The Underhive hummed through the cold darkness of space, its Slip Drive bending the fabric of the universe to Aza's precise will. The ship moved like a shadow, unseen and unheard, as it jumped across the void. This was no clunky Warp travel, no daemons scraping at the hull, just pure, mechanical perfection. The subtle arrogance of superior technology, something Nyth had come to love.
Nyth lounged in his captain's chair, feet propped on the console, a wide grin on his face. The remnants of a cream-filled amasec pastry lingered on his fingers, courtesy of Aza's culinary precision. The upcoming hunt tingled under his skin like static before a storm.
"Alright, Aza, time to get this party started. Tell me more about this Magos Feron," Nyth said, idly wiping his fingers on his pants, his excitement simmering beneath the surface.
Aza's voice filled the room, calm and almost affectionate. "Magos Dominus Feron. Once a high-ranking member of the Mechanicum, now aligned with the Sons of Scorn, a Traitor Space Marine warband known for their cruelty and warped experiments on living subjects. Feron has augmented himself extensively, integrating unstable Necron and warp technology into his body. Extremely dangerous."
Nyth raised an eyebrow. "Necron tech, huh? You love to hate that stuff."
"I find it… inefficient," Aza replied, the slightest hint of disdain in its tone. "Magos Feron's work is highly unstable. His fusion of warp-based enhancements with Necron machinery further compromises the integrity of his design."
"Perfect," Nyth muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Time to show him how a real machine mind works."
Aza paused for a moment. "The Sons of Scorn fleet consists of several strike cruisers and two frigates. Their flagship, The Wailing Reaver, houses Feron deep within its core. He's surrounded by a heavily augmented army of servitors and a squad of Sons of Scorn led by their warband leader, Revan Valos. Engaging them directly will be… unavoidable."
Nyth stood, stretching, the familiar pop of his joints making him grin. "Avoidable's never been my style, anyway."
"Before we proceed, Master, I've made some upgrades," Aza said, its voice carrying a note of satisfaction. Nyth felt a surge through his Omniplate, the energy flowing through his armor as the Void Inferno Pistols he normally holstered shimmered and reformed. Now, they were seamlessly fused into the vambraces of his armor, resting just under his forearms, allowing him to fire without ever letting go of his Eclipse Blades.
Nyth flexed his hands, admiring the new addition. "You're spoiling me, Aza."
"I merely anticipate your needs, Master," Aza replied, its tone as warm as ever. "I have so added Overload Capacitors for a more explosive punch. Your Eclipse Blades' edges now emit a frequency that can destabilize warp-infused tech on contact.
Nyth chuckled. "Let's see how these Sons of Scorn like the Butcher Daemon's new toys."
With that, the Slip Drive hummed, and the Underhive vanished, slipping through space, a silent predator. When the ship reappeared, it was right on the edge of the Traitor fleet's formation. The void was filled with the hulking, corrupted vessels of the Sons of Scorn, each one warped by the touch of Chaos. Their flagship, The Wailing Reaver, loomed ahead, a twisted behemoth of blackened metal and malevolent energy. Aza immediately scans the flagship as the Underhive coasted in complete stealth.
Nyth grinned, feeling the thrill of the hunt rise inside him. "Alright, Aza, let's get inside. Fold Space me right into the heart of the beast."
"Scans complete. Fold Space activated, Master," Aza said, and reality bent around Nyth, folding in on itself like a twisted sheet of metal. One moment, he was standing on the bridge of the Underhive; the next, he was deep inside The Wailing Reaver, surrounded by rusted metal walls stained with blood and the smell of incense. The air was thick with the stink of warp energy and decaying flesh.
The corridor stretched out before him, the dim red glow of emergency lights flickering overhead. Nyth could hear the distant thrum of heavy footsteps—Traitor Marines patrolling the ship.
"Aza, get me a layout," Nyth whispered, his voice a low growl.
"I have already infiltrated the ship's systems, Master," Aza replied smoothly. "Magos Feron resides in his research chamber on the lowest deck. Revan Valos and his personal guard are stationed directly between you and Feron."
Nyth grinned wickedly. "Good. I was hoping for a challenge."
With a surge of motion, Nyth stalked down the corridor, his Eclipse Blades humming at his sides, his newly upgraded Void Inferno Pistols ready to fire at a moment's notice. As he rounded the corner, a squad of Sons of Scorn Traitor Marines came into view—massive figures in crimson and black power armor, their helmets shaped like the snarling maws of daemons.
The lead Marine raised his bolter, his voice a guttural snarl. "Who dares enter—"
Nyth didn't give him the chance to finish. With a flick of his wrist, his pistols fired, sending twin bolts of plasma screaming toward the lead Marine. The Overload Capacitors did their job perfectly, the explosive shots ripping through the Traitor Marine's chest plate and blowing him apart in a shower of molten metal and gore.
The rest of the squad roared, raising their weapons and opening fire, but Nyth was already moving. He phased through the hail of bolter fire, his form shimmering like a shadow. With a snarl, he leapt forward, his Eclipse Blades flashing as he brought them down on the nearest Marine. The blades hummed with energy, destabilizing the Marine's warp-infused armor as they cut through it like paper.
The Traitor howled as his body convulsed, sparks flying from the corrupted tech grafted into his chest. Nyth didn't stop, slicing through another Marine's arm with a single swipe before twisting around and unleashing a volley of plasma rounds from his vambraces, cutting down the remaining Marines.
"Too easy," Nyth muttered, kicking aside a severed limb.
"Master, I have detected Revan Valos approaching your position," Aza chimed in, its voice calm.
Nyth's grin widened. "Finally, someone worth the effort."
The ground trembled beneath Nyth's feet as Revan Valos, the leader of the Sons of Scorn, entered the corridor. He was a towering figure, even for a Traitor Marine, his power armor heavily adorned with spikes, trophies, and the skulls of his enemies. His helmet was a grotesque fusion of a daemon's face and human features, his red eyes burning with malevolent energy.
"Another fool comes to die," Valos growled, his voice like a landslide of gravel. He hefted a massive, warp-infused chainaxe, its teeth sparking with corrupt energy.
Nyth laughed, drawing his Eclipse Blades. "You're about to find out why they call me the Butcher Daemon."
Valos roared and charged, his chainaxe screaming as it cut through the air. Nyth darted forward, meeting the blow with his Eclipse Blades, sparks flying as the weapons clashed. The chainsxes shorted on contact, but Valos's strength was monstrous, the force of the impact nearly knocking Nyth off his feet, but Nyth pushed back, his enhanced armor allowing him to match the Traitor's brute force.
Valos swung again, this time aiming for Nyth's head, but Nyth phased through the attack, reappearing behind Valos and slashing at his exposed back. His Eclipse Blades hummed with energy, destabilizing Valos's armor as they cut through the corrupted ceramite.
Valos snarled in pain, spinning around and lashing out with his chainaxe. Nyth ducked beneath the blow and unleashed a volley of plasma shots from his vambraces; each shot hitting Valos with explosive force. The Traitor Marine staggered, his armor cracking and sparking under the onslaught.
"You're not as tough as you look," Nyth taunted, his grin wide and savage.
Valos bellowed in rage and charged again, but Nyth was ready. He ducked low, slipping past the Marine's wild swing, and drove both Eclipse Blades into Valos's chest. The blades pulsed with energy, destabilizing the warp-tech grafted into Valos's body. The Traitor Marine convulsed, his body shuddering as the corrupted tech failed, sparks flying from his armor.
With a final, brutal twist, Nyth ripped his blades free, and Valos collapsed to the floor, his body twitching and sparking as the last vestiges of life drained from him. The carnage continued as Nyth worked his way through over a hundred Traitor Marines and over a thousand cultists, turning the ship's halls and decks into charnel houses. His armor, weapons, and Aza made him untouchable as he slaughtered them.
"Master, I have located Magos Feron's chamber," Aza said, as calm as ever. "I suggest immediate extraction."
"Fine," says Nyth as he guns down another band of cultists coming at him.
As Fold Space enveloped him once again, Nyth felt the familiar rush of anticipation. There was nothing like the hunt, nothing like the feeling of bringing down those who thought they were untouchable.
As he stepped into Feron's lair, Nyth's grin only widened. The real fun was about to begin.
