Datch swung the Thunderfury Warhammer, crackling with radiant lightning, mowing down the massed ranks of cosmic Necromancers to either side.
With merciless efficiency, he harvested their rewards. Each heavy blow of the warhammer sliced through the air with a piercing whistle. Its terrifying force shattered metal skeletons, grinding them to powder.
The warhammer's special ability, "Kill Charge," continued to activate—each necromancer slain fueled its energy, the bolts of lightning upon the hammer growing ever brighter. With each enemy felled, the accumulated power within the Thunderfury Warhammer increased, the faint rumble of thunder in the air hinting at a coming storm.
Datch realized the warhammer was near full charge. He prepared a powerful strike to clear the surrounding space undead.
"Remember my name, undead!"
He slammed the warhammer down once more, smashing a necromancer into the ground.
The body shattered; splinters of metal flew, showering the ground in sparks. Seizing the momentum, Datch leapt overhead, his hammer wreathed in dazzling lightning as he raised it high.
"I am Thor!"
No sooner had he spoken than he unleashed the devastating Wrath of Thunder, slamming it down into the packed horde below.
BOOM! CRASH!
At the point of impact, a blinding electrical storm erupted. Thick chains of lightning lashed out like frenzied silver snakes, writhing in all directions. Undead struck head-on were obliterated, torn to shreds and reduced to flying scrap. Those farther away overloaded, their silver bodies sparking and crumbling with thunderous crashes. Those on the periphery were hurled away by the shockwave and arcing electricity.
In one blow, Datch cleared the area around him.
Just as he was about to utter a witty line, an eerie green ray shot from several kilometers away. Before Datch could dodge, a sharp pain pierced his chest. He looked down—at the center of his breastplate was a bowl-sized, ever-widening, perfectly smooth hole. Ambushed, his body and armor were instantly atomized by a necromantic ray, dissolving into dust.
"Damn, dead again," Datch muttered, collapsing.
Several kilometers away, aboard a hovercraft—
A Deathmark sniper, the deadliest assassin among the cosmic Necromancers, tucked away his rifle, a slight smile on his metallic lips. His daily task was to hunt enemy commanders. Facing these apes, he thought, was far too easy. The sniper moved off, seeking a new vantage and target. Yet suddenly, a bad premonition swept over him.
CRACK!
A sniper round slammed into the Deathmark's head, killing him instantly. His metallic shell toppled from the hovercraft and smashed to the ground, puppet-like. The energy in his eyes flickered, twitched, and died—leaving only a matte-black, lifeless husk.
It was Datch who fired the shot, his respawn nearly instantaneous. Seconds after dying, he had re-entered the fight, sniping the necromancer sniper from afar. As the saying goes, a gentleman's revenge can wait a decade, but for Datch, vengeance was a matter for all times of day. If he could avoid waiting overnight, he wouldn't wait at all.
"Even these cosmic necromancers stoop to assassination… How depraved," Datch mused.
"What? Did I just assassinate him too? How's that the same?!"
Despite assassinating countless high-ranking officers, the cosmic necromancers neither surrendered nor ceased retaliation—a crime in Datch's eyes.
Just then, mission complete notifications floated before Datch's vision:
pCongratulations! Mission Complete!
Through successfully luring and repulsing the main cosmic undead forces, you have created the decisive conditions for the Silver Shroud Knights and Imperial survivors to break through!
Mission Rewards: XP +1200, Points +1200, Reputation +300, Frost Bomb Gun x1]
Datch's eyes widened at the new weapon—a Frost Bomb Gun—not blue, but orange in rarity.
"An orange-ranked item?! That's insanely rare!"
Checking the item's stats:
[Item: Frost Bomb Gun]
Description: A powerful bomb launcher inscribed with ancient ice runes. Its projectiles inflict freezing and slowing effects.
Headshot Bonus: Precise headshots double damage and don't consume ammo.
Headshot Frenzy: Each successful headshot grants a stack (up to 20), increasing firing rate and damage.
[Comment: "Enemies too quick? Shoot them!"]
"Is this really an orange-tier weapon? And with two passive traits!"
Datch's excitement was palpable.
"The next time we battle in the Tyranid hive, this is going up against the celebrant! With perks activating on every shot, it's the perfect weapon for any challenger. Just imagine: double damage, no ammo, and full-stack fire rate frenzy. Who could compare?"
Quickly, Datch swapped inventory—equipping the Thunderfury Warhammer and Frost Bomb Gun, and switching his right hand for a Ripper Power Claw.
Just then, a giant Scorpion Destroyer thundered forward, smashing through the last of the breastworks. Its three mechanical legs danced nimbly, while a door-sized Hyperphase Blade swept into a ready stance above.
Datch grinned, leveled the Frost Bomb Gun, and fired.
BANG!
A pale blue bomb streaked through the air, striking the scorpion machine's head dead-on.
SNAP—CRACK!
A thick, opaque blue crust of ice instantly spread from the impact point, freezing the machine's head and halting its charge. Datch fired again.
BANG!
The weakened head crumbled like a hammered ice sculpture, showering the world in glimmering, icy shrapnel. Headless, the robot staggered, froze for a moment, then crashed down, spraying lube and electric sparks.
"Perfect…"
Datch murmured and surveyed the battlefield.
The ice dragon circled overhead, freezing swathes of ground with each breath.
In the distance, Scarbrand swung an axe amidst piles of metal debris.
The Changeling and Masque of Slaanesh plied their powers to resist endless undead waves.
Mordachi and the Astartes returned artillery fire from behind the walls, covering retreating Imperial troops, already vanished over the horizon as planned.
Datch checked his minimap—the Imperials had broken free.
"The Gracia sisters are already safe. I should move, too. There are too many undead to kill them all."
He ordered his ice dragon to unleash a freezing breath over the field, encasing the nearest undead vanguard as ice sculptures and smashing them to bits.
Utilizing the opportunity, Datch opened The Room of Requirement and called Mordachi and the others back. The Black Templars, far more obedient than the Dark Angels, entered without protest, caught red-handed for Grand Marshal Anguin's murder—an irrefutably proven crime. They faced only two fates if judged—stripped of all honors and forced into humiliating penance armor to die on a suicidal crusade, or execution as traitors. Compared to this, mere imprisonment as dangerous criminals was mercy, and so they stayed docilely confined.
Mordachi, for his part, was a bit disappointed—he had hoped these zealots would cause a ruckus and be made to look foolish. But those hopes now faded.
The berserk Skarbrand was forcibly recalled into a monster ball, vanishing in a streak of red light. The Changeling and Masque of Slaanesh rejoined Datch, while Life Spirit, the plump round creature, lazed contentedly on Datch's pauldron.
Taking out his teleport gun, Datch shot at his feet, spinning up a giant green portal. Mounting the swooping ice dragon, he soared through into the teleport cave, leaving the collapsed trenches behind. When the undead stormed the fortress, humanity had already vanished. Some undead commanders raged, but could only request emergency intercepts and upload battle data to the mothership, Song of Oblivion.
…
In orbit:
The Song of Oblivion floated, battleship silent.
On his throne, Silent King Szarekh reviewed the combat data streaming to his database—the very same seconds after Datch had been sniped, revived, then killed and revived again.
"Subject confirmed to possess abnormal resurrection mechanisms. Interval between death and resurrection: nearly zero. Logical contradiction detected… Threat reassessment required."
Flames of eerie green danced in Szarekh's eyes. This man's reckless behavior, Szarekh realized, stemmed from his unique power to resurrect.
"Foolish humans. Do you think, by being immortal, that you can never be harmed?"
Szarekh smirked as an idea formed:
"If I cannot kill you, I will make you wish you were dead, suffering eternally. Even an immortal may be made to regret his power—this I swear upon all cruel means available in the cosmos."
…
On Paradis Island II, Imperial Defensive Zone
Canoness Gracia led the remnants to safety, breaking the siege and regrouping with allied forces.
"Will the Nameless Lord make it out safely?"
asked a young sister, Marian, at her side, eyes full of worry.
Their own escape had been surprisingly smooth—few enemy encounters, the main undead horde obviously drawn away by the Nameless. Gratitude and anxiety mixed in every survivor's voice.
Just then, a green light appeared overhead.
Datch dismounted his ice dragon, landing lightly.
"Nameless one!" Gracia exclaimed, gathering her sisters and followers to welcome Datch.
"Sister Gracia," Datch said, "Mission complete by decree of the Imperial Regent. You are safely evacuated from the occupied zone."
"Glory to the Emperor—and to you, for your bravery and sacrifice," said Gracia, pounding her chestplate and bowing deeply.
"We will never forget your kindness."
Task completed notification flashed before Datch:
[Congratulations! Mission Complete: Successfully rescued Sister Gracia of the Silver Order and secured her safe return to the Imperium.
Quest Rewards: XP 1300, Points 1300, Reputation +300, Special Item: Magic Beam Ray x1]
A comical, horned gun appeared in Datch's inventory. On a whim, it materialized in his hand—solid, heavy, and satisfyingly strange.
Suddenly, alarms blared—another assault by the cosmic Necromancers unleashed from the horizon.
"A perfect time to try out a new toy."
Datch grinned and switched the beam gun to firing mode, pulling the trigger at distant necromancers.
BOOM! ZING!
A wavering light beam shot out, precisely piercing several undead. The result was insane: undead bodies rapidly transformed from metal back into flesh and blood. Former constructs were replaced with bones, sinews, and skin—within seconds, artificial immortals became ordinary living men, dressed in crude ancient clothes and trembling in terror.
"Is the curse… lifted? Am I… am I alive again? Truly alive?!"
Some muttered in disbelief, tears streaming, wild with emotion. But before joy could even take root—
WHISTLE—BOOM!
Imperial artillery shells, fired at random, landed nearby. Explosions and shrapnel shredded the stunned newly-revived. They had barely tasted the ecstasy of rebirth before becoming charred remains once more.
"Ah… how lucky," Datch blinked, eyes briefly sympathetic, but then focused back on the magic beam gun.
"This thing is amazing. It reverses necromantic transformation, turning cosmic undead into living beings. I wonder… can I use this to tempt the astrologer Eurikan? He's seeking a way to reverse biological change…"
Datch mused, smirking, then set coordinates to Macragge and prepared to visit the Primarch for further quests, teleporting away through a new portal.
…
On the Song of Oblivion, Tombship
The remains of those transformed then bombed by the Imperium were urgently recovered and sent to the tombship's bio-lab. One body, mostly intact, was revived by the tomb technicians after emergency surgery and tissue regen.
"The curse is broken… I'm alive… alive again…"
Utterly unsettled, the revived man repeated these words on the lab table. The last three saints under Silent King Szarekh were first incredulous, but then ordered exhaustive scans and tests.
The result was irrefutable: biological reversal had occurred—the body was flesh and blood, and matched the IDs of the former necro-soldiers. The lucky individual had become a true Fear of Death—once more alive.
Even the shattered soul had, in part, been restored—a miracle that utterly defied cosmic causality.
"Begin immediate priority investigation!" barked Hapsatra at the techs and analysts.
"We must learn what happened—at any cost!"
Edited battle footage from multiple sources soon confirmed it—a ray struck, and metal necro-soldiers became living beings.
"Who did this? Which one?!" Hapsatra demanded. The perpetrator: that shameless human who had mocked them before.
Silent King Szarekh stayed silent on his throne. At the truth, he frowned.
"We must capture this human and uncover all his secrets. His power concerns not just our species' future but the entire Triarch Council and the ancient dynasties. He openly humiliates us. I do not believe this outsider will ever cooperate…"
"Even if commoners converted, would they serve the Emperor? The answer is no—they'd rebel, name him their new god, and focus on Terra as their holy land. They'd no longer obey the Triarch Council, for their reborn bodies would be crude and their self-awareness lost: slaves to the upper echelon. Should they find liberation, Terra becomes Deathbringers' rightful home, and I—last King Szarekh—become a shamed criminal."
"Only I can lead our people to salvation. Alert all tomb worlds and the deep fleets—mobilize every available force. We must control this human and steal his secret, by any means necessary."