Night Lords were already holding the upper hand, but gaining an extra advantage was something they very much desired.

‘’Skitari!’’ Var-Goroth, his pointman exclaimed over the vox net. Orloc ’s attention turned to groups of cybernetically-enhanced Tech-Guard moving up through the wreckage of a loading bay, firing las-blasts and launching grenades at then.

Vlad Orloc gave a clipped command and his warriors immediately reorganized, bolter fire spitting out rounds into the Skitari. Orloc ’s genetically enhanced vision watched a severed arm fly up monetarily, torn off by a close-range bolter round.

Then he detected the forms of two massive servitor constructs. Autocannon fire sounded across the room, knocking two of his warriors down. Then a plasma blast shot out, blowing off Var-Goroth’s right arm and sending the warrior crashing to the ground.

Praetorian combat servitors. Very top of the line. Orloc gave another order as one of those things headed towards him, power fist readied as the other Praetorian launched covering fire for its compatriot.

Night Lord bolters blasted into the first Praetorian and Orloc emptied his clip into the nearest Praetorian, it staggered the heavily armored servitor, blowing away chunks of its protective armor plating, but still it came on.

Orloc drew his crozius. Back in the heady days of the Nikaea Edict, power mauls had been fashioned for use by the Chaplain corps. Orloc had left his Chaplain duties behind when the VIII turned against the Emperor, but he still retained the crozius. It was a massive one-handed power mace, forged into a pair of bladed bat wings. He pressed a rune as the power field ignited on the maul.

The Night Lord moved forward, crozius smashing through the arm joint and then ripping through the Praetorian’s armored skull. Autocannon rounds chewed up the ground behind him, but Orloc was already moving.

Behind him Darshok of Third Claw had moved up and fired a shot from his plasma gun. The superheated blast promptly vaporized the upper half of the Praetorian, halting its mechanical attack.

Orloc got up and chopped his sword forward. Rapidly the three Claws went forward, driving through the ranks of the remaining Elysian Guardsmen. Above Orloc saw armored Skitari move up and open fire on the Night Lords.

Orloc knew the cybernetic servants of the Mechanicus well. With their emotions scrubbed by their implants they would not run like the other Guardsmen. His visor picked out bionic limbs and combat augmentations on the Tech-Guard. These warriors were clad in carapace armor and well-equipped with high-quality lasguns and heavy weapons.

"Fear was a blade that sharpness with every use." The War-Sage Malcharion had said that. Kar Sarath and Lord Vayne were fond of quoting him. It was a true enough statement in Orloc’s experience, but fear mattered little when your enemy was incapable of feeling fear.

Orloc ’s bolter barked as he moved down a crew attempting to set up a autocannon while the Night Lords pressed their attack across the loading bay. Las-fire flickered as the Skitari attempted to flank them. Orloc almost admired their attempts.

‘’Burn them Varkas,’’ He voxed the leader of Sixth Claw.

Sixth Claw favored heavy use of flamers. Their armor had unique Nostraman runes fire-branded into the ceramite plating. Varkas stepped forward and fired a long funnel of burning promethium into the ranks of the Skitari.

Behind him Sixth Claw moved up and bathed the area in more promethium as Fifth and Third Claws moved up, cutting right into the Skitari. To their credit the Tech-Guard fought fiercely against the blue-black giants, but it was too late.

Ahead, Orloc marched forward and hacked through the armored blast door with his crozius. Then he kicked away the shattered wreck of the blast door and promptly steeped into the generator control room of the depot.

Dozens of servitors and Tech-Priests moved around below, attempting to flee from the Night Lords. Orloc ignored them. He let the rest of Fifth Claw move in and gun down the fleeing Mechanicus adepts. Orloc himself moved up to where the lighting controls should be located.

********

Vayne’s claws bisected another Guardsmen while Iruel Cifer hacked through three more Guardsmen. They were nearing the depot control tower where doubtless the Imperial commanders had control of station defenses and communications.

Then the light fell and everything went dark. Vayne smiled beneath his helm.

‘’Preysight,’’ He whispered as the world shifted into an infrared spectrum. The red-orange blots of the Guardsmen shown in the darkness as Vayne launched forward, jump pack blasting him forward as he tore into another groups of Guardsmen.

There were screams of panic and terror. Vayne savored them. This was the natural environment of the Night Lords. The outcome of the battle had never really been in doubt, but now all that remained was the pleasure of the hunt.

First and Fourth Claws killed and killed their way up the tower. Squad icons blinked on Vayne’s visor as he ordered the Nightwing to move out and hunt the rest of the fleeing Guardsmen down. He didn’t want any of them regrouping.

Ahead Vayne’s claws ripped through the armored blast doors, the force-fielded talons tearing through the ceramite and adamantium sheets like paper. Then he stepped in, claws readied as his crimson-eyed helm looked around.

There were sixteen figures on the bridge. Vayne identified five Guardsmen, a tech-priest and the rest menials. One raised a pistol at him and he identified it as a plasma pistol. Not for his armor. He activated his jump pack in a short burst and landed on a group of menials near the command as his helm visor polarized.

The blast has missed him by less than a meter, the heat blackening his armor plate. The commander turned around to fire a second short, but he never got a chance. Vayne’s lightning claws flashed out and removed the commander’s arm.

The Guardsmen screamed as red-orange fluids flashed across Vayne’s Preysight. One lightning claw impaled the Guard commander as Vayne hefted him up and tossed his corpse away to land with a wet thud nearby.

The Night Lords commander than cranked his helm’s vox-caster settings up to maximum as the rest of the brothers entered the room and he screamed. His sonic shriek sent mortals stumbling to the ground, ears and eyes bleeding.

Quickly and efficiently ,the rest of First Claw moved among the remaining bridge crew and slaughtered them all while Vayne retracted his claws and moved over to the station defenses. He looked over the monitors.

‘’Drakon?’’

‘’Yes my lord?’’

‘’Bring up our Tech-adepts and slice this thing.’’

*********

Deep below in the Carias depot station, forty massive figures waited in the darkness. Like the Night Lords above, they were used to the shadows and darkness, having fought their entire lives in those places.

They were the Raven Guard, the Nineteenth Legion. Founded ten millennia ago, they had fought ever since for the God-Emperor of mankind. A thousand chapters existed in the Emperor’s realm, but few held as much glory as a First Founding Chapter like the Raven Guard.

Brother-Chaplain Werner of the Raven Guard led four squads. Three Tactical squads from the Sixth Company and a single Vanguard veteran squad from the Raven Guard First Company. They had been dropped off here a week ago by the Raven Guard strike cruiser, the Ebon Talon.

The Carias sector had seen a rise in ork pirate attacks, and the Chapter Master had granted a plea that the 6th be sent to help cleanse the area. Werner had dropped off to this station partially to oversee supply requirements and to watch for any ork pirates.

In truth the Raven Guard Chaplain had hardly expected much. Despite the recent upsurge in greenskin raids, this place was a rather minor remote station. He and his men had busied themselves with training and drills, but they had not expect any kind of action.
Well now that illusion of peace had been rudely interrupted.

Werner turned around to see the rest of the assembled Astartes. Barely eight minutes ago an attack had occurred. He had ordered his brothers to assemble their war plate and proceed to the surface. By the time they had reached Deck 42-B he had gotten Acksen’s transmission. After that the Raven Guard had tapped into the Guard communications network, but they were of little help, the comns being garbled and filled with screaming Guardsmen.

Staring out a viewport, Werner saw the massive form of a boarding pod in the distance. It was an antiqued pattern, no longer used by the modern chapters, but they were still in heavy use by the Traitor Legions.

Werner’s helm picked out the image of a winged skull on a blue-black field. He knew that symbol well from Chapter archives.

‘’The betrayers of Istvaan,’’ Sergeant Barus breathed in anger, his white painted helm looking out. The Veteran Sergeant was a celebrated veteran of the First and recognized the symbol as well.

‘’The VIII Legion. So know we who is attacking the station.’’ Werner mused. His black gauntlet gripped his crozius. The weapon was forged into an avian skull with skeletal wings. The crozius, like Werner’s warplate, was millennia old, having first shed traitor blood during the days of the Horus Heresy.

‘’Brothers! The Emperor has smiled on us.’’ Werner spoke, accessing the vox net. He looked over the assembled sons of Corax, each clad in black war plate. All of them armed and readied for war.

‘’The betrayers of Istvaan have come here. The Night Lords are cowards. They strike at the weak in hope of easy prey. Let us shown them the folly of our mistake. Let us pay them back in our father’s memory.’’ Werner gave a cold smile underneath his skull helm.