The silence that fell upon the battlefield was profound. The chaotic psychic howl of the Orks was gone, replaced by the utter stillness of the shadow legion. They stood in perfect formation amidst the carnage, an army born from the very violence that had just concluded. The five kneeling Ultramarines were like statues of fallen glory, while the surviving humans in their drab armor huddled behind a wrecked barricade, their terror a palpable miasma.
This world was a tapestry of endless war; he had seen as much in the Ultramarine's mind. The Imperium was not a kingdom, but a galaxy-spanning siege engine, and its people were fuel. To find his way home, he couldn't simply be a passerby; he needed a foothold. He needed resources, transportation, and a thorough understanding of the fundamental laws of this reality.
His gaze fell upon the human officer he had intended to question earlier. He was now the highest-ranking survivor. The Monarch began to walk toward him, his shadow soldiers parting before him. The humans flinched, raising their lasrifles with trembling hands.
"Your side has won this battle," he announced, stopping a respectful distance away. He projected the meaning of his words directly into their minds, bypassing the need for a shared language. The effect was immediate; several of them dropped their weapons in shock. "Thanks to me."
The officer, a man whose memories had named him Kasran, stared at the Monarch, his face pale. His mind was a battlefield of its own. Every catechism he had ever learned, every sermon from the Ministorum priests, screamed that this being was a daemon, a creature to be fought to the death. But his experience on this brutal, thankless world had taught him a harder lesson: survival. "What… what are you? A daemon?" Kasran asked, the words feeling utterly inadequate.
"I am a solution," the Monarch replied, the answer simple and honest. He gestured to the kneeling, mindless form of the Ultramarine Sergeant. "Your Emperor's finest came to 'judge' me. They failed. Their faith was a shield of glass. Their armor, paper. Their god was silent."
He let the words sink in. In a universe built on faith, demonstrating its failure was the ultimate form of power.
"I have no interest in your lives or this barren rock," he continued. "But I require passage off this world. The memories I have taken from your enemies tell me this planet, Kryllus Secundus, has a capital. A hive city with a spaceport. You will guide me there."
Kasran swallowed hard, the instinct for survival overwhelming the dogma of faith. "And if we refuse?"
"Then I will raise your corpses and ask them," Jin-Woo said, his tone devoid of malice. It was a simple statement of fact. "They will be far more cooperative."
The choice was not a choice at all. Kasran's shoulders slumped in defeat. "We... we have transport. A Chimera command vehicle. It is ours... yours."
"Excellent," the Monarch said. "Gather your survivors. You are now under my command."
Turning his attention to the captive Ultramarines, he considered his options. Killing them was a waste. They were living encyclopedias of Imperial knowledge and technology.
[Command: Ruler's Authority]
He focused his will on the shattered power sword of the Sergeant. The metal groaned and twisted, disassembling itself in mid-air. Wires, power conduits, and emitter shrouds separated and hung suspended, a diagram of its inner workings. A flicker of his focus, and he understood its core principles. A matter-disruption field contained by a powerful energy loop. Primitive, yet effective.
Next, he turned to the Marines themselves. Dark tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground, wrapping around their limbs and torsos. The shadows solidified, not crushing, but forming a form-fitting shell of hard, black energy, restraining them completely. They were now secure prisoners, to be dissected—mentally and technologically—at his leisure.
While Kasran rallied his terrified men, Jin-Woo surveyed his own forces. His army was numerous but lacked quality. It was a horde of shambling shadows, effective against primitives like Orks but lacking the discipline and specialized skills he would eventually need. The soul of the Ultramarine Sergeant, however… it still resonated with a faint echo of its former brilliance. A disciplined core, a warrior's spirit honed by a century of war. It was a prime candidate.
"There is always a need for a commander," he murmured.
He walked to the kneeling, mindless supersoldier and placed his hand on his head. The shadows encasing him melted away. His body remained still, a vacant vessel.
"You fought with conviction for a master who let you perish. Your faith was your strength, and it became your undoing," he spoke to the empty shell. "But your skill, your strength, your will to fight… those I can put to better use."
His voice dropped, imbued with the full weight of his authority as the Monarch of Death. It was not a command for a simple shadow to rise, but a call to a soul's remnant, an invitation to be reborn into true power.
[Command: Arise]
An eruption of pure, abyssal darkness engulfed the Space Marine. It was not the smoky black of his lesser soldiers, but a solid, silent void that seemed to drink the very light from the air. The humans cried out in alarm, shielding their eyes from the unholy spectacle.
When the darkness receded, he stood.
He was taller now, the shadows having augmented his already impressive frame. His armor was no longer cobalt blue, but the shifting black of a starless midnight, etched with faint, glowing violet lines that mirrored the circuitry of his original power armor. The Omega symbol of his chapter was gone, replaced by a stylized, jagged crown on his pauldron. His helmet was gone, revealing a face of pale shadow, from which two points of cold, intelligent violet light burned. He held a new power sword in his hand, a greatsword of solidified darkness that seemed to pull the heat from the air.
He took a step forward, then knelt before the Monarch, one fist placed on the ground in a gesture of absolute fealty. A voice, a ghost of the Sergeant's amplified boom, echoed not in the air, but directly in the minds of all present.
Jin-Woo looked down at his new creation, the first of his knights in this universe. A flicker of satisfaction passed through him. "You will be my vanguard. You are the First Knight of the Shadow Legion."
The Knight rose, his silent, terrifying presence a far greater statement of power than any slaughter.
Shortly after, Kasran reported that the Chimera was ready. It was a blocky, armored transport, scarred and dented from battle. The Monarch ordered his four prisoners loaded into the back, bound in shadow. He took his place atop the vehicle's hull, the First Knight standing silently beside him.
As the Chimera's engines rumbled to life, its tracks crunching over rock and bone, the rest of the army began to move. A silent, marching tide of darkness followed their progress, a river of death flowing across the blasted landscape. Kasran and his ten surviving Guardsmen drove, their faces grim, a small island of the living in an ocean of the dead.
From the Sergeant's mind, he had a clear image of their destination: Hive Primus of Kryllus, a mountain-city of plasteel and misery, housing billions. A fortress, a factory, and a spaceport all in one.
The local garrison would be in the millions. The planetary defense forces would be formidable. They would have tanks, aircraft, and orbital defenses. They would fight with the same fanatical conviction as the Ultramarines.
He watched the jagged peaks of the metallic mountains give way to a polluted, rust-colored plain. The Hive was still a day's journey away.
Let them come. His soldiers had grown idle for too long.
It was time to remind a new universe what true authority looked like.