The Emperor’s Angel of Death

The situation deteriorated so rapidly that the sector governor would barely lie down to sleep before countless dire reports flooded in. He barely remembered how he had spent the last hundred days. He could only sleep three or four hours each day, accomplishing little despite his efforts. He felt trapped in the governor's mansion, awaiting one suffocating message after another. His directives were either too late or impossible to execute due to lack of resources. The sector fleet lost half its strength in the first twenty days, and the remainder could only huddle in the Amara system for defense. The sector's defense forces were utterly useless.

But the most devastating news came from the Soul Drinkers Chapter, the guardians of Orpheus, and his former mainstay. Garribren contacted them immediately, but received no response. Finally, a scout ship limped back, its terrified captain delivering a thunderbolt of information: the Soul Drinkers' homeworld had been destroyed.

That day, the bells of every church on Amara Prime tolled, a thousand tolls to mourn the former guardians of Orpheus.

But Garribren Long's feelings were not just grief, but a deeper despair. If even the Astartes could not protect themselves, who could protect them?

Even in his brief sleep, he often had the same nightmare. He dreamt he was attending a bizarre and terrifying banquet. He sat on a cold chair at a long table laden with dusty cutlery and rotten food, like grave goods in an ancient tomb.

Around him at the table sat creatures shrouded in shadow, motionless, their eyes glowing with a faint, spectral green light, like resurrected specters attending a dinner only for the dead.

Each time, he tried to shout and scream, but in the dream, he could not make a sound, only sit paralyzed on the cold chair, while whispers echoed in his ears—

…Vermin… listen…

…The Mother of Oblivion comes… death comes… obey…

Then he would wake up in a cold sweat. His attendants would rush about in confusion. After each nightmare, he would pray alone before the Emperor's icon, only faith preventing his complete mental collapse, but it was not enough.

What he truly needed was a patron, someone who could bring him hope.

Orpheus had once endured a thousand-year-long Dark Age of strife, during which even the main line of the sector governor's family had been extinguished. The Long family, a collateral branch, had seized the opportunity to rise through succession. But the Long family's power was insufficient to stabilize the situation, and the entire Orpheus sector was plunged into division and civil war, until Saint Marduk and his holy war arrived. Only after a terrible cost of one-fifth of the sector's population, and even the martyrdom of the Saint, did Orpheus emerge from the dark age of rebellion, and the Long family secured its position.

Learn from the past. Was this alien invasion the end of the Long family, like the family they had replaced?

Would a saint come to save them this time?

Countless doubts and accusations gnawed at his mind like venomous snakes, leaving him increasingly gaunt and exhausted.

“Master?”

Suddenly, a cautious voice sounded outside the office door. Long knew it was his most trusted old servant, who had been with him since childhood.

“Come in.”

A moment later, an energetic old man in a black butler's uniform, carrying a silver tray, entered with small steps, followed by several young and beautiful maids.

“Master, you haven’t eaten in nine hours.”

He glanced at the delicate small table, where a platter sat, its exquisite food barely touched.

Garribren closed his eyes slightly, sighed, and said in a dim voice:

“I can’t eat, Lauren. I can’t eat anything.”

“You must eat something, sir. All of Orpheus depends on you. If you fall, the sector falls.”

As the servant spoke, he winked at the maids behind him, who filed in and quickly cleared away the cold dishes. The old servant set down the new platter, and as he lifted the lid, a fragrance filled the room. The maids also began to serve.

Desserts, soups, steaks—twenty-odd carefully prepared dishes were placed on the table, but the governor sat slumped in his chair, not even glancing at them.

After the maids left, the old servant picked up a wine jug, filled a glass with red wine, and handed it to the governor.

“Please eat something, Master.”

Garribren looked at him, his eyes dim, then reached for the glass.

A gentle sip of the wine, which should have been sweet, left only bitterness on his tongue, but Garribren drank half of it.

“Sit down and have a drink with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The old servant cautiously sat down on the chair across the table, then picked up the wine jug, filled the governor's glass, and poured himself a small half-glass.

“Have many people been leaving Amara lately?”

Hearing Garribren's question, the old servant hesitated. He knew the governor meant family members, and cautiously replied:

“Some have.”

Garribren sneered.

“Some? I think it's many. They all think this place is doomed. Many have urged me to relocate the capital, but those pigs have no brains. Why was the Long family able to stand firm during the dark age of rebellion? Precisely because we held Amara. Leaving here is cutting off the family's roots. We will immediately be replaced by other families, exterminated! The example of the previous family is there. They fled Amara and were killed to the last within thirty years!”

After a burst of angry words, Garribren vented some of the frustration in his heart, and seemed to have a little appetite. He picked up a piece of golden-brown, crispy bread studded with jewel-like dried fruits, and tore it in half.

“You haven't eaten either, have you? Let's eat together.”

“Thank you, Master, but wouldn't it be better for you to eat the whole thing? You haven't been…”

“I can't finish it. Don't be polite.”

Taking the bread, the old servant did not eat, only watched Garribren eat in small bites, then stood up, walked to the desk, and browsed the new information on the data-slate.

Suddenly, the old servant wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, choking up:

“Master, you've been working so hard these days, sleeping only three or four hours a day, and eating so little. How can this go on for long?”

Garribren heard this, shook his head, and sighed:

“Looking at all this, who can eat? Look, those bastards in the Akentis Cluster are using the excuse of local unrest to avoid supplying more arms. And the Carosen Hive says the local garrison is already overburdened, demanding food and money! Cough, cough…”