"Are you the ones sent by the Emperor?"
Two UEG officers nervously stared at the four towering figures before them, clad in pitch-dark blue armor adorned with skulls and bat-wing insignias.
"We are the Night Lords—sons of the night, shadows that move by the Emperor's will. Now, tell me... where are the wretched heretics hiding?"
Colonel Müller swallowed hard. His voice trembled as he answered.
"The enemy has taken control of Idlib, sir. They're equipped with anti-tank weapons, armored units, and have fortified positions along the Turkish border. Our forces can't break through."
One of the Night Lords stepped forward, examining the holographic map of Idlib. Red optics glowed behind his helmet, and beneath the cold steel, a cruel grin twisted into place.
"Leave them to us."
His voice echoed with icy certainty.
In his mind, he was already crafting a thousand and one ways to turn this mundane siege into a work of horrific beauty—built with screams, blood, and sheer terror.
"We will carve fear into their souls. Death? That's a release they do not deserve."
Another UEG officer spoke cautiously.
"Our primary mission is to break the will of the rebels. Do you require our artillery support?"
"Break their will?"
A low, unsettling chuckle came from beneath the Night Lord's helmet.
In his mind swirled countless methods to crush the enemy's spirit—without even firing a shot.
Then, a broadcast began echoing through the city speakers.
"Citizens! The Blue Star has been betrayed! Humanity has been betrayed! Civilization has been betrayed! We are all victims of a grand deception! A lie so vast and terrifying, even the gods would recoil! The sun—the real sun—is eternal! It does not die! It never has, and never will! What erupted was not the sun, but the twisted ambition of the UEG coalition! They fabricated it all to build their iron-fisted dictatorship! They destroyed Earth! They destroyed humanity's civilization!"
The Night Lords stood silently, listening to the unhinged message.
Then, the lead Night Lord gave a low, amused growl.
"Perfect... a trembling enemy, drowning in their own lies and paranoia. Let's see how loudly they scream when they face the truth in the dark."
-----
"William! Your turn on watch!"
Two soldiers handed over their shift. Tonight, the moon over Idlib was hidden behind a dense layer of fog—unnaturally thick, as if even the war dared not disturb this silence.
"Damn it... I really don't understand why so much crazy stuff keeps happening,"
William muttered, staring out at the crumbling ruins in the distance—once a city, now a graveyard of shattered concrete and steel.
"Huh? What's that?"
His eyes narrowed. A dark figure darted through the shattered streets of Idlib, moving fast—too fast. It weaved between rubble, burned-out vehicles, and ruined buildings with unnatural grace.
"Oh God! What is this?!"
Just as William reached for the alarm, he saw something in the sky—a silhouette, like a massive bat soaring through the fog.
"No way..."
"Skrrk!"
Before he could react, a blade slid through William's spine—precise, silent, merciless. It moved upward slowly, peeling back skin like fabric. Agony flared, but before he could scream, his throat was cleanly sliced open.
A strip of bloody human skin hung from the Night Lord's hand.
"The hunt begins."
Moonlight filtered through the fog, revealing the full horror: a Night Lord Space Marine, towering and terrible. His armor glinted—ornate, orange-trimmed, decorated with bloodied trophies. Hearts, eyes, and bone trinkets swayed with each step.
"William's not slacking off, is he?"
The soldier who had swapped shifts returned, concerned. But when he saw what looked like a tattered kite hanging from the wall—and a mangled corpse beneath it—his scalp went numb with dread.
Shaking, he reached for his walkie-talkie to report in—unaware that something over two and a half meters tall was right behind him.
Crunch.
Dreth Vallon grabbed the man's neck like a fish from water. His bladed forearm detached and spun, slicing the soldier into a heap of bloody meat.
"Let the fear spread..."
Three Night Lords emerged from the shadows, ready to sow terror among the rebels hiding in the ruins of Idlib.
Not long after, a convoy arrived. Twenty fully armed soldiers disembarked, calling for William over the radio.
But William would never answer again.
"Damn it! What the hell is happening?!"
The rebel captain screamed, panic rising in his voice. Something was terribly wrong—but he didn't know what.
Thud. Rip. Splat. Splat.
From within the darkness, a massive hand reached out and sliced a soldier apart, tearing him into chunks of raw flesh. The remains were hurled into the air—like rotten rain—landing on the soldiers still alive.
"There! Over there!"
Dozens of bullets were fired blindly into the shadows where the shredded body had come from—but every shot missed.
Thud. Rip. Splat.
Another soldier was dragged into the darkness, and just like the first, cut into pieces, his limbs flying through the air like petals thrown during a funeral procession.
The squad froze. Confused. Terrified. Paralyzed.
But the Night Lords did not stop.
One by one, the rebels stationed in the Idlib outpost were pulled into the shadows, then brutally dismembered. Corpses—or what was left of them—were tossed toward the surviving men like a goddess scattering offerings in some cursed ritual.
Before long, only the captain remained. He leaned against a burnt-out armored truck, his entire body trembling. Around him was nothing but a field of mutilated meat, all that was left of his comrades.
"Demons… demons!!"
He roared into the night sky, voice cracking in fear.
And then—it appeared.
From the rubble, stepped a figure over two meters tall, wearing pitch-black power armor adorned with flayed skin, broken limbs, and shattered bones. He moved slowly, like death given form.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The captain fired his sidearm in desperation—but the bullets simply pinged off the ceramite armor.
"What... what the hell are you?"
The captain whispered, eyes wide as he stared at the monstrous figure before him, decorated with severed stumps and dismembered arms.
"I am a Night Lord. Son of Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter. I am the harbinger of your deepest fears…"
Dreth Vallon crushed the pistol in the captain's hand with a single movement.
"Don't use a toy to resist death."
He grinned—a terrifying smile—as he stared deep into the captain's eyes.
He had a special surprise in store for the rebel leaders.