"The war machine, along with us…" Mimic pondered for a moment, then deemed it feasible.
Just the thought of the Nightbearer made Mimic shudder with dread. But, ultimately, it had been shattered, reduced to fragments rather than a complete form. To believe the Maker's war machine could not defeat a mere shard of the Nightbearer was perhaps overly pessimistic.
"Give me your location," Qin Mo commanded.
Mimic immediately altered the illusion, revealing the star system it was in.
The system lay 700 light-years east of the Tairon Sector, solitary within a radius of 700 light-years. It was possible that the dormant space necromancers here had already erased nearby systems before succumbing to sleep.
The illusion laid bare the full state of the system. A lone planet, appearing pitch-black, orbited in silence. No trace of necromancer activity stirred upon it; the necromancer dynasty imprisoning Mimic had not yet awakened.
"Which necromancer dynasty imprisoned you?" Qin Mo inquired.
Space necromancers were no feeble foe and needed to be accounted for as a potential combatant force.
"I may recall in time, but now I've forgotten the dynasty's name," Mimic responded, confused.
Qin Mo sighed. Mimic's fragmented memories and instability were its greatest weaknesses, though inevitable in a star god shard. The only remedy lay in finding and reuniting all its fragments, but such an endeavor bordered on the impossible.
Whether Mimic's shards even remained within the Milky Way was still uncertain.
With Mimic's condition accounted for, Qin Mo pressed on, "Are you sure you can fight? Don't suddenly lose contact or forget everything when the Nightbearer comes calling."
"I can fight," Mimic affirmed resolutely.
Qin Mo nodded, yet he factored in the risk of Mimic faltering in battle before finalizing his decision.
"For now, do your best to stay stable. Monitor the surrounding systems, and report immediately if the Nightbearer or the Nurgle fleet arrives."
"Predict when the Nightbearer shard will arrive. I'll prepare every weapon I can before it reaches us. If it's delayed, I'll craft more; but if it arrives swiftly… then we're left with the Iron Legion, the Superdimensional Canopy, and one last card to play. The Tairon fleet won't engage — mere mortals can't survive this battle."
Mimic listened in silence, finding the plan feasible after a moment of thought. But there remained one vital question.
"I'm confined in a hypercube labyrinth here, on this planet." Mimic gestured toward the black planet. "My consciousness can reach beyond it, but my form cannot. What if the Nightbearer breaches the necromancer army and devours me immediately?"
The hypercube labyrinth, a creation of the space necromancers, contained a vast interior within a fist-sized structure. Any force applied within would only reinforce it. Mimic could not break free of its own accord, and opening it from outside was trivial for a star god shard. This left Mimic constantly at risk of the Nightbearer's acquisition.
"The Nightbearer must first break the labyrinth to reach you. When you emerge, delay it a few seconds and release an energy signal — I'll lock onto it and teleport you here," Qin Mo replied.
Mimic found this solution tenuous but had no alternative and reluctantly nodded, "Alright."
"One last thing — give me a prophecy of the future." Qin Mo ordered.
Mimic immediately complied. It transformed into a smooth, transparent sphere, within which the Milky Way rotated once.
Finally, Mimic opened its eyes, taking human form, an expression of shock on its face. "The Nightbearer shard will reach my system within seven days… then I see it engaging a fleet, each warship covered in flesh…"
"These fleshy warships… it seems their goal is to infiltrate inhabited systems and detonate, releasing a deadly plague that annihilates every living creature."
"You're certain the warships you saw were fleshy, not from my Tairon fleet?" Qin Mo asked, puzzled as to why the Nightbearer would clash with the Nurgle fleet.
Mimic nodded firmly. "Absolutely. It appears the fleshy fleet has chosen my system as a rally point."
"Perfect!" Qin Mo's face lit with joy. "That's one less obstacle."
…
Two days later, in a star system 700 light-years from Tairon, where only a single black planet orbited, a flotilla of decayed, flesh-encrusted derelict ships anchored near the Mandeville point.
These ships, unable to travel under normal conditions, now moved as parts of their structure had mutated into foul, rotting flesh.
Among the fleet of over seventy vessels, each varied in degree of mutation, but all shared a common feature: swollen pustules trailing from their sterns.
Their arrival was merely the beginning; soon, fully functional warships entered the system.
Aboard a colossal, flesh-clad cruiser covered in grotesque appendages, Undead Inquisitor Horst lay in a narrow conduit, recording his observations of the plague he had investigated since departing the Tairon system.
"The plague surrounding Tairon resembles that of the Cadia Gate, but not entirely. Here, the plague seems weakened…"
"I heard that the Tairon governor cleansed the plague, so I ended my investigation and returned. But we encountered a most profane warship — it sank our ship in less than a solar day…" He recalled launching a boarding assault. Although the heretics failed to destroy him, he had hidden.
Horst transcribed his recent experience onto parchment, pausing to rephrase "I hid" into "I conducted covert investigation aboard the enemy ship."
Once done, Horst stowed the parchment inside his leather coat. He had brought everything essential with him.
A leather coat from a devout preacher who once led his flock through a plague-infested world. Immune to disease and bullet alike, he could shatter an armored vehicle with a mace.
An ancient, priceless deck of Emperor's Tarot cards, more complete than any other deck still in existence.
And a portrait capturing the Emperor in his prime.
Each of these items held immeasurable worth, their practical value far exceeding their mere historical significance.
Horst inhaled the infected air without discomfort, resting briefly before resuming his crawl through the abandoned conduit.
The ship's interior was akin to a sprawling city, the conduit networks sprawling in intricate tangles. Yet Horst felt an intangible force guiding him forward, compelling him to continue.
At last, he reached a fork within the conduits, hearing voices.
"I keep dreaming of a figure cloaked in black, scythe in hand… I'm almost driven mad by these nightmares…"
"I'm having nightmares too — a figure in a black cloak with a scythe… could it be the Shroud of Death?"
"Wait… this nightmare… doesn't that figure resemble the Reaper from ancient mythology?"
…
Horst listened, confused as to why he had overheard this seemingly idle talk. Yet as the voices faded, he recalled something.
He, too, had dreamed recently — a figure cloaked in black, holding a scythe.
Dreaming was not unusual, but for so many to share the same nightmare was alarming.
Horst quickly documented the information, pressing onward.
Throughout his crawl, he heard others discussing the nightmares — the figure in black with the scythe. This being aligned perfectly with everyone's concept of Death.
A little further along, Horst overheard that a crew member had committed suicide.
He heard of others on board who claimed to see visions of the scythe-wielding figure slaughtering entire ships, gouging out their eyes in despair.
Some even painted the figure from their nightmares in blood on the ship's walls, using the thickest, blackest blood they could find.
Dread and panic swept through the entire ship. There was no external threat, yet suicides and self-mutilation claimed those with weakened resolve.
After two days aboard, Horst noticed the situation growing graver, a creeping despair settling within his heart.
Horst could no longer deny that a third threat, beyond the plague and the ships, was near — something infinitely more terrifying.
Before taking further action, Horst decided to consult his cards.
"Great Lord of Mankind, guide me," Horst murmured in prayer, shuffling the Emperor's Tarot with closed eyes.
During this ritual, five cards slipped from his hand.
"Emperor… is this your revelation?" Trembling, Horst reached to flip the cards. As he interpreted them, a vision consumed him.
A dreadful, ever-hungry entity embodying death itself. Simply by existing, it instilled despair, embedding an image of Death cloaked and scythe-bearing into the minds of humankind and countless alien races alike.
And a piece of this entity approached.
Through the vision, Horst grasped the nature of recent events aboard — a warning of something far worse than the plague on its way.
This was an omen of death.
"I must leave immediately." Horst muttered to himself, glancing toward the conduit's left entrance. Even without a plan, he knew — this was the path forward.