[center][img]http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/40k/images/0/0b/Imperial_skull_black.png/revision/latest?cb=20120512192140[/img]
A single, muted whisper, followed by deafening silence: [i]“Death.”[/i]
[sub]- Void Stalker warcry[/sub]
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[i]Early M31
540,025km above the surface of Harkonnen IV[/i]

The void battle was progressing exactly as planned. Gorseval actually felt a slight twang of disappointment as the satisfaction at successfully executing his strategy ebbed away, like it always inevitably did. Was this going to be another easy victory? 

As if the man had been reading his mind, one of the mortal crewmen of the [i]Eclipse[/i] spoke up. “Sir... our sensors are detecting an enemy vessel making its way towards us. It's... the size...” He fell quiet and looked up at the Primarch on his iron captain's chair, concern etched on his young face. Gorseval closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, sailing unobstructed through dozens of miles of the void, until he sensed what the ensign was talking about. 

It had been hidden behind a field of Roks before and probably spent the enterity of the battle turning around, but it was definitely visible now. Gorseval's chair descended to the floor and he got to his feet, making his way towards the towering void-windows that formed the fourth wall of the bridge. The enemy vessel seemed not to have a care in the world as it smashed through debris fields and entire ships alike, absorbing an unfathomable amount of punishment. With every passing second, more Void Stalker-ships trained their guns on the approaching behemoth and opened fire – it was so large that it was impossible to miss. 

More than three hundred miles long from tip to toe, the Ork flagship revealed itself: a Space Hulk. Gorseval's face was unreadable as his precognitive powers confirmed the ensign's fears. “It's on a crash course,” Gorseval said gravely. “There's no time to escape its path. Direct [i]all[/i] power to the Lance batteries. Disable the engines. Kill the lights, if you must,” the Primarch commanded. Bleached white with fear, the [i]Eclipse's[/i] crew nonetheless did as they were told. The [i]Eclipse[/i] fell oddly silent and went dark, leaving only the essential cogitator displays and holo-screens on. Gorseval briefly turned his head to look at his crew and saw their terrified faces in the gloom, lit from beneath by faint green and yellow light. There was something distinctly unearthly about the sight. 

The vox-channel jumped to life with the voices of several different Void Masters. “My lord, why aren't you turning? It'll crush you--” 
“There's no time, you fool, the [i]Eclipse[/i] is far too slow. We have to destroy it.” 
“[i]Void Maw[/i] opening fire.” 
“Can we even destroy it? I've never seen such a vessel in my life.”
“Nasgalur, now is not the time for pessimism. We have no choice. It [i]must[/i] be destroyed.” 

Their bickering continued while Gorseval calmly spoke a single word: “Fire.” 

–

Aboard the Space Hulk, the insane Mek-Kaptain Murlok Moonsmasha bellowed and screamed in rage. He stomped around the kommand centa inside his armored Deff Dread and smashed everything in his reach. “DAMN DEEZ 'UMIES! SHOOTIN' ME FLEET TA BITZ BEFORE I EVEN GOTS TO DA GOOD FIGHT! I'M GONNA SMASH 'EM ALL!” Pausing to take a breath, he turned to face his subordinate Mekboys, a gleam of madness-fueled inspiration in his beady eyes. “Fetch da Kommandos... an' fire up me tellyporta. Da big 'un.” He dismissed them with a wave of his Power-Klaw and starting laughing quietly. “Da Hulk will get 'em... unless I gets dere first.” 

–

The overwhelming barrage of firepower from the Void Stalker fleet had slowed the Space Hulk down a little bit, but they were far from stopping it. More of the Ork ships had turned around and followed the Space Hulk, hurling themselves heedlessly into the line of fire – but every fired shot that was wasted on them was one that didn't hit the Hulk. 

Aboard the [i]Event Horizon,[/i] Void Master Balthasith the Destroyer watched with a heavy gaze. His ship's powerful broadside armaments were doing what they could as they kept pace with the Hulk, but he feared it wouldn't be enough. By his side stood Asmodal, the largest Astartes in the Legion and one of Gorseval's oldest allies. “Balthasith,” Asmodal said, his voice low. “This is not going to work. Gorseval is going to die if we don't--” 

Frustrated, Balthasith snapped. “And what do you suggest, Asmodal? That we ram the damn thing?” 

After a short pause, Asmodal replied. “Yes, Void Master. And then we board it. The entire First Chapter. The outer layer of the Hulk is too thick to pierce to reach the core before it crushes the [i]Eclipse[/i], but if we board it, I swear to the Silent King we can tear through the xenos filth like a hot knife through butter. I will gladly lay down my life to save him.” 

Balthasith opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He frowned, cleared his throat, scratched his head and finally said: “I can't think of a better idea, Stalker-Master. Prepare the Chapter.” Asmodal nodded and ran off, his Terminator-armored footsteps thundering heavily. Balthasith turned to face his crew. “Direct 67% power to the prow-shields, all remaining power to the engines. Turn to starboard, sharp as can be.”

“S-sir?” 

Beyond patience, Balthasith bellowed: “Do it! That's an order! By the hallowed void, we're going to ram this thing like your Primarch's life depends on it, [i]because it does![/i]” 

–

Gorseval had been staring down the approaching Space Hulk as if he hoped the intensity of his gaze would cause it to move aside. Something stirred in the back of his mind and he turned around a split second before the ship's alarm sirens started wailing. They interrupted the eerie silence that stifled the [i]Eclipse[/i] – it had just finished another salvo and the Lance batteries were recharging. At the sound of the loud alarms one of the crew yelled “Intruders!”, jabbing his finger at his holo-screen. “We've been boarded!” 

“I know,” Gorseval said as he shut off the alarms with a wave of his hand. As fortune would have it, the entire Seventh Chapter, along with Void Master Ectheliar, were currently aboard the [i]Eclipse[/i] after their own ship had been destroyed in the Void Stalkers' last campaign. Gorseval alerted Ectheliar with a short telepathic ping, commanding him to make his Chapter battle-ready. [i]The enemy is upon us.[/i] 

While the [i]Eclipse's[/i] crew was frantically discussing how it was possible that they had already been boarded without a single enemy ship pressed against their flank, Gorseval had already figured it out. [i]Deep-strike teleportation.[/i] He knew the Ork Mekboyz were capable of making incredibly advanced technology work through (what seemed to be) sheer force of will, but this was an extraordinary example. The armsmen that guarded the bridge, ordinary warriors recruited from the Reach's [i]Aegis[/i] militia, flocked to the Primarch to form a defensive cordon around him, but Gorseval shook his head. “Protect the crew,” he commanded instead. “Keep firing the Lance batteries, and don't restore the lights. We fight better in the dark.” 

With slow, deliberate movements, Gorseval reached over his shoulder with his right hand and wrapped his armored fingers around the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. He unsheathed the blade, revealing an enormous Force greatsword, eleven feet long from pommel to tip. Everyone on the bridge fell silent and stared in awe – this was the first time any of them had seen the Primarch draw his weapon. The sword's blade was matte black, two feet wide and five inches thick, forged from mysterious metals found in the core of the asteroids of the Reach. Its surface was marked with faint, criss-crossing lines that stretched the full length of the blade in a flawless geometric pattern, forming the largest psi-convector ever built into a handheld weapon by the Imperium of Mankind, attuned specifically to the psychic frequency of Gorseval's more-than formidable mind.

The sword's name was [i]Darkness,[/i] and it had no equal. 

Without another word, Gorseval strode out of the bridge, his black cape fluttering behind him in the still air. The adamantium blast doors closed behind him and Gorseval paused for a second to let his eyes adjust. The corridor that stretched away into the artificial night in front of him was almost entirely without illumination – just the way he liked it. He blinked, satisfied, and resumed his brisk pace. Gorseval could hear very faint gunfire in the distance, along with the muffled crump of detonations. 

The Ork Kommandos spread like wildfire through the length of the ship. Unlike most Orks, these ladz were specialized in fighting from the shadows. They set traps, laid in wait and performed ambushes – much like the Void Stalkers. The battle-brothers of the Seventh weren't as good in shadow warfare as the Unseen of the Third, but they were good enough. As such, a very strange war was being fought in the [i]Eclipse[/i]. It was waged in silence, broken only by the discharge of bolters and sluggas and the sharp cracks of stikkbombs and frag grenades. The Kommandos talked amongst in each other in low, guttural whispers, and the Void Stalkers communicated in short, clipped tones muffled by their helmets. 

Gorseval had faith in his Astartes. He was not hunting the Kommandos. His mind was fixed on a far bigger, brighter soul, flaring this way and that, caught in the throes of insanity; Murlok Moonsmasha. 

–

The [i]Event Horizon[/i] had lodged itself squarely into the hide of the Space Hulk and discharged its lethal cargo inside. The First Chapter of the Void Stalkers, led by Asmodal, had swept into the conglomerate ship like a tidal wave. They took the Orks that infested the Hulk by surprise and took brutal advantage of that. They had no time to waste on playing hide and seek in the darkness and abandoned their Legion's combat doctrine all-but entirely. They carved a straight line towards the kommand centa, relying on their auspex sensors to guide their way. Every wave of Orks that appeared to stop them was mercilessly cut down; Asmodal, terrifying in his Terminator armor, didn't even break his stride. He fought with unnatural ferocity, wiping out entire Ork squads with blasts of his infamous multi-melta before diving into the fray, killing multiple Orks with every swing of his power sword. Nobz were dismembered in seconds. Asmodal struck so hard and so fast it was almost impossible to follow his movements in the werelight of the Space Hulk, and the servos in his armor whirred and whined under the stress. He was pushing the suit to the limit. 

His Primarch was in danger. He would not – [i]could not[/i] – be stopped. Even the battle-brothers that died were left behind. The undying loyalty of the Void Stalkers to their Primarch was now expressing itself in the most violent, unfiltered way possible, and Asmodal's demonic slaughter inspired the rest of the First. All of them fought like monsters and it wasn't long before the Orks stopped trying to kill them and started fleeing before them instead. 

“How much further?” Asmodal asked over the vox, retrieving his power sword from the corpse of an Ork. He was breathing heavily and his voice sounded strangled, but resting was not an option. Kirthaus, three corridors further down the Hulk, doubled over and resting his hands on his knees, straightened up and checked his auspex. “Few miles,” he gasped. “Hard to read, though. Signal keeps bouncing around.” 

Asmodal shrugged. “Fuck it. Let's go. [i]Death.[/i]” 

“[i]Death,[/i]” echoed the rest of the First. 

–

On the [i]Eclipse,[/i] Murlok Moonsmasha and his bodyguard of Nobz were busying themselves by destroying everything they came across – command consoles, lights, doors, power generators, the works. They were looking for Void Stalkers, of course, but the Astartes and the ship's crew had eluded them so far. The mad Mek-Kaptain was talking to himself while he did it, sometimes screaming at the top of his lungs, and other times whispering inside his metal shell. The Nobz cast each other uneasy looks, but none of them dared to turn on Murlok. He was incredibly dangerous in his madness, moving with unpredictable speed and strength. He cackled maniacally as he tore several power cables out of a wall with his Power-Klaw, and howled in unbridled rage when he blasted a Space Marine's empty, private chambers full of bullet holes. 

“Where's da 'umies, boss?” one of the Nobz asked eventually as they entered a large, rectangular chamber – one of the [i]Eclipse's[/i] many messdecks. Murlok replied with a tortured scream and kicked over one of the tables. 

“I am here,” a cold voice answered from the other side of the hall. The Orks looked up to see a towering figure clad in shimmering armor, colored a deep hue of regal purple, the edges trimmed with cyan; Gorseval. His pale face almost seemed to glow in the gloom. He held [i]Darkness[/i] upright in front of him, hilt grasped with both hands, like the statue of an ancient knight of Terra. The Orks fell silent for a few seconds, as none of them had ever seen a 'umie [i]this[/i] big before. 

However, Murlok was too far gone to be cowed. He roared his challenge and charged, heavy footfalls denting the floor of the messdeck, opening fire with his big shootas while he ran. The psi-convector in Gorseval's blade activated and the criss-crossing lines lit up with psychic energy. The air in front of the Dark Star seemed to bend and warp and the Ork's bullets were halted uselessly, unable to penetrate the psychic force shield. Murlok lowered his Deff Dread's guns and raised its huge, pincered arms instead. Echoing Murlok's warcry, the other Nobz bellowed and dashed towards Gorseval. The Primarch was outnumbered eight-to-one. 

It was only when the Orks were almost upon him that Gorseval moved. His body flowed like water, steady, even and inexorable. He parried Murlok's initial, savage attack with the flat side of his blade and forced the Deff Dread back with a heavy psychic shove. Raising his arms, Gorseval swung [i]Darkness[/i] in a powerful sideways swipe that Murlok deftly blocked with one of his pincer-arms, but – to the Mek-Kaptain's surprise – the crude weapon was destroyed instantly. Tendrils of lightning leapt from the psi-convector lines to the pincer when the two weapons collided and the Deff Dread's arm shattered into a thousand pieces. Determined not to have the same happen to them, four of the Ork Nobz immediately fell upon Gorseval simultaneously, swinging their Choppas at his head. 

A heavy, throbbing sound pulsed through the air and the Nobz suddenly found themselves caught in the vice-like grip of an invisible force, unable to move, their arms stopped mid-strike. The temperature dropped sharply and ice crystals formed on every nearby surface. Alarmed, Murlok hissed and stepped back, his Power-Klaw clacking frantically. With all the inevitibility of the Grim Reaper, the Dark Star lifted [i]Darkness[/i] and swung the heavy greatsword in a 240-degree arc. It passed through the four Nobz effortlessly, sliding through armor, flesh and bone as if it wasn't even there, splitting them in half at the waist. 

The eight halves of the Nobz instantly combusted. Gorseval let go of the telekinetic grip and the dead Orks dropped heavily to the floor, their bodies rapidly being consumed by ghastly, blue fire. Gorseval stepped over them with slow, measured strides, his face as unreadable as a death mask. He raised his left hand, [i]Darkness[/i] hanging by his side, and grabbed the four other Nobz with the crushing power of his mind. Gorseval's fingers twitched and the ululating bass returned, like the beating wings of some enormous wyvern. The Nobz tried to resist, howling in rage, but there was no escape. Bones cracked and blood vessels burst under the immense pressure, and the howling turned to screaming. Gorseval's breath steamed in the air. 

Having had enough of this Weirdness, Murlok Moonsmasha charged again. The Deff Dread's steel feet thundered heavily as the war-machine picked up speed. It was taller than the Primarch and much heavier than the purple power armor Gorseval was clad in, but he seemed unphased. Gorseval raised [i]Darkness[/i] in a two-handed stance and stood his ground. Inside the Deff Dread, Murlok flipped a variety of switches and pressed a large, red button, laughing maniacally. Two plates on the back of the machine opened up and revealed two large exhaust vents, which immediately blazed to life with huge bursts of flame. Like an enormous, bipedal rocket, the Deff Dread shot forward with alarming speed.

The psi-convector wired into [i]Darkness[/i] sprang to life again as Gorseval channeled his psychic powers through the weapon, amplifying his potency, and Murlok's Deff Dread was instantly halted in mid-air. The force necessary to stop the hurling machine was immense and Gorseval's face twisted with effort. With slow, methodical steps, he approached the suspended Deff Dread and swung [i]Darkness[/i] upwards and sliced straight through the Deff Dread's torso, almost splitting the machine in half. Murlok let out an earsplitting, harrowing cry as the blade cut through his abdomen. Relentless, Gorseval struck again, and the Mek-Kaptain's prized war-machine started falling apart. The kinetic momentum from its rocket-enhanced charge had dissipated by now and Gorseval dropped the wreckage to the floor.  A fierce telekinetic assault tore the Deff Dread open entirely, scattering parts throughout the entire messdeck, and Gorseval's mind wrapped Murlok's own body in an iron grip. He ripped the Mek-Kaptain out of ruined machine accompanied by the sound of tearing metal and a shower of sparks, and held him in the air, legs dangling uselessly above the floor.

Gorseval rose to his full height and looked at the struggling Ork with disdain. t would be the easiest thing in the world to kill the severely wounded and profusely bleeding Mek-Kaptain then and there... but that wasn't enough for Gorseval. He wanted to [i]break[/i] him. Murlok was pulled in closer until he saw eye-to-eye with Gorseval. The Dark Star's black eyes stared, unblinking, into Murlok's, and the Primarch's merciless mind drove a psychic lance into the Ork's disjointed, insane soul. The air was thrumming with psychic vibrations as Gorseval brought the full weight of his mind to bear, like a black storm in the night, promising death to all ships caught in its grasp. 

Somewhere inside Murlok's mind, some unbreakable Orkish nugget refused to surrender. His eyes retained their focus, meeting Gorseval's ink-black stare, baring his tusks. Gorseval's brows furrowed and he pressed on, digging the thorns of his mind deep into Murlok, like crowbars breaking into a house. Gorseval's fingers twitched endlessly now and Murlok groaned, beads of sweat dripping down from his green brow. It was an impressive contest of willpower, pitting the fearless Ork spirit against the depthless cruelty and might of a Primarch. Gorseval stabbed deep, painful spikes of psychic energy into Murlok's mind – and took control of his sight. 

To the Ork, it seemed like Gorseval's form was slowly becoming shrouded in an insidious shadow that seeped out of every corner of the room. The lights dimmed and the walls moved away, leaving Murlok trapped in a primordial darkness, alone... except for two fierce points of screamlight, eternal and blinding, so radiant and yet darker and more vile than the blackness. The deep confusion this sowed in the mind of the insane Ork allowed Gorseval to assume control over all of his other senses as well, trapping Murlok in a prison of his own mind. 

Monstrous creatures lurked in the shadows, just out of sight, snarling, screaming and growling. Murlok could hear the mocking laughter of other Orks and snatches of their voices, ridiculing him, calling him weak. He wanted to yell but no sound would come, and his eyes could not look away from the two points of light drilling into his very soul. Murlok trembled. A voice spoke, dark and infinite in its gravitas, a gravedigging peal that filled every fiber of his being. 

[i]”If light itself cannot escape me... what hope have you?”[/i]

There is a fear inside every living creature. It's older than mankind, older than even the Necrons, and buried deep down inside the Ork psyche, it exists even in them. The fear of the dark. Gorseval had become the darkness, succumbing to the void inside of him, and drowned Murlok in it. Only the most wholesome and staunch beings in the galaxy could maintain their will in the face of such terror. 

Murlok was not one of them. His will broke completely and the Ork stopped resisting, his mind open to Gorseval like a fortress with its gates unbarred. The Dark Star lanced through it, his terrible power sundering the Ork's soul with ruthless psychic blasts, excising parts of his mind with all the tenderness of a pickaxe. Gorseval tore the Ork open and briefly rifled through Murlok's memories, seeing how the Mek-Kaptain came upon the Space Hulk and how he had spent years trying to tame the unstable mass. Its malfunctioning Warp drives would fire randomly and Gorseval saw, through the Ork's eyes, how the Space Hulk had hurled heedlessly through the Warp. The Orks under Murlok's command had to fight off invaders, shadowy shapes that seemingly materialized out of thin air, wielding large swords that burned brightly with fire... 

Gorseval dropped the Ork to the floor. Murlok remained there, slack-jawed, senseless and bleeding. The Dark Star, frowning, looked down at the Ork's broken body and took a deep breath. What exactly had he just seen in Murlok's memories? The Mek-Kaptain had clearly been insane, so it could have all been figments of his imagination, but if not... what lurked out there, in the Immaterium? Some kind of bizarre xenos species? 

Either way, the fight was won. If Gorseval had felt any satisfaction in his victory, it had already left him by now – he only felt hollow. Murlok would die from his wounds soon and Gorseval saw no need to hasten his exit from this world. He sidestepped around the Murlok and walked to the remaining Nobz, crippled and bleeding – but still alive. One by one, Gorseval ended their lives with a quick thrust from [i]Darkness'[/i] edge. 

Several Void Stalkers stepped into the messdeck, their weapons dripping with gore. Their eyes fell upon the butchered Orks and their Primarch, tall and unblemished, amidst them. “It is done,” Gorseval said, his voice grave and solemn. 

–

Asmodal and the First Chapter had managed to reach the kommand centa in time. Balthasith steered the Space Hulk aside and the enormous Ork vessel passed by the [i]Eclipse[/i] narrowly. Unfamiliar with the Orky controls, however, Balthasith had also inadvertently activated the Space Hulk's warp drives, and a mad sprint for the [i]Event Horizon[/i] meant they escaped with their lives narrowly. There was no time to retrieve the corpses of the Void Stalkers that had died fighting their way in and they were, sadly, lost. The Space Hulk jumped into the Warp less than a minute after the battered [i]Event Horizon[/i] had detached itself from the massive conglomerate-ship's hide, continuing its endless, meandering journey through the galaxy. 

The rest of the Ork fleet was mopped up in short order. A message from the surface, undeniably Imperial in its tone, meant that the Kindly Ones and Gorseval's sister had achieved similar successes on the ground. 

[b]*Praise and glory to the Emperor of Mankind! The barbarian horde is broken, its machines toppled, its leaders cast down and slain! Even now on Ullanor Prime their brazen master suffers death at the hands of the Emperor's most favored -- The conquerer's prize has become his tomb--*[/b]

Gorseval shut the broadcast off as he sat down in his captain's chair. The Kindly Ones definitely had a knack for the theatrical. The chair was in its lowered position and Gorseval's advisers and closest lieutenants were gathered around him, including Balthasith and Asmodal, lauded saviors of the [i]Eclipse[/i] and of their Primarch. Gorseval thanked them personally, with heartfelt, genuine gratitude. It had been a sobering lesson – without his Legion, he was not invincible. 

And that bothered him.