Archon Marlac fixed his gaze on the tall Archon across from him, silently passing the sentence of death.
Suddenly, that tall Archon seemed to sense something. He turned his head and revealed a warm smile, as though greeting Marlac.
Marlac nodded back, forcing a smile of his own.
As a high-ranking figure, one had to maintain dignity at all times, even while plotting murder.
Never revealing intent or emotion—that was a fundamental virtue.
In any case, that man was already marked for death.
"Seems the old fool has a bit of character after all…"
Eden turned his head, speaking with a note of sentiment—completely unaware that someone was already planning to kill him.
It wasn't that he was careless. He simply assumed everyone could potentially be his enemy.
From the Chaos Gods, to Daemon Princes, alien overlords, and human opposition—those who wanted the Primarch of Hope dead were beyond counting.
Such things had long ceased to surprise him.
That was why he always maintained vigilance, never allowing himself to capsize in the gutter.
Yet Eden also noticed that, as the energy of the Dark Side grew within him, it was becoming harder and harder to restrain certain impulses.
He found himself drawn to risk, his actions increasingly aggressive.
Perhaps this was why the galaxy produced so many lunatics.
Fortunately, he could still keep himself in check—for now.
And his true body remained in a secure place.
Once the Succubus duel ended, Eden too had chosen his target.
He rose and walked toward the intended box.
"I am Marlac—you must have heard of my name."
The elderly Archon stepped forward, subtly blocking Eden's path.
"Take my advice: that is not a woman you are worthy of touching."
This ruthless figure did not want some irritating insect buzzing around when he went to see Lady Beda. And this was the Queen of the Arena's domain—it wasn't convenient to squash the nuisance here.
"Marlac?"
Eden faintly recalled the name from his data on Commorragh—an Archon of a powerful Kabal.
Such a figure was far beyond the level of a rival.
But this was Commorragh, and Eden had no desire to spark conflict here.
"Thanks for the warning."
He shrugged, glancing toward the corridor.
"But a word of advice in return—you've got no shortage of rivals. Best make haste."
He stepped aside, not forcing his way into the hall.
After all, his target list was still long—plenty of noblewomen and maidens yet to be courted.
Commorragh was far more open than the Imperium—but also far more perilous.
At that very moment, the corridor outside Lady Beda's box was already crowded.
Not only her servants, but also Archons from various Kabals, waiting for a glimpse of her beauty—or to profess their adoration.
It was said Lady Beda had come to Commorragh alone, bringing with her immense wealth and resources.
A woman both beautiful and wealthy naturally drew the covetous eyes of Archons, eager to seize both her and her fortune.
"You're a sensible fellow."
Marlac smiled at the tall Archon's retreating back, deciding he would grant that bumpkin a dignified death when the time came.
He turned toward the corridor, where he saw warriors in different liveries and Archons he knew well.
Each was a self-proclaimed strongman—a rising star who had clawed their way up through exploitation, intrigue, and ruthless assassination.
They were young. They were handsome. They were dangerous rivals.
"Perhaps…it is time I moved."
Marlac's smile twisted into something feral.
But he would not, like the others, shove his way into the corridor. That was beneath him.
Instead, he turned and walked the other way, boarding his customized Raider and sailing off in style.
Days later.
Marlac was finally satisfied with his preparations. It was time to visit Lady Beda.
He did not bring his alien bodyguards or Kabalite warriors. Only a tall butler followed him—carrying a large chest.
To arrive with an army would reek of insecurity and poor manners.
That was neither the way of a true strongman, nor a gentleman.
He had undergone meticulous preparation for this visit.
His aged flesh had been remade by a Haemonculus master. Loose skin pinned tight with flesh-hooks, hair replaced with fresh black strands—ripped from the scalp of a warrior.
Cocktails of drugs and stimulants surged through his veins, muscles brimming with false vitality. Black market soul elixirs filled his spirit with energy.
Even his pupils shone with an artificial blue glow.
Marlac strode after his twisted servants into Lady Beda's lavish parlor.
Head held high, clad in fitted battle-armor, draped with a purple cloak, shoulders marked with the latest designs—he looked as valiant as he had in his youth.
"That poor Lady Beda shall be mine to conquer—with no resistance possible."
So he told himself.
The parlor was opulent, windows opening onto the spires of Commorragh.
Lady Beda stood gazing out, exuding both icy detachment and simmering desire—like a rare winged creature, caged yet yearning for a caress.
She turned her back to him, her voice deep and soft:
"Archon Marlac, what brings you to me?"
"Every time I behold this city, I lose myself within it. Surely, nowhere in the galaxy is more wondrous."
Marlac murmured as he walked to the window.
Lady Beda turned, settling herself gracefully on a leather sofa, her posture elegant, her black eyes fixed on him—awaiting his true purpose.
"I'll speak plainly, Lady Beda."
Marlac's smile widened, revealing ivory-inlaid teeth.
"I desire you. I want you to be mine."
But instead of swooning, she shook her head gently.
"That would not be wise."
Marlac loomed closer, radiating menace:
"Oh, it is wise.
I command endless wealth, a mighty army, sorcerers, Succubi, Scourges. I wield war machines that can scour worlds, fleets that can span the stars.
My name is known. My deeds feared. My legend—"
"Is told throughout Commorragh, a galaxy-spanning tale?" Lady Beda interrupted smoothly. "I've heard it all before. Dull words. No novelty."
"What?" Marlac blinked.
"All my suitors say the same. Many were far more handsome—and far more obedient."
Lady Beda sipped from a soulwine chalice, a droplet trickling down her pale throat, making her all the more alluring.
"Tell me, Archon—how are you any different from them?"
But Marlac merely leaned in closer, voice silken:
"From this moment, you will have no more suitors. Not a single one.
Save for me."
He gestured. The butler opened the great chest.
Inside lay faces—flayed from the skulls of her would-be suitors.
"They are dead now. Their wealth and arms are mine.
And you as well. You are mine, without the right of refusal."
This was power—sweet, intoxicating power. With a word, he could slaughter a world. His legend as a butcher of the stars terrified all. Especially those human monkeys.
He longed to see her tremble, to watch her beg.
But Lady Beda's gaze remained languid, her voice sultry:
"You are impressive. And thorough. Perhaps you have won this contest.
Now, I am yours. If you are confident enough…you may do anything to me."
She rose, long black gloves brushing her chest, the loosened bodice revealing even more.
But things did not unfold as he imagined.
"No…what have I done?!"
Marlac recoiled, trembling as his chest fell from nerveless hands, spilling its grisly contents.
For he had seen the pendant upon Lady Beda's pale breast—an active shadowfield generator.
And more terrifying still—the sigil engraved upon it.
It belonged to none other than Asdrubael Vect.
"Lady Beda is…the Supreme Overlord's mistress?!"
All dignity drained from Marlac. Terror gripped him.
His intelligence had been wrong. He had courted doom itself.
In Commorragh, none dared so much as glance at the Supreme Overlord's concubines. The penalty was worse than death.
From every corner of the room, shadows stirred.
Incubi emerged—her elite bodyguards, ready to tear him apart.
Lady Beda looked upon the broken Archon with scorn.
"Crawl away, useless filth."
She relished watching such self-important men abase themselves. This was why she kept her true status hidden, turning it all into a game.
Though the game inevitably ended in blood, and the Archons involved invariably met wretched ends.
When Marlac had scuttled away, she sank back into the sofa.
For all her beauty, for all her power, a hollow melancholy lingered.
In truth, old Vect could not satisfy her. She was nothing but a caged bird—her every desire denied.
For no one dared challenge the Supreme Overlord. And no one dared touch her.
Lady Beda suppressed the storm within her heart.
How she longed for someone who could truly conquer this body.
But that was impossible.
"Men of Commorragh are all cowards!"
Her cold laugh cut through the chamber, eyes flicking toward the Incubi bodyguards.
But they all turned their faces away.
They dared even less.
Outside the mansion.
"Archon Marlac, what a coincidence."
Eden greeted the Archon warmly, recalling their earlier encounter.
But Marlac did not seem pleased.
Clearly, his pursuit had failed.
That particular target was difficult to claim—thankfully Eden had prepared thoroughly.
Marlac, masking his humiliation, had no words. His mind reeled with possibilities.
Should he flee Commorragh, never to return?
Or should he prostrate himself before the Supreme Overlord, confessing his guilt, surrendering everything, and accept punishment?
He glanced once at the tall Archon stepping into the mansion, offering no warning.
That fool was lucky—Marlac's assassins had failed to find him earlier. But now? To draw the wrath of the Supreme Overlord himself…
His fate would be far worse than Marlac's.
Inside the opulent parlor.
The Archons' remains had already been cleared away.
Lady Beda, intrigued, awaited her next suitor.
A new round of her cruel game was about to begin.
She looked at Eden as he entered, a shadowy gleam in her eyes, as if regarding a toy for her amusement.
This toy seemed more handsome than her previous suitors. And there was a strange aura about him.
But it mattered little.
Soon enough, he too would disgrace himself, perhaps even wet himself at the mere mention of the Supreme Overlord's name.
"Archon, I do not recall hearing of your name…"
Lady Beda shifted in her gown, pale skin flashing faintly beneath the folds.
"That doesn't matter. You don't need to know my name. Because what I want is…"
Eden scanned the room without the slightest restraint. Then, in the tongue of the Aeldari, he uttered words vulgar and crude.
At that moment, he seemed less a suitor—more a brigand.
For the first time, Lady Beda heard such indecency.
She froze, unable to react.
Who, in their right mind, greets a lady with "I'm going to **** you to death?!"
"You… you…"
She hadn't even found her footing before her hand was seized. Suddenly, she was pulled into his arms.
Terror struck her. Things were spiraling out of her control.
If she were truly violated, even Vect would not forgive her. He might flay her alive, hang her from his palace roof, and leave her to eternal torment.
But why weren't the Incubi intervening?!
They had reacted immediately—yet something had stopped them.
The moment their blades cleared their scabbards, the shadows beneath their feet shifted.
Darkness took shape into tall, black humanoids—white-haired, faces blurred, draped in strips of flayed flesh inscribed with glowing runes.
Mandrakes.
One of the most terrifying creatures in Commorragh. Even the Drukhari feared them.
Some Archons employed them as assassins.
Interdimensional predators, they slipped freely through shadow, capable of dragging prey into the darkness in an instant.
In theory, no place was safe from them—not even the most guarded sanctum, not even beneath a blanket.
Controlling Mandrakes was nearly impossible—especially so many high-caste ones.
But Eden had broken them with oceans of pure soul-essence. He had tamed them, kept them.
This was one reason he dared come to Commorragh at all.
In an instant, the Mandrakes seized the Incubi, smothered their cries, and pulled more than twenty elite guards silently into the abyssal dark.
Now nothing could save Lady Beda.
Realizing this, her fear spiked.
But still, a sliver of hope remained.
Perhaps this mad Archon would quail before the Supreme Overlord's name and flee.
"Archon, I am—mmph!"
Her words were smothered, silenced by unseen power.
"Shh. Don't speak. This will be over quickly."
Eden spoke soothingly. Which only made it worse.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Then, he pressed her down and invoked the psychic technique of soul-probing interrogation—slipping into her mind.
His touch was skilled, gentle. He could pluck secrets without causing irreparable harm—at least against those of weak will.
The strong, like Titus, required brute force…and sometimes even centuries of torture yielded nothing.
Eden's eyes turned pale as his soul dove deeper into hers.
He sought no affection. No romance.
Only information.
In recent days, while Vect and the major Kabals were away from Commorragh, Eden had struck again and again, plundering secrets from noblewomen.
Most covered up their humiliation.
For who could admit they had not only been fooled—but had betrayed the secrets of their household?
And Lady Beda was the prize of prizes. One last score before he vanished.
But this time, resistance awaited. A psychic lock.
He grinned. He'd hooked a big fish.
With effort, he tore through her defenses.
Soon, the secrets were his.
And more than he'd dared hope.
She was indeed Asdrubael Vect's mistress. And worse—she was treacherous.
From her mind, he gleaned something else.
Vect's… dysfunction. Soul-deep deficiencies no grafted organs could mend.
So that explained his perversions.
He also extracted knowledge of Commorragh—hidden passages, secret places.
She knew no more. But that was enough.
No mistress could know it all.
And Vect's arrogance was the reason. For centuries, none had dared oppose him.
Yet one phrase caught Eden's attention: the Black Throne.
Any "Throne" was dangerous.
Golden Throne. Crystal Throne.
Now Black Throne.
Was Vect plotting something that tied into the Emperor himself?
Eden resolved to investigate further.
"Please… save me…"
Lady Beda's consciousness, strained by the probing, faltered.
It was not fatal.
Eden produced a vial of supreme-grade soul elixir and poured it into her lips.
She must not die. That would draw Vect's suspicion.
Infused with the unique essence of the Goddess of Life Isha, the potion mended body and soul alike.
The ecstasy nearly broke her.
Clinging to him, she quaked.
And Eden, recalling her intent to toy with him, decided to repay the lesson.
What followed was a storm. A spiral vortex. A cataclysmic upheaval.
Elsewhere, a certain daemonic secretary wept tears of envy. She had played mistress for so long, and received nothing.
Lady Beda awoke much later.
The memory of last night twisted her beautiful features into fury.
"You fool—you've doomed yourself! The cruelest punishments await you!"
"Calm yourself."
Eden reclined on her sofa, sipping rare soulwine, as if in his own home.
He poured her a glass too.
"Lady Beda, you wouldn't want the Supreme Overlord to know about this, would you?"
The words froze her.
Her anger gave way to calculation.
She had revealed far too much about Vect. There was no undoing it.
Now, she was bound to Eden as surely as he to her.
Not long after, Eden departed with swagger, vanishing into the shadowed streets of Commorragh.
Lady Beda remained, sprawled across the sofa, eyes vacant as she stared out over the spires.
Fear warred with expectation. And memory.
Commorragh, the void.
Violent, prismatic storms twisted the light. Black sails drifted across the emptiness.
The Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect returned from crushing rebellious nobles.
His gaze fell once more upon the Dark City.
(End of Chapter)
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