This is... awkward...
Nyx, at the vanguard of the crowd, was immensely grateful that, as a Primarch, he could maintain perfect control over his expression.
He did not regret his bold declaration — given the same circumstances, he would make the same choice again. He simply hadn't anticipated quite so many respondents.
What Nyx did not yet realise was that the aura behind his head continued to radiate golden light, unwavering as a lumen-globe, with no sign of fading.
"Behold, Chestnut... Such is the guidance of the Space King." A tear traced down Blazing Hatred's cheek.
"Just as I learned in my homeland, and upon the War-band — He shows every lost soul the path forward."
Were Nyx to permit it, Blazing Hatred would have begun preaching then and there.
"I understand all this, Blazing Hatred. Yet I am concerned — how are we to house so many workers? Even if the Captain were to order a full purge of this hive city, I doubt it would prove an issue."
"That is not for us to determine, Chestnut." Techmarine Bryce interjected, tapping his cranium — the seat of his 'wisdom'.
"The Space King will arrange everything. Of course, the knowledge within my skull may also prove of service to His Majesty."
On this matter, the other three unanimously suppressed their doubts. The techmarine's "remarkable wisdom" was, after all, on par with that of a certain red-skinned, one-eyed.
Time passed swiftly. As the worker-army, led by Nyx, approached the mine's exit, he raised his hand — a silent signal to halt. His gaze shifted to a patch of shadow within his blind spot. Someone, it seemed, could contain themselves no longer.
"Come out, brother," he said softly.
Beneath the bewildered stares of the assembled workers, a figure — slightly shorter than Nyx — emerged from the darkness.
"You should have executed that overseer, Nyx."
"Such a punishment does not align with your own standards of judgement, does it, Curze?"
Konrad Curze. Lord of the VIII Legion, the Night Haunter. Primarch gifted with foresight, companion of shadow. His brothers among the fan community had christened him 'Batman'.
In the Emperor's design, Curze was to embody Imperial law — to become the supreme arbiter of justice for all mankind.
"He committed a crime. He deserves punishment." Curze's dark eyes gleamed with dangerous light. "Were it I, I would flay his skin from his flesh, and then—"
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Nyx hastily interrupted his brother's recitation — far too 'unsuitable for younger audiences'. He had not expected Curze to already harbour such detailed flaying methodologies.
"What... Brother Nyx, would you shield a criminal?!" Curze's murderous intent radiated outward like a tangible miasma; the Primarch's dread aura set the workers trembling uncontrollably. In the next instant, Nyx's four-man command squad snapped into combat stances.
The atmosphere curdled. Breath stilled. All awaited Nyx's command.
"Calm yourself. I have no intention of absolving the overseer." Nyx's tone was composed.
"The worker was already dead when he fell. The overseer's culpability... has not yet reached the threshold requiring execution."
"Curze, do you truly comprehend the root of all this? Or do you believe every problem can be solved by drowning every wrongdoer in terror?"
At this question, Curze fell silent. He perceived no flaw in his methodology.
"Fear cannot address the root. It may serve in the short term, but what happens when you leave Nostramo, brother?"
"Sin... will breed anew." The Primarch's mind — comparable to a supercomputing engine — instantly grasped Nyx's meaning.
Yet he could not accept it. Something within the darkness raged at Nyx's words.
"Consider this, Curze. I believe your foresight allows you to see far enough... Nostramo does not require a sword suspended over its head, one that may fall at any moment."
"What it truly lacks is a rigorous, rational body of law to govern the realm — and a stable regime to end this oppression."
"This may prove difficult for mortals alone. But you and I are different, Curze. The combined efforts of two Primarchs are sufficient to rejuvenate this world in short order."
Nyx extended his hand in sincere invitation, welcoming Curze to join him.
The golden aura made Nyx appear as the Emperor's own representative, walking abroad in the mortal realm. Curze felt every word his brother spoke suffused with temptation — he even found himself thinking that, were Nyx to invite him to join a 'Second Imperium' ... it might not be unacceptable.
Reject him, Konrad Curze!
He is the Outsider — the False Emperor — spinning lies to deceive us!
Overlapping visions and savage snarls assailed Curze. His brow throbbed, veins coiling like black worms; cold sweat streamed from his temples.
The agony this prophecy wrought far exceeded even the vision of his own death. Curze sensed something within him striving to tear free of its shell — to supplant his will.
"Are you alright, Curze?!"
Seeing his brother's distress, Nyx immediately recognised the involvement of Curze's foresight. Golden current leapt from his palm — not for destruction, but to employ the Space King's dominion over the laws of the physical universe. He sought to calm Curze's turbulent psychic energy and suppress the uncontrollable visions.
Nyx's power cascaded over Curze like ice-water, quenching the inferno within his breast and restoring his ascendancy over his own consciousness.
"I am Konrad Curze!" the young Primarch snarled. "Eighth Primarch of the Imperium! Lord of the Night Haunter!"
With transhuman force of will, he violently dispersed the usurping presence. And in the instant before the phantasm fully faded, he glimpsed his other self — Konrad Curze, clad in the Midnight Clad, hurled into the screaming madness of the far future.
In the Warhammer universe, prophecy was a strange thing. It was simultaneously a revelation of futures yet to come, yet could also occlude every variable.
Deep within the Nightfall, in a cabin of absolute darkness, a tall figure with pallid, corpselike skin began a new litany of destruction.
Ah...
A gaze from the past was keenly intercepted by Curze. In the Warp, time held no dominion — thus, the future could reach back and meddle with the past.
He... This False Emperor truly sought to alter the future? Why does he make choices on my behalf?! Why do you still strive to change things, even now?!
Jealousy and resentment festered in Konrad Curze's heart, driving his already fractured psyche further towards the abyss. A more piercing shriek echoed through the flagship. The Night Lords had long grown accustomed to such fits — save for the First Captain, Sevatar, who silently clenched his fists.
Gazing into the past, the future Curze beheld a figure that should not exist. And a memory — one long expunged by the Emperor — resurfaced in his consciousness.
You... Carlyle Nyx!