The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Holy Terra, the jewel of the galaxy, the center of miracles. → No jewel shines brighter, no tumor festers more foully.

At its heart gathers the fear and glory of a race, history compacted into plinths and catacombs, pits and narrow habitations. Ten long millennia of corruption and majesty have etched and congealed upon Terra's surface, staining her a putrid gray, a temple world gleaming with a billion lights, a tomb clutching tightly to its buried soul.

All the natural beauty of this planet has long been erased from its surface, replaced by layer upon layer of monolithic, writhing hive cities, expansion obscuring once-vast oceans and long-felled forests, burying it all beneath suffocating mountains of ferrocrete and plasteel, tangled, rotting, renewing, and rebuilding, until the proliferating mass stretches from abyss to zenith, unbroken.

There is no place on this world untouched by humanity, from the most glittering spires to the deepest underground, the presence of this tenacious race can be found everywhere.

Yet the lives of the upper and lower classes are so different that it is hard to believe they exist on the same planet.

Though the midnight bells have rung and the shops have bolted their doors, Red Moon Street is more alive in the long night than in the dull, gray daylight. Perhaps to set Terra apart from other hive worlds, even underground there are lighting systems that simulate the cycle of day and night. Of course, these are merely super-illumination spheres transported by huge orbital carriers, unable to provide the warmth of sunlight, serving only to give overseers a better excuse to kick workers from their bunks.

Red Moon District, an area of approximately three hundred square kilometers, lies beneath Eternal City at an elevation of about -4211 meters. Originally part of Terra's underground catacomb system, the uncontrolled population explosion of Terra resulted in a terrifying number of daily deaths. The entire underground burial system is managed by the Mortuary Sisterhood, also known as the Council of Ladies. However, the Ecclesiarchy sisters are clearly overwhelmed by an area that has grown hundreds of times larger than its original size, and the entire catacomb area has essentially devolved into an anarchic world, gradually dividing into hundreds of smaller districts over the long course of history.

Red Moon District is one of the more well-known and prosperous among them, for no other reason than the presence of vertical access shafts that facilitate transportation, concentrating the main entertainment and high-end consumption venues of the surrounding dozen or so districts.

Or rather, mainly concentrated on Red Moon Street, which is only two kilometers long from east to west.

When the midnight bells toll and many districts descend into darkness, Red Moon Street blazes with colorful lights. Various unique, or opulent, or bizarre, or simple bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and low-speed theaters constantly emit the noise of chatter, laughter, arguments, and the roars and screams of fights.

Here, one finds no sanctity, solemnity, or reverence, only an atmosphere of indulgence and illusion permeating the garbage-strewn streets. Strong, burly gang leaders, surrounded by their underlings, embrace scantily clad, short-skirted beauties on either side. The wealthy, escorted by bodyguards, enter halls that offer them any 'refined pleasure,' even the welcoming girls are dressed in modified scribe nun robes, with much less fabric and slits cut all the way to the waist, offering a tantalizing glimpse of temptation and the contrast between debauchery and solemnity.

But even so, not everyone can come to 'enjoy themselves.' Even in the darkest corners of the holy planet of Terra, identity, status, and wealth remain the prerequisites for enjoying all the finer things.

Most people in the district can only huddle in the dark corners unnoticed, trying their best to resist the cold of the deep underground.

Luxury cars and gang armored trucks flowed endlessly on the street, while a red car with strange triangular tail fins and traces of violent modification roared through the traffic and stopped in a loud screech in front of a huge archway emitting pale purple neon lights.

Then the car door slid upwards, and polished leather boots stepped heavily on the ground, followed by a stout figure standing up.

‘The so-called 'Style'! It is an ultimate joy and satisfaction that even the Astartes cannot understand! That is willfulness, unruliness, and 'Style' in terms of personality! I have understood what 'Style' is, and I also feel the joy it brings me, but I still want to know, Kellen, do you have any better ideas—’

The tall figure leaned against the car, looking up at the sign on the archway, a lithe woman with long claws—Succubus Hotel.

At this moment, several other people also got out of the car. Accompanied by the spark of a golden lighter, the first person to get out lit the cigar in his mouth, emitting a burst of laughter.

‘Now, Rozhim before your eyes, this Overlord Chef, is he stylish or not! Is he handsome or not! Hahaha—’

At this time, Rozhim had completely changed. He wore a flamboyant silver bell-bottom trousers, the belt was made of rivets, and the buckle was a silver skull. He wore only a short-sleeved floral shirt on his upper body, exposing his strong chest and abdominal muscles. He wore thick gold chains on his wrists and neck, a pair of triangular sunglasses on his face, and his hair was high.

Beside him, Isstvan, Loken, and Togo were also very strangely dressed, wearing a black Bosozoku carapace and loose leather pants, sunglasses on their faces, and a towering red mohawk, looking both wild and comical.

And Togo claimed that this look was called the Gotrek's Choice, which is a very popular outfit among short people.

Kellen and Qruze also emerged, but both of them were closed-off, but the shape and materials were very different. Kellen was modified with Red Corsair Space Marine armor plates from the Maelstrom, and the helmet was cast into the shape of a boar, looking like a savage hive thug, while Qruze could only wear his special robe because of the special entropy field, looking like a gloomy wizard with a rat mask.

This group of people swaggered into the archway, and the waiter who greeted them at the door immediately came over and bowed respectfully.

‘This boss, you look unfamiliar? Do you have a reservation card—’

But Rozhim's eyes did not stop on him at all, but kept turning on the four tall, graceful, wearing pale purple high-slit dresses, and wearing veils, constantly throwing winks at him.

At this moment, Togo suddenly rubbed his nose and muttered in a low voice.

‘Strange, why is there a chitinous smell here?’

At this time, Isstvan handed over a card, which Rozhim had ‘accidentally encountered’ a kind person, and then the other party ‘sent’ to him, although now this kind person and his entourage are lying unconscious in an unknown alley.

The waiter glanced at the card, nodded, and turned to respectfully say:

‘How should I address you, boss?’

‘Just call me Old Ro.’

Saying that, he swaggered in.