Disclaimer: Don't own 40K, belongs to Games Workshop... I think. They have a lot of subsidiaries.
-
The very first thing the Infant knows is heat. Everything around him burns and warps while he is untouched. Though his vision blurs and no detail can be made out, the Infant knows he will die if he does not escape. So, the very first movement of his life is to reach out and grab hold of burning hot metal and push. There is an old Terran Proverb he is to learn later, 'If one plays with Fire, prepare to be burned.' And it is a stupid saying the Infant will never truly understand. His hands feel no pain as tiny digits curl around small recesses of near molten metal. He does not cry out as hot steam belches out of displays while his home that he has known for scant seconds is crushed.
He pushes, and moves. Necessity forces growth and strength into his limbs, and inch by inch, the Infant crawls. He does not count his grabs, he does not judge his movements, he just moves, keenly aware of some inner Voice that screams he is meant for better things. That the Infant will not, can not, die in some hot, dirty, and forsaken pit.
The other Voice that is both his and not his compels the Infant, and it is that which encourages him to move. The first things the Infant consciously eats are dirty grubs making their way through the hard Earth, moving around patches of Adamantite. A mouth that should not have teeth nevertheless crunches and gobbles down a thick creature that throughout millennia have developed an unseen strength in the dead lands below. In the end however, nothing helps as a greedy hunger ends them all. And then it is time to move again.
A hand punches through soft soil after countless time has passed. It is quickly followed by a lanky form with hair too long to be a boys, and skin almost too pale to be human forces its way from the Earthen Womb. It is a new birth, and the Boy almost feels as though there ought to be a crowd... something congratulating him with food. Pure black eyes blink, and a thin hand forces aside his lengthy hair as the Boy looks down disappointedly at the empty space around him. With the exception of the Voice that is his and not his, it feels like he'll be forever alone. The surface world isn't the grand place he thought it would be, the Boy thinks to himself honestly. Sure it's... well actually the vastness of the place, the lack of walls is pretty amazing, but the darkness that never seems to fade is still here. And that fills the Boy with a sense of despair. Something he'd never felt before, and something he wishes he will never feel again. It is a hope that will go unanswered.
Still, there is one bright side to his new birth. A literal one. Something shines in the ceiling above that the Boy cannot quite reach. It must be quite bright, the Boy remembers later when is better learned, to have been seen even through the infamous smog of Nostramo. But still, it's something pure the Boy feels blessed to see, and the Voice agrees. The Boy turns his head lower, out of the Heavens to the world below, and his lips curl up instinctively at the sight of countless lights in the horizon. It's his first smile, and the Boy thinks his destiny is waiting for him there. On wobbling legs, the Boy stands up for the first time in his life, and carefully takes his first step forward.
It's a night of firsts. Maybe the Surface is better than he thought.
---
His opinion of the greatness of the world is shattered when the first of the bandits try to hunt him, thinking the thin child, almost looking girlish, an easy mark. The Boy has, of course, already seen them, smelled them, and is just curious to see what they want. It's the first time he's seen people like himself, but the Voice tells him it's nothing special, and he can't help but agree. But they are still the first people the Boy has seen ever, and he waits for them to react. He wants to see how people act to each other.
Two men grab his arms and force him into the harsh rock road while another stabs a pointed object into his back. Their excited chatters die off however, as the thing warps upon touching the Bo's skin before shattering like glass. A few shards bounce off harmlessly off the Boy's hide, but many pierce the attacking man's body, forcing him to scream while his unnerved comrades squeal with surprise and suddenly the Boy can feel
Sweatbloodtearsthisisfearthisisfearthisiswhatyouaremeantfor
And the two men run like the Hounds of Hell are after them, leaving behind their leader or friend. Whichever the man must have been. As the Boy looks at the retreating figure, the Voice screams 'This is Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!'This is not how people should act, this is not how humanity should act. The Boy knows this deep in his soul as he looks down at the now crippled bandit who had tried to kill him. Working with instinct and a tenderness he did not know he had, the Boy at least uses the bandit's rags as bandages before lifting him up. He does not know what he will do, but it feels wrong to leave him behind nevertheless. The man now is strong enough to look the Boy in the face, with a look the Boy can not figure out. He murmurs in a strange tongue before clucking his tongue, figuring out the Boy can not understand him. Later, when the Boy is sleeping, the bandit tries to slit the Boy's throat out of curiosity, only to see the backup knife he's kept slide off the skin like water. When a pitch black eye shoots open, the bandit knows the Boy is keenly aware of what he just tried to do. The bandit wonders if he will die.
Hours later, the Boy still carries the bandit on his shoulders, not caring of the murder attempt, knowing only that he is meant to do good, to anyone, even a cutthroat such as this. Even later, a new set of bandits attack. All their attempts to kill the boy do nothing, but they use their leverage to keep the boy pinned while they stab the crippled bandit and rob him of all his valuables. Laughing as they do so, they tousle the Boy's hair before waltzing off, pleased at their prize of dirty rags and a single rusty blade. Moments later, the Boy realizes why they left him alive. For fun. For sport. The Boy lays still in the dirt and blacked rock, still trying to understand this casual cruelty. Is this the sort of being he was meant to be? Are his thoughts so wrong? Deep in his heart, a single nugget of darkness grows.
Carrion birds swoop through the polluted skies before one marks the Boy as easy prey. It dives with a scream before its cry is strangled in a vice-like grip. The Boy has caught it at the end of its dive, an impossibly strong hand choking the bird's throat. The Boy looks at the bird's talons, seeing their sharp nature, though never strong enough to hurt him, before squeezing tightly. It is his first kill and now the Boy finally understands what hatred really is.
With those dark thoughts in mind, the Boy has his first dream. In it, he is
fighting being like him and not like him. They are brothers, they are sons, they are his enemies and allies. One brother fights another and he is disgusted with both of them. One fool fights for a false man who thinks himself Emperor while another has made himself a slave to Ruin. Chaos is the world of the day as thousands scream and die in a killing field. The Ruined One is about to be killed, but acting on thoughts he can't understand, massive talons block a whip before his pale faces stares into one that could very well be his own. The Fool is screaming oaths and curses he can not hear while the Ruined catches his breath and darts back, believing himself victorious with help of his brother. The Fool flies back, now knowing he can not triumph, but as he flies away he leaves one last snarl to the forces below, waiting for a chance.
The Boy wakes up shivering to himself, wondering of the mysterious sleep pictures he'd just encountered. One side of him is horrified at what has happened while another primal part of him remembers the screams of the damned and revels in it. The blood of countless superhumans, the ever shifting and changing tides of Battle, the decaying Earth, and the joyous Emotion of it all makes him shiver in anticipation and horror all at once. The Boy hopes he will not dream again. It is to be another disappointment in an endless array of failures.
---
The Boy enters the city without fanfare, keeping out of the sight of hundreds of gangers and killers, looking for easy marks. He is barely thirty minutes into the massive hive when he sees his first suicide, a middle aged man throwing himself off a tall spire. The Boy's keen eyes track the falling body, but can't help but focus on the man's face. On it is relief the likes of which he has never seen and a joy the Boy can not understand. How evil is Man for people to desire death? After the boy splatters on the ground, a woman and child, edge over to it while dozens of uncaring bystanders have already jumped the corpse, ripping it clean of any valuables like carrion before the two can make their way in. The woman tenderly wipes off some blood with a moderately clean rag as the silent boy tosses a sheet on the body. They are his wife and son, the Boy realizes. This moment of tenderness is broken when a man with designs on his skin shoves the woman to the ground, irritated at the slow progress. He barks in the language the Boy still has yet to learn before thinking better of himself, and reaches with a dirty hand to stroke the buttocks of the grieving woman.
The woman fights back, but it is half-hearted, even from the Boy's point of view. Resigned to her fate, she at least forces her son away with tender words. The now eager men around her crowd around, snapped out of their lethargy now that there is a new show to be watched until the Boy can see no more of the woman.
He wonders if a King should hate his people so.
Later, the Boy learns from signs and discarded magazines the basics of language, until slowly but surely, he can understand what the people around him say.
'Another killing yesterday at the Second-'
'-oor girl. Barely 11 and already taken by that Madam. You know I hear-
'-ooligans working up again. Barely a tyke over eight and they've already killed enough even the Rippers are thinking about cutting them down.'
'-creamed real nice you know? Cutting always does that fine. Took myself a trophy see? Fine hair am I right? The Docs always need hair. He can get rid of the scalp himself.'
He learns other useless tidbits as well. This planet is Nostramo, it is valued for the Adamantium buried in its crust, and so forth. But all this means nothing to the Boy. All this time he has been feeding himself with wild animals found here in the Hive, but he can stand no more. He needs to do something. The Boy learns later what he must do as he sees a mutt attacked by massive vermin when he sees something extraordinary. The mutt pounces and with rheumatic jaws, rips off the head of a single rodent before the rest fall back, too scared to try once more.
His coal black eyes glitter as the Boy pets the mutt, now understanding. He must kill those responsible for pain so they may retreat, so they may reconsider. The Boy watches though, as infected wounds from the fight killed the mutt as it grows increasingly mad before adjusting his plans. He must never fight in the open. Even with his great strength, if anyone sees the Boy fall, any progress he might have made is going to fail miserably. He pets the bloated corpse continuously as the Boy fine tunes and thinks to himself.
That night, he witnesses a robbery from a particularly bold trio of thugs. He waits in a darkened alley as two dash off while a slower one trips with his bundle. He helps the thug up before snapping his neck cleanly and climbs up a building to see what happens. The Boy is overcome with rage moments later, when the two remaining robbers see the dead corpse and instantly head back into the home they had just robbed and emerge minutes later with blood on their clothes. The Boy looks on with hate as the robbers pick their loot before leaving the dead ally in the gutter, not even having the presence of mind to shove him out of the main street. When he is sure the two have gone, the Boy dashes into the house to witness an old man and his family, lying dead with cut throats. He stands there in the dark before closing the eyes of the Dead, overcome with shame. He wonders where he's gone wrong as he walks out of the home, disgusted with his failure.
He goes to an unlit corner somewhere in the Hab units before sitting down. This require further study, the Boy thinks. The Voice agrees.
The Boy does not act for weeks, instead only stalking his future prey. They travel in ones or twos, but most commonly, they travel in packs of five. Lucky ones carry autopistols while others must be content with their bare fists, and whatever makeshift weapons they can carry. He sees them attack the innocent, rape the unwilling, and commit horrors he is sure no human should ever do, but still does nothing as veins pop out his neck, tendons stretching as he tenses for combat. But his observation pays off. He learns quickly that everyone is afraid of the Dark, even in Nostramo, the land of eternal night. He learns that people fear the unknown, when he idly switches the decor of what the brigands think are safehouses and sees their reactions. He learns that brutality can touch even the most hardened soul if the violence is heavy enough, watching a few men flinch or avert their eyes when a cruel leader taunts a rival gang member by cutting off his eyelids.
He absorbs all this knowledge like a sponge before he thinks himself ready.
---
There is a man.
There is a woman.
The man has shoved the woman down into the muck of the underhive and is readying himself. He unbuckles his belt, nearly drooling in eagerness. The woman clenches her eyes and hopes it will at least be quick, as the brute had broken an arm in his haste.
She feels a rush of wind, but can no longer hear the pants of the rapist above her, and wonders what is going on. Her questions are answered moments later as the most blood-curdling scream she has ever heard in her life, even on Nostramo where torture and mayhem is a fact of life, ring out. The sound is enough to attract even the most apathetic citizen. The scream does not end for what seems like hours before it abruptly cuts off. A crowd of people have gathered around the woman, and no one seems to want her body. They are too unnerved by this scream, too frightened by the night that seems to have grown even darker. As nervous mutters fill the sky, a body falls. It may be a suicide, it may not.
But the body lands with a squelch and immediately people rush to it, wondering what could have made a man scream so. But for a moment, they can not tell if what they are seeing is even a person. It's just... so much meat. There are white flecks that might be... bone. There is straw that is actually hair, and the flesh they aren't sure is humans turns out to be so when under layers of blood, gang marks stained deep are found. Old scars turn out to be the only way to identify the man, a notorious member of the Blood Rippers, a gang based in the area, and even then it's an iffy thing.
But as onlookers get off their knees, one man, experienced in knuckle fights points something out. Every single wound, from the caved in skull to the pulped flesh has all been done by bare hands. The knowledgeable agree before wondering just what creature is capable of such a thing before a cry from behind them forces them to turn and look up as a finger points to the sky. Illuminated by thin lights is a figure their minds can not comprehend. The darkness melds with the being, and they can not tell where the night ends and the monster begins. It appears only for a second before vanishing.
The next day, the Boy listens with glee at the rumors. It was a dream, an omen, a beast of death, it was clawed, fanged, taloned, winged... it was endless. People's imaginations filled in the blanks and their own fears devoured themselves. For a while, even the lowlifes and gangers stop picking on the weak, instead looking over their shoulders for this dangerous monster. But soon enough, human nature asserts itself and the Boy witnesses a new crime. The monster is eager to be let loose from its cage, and the Boy doesn't feel like denying it its freedom.
This cycle of terror and murder goes on for a while until the Wailing Tigers, a group of twenty, decide they've had enough with this shadow war against a freak no one's even seen before. They pull out autorifles they'd hidden for wars and instead fire wildly into the air. They loot, they pillage, they plunder even those who pay protection money, instead shooting innocents before prying the creds off their corpses. They taunt the beast, daring it to come where they are strongest.
Their screams are legendary.
The next day, the biggest crowd Nostramo has ever seen each try to climb on each others' shoulders to see the sight.
Twenty men, each bled out and beaten to an unrecognizable mess, and a warehouse wall painted red with the words 'I am watching.'
Some are posed in mockery of life, hugging each other with affection never before shown, others are gutted like fish and splayed face down, still others have been nailed to walls.
Suddenly, killing doesn't seem so easy anymore. Suddenly, the Old Order of ways looks pretty damn unappealing.
A new name spreads for the monster. The Night Haunter. A raving creature of darkness, with disease-ridden claws stalks the night. It has a fondness for the strong, taking in their power with each kill. It leaves the weak alone, and has a strange sense of justice. The rumors spread like wildfire even as trade consortiums push them down while lifelong criminals look at each other nervously.
And all the while, the Boy tastes his new name. Night Haunter. There's a deliciousness to the sound, and the fear it inspires is almost palpable. Tensions rise at each mention of the name, and everyone looks down at the sound of it, from the most innocent child, to the most remorseless butcher. It describes him perfectly, the now christened Haunter thinks.
That night he dreams of a Nostramo where its people are safe, no longer fearing the strong. His name no longer spoken with fear, but reverence and respect, taking glory in his justice. It is a good dream.
---
I've been reading some 40K novels recently after a nearby Borders closed and sold off all their stock cheap. In particular, I read Soul Hunter and got hooked to A D-B's style, and remembered why I loved the Night Lords (Crazy Space Batmen, come on, how can you not love that). And I always felt bad for Curze, knowing his backstory. I don't even know why I'm posting this to be honest. I guess typing up a few thousand words and just keeping it on the hard drive feels kind of cheap. I'm only writing up to the point where he meets the Emperor though.
I expect the inevitable Horus Heresy novel focusing on the Night Lords to make me look like a chump of course.
Welp, there should be one more part to this.
-
The very first thing the Infant knows is heat. Everything around him burns and warps while he is untouched. Though his vision blurs and no detail can be made out, the Infant knows he will die if he does not escape. So, the very first movement of his life is to reach out and grab hold of burning hot metal and push. There is an old Terran Proverb he is to learn later, 'If one plays with Fire, prepare to be burned.' And it is a stupid saying the Infant will never truly understand. His hands feel no pain as tiny digits curl around small recesses of near molten metal. He does not cry out as hot steam belches out of displays while his home that he has known for scant seconds is crushed.
He pushes, and moves. Necessity forces growth and strength into his limbs, and inch by inch, the Infant crawls. He does not count his grabs, he does not judge his movements, he just moves, keenly aware of some inner Voice that screams he is meant for better things. That the Infant will not, can not, die in some hot, dirty, and forsaken pit.
The other Voice that is both his and not his compels the Infant, and it is that which encourages him to move. The first things the Infant consciously eats are dirty grubs making their way through the hard Earth, moving around patches of Adamantite. A mouth that should not have teeth nevertheless crunches and gobbles down a thick creature that throughout millennia have developed an unseen strength in the dead lands below. In the end however, nothing helps as a greedy hunger ends them all. And then it is time to move again.
A hand punches through soft soil after countless time has passed. It is quickly followed by a lanky form with hair too long to be a boys, and skin almost too pale to be human forces its way from the Earthen Womb. It is a new birth, and the Boy almost feels as though there ought to be a crowd... something congratulating him with food. Pure black eyes blink, and a thin hand forces aside his lengthy hair as the Boy looks down disappointedly at the empty space around him. With the exception of the Voice that is his and not his, it feels like he'll be forever alone. The surface world isn't the grand place he thought it would be, the Boy thinks to himself honestly. Sure it's... well actually the vastness of the place, the lack of walls is pretty amazing, but the darkness that never seems to fade is still here. And that fills the Boy with a sense of despair. Something he'd never felt before, and something he wishes he will never feel again. It is a hope that will go unanswered.
Still, there is one bright side to his new birth. A literal one. Something shines in the ceiling above that the Boy cannot quite reach. It must be quite bright, the Boy remembers later when is better learned, to have been seen even through the infamous smog of Nostramo. But still, it's something pure the Boy feels blessed to see, and the Voice agrees. The Boy turns his head lower, out of the Heavens to the world below, and his lips curl up instinctively at the sight of countless lights in the horizon. It's his first smile, and the Boy thinks his destiny is waiting for him there. On wobbling legs, the Boy stands up for the first time in his life, and carefully takes his first step forward.
It's a night of firsts. Maybe the Surface is better than he thought.
---
His opinion of the greatness of the world is shattered when the first of the bandits try to hunt him, thinking the thin child, almost looking girlish, an easy mark. The Boy has, of course, already seen them, smelled them, and is just curious to see what they want. It's the first time he's seen people like himself, but the Voice tells him it's nothing special, and he can't help but agree. But they are still the first people the Boy has seen ever, and he waits for them to react. He wants to see how people act to each other.
Two men grab his arms and force him into the harsh rock road while another stabs a pointed object into his back. Their excited chatters die off however, as the thing warps upon touching the Bo's skin before shattering like glass. A few shards bounce off harmlessly off the Boy's hide, but many pierce the attacking man's body, forcing him to scream while his unnerved comrades squeal with surprise and suddenly the Boy can feel
Sweatbloodtearsthisisfearthisisfearthisiswhatyouaremeantfor
And the two men run like the Hounds of Hell are after them, leaving behind their leader or friend. Whichever the man must have been. As the Boy looks at the retreating figure, the Voice screams 'This is Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!'This is not how people should act, this is not how humanity should act. The Boy knows this deep in his soul as he looks down at the now crippled bandit who had tried to kill him. Working with instinct and a tenderness he did not know he had, the Boy at least uses the bandit's rags as bandages before lifting him up. He does not know what he will do, but it feels wrong to leave him behind nevertheless. The man now is strong enough to look the Boy in the face, with a look the Boy can not figure out. He murmurs in a strange tongue before clucking his tongue, figuring out the Boy can not understand him. Later, when the Boy is sleeping, the bandit tries to slit the Boy's throat out of curiosity, only to see the backup knife he's kept slide off the skin like water. When a pitch black eye shoots open, the bandit knows the Boy is keenly aware of what he just tried to do. The bandit wonders if he will die.
Hours later, the Boy still carries the bandit on his shoulders, not caring of the murder attempt, knowing only that he is meant to do good, to anyone, even a cutthroat such as this. Even later, a new set of bandits attack. All their attempts to kill the boy do nothing, but they use their leverage to keep the boy pinned while they stab the crippled bandit and rob him of all his valuables. Laughing as they do so, they tousle the Boy's hair before waltzing off, pleased at their prize of dirty rags and a single rusty blade. Moments later, the Boy realizes why they left him alive. For fun. For sport. The Boy lays still in the dirt and blacked rock, still trying to understand this casual cruelty. Is this the sort of being he was meant to be? Are his thoughts so wrong? Deep in his heart, a single nugget of darkness grows.
Carrion birds swoop through the polluted skies before one marks the Boy as easy prey. It dives with a scream before its cry is strangled in a vice-like grip. The Boy has caught it at the end of its dive, an impossibly strong hand choking the bird's throat. The Boy looks at the bird's talons, seeing their sharp nature, though never strong enough to hurt him, before squeezing tightly. It is his first kill and now the Boy finally understands what hatred really is.
With those dark thoughts in mind, the Boy has his first dream. In it, he is
fighting being like him and not like him. They are brothers, they are sons, they are his enemies and allies. One brother fights another and he is disgusted with both of them. One fool fights for a false man who thinks himself Emperor while another has made himself a slave to Ruin. Chaos is the world of the day as thousands scream and die in a killing field. The Ruined One is about to be killed, but acting on thoughts he can't understand, massive talons block a whip before his pale faces stares into one that could very well be his own. The Fool is screaming oaths and curses he can not hear while the Ruined catches his breath and darts back, believing himself victorious with help of his brother. The Fool flies back, now knowing he can not triumph, but as he flies away he leaves one last snarl to the forces below, waiting for a chance.
The Boy wakes up shivering to himself, wondering of the mysterious sleep pictures he'd just encountered. One side of him is horrified at what has happened while another primal part of him remembers the screams of the damned and revels in it. The blood of countless superhumans, the ever shifting and changing tides of Battle, the decaying Earth, and the joyous Emotion of it all makes him shiver in anticipation and horror all at once. The Boy hopes he will not dream again. It is to be another disappointment in an endless array of failures.
---
The Boy enters the city without fanfare, keeping out of the sight of hundreds of gangers and killers, looking for easy marks. He is barely thirty minutes into the massive hive when he sees his first suicide, a middle aged man throwing himself off a tall spire. The Boy's keen eyes track the falling body, but can't help but focus on the man's face. On it is relief the likes of which he has never seen and a joy the Boy can not understand. How evil is Man for people to desire death? After the boy splatters on the ground, a woman and child, edge over to it while dozens of uncaring bystanders have already jumped the corpse, ripping it clean of any valuables like carrion before the two can make their way in. The woman tenderly wipes off some blood with a moderately clean rag as the silent boy tosses a sheet on the body. They are his wife and son, the Boy realizes. This moment of tenderness is broken when a man with designs on his skin shoves the woman to the ground, irritated at the slow progress. He barks in the language the Boy still has yet to learn before thinking better of himself, and reaches with a dirty hand to stroke the buttocks of the grieving woman.
The woman fights back, but it is half-hearted, even from the Boy's point of view. Resigned to her fate, she at least forces her son away with tender words. The now eager men around her crowd around, snapped out of their lethargy now that there is a new show to be watched until the Boy can see no more of the woman.
He wonders if a King should hate his people so.
Later, the Boy learns from signs and discarded magazines the basics of language, until slowly but surely, he can understand what the people around him say.
'Another killing yesterday at the Second-'
'-oor girl. Barely 11 and already taken by that Madam. You know I hear-
'-ooligans working up again. Barely a tyke over eight and they've already killed enough even the Rippers are thinking about cutting them down.'
'-creamed real nice you know? Cutting always does that fine. Took myself a trophy see? Fine hair am I right? The Docs always need hair. He can get rid of the scalp himself.'
He learns other useless tidbits as well. This planet is Nostramo, it is valued for the Adamantium buried in its crust, and so forth. But all this means nothing to the Boy. All this time he has been feeding himself with wild animals found here in the Hive, but he can stand no more. He needs to do something. The Boy learns later what he must do as he sees a mutt attacked by massive vermin when he sees something extraordinary. The mutt pounces and with rheumatic jaws, rips off the head of a single rodent before the rest fall back, too scared to try once more.
His coal black eyes glitter as the Boy pets the mutt, now understanding. He must kill those responsible for pain so they may retreat, so they may reconsider. The Boy watches though, as infected wounds from the fight killed the mutt as it grows increasingly mad before adjusting his plans. He must never fight in the open. Even with his great strength, if anyone sees the Boy fall, any progress he might have made is going to fail miserably. He pets the bloated corpse continuously as the Boy fine tunes and thinks to himself.
That night, he witnesses a robbery from a particularly bold trio of thugs. He waits in a darkened alley as two dash off while a slower one trips with his bundle. He helps the thug up before snapping his neck cleanly and climbs up a building to see what happens. The Boy is overcome with rage moments later, when the two remaining robbers see the dead corpse and instantly head back into the home they had just robbed and emerge minutes later with blood on their clothes. The Boy looks on with hate as the robbers pick their loot before leaving the dead ally in the gutter, not even having the presence of mind to shove him out of the main street. When he is sure the two have gone, the Boy dashes into the house to witness an old man and his family, lying dead with cut throats. He stands there in the dark before closing the eyes of the Dead, overcome with shame. He wonders where he's gone wrong as he walks out of the home, disgusted with his failure.
He goes to an unlit corner somewhere in the Hab units before sitting down. This require further study, the Boy thinks. The Voice agrees.
The Boy does not act for weeks, instead only stalking his future prey. They travel in ones or twos, but most commonly, they travel in packs of five. Lucky ones carry autopistols while others must be content with their bare fists, and whatever makeshift weapons they can carry. He sees them attack the innocent, rape the unwilling, and commit horrors he is sure no human should ever do, but still does nothing as veins pop out his neck, tendons stretching as he tenses for combat. But his observation pays off. He learns quickly that everyone is afraid of the Dark, even in Nostramo, the land of eternal night. He learns that people fear the unknown, when he idly switches the decor of what the brigands think are safehouses and sees their reactions. He learns that brutality can touch even the most hardened soul if the violence is heavy enough, watching a few men flinch or avert their eyes when a cruel leader taunts a rival gang member by cutting off his eyelids.
He absorbs all this knowledge like a sponge before he thinks himself ready.
---
There is a man.
There is a woman.
The man has shoved the woman down into the muck of the underhive and is readying himself. He unbuckles his belt, nearly drooling in eagerness. The woman clenches her eyes and hopes it will at least be quick, as the brute had broken an arm in his haste.
She feels a rush of wind, but can no longer hear the pants of the rapist above her, and wonders what is going on. Her questions are answered moments later as the most blood-curdling scream she has ever heard in her life, even on Nostramo where torture and mayhem is a fact of life, ring out. The sound is enough to attract even the most apathetic citizen. The scream does not end for what seems like hours before it abruptly cuts off. A crowd of people have gathered around the woman, and no one seems to want her body. They are too unnerved by this scream, too frightened by the night that seems to have grown even darker. As nervous mutters fill the sky, a body falls. It may be a suicide, it may not.
But the body lands with a squelch and immediately people rush to it, wondering what could have made a man scream so. But for a moment, they can not tell if what they are seeing is even a person. It's just... so much meat. There are white flecks that might be... bone. There is straw that is actually hair, and the flesh they aren't sure is humans turns out to be so when under layers of blood, gang marks stained deep are found. Old scars turn out to be the only way to identify the man, a notorious member of the Blood Rippers, a gang based in the area, and even then it's an iffy thing.
But as onlookers get off their knees, one man, experienced in knuckle fights points something out. Every single wound, from the caved in skull to the pulped flesh has all been done by bare hands. The knowledgeable agree before wondering just what creature is capable of such a thing before a cry from behind them forces them to turn and look up as a finger points to the sky. Illuminated by thin lights is a figure their minds can not comprehend. The darkness melds with the being, and they can not tell where the night ends and the monster begins. It appears only for a second before vanishing.
The next day, the Boy listens with glee at the rumors. It was a dream, an omen, a beast of death, it was clawed, fanged, taloned, winged... it was endless. People's imaginations filled in the blanks and their own fears devoured themselves. For a while, even the lowlifes and gangers stop picking on the weak, instead looking over their shoulders for this dangerous monster. But soon enough, human nature asserts itself and the Boy witnesses a new crime. The monster is eager to be let loose from its cage, and the Boy doesn't feel like denying it its freedom.
This cycle of terror and murder goes on for a while until the Wailing Tigers, a group of twenty, decide they've had enough with this shadow war against a freak no one's even seen before. They pull out autorifles they'd hidden for wars and instead fire wildly into the air. They loot, they pillage, they plunder even those who pay protection money, instead shooting innocents before prying the creds off their corpses. They taunt the beast, daring it to come where they are strongest.
Their screams are legendary.
The next day, the biggest crowd Nostramo has ever seen each try to climb on each others' shoulders to see the sight.
Twenty men, each bled out and beaten to an unrecognizable mess, and a warehouse wall painted red with the words 'I am watching.'
Some are posed in mockery of life, hugging each other with affection never before shown, others are gutted like fish and splayed face down, still others have been nailed to walls.
Suddenly, killing doesn't seem so easy anymore. Suddenly, the Old Order of ways looks pretty damn unappealing.
A new name spreads for the monster. The Night Haunter. A raving creature of darkness, with disease-ridden claws stalks the night. It has a fondness for the strong, taking in their power with each kill. It leaves the weak alone, and has a strange sense of justice. The rumors spread like wildfire even as trade consortiums push them down while lifelong criminals look at each other nervously.
And all the while, the Boy tastes his new name. Night Haunter. There's a deliciousness to the sound, and the fear it inspires is almost palpable. Tensions rise at each mention of the name, and everyone looks down at the sound of it, from the most innocent child, to the most remorseless butcher. It describes him perfectly, the now christened Haunter thinks.
That night he dreams of a Nostramo where its people are safe, no longer fearing the strong. His name no longer spoken with fear, but reverence and respect, taking glory in his justice. It is a good dream.
---
I've been reading some 40K novels recently after a nearby Borders closed and sold off all their stock cheap. In particular, I read Soul Hunter and got hooked to A D-B's style, and remembered why I loved the Night Lords (Crazy Space Batmen, come on, how can you not love that). And I always felt bad for Curze, knowing his backstory. I don't even know why I'm posting this to be honest. I guess typing up a few thousand words and just keeping it on the hard drive feels kind of cheap. I'm only writing up to the point where he meets the Emperor though.
I expect the inevitable Horus Heresy novel focusing on the Night Lords to make me look like a chump of course.
Welp, there should be one more part to this.