Nyx's sudden decision to hunt xenos was not a moment of impulse — rather, he had suddenly recognised his true strengths.
He need not be bound solely to the power of the 'Space King'. Do not forget: besides being the Space King, he was also the genetic Primarch of the Imperium's XI Legion.
His sons' specialisation was to develop targeted tactics through the acquisition and analysis of xenos tissue samples. As the gene‑sire of the Star Wardens, how could he forsake the glorious traditions of his own Legion?
Today, he, Nyx, would make even the xenos fear being eaten raw!
Nyx's sudden interest galvanised the entire Reaper camp into rapid mobilisation. Upon learning that the objective was to capture xenos, everyone prepared eagerly, excited. Clad in the new equipment Nyx had provided, they had long awaited a real fight to test their edge.
"Typhon. Select a squad of Reapers and accompany us."
"Lasker. You will lead the remainder and guard the camp."
Though Lasker and several other of Mortarion's close followers were also eager for battle, only Typhon was chosen this time. Yet Typhon, thus selected, harboured conflicted feelings. Though he was a Reaper, half‑xenos blood flowed through his veins.
When Nyx proposed 'capturing xenos', an inexplicable voice had whispered in his heart: You're next... Typhon.
Typhon knew this was still his own agitated thoughts. Yet a faint unease clung to him like a shadow, refusing to dissipate.
With this unease, by the time Typhon came to himself, the squad had already approached the mountain‑top castle. At the mountain's foot, he saw countless distorted figures writhing and crawling within the toxic mist. They emitted piercing shrieks, their appearances more grotesque and terrifying than anything they had ever witnessed. The xenos had noticed the Reapers' arrival — yet today, none descended the mountain to 'hunt'.
Clearly, the true 'main event' had not yet begun. The roars of beasts from within the castle grew louder and louder, drawing ever nearer. From his knowledge of xenos, Typhon could discern their type and size from the cries alone.
"Fifteen... No, seventeen. They match our numbers!"
Typhon warned loudly. Despite the large number of xenos, he was not alarmed — these foes did not even require an assault; Mortarion alone was sufficient to handle them.
"Mortarion. Remember to leave a few alive for me."
Nyx murmured. He, too, had noted the anomaly of this place — the stench of decay seemed to have intensified, causing his brow to furrow once more.
"GRAAAAH——!!!"
Suddenly, a sharp hissing shriek erupted. A half‑humanoid xenos burst from the castle. Its target was not the three of them at the vanguard, but the ordinary Reaper members at the rear, who appeared 'weaker'. Though the Reapers now wore iron armour, the xenos's scythe‑like forelimbs could confidently shatter it.
The more it thought, the more excited it became. Dark green saliva dripped incessantly from its maw. But before it could land, a cold flash of light — its body was neatly bisected mid‑air.
"Too weak."
Mortarion flicked the blood from his scythe, utterly unperturbed. Since upgrading to the new weapon Nyx had given him, he felt his combat effectiveness had significantly improved.
But the xenos' death was far from the end. More xenos poured from the castle's depths. The earlier estimate of seventeen was instantly invalidated — they were like a filthy tide, a flowing torrent.
"All troops! Form line — meet the enemy!"
At Mortarion's command, every Reaper member swiftly raised their shields. Spears thrust out from behind the shield wall, forming a dense combat formation with no blind spots in an instant.
The task of these ordinary warriors was clear: to intercept the xenos that Mortarion and the others 'overlooked'. For those who had long trained for this, it was no difficult task. Yet the true difficulty lay in the seemingly endless torrent of xenos.
The xenos crashed against the steel front like a tide. The sounds of metal striking carapace, of dying shrieks, instantly erupted. Unusually thick carapaces savagely split shields; scythe‑like forelimbs pierced a Reaper's faceplate.
In the final moment, an even larger scythe blade delivered a lethal diagonal stroke — Mortarion's figure struck like a phantom. His kills were precise, efficient. Each swing was not a display, but merely the simplest path to eliminating the greatest threat to his front line.
He did not fight alone. Rather, he used his great scythe to draw an absolutely safe boundary for the warriors behind him.
Nyx walked the flank of the front line. He had no intention of joining the battle. This was a trial belonging solely to Mortarion and his men. All Nyx needed to do was ensure no life‑threatening accidents occurred.
And Typhon, who had been somewhat uneasy, now transformed into a cold, sharp focal point of the battle. A swift xenos deftly circumvented the forward battlefield and lunged at his flank from the shadow of a cliff.
The vicious delight in its compound eyes was almost within reach. Typhon did not stubbornly parry. Instead, he allowed the sharp blade to graze his breastplate. Amid a shower of sparks, he thrust his powerful spear upward from below — precisely piercing the relatively soft jaw.
Warm xenos blood splattered across his armour. Yet the repulsive aura of shared origin completely calmed him. The slaughter freed him from thoughts of unpleasant matters.
Through the silent coordination of the three, the number of xenos rapidly dwindled. None of the Reaper soldiers sustained serious injuries — only a few had minor skin wounds. Had Nyx not several times timely intervened, Mortarion and Typhon, caught up in the killing, would have already slaughtered the 'research subjects' he had designated.
"Ah... It seems, for the short term, the Reapers can live a stable life."
Nyx surveyed the mountain of xenos corpses, then glanced at the 'lucky one' trembling in fear at his feet. This xenos was entirely non‑humanoid, yet bizarrely retained intelligence comparable to a human's — meeting his experimental requirements. Of course, the trophy corpses also held research value.
With this in mind, he casually carved open a pocket dimension beside him, preparing to store some of the corpses. But the next second — an abrupt mutation occurred —
"WAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!"
A crude, savage, and very familiar war cry erupted from the depths of his pocket dimension — where his supplies were supposed to be stored!
Nyx was momentarily stunned. In that lightning‑fast instant, a thick, sturdy green figure suddenly burst from the spatial rift and, with incredible velocity, slammed downward — pulverising the sole surviving xenos experimental subject into meat paste.
"WAAAGH!! FO— NI—"
The greenskin Ork roared wildly. A primitive, immense, overwhelming aura radiated from him.
This is a Warboss!
Mortarion's pupils contracted. He felt the most direct and dangerous threat from this suddenly appearing, bizarre greenskin — and it was this close to his 'father', Nyx!
"DO NOT HARM MY FATHER!"
The Pale Lord raised his scythe once more, transforming into a raging tempest, wreathed in cold fury.