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Autumn's Last Voyage

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: Starbreaker is a property owned by DC Comics and "Warhammer 40K" is a property belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own any of these titles nor these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Prologue: The Drukhari

"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."

- Aristotle

Solar winds danced and twisted from the sun as the latter illuminated the ominous shape of the Drukhari Torture-class Cruiser as it silently drifted past asteroids, its dark form sleek, rusted and copperish like dried blood.

Bedecked with various blades, spurs, hooks and spikes on its 1.4 kilometer long frame, the vessel soared through cold vacuum, the many grotesque bodies of its past victims mounted on its exterior in obscene poses, swaying on hooks with expressions of perpetual terror.

Inside his vessel known as the Autumn, Khanzyth Mazroruin, Archon of the Kabal of The Stained Glass, stood by the window of his private quarters, observing the various planetoids and passing nebulas in silent and thoughtful though grim contemplation, his mood dark and bitter.

Like all Dark Eldar, his form was tall, regal and whipcord thin with pale skin, clad in dark green armor, his hair long, thin and black, reaching elegantly down to his shoulders past the collarbone, framing his deceptively youthful yet strongly sharp and angular facial features.

Outside his window, he saw innumerable star constellations glitter brightly from the darkness, their forms scattered, infinite, small and still.

Narrowing his black cruel almond-shaped eyes in displeasure, the Archon's mouth clenched as he found himself idly reflecting on his kind's current state.

'How far we Aeldari have fallen,' came the bitter thought.

For sixty-five million years their empire had once reigned, spanning across entire galaxies, his people once in the trillions.

Now, they were nothing more than mere shadows of their former selves, splintered and divided amongst themselves following the Fall.

All of their gods dead, save for three - one shattered to tiny remnants, the other in the clutches of a damned Chaos Plague God, and the Laughing God.

The Archon shuddered.

It was of little comfort to him that, of the gods to have survived She-Who-Thirsts, it was the one god whose capricious nature made him unknowable, even to his own followers, the Harlequins, whose unquestioning loyalty was nothing short of alarming.

While in many ways Cegorach embodied the Aeldari art of cunning, ingenuity and trickery when the occasion called for it, the fact was, he was always working behind the scenes to ends unknown, and for that reason, Khanzyth was always wary whenever he spotted a Harlequin within Commorragh.

And the less said about the Ynnari cult, the better.

Standing by the dark window, Khanzyth felt his mood drop even more the more he reflected on his people's standing.

All of their population were now dying by the droves, all of them fated to be devoured and tortured for all of eternity by the Abomination known as She-Who-Thirsts.

Sickened, the Archon's mouth clenched.

To think that their own appetites had led to the birth of such a being, it made him nauseated to think about.

He recalled the various family members and friends he had lost over the ages, and shuddered as he refrained from thinking about what was happening to them in the hereafter.

Once, the Mazroruin family had been a prestigious and respected name within the gruesome halls of Commorragh, even before the Fall.

Where there had once been many, now only he remained of his bloodline, one of the very, very few souls who had been around to have witnessed the Fall firsthand, something very few Drukhari were able to claim, outside of one Asdrubael Vect.

Once, his mansion had been glorious, his wealth immense, but following a string of disasters, now the only thing he had left was his vessel, the Autumn, his most prized possession...and even that was falling apart.

Staring at the ship's rusted frame, Khanzyth placed a hand on it, exhaling in shame.

His father and grandfather would have flayed him several times over for the sorry state that the Autumn was in were they alive; the Mazroruins had long prided themselves on keeping their properties immaculate.

Of course, if it hadn't been for the fact that both had made the fatal error of antagonizing the Supreme Overlord, perhaps Vect wouldn't have claimed much of the Mazroruin properties for himself and left Khanzyth with nothing else.

It was only for the fact that Khanzyth had been out in his vessel at the time with his raiding parties that had spared him from sharing his family's grim fate.

Running a hand on the rust, the Archon's jaw shifted, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

To go from one of the wealthiest families to a pauper living precariously on a ship - how demeaning.

Hearing a knock at the door, he gave a grunt, feeling a little irritated by the distraction.

"Come in," he ordered, his voice deep and raspy.

Automated doors whirred open, revealing his twin Incubi bodyguards, Yrazyth and Yravyn, their intimidating horned helmets with featureless faceplates and red eyes still on. From the rumors that Khanzyth had heard about them, the twins had been raised on the streets of Commorragh, and together the two of them had a rather violent and colorful history, their stories one of perseverance and survival.

Together, the two of them had fought tooth and claw before eventually earning their places in the Shrine of Cursed Night, where they had made a decent name for themselves before eventually serving with Khanzyth for many years after.

"My lord," the former bowed, "we bring news."

"Go on," Khanzyth urged, not looking away from the window.

"We have detected a number of worlds that appear ripe for the taking," Yrazyth spoke. "We should be arriving at the nearest one in just a few minutes."

The Archon wrinkled his nose, humming.

"I see." He then turned around to face them, giving them a measured look. "How are the two of you handling things?"

The twins shifted, both of them looking uncomfortable.

"To be honest, my lord," Yrazyth said slowly, "we're still trying to adjust, but...it is hard. The Thirst has been with us for so long, but to feel its absence...is it strange that we...I...somehow...miss it?"

Khanzyth thoughtfully nodded. "It is a lot to process. How are the others handling it?"

Yravyn exhaled. "Not well, my lord. Some of them seem...scared."

Humming, the Archon stroked his chin.

"I see." Letting out an impatient growl, he turned back to the window. "Then let us prepare for this upcoming hunt. I need a throat to cut and a scalp to flay - my blade is in need of blood, and the sooner we get this over with the better."

"Yes, Archon," the twins bowed.

As the automated doors shut behind their departing forms, Khanzyth looked over to his table, studying his assortment of weapons and blades.

Picking one up, he scrutinized it carefully.

There had been a time when he had once relished the hunt with the same level of zeal as his fellow Drukhari; like many, he had tortured and murdered countless beings in hideous ways for millennia in order to replenish his soul and keep She-Who-Thirsts from claiming his.

That was...before he had heard the rumors.

One of the Kabals, more specifically the Kabal of The Bloody Root, it had been told, had decided to enter a section of the Webway that had never been explored, and it was in that section that they had supposedly managed to uncover a new universe filled with many marvels.

But even more fascinatingly, this same universe, it had been rumored, was also said to be one where not even She-Who-Thirsts was able to reach, thereby freeing every Drukhari of the inevitable soul-drain that every Aeldari was fated to experience without a Spirit Stone.

For a time, Khanzyth had doubted the claims; as an Archon, he had never taken anything at face-value, especially from his fellow Drukhari, for Commorragh was a ruthless place to live in, built on lies and deception, a society based around survival of the fittest and the word of Asdrubael Vect.

It had been Khanzyth's centuries of survival instincts that had kept him alive for thousands of years, and he was never one to even consider entertaining such childish fancies.

And yet, he had to admit, it had been an enticing prospect if true; anything was better than becoming the Abomination's toy.

He had taken a gamble coming to this realm, and to his pleasant surprise, it had paid off; for the first time in centuries, he no longer felt hollow.

No longer did he feel the dreaded tug on his soul by She-Who-Thirsts.

Many within his crew had been completely unprepared for the revelation, overwhelmed by this discovery.

A few had shouted in jubilation.

A few had cried.

Others such as himself only stood in silence, unsure of what it all meant, terrified even; ever since the Fall, the threat of She-Who-Thirsts hung over every Aeldari's head like a guillotine.

Once an Aeldari died, all were fated to be consumed without reprieve, and because of that, the Drukhari had to fend off in the inevitable soul-drain by torturing the lesser races.

Every Drukhari knew the sensation all-too well, Khanzyth especially.

For too long, he had felt as if a part of him was missing something, as if he were nothing more than a hollow corpse, a constant feeling of something sapping from his body.

No matter how much he indulged, no matter how many people he hurt, it felt as if it were never enough, and though there were moments where the torture alleviated that, if not restored at least some portion of himself, the feeling remained regardless.

The terror and confusion on the bridge that everyone felt on the crew deck was such that if it hadn't been for Khanzyth reigning them all in by having them focus their attentions on their own respective duties, it would have turned to chaos.

They had all needed something to distract themselves with, and what better way to distract themselves by focusing elsewhere?

Of course, it was a temporary fix at best, for this change brought no shortage of issues that have yet to be dealt with - with this newfound freedom, would the torture even mean anything?

Was it even needed anymore?

Standing over the table, Khanzyth stared down at the assortment of tools and blades, for the first time conflicted.

Things had been so much simpler before, but now, he and his crew have found themselves at a crossroads.

For the first time in centuries, Khanzyth and his crew were...free.

At least, so it seemed.

Part of Khanzyth felt wary, distrustful even, for whenever something seemed to be too good to be true, it would usually turn out to be so.

And yet...here it was.

It had been hard to believe - even now, Khanzyth was still struggling with the realization.

The impossible had occurred, and now everyone on this ship had the chance to walk away from this life after long last.

That being said, was it possible for them to move on from what they once were after all that they had done in order to survive?

Did they have the courage and will to walk a new path?

As Khanzyth stared out into the valley of stars, a single word unpleasantly answered from the corner of his mind.

'No,' came his inner voice.

As much as he wanted it to believe that it were so, even Khanzyth knew that some things were too good to be true, that there was never any hope of an escape for them.

Even if he decided to stay in this universe, what of his crew? Would they allow themselves to finally give up their ways, or were they all too far gone to do anything but continue as they had for centuries, unable to know anything else but pain?

He couldn't forget their reactions the moment their vessel entered this universe; the moment the Autumn emerged from the Webway, the effect was instantaneous.

Everyone had trouble realizing what was even happening, for the lingering touch of She-Who-Thirsts had been present the moment they were conceived.

And now, with that threat gone, even Khanzyth himself was scared, for what was stopping his conscience from confronting him with the endless horrors that he had committed?

While filled with many wonders, the universe was dark, cruel and pitiless, and in order to survive their environments, each other and themselves, the Drukhari had to be even crueler than most.

Because of that, galaxies full of species, families and communities were torn apart.

Whole species obliterated and tortured to death, all because the Drukhari were afraid.

For the first time in centuries, a feeling of melancholy and remorse filled Khanzyth's shriveled black soul.

Staring at his reflection, the Archon shook his head in disgust at the wretch that he had become.

'How could have I let myself become this thing?' he wondered.

Fear and pain had become a part of the Commorrite for so long, it was all that they have ever known.

While the thought of being free from the grip of She-Who-Thirsts provided some comfort, it also brought many uncertainties and questions that he had never before contemplated.

How could they possibly move on when they in turn had ruined the lives of so many?

Even if he decided to stay, what would stop the crew from getting ideas into their heads about possibly betraying him and taking over his position as Archon?

What would stop them from reporting to Vect directly, assuming that none of them were potential spies?

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and darkly ironic to the Archon.

Even in a scenario where he himself was free, he was never truly free, a prisoner regardless of his decisions.

Closing his eyes, Khanzyth let out an incredulous laugh, scoffing.

How pathetic.

Looking up at his reflection once more, Khanzyth stared for a long time, then exhaled in bitter resignation.

Regardless of his decision, he was damned all the same.

Letting out a rumbling growl, the Archon shook his head in dismay.

Damn it all.

Averting eyes from the glass, his dark orbs looked down at the weapons on the table.

Perhaps it was better to not change the status quo.

Hardening his heart once more, the Archon started to load up on his weapons, sheathing his knife before placing on his lightweight Ghostplate Armor.

Once he finished, he picked up the last item on the table, a helmet with a smooth, featureless faceplate at the front with a pair of glowing green lenses. Protruding from the top of the helmet were a pair of long, regally curling ibis horns, their length ivory a stark white.

Staring at the helmet in his gauntlet-clad hand, Khanzyth silently deliberated with himself over his decision.

Closing his eyes, the Archon despondently relented, slipping the helmet on once more.

The crew deck was silent as Khanzyth stepped into the room with his twin Incubi by his sides, their massive klaives armed and crackling with dark energy.

Upon seeing him, everyone onboard straightened in alert, his Dracon, Bhumar, stepping forward. A True-born individual with long blonde hair, his left eye covered with a red glyph, Bhumar's family had been friends with Khanzyth's for many years.

As such, Khanzyth was tasked with taking the youth under his wing, and though at first he had gotten under his skin, the youth had made up for it with his cunning and resourcefulness.

On many occasions the two of them had butted heads with one another, but over time a mutual respect and understanding was formed between them following the various scrapes they had found themselves in over the years.

As pathetic as it was, Bhumar was probably the only person Khanzyth had ever come to see as his friend, if not the closest thing he ever had to a son, and for that reason, Bhumar ended up earning his position as Dracon, a privilege he hardly ever granted to anyone.

Upon seeing the youthful figure, Khanzyth folded his arms behind him. "Report."

Bhumar stepped forward, straightening. "Lord Archon, we have intercepted transmissions coming from a nearby planet calling for aid."

Looking up with interest, the Archon glanced over his spiked shoulder. "Is there now?"

"Yes, Lord Archon," came the reply as Bhumar brought up a hologram showing some alien text. "According to our translations, the natives refer to their world as "Almerac"."

Almerac?

Tilting his head, Khanzyth silently tested the word. It didn't sound like an Aeldari word.

He didn't think it likely to be Necron either.

'Perhaps a human colony?' he wondered.

Whatever the species, he was admittedly curious, and Khanzyth was determined to get something out of this.

"Tell me more about these transmissions," he gestured, urging Bhumar to elaborate.

"According to the messages, they are under attack by an unknown hostile force and are desperately calling for any form of aid."

"Are any of our forces involved with this?"

"Negative, my lord," Bhumar replied. "Without knowing what the potential threat is, we will be going blind. Our munitions are good, but the fact that we do not have a Haemonculi of our own is concerning. Should we respond to their distress calls?"

Pursing his lips, Khanzyth drummed his fingers together, humming thoughtfully in silence.

"Hm. Yes, it is unfortunate that our Haemonculi was stripped away from us," he murmured. "The Supreme Overlord is not being subtle in his wanting us to fail."

"You believe he wants us dead?"

Khanzyth scoffed. "Hardly. No, he is merely making a point; the reality is, we don't even register to him. He views us with so much contempt that he doesn't even see us as a legitimate threat. At best, this is his idea of a practical joke."

After a moment of deliberation, he responded, instructing, "Take us to Almerac. I want to see with my own eyes what's happening so that I can properly assess the situation. We'll need to salvage something from this." A cold smirk formed underneath his helmet as he added, "Perhaps we can use this to our advantage and earn the natives' trust. Their despair will taste all the sweeter when we give them hope."

All around him, the other Drukhari darkly chuckled, some of them nodding in agreement.

"Acknowledged," a pilot nodded. "Setting course."

Autumn's Last Voyage

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: Starbreaker is a property owned by DC Comics and "Warhammer 40K" is a property belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own any of these titles nor these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter One: Almerac

"Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?"

- Friedrich Nietzsche

The orange sun was setting over the ruined civilization of Almerac when the strange vessel arrived, its dark and twisted form casting a shadow over the land.

Taking refuge, the surviving remnants of the population scurried away in fright into the ruins of their homes, watching with wary and fearful eyes as the ship landed in an open section of the city, kicking up dust and debris.

From the vessel, its occupants emerged - dark and fearsome-looking beings that were largely humanoid in appearance, long in limb and strangely graceful in their movements, all of their heads concealed by helmets with featureless faceplates, their eyes hidden by a pair of red lenses.

All of their helmets were artful in their construction, some of them conical and tapering off at the end, while others had horns.

The vast majority of the beings were outfitted in strange dark green lightweight combat armor or warsuits with loin cloths, much of which reminded them of beetles.

Some had sharp-edged plates, but a lot of the warsuits in general looked to be held in place using long metal barbs.

All of them sported exotic-looking rifles, pistols and knives of some sort, but one had what looked distinctively like some sort of power sword, a long, curved and vicious-looking scimitar-like blade with a red ruby on its gold handle.

It was this particular individual that commanded the attention of everyone, for he carried himself with an air of authority, the horns of his intimidating featureless helmet far longer than the others.

As the survivors fearfully watched from the shadows, the being stepped forward, planting his sword into the ground in front of him.

The smell of fear and despair was ripe and overwhelming.

Lifting his helmeted head, Khanzyth closed his eyes and inhaled through his nostrils, relishing the despair.

"Oh, how exquisite!" He said in his native language. "Such an intoxicating smell!"

Beside him, the others nodded in agreement, while the twins regarded their surroundings, their lensed eyes taking everything in.

Where once stood a glorious kingdom of neoclassical style was now a jumble of crumbling and ruined buildings, the fire and ash still fresh.

Bodies lay scattered, burned and bloody, some of them impaled to the ground with large stakes or torn to pieces, while various vehicles and advanced-looking tanks were completely shredded, the desolate carnage polluting the landscape, the air filled with rising smoke and burning embers.

Many soldiers were either dead or dying, some of them crucified and/or completely dismembered, looking more like trophy displays, while nearby volcanoes rumbled all around, sending up plumes of plumes of smoke and bubbling lava.

"What could have caused all this?" A Kabalite Warrior questioned, eying the devastation.

Khanzyth remained silent, his lensed eyes missing nothing as he studied the crucified bodies.

Approaching one closest to him, the Archon grabbed it by its head, pulling it up by its hair, allowing him to see the face of those that occupied this planet for the first time.

"Hm," Khanzyth hummed as he thoughtfully traced a gauntleted claw along the being's face, scrutinizing it carefully.

The figure before him was a female, her appearance uncannily similar to a human's, so much so that for a moment part of him had wondered if he and his Kabalite Warriors had inadvertently stumbled upon some human colony.

From her height, she seemed to have been quite a tall woman, her form slender, sensually curved and full-breasted, yet strong.

A warrior by all indications, but based on her garments, the woman had been no mere soldier.

Dressed in a form-fitting black armored suit with gold pauldrons and bands on her arms, her armor was dented and shredded, her clothing torn, bloodied and ripped, her white cape fluttering in tatters under the cool breeze along with her long, wavy, flowing crimson hair.

A long sword was impaled directly into a section of the chest area that had been exposed, the blade cutting into the woman's cleavage.

From the knives stabbed into her hands and the various cuts and bruises on her body, she had clearly been tortured, though there didn't seem to be anything suggestive of rape.

Tilting the woman's face from side to side, Khanzyth inclined his own as he regarded the woman's facial features.

A sculpted, pale and regal-looking heart-shaped face with a short and delicate nose stared down in silence, her luscious lips red and full, her eyes closed, looking as if she were asleep.

Humming to himself, Khanzyth nodded to himself in approval and appreciation, admiring the woman's beauty before him.

"What a pity," he remarked. "For a Mon-Keigh, she seemed to have been quite beautiful." Closing his eyes, he sighed. "A shame, really."

"Indeed," an unfamiliar voice spoke nearby in his own language, catching him and the other Drukhari off-guard. "Queen Maxima in life had been blessed with beauty, immense strength, and many attributes worthy of the gods, but alas, even her strength and powers couldn't save her from the fury of her own people. Nor from the being that now rules this world."

Turning to the speaker, Khanzyth paused as he was greeted by an old bearded man with tanned skin, a hook nose and hawkish yet sad eyes, his clothing consisting of a blue robe with a hood and a gold collar, his wrists bound with gold cuffs.

Lowering her head down, the Archon turned away from the woman, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his fingers clenching his sword in readiness. "How do you know our language?"

The man raised a placating hand. "Please, do not fear, stranger. My name is Orin," he introduced. "Former servant and advisor to her Royal Majesty, Queen Maxima. I am using our telepathic abilities in order to speak to you all."

Straightening, Khanzyth felt all the color in his face drain, watching as the other Drukhari anxiously glanced at one another.

"You have psychic capabilities?" he questioned, his tone sharp, feeling on edge.

"Yes, Khanzyth Mazroruin of Commorragh," Orin enigmatically answered, his hands folded together in his sleeves. "Every Almeracian is born telepathic and strong, but only a few ever become truly exceptional warriors."

Clenching his mouth, the Archon lifted his chin, approaching the old man. "So," he spoke, his presence looming over the old man, who only stood at five-nine, "you know who I am."

Orin nodded, unintimidated, his eyes empty and broken. "I do, just as I know what you are and why you are here, Lord Archon."

The air was still as the two beings stared each other down.

Twisting his mouth into a sneer, Khanzyth lowly chuckled as he circled around Orin, like an animal toying with its food. "Well, well, well! Isn't this a surprise! I have to admit, Mon-Keigh, I'm rather disappointed. I was hoping to play a little with your people by giving them the illusion that we're here to save them, but it would seem that it's all for naught. Kind of a relief, really; I was never much of an actor admittedly." He then gave a nonchalant shrug. "Still, can't blame one for trying."

Bringing up his sword, the Archon took a threatening step toward the old man. "Now then, why don't we start with an appetizer before the main course?"

Orin gave no response, his impassive face unnervingly calm as Khanzyth stopped directly in front of him, the latter's towering form looming menacingly over his.

Curious, Khanzyth tilted his helmeted head as he regarded the old man, intrigued. "You do not fear us?"

Letting out a despondent scoff that lacked strength, Orin shook his head. "No, Lord Archon, I do not. Even at your most fearsome and repulsive, you Commorrites are mere minnows to the shadow that haunts this world. Whatever tortures you wish to inflict on me have already been inflicted. All of my friends are dead, my family slaughtered, and the closest thing that I have to a daughter has been tortured and drained of all of her life energies." As he spoke, Orin's eyes lingered on Queen Maxima's lifeless broken form, his orbs watery with unshed tears. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "You can't torture something already dead on the inside, Drukhari."

The Archon leaned forward. "Is that a challenge?"

Orin shook his head. "No, Lord Archon, just merely stating a fact." His expression became grave. "My master wishes to see you, so I have been tasked with leading you all to him."

Khanzyth raised a brow underneath his warmask. "Your master?"

"The newly and legally-appointed Lord of Almerac," Orin explained, his visage darkening. "A vicious bastard who makes your kind seem like mere lambs, and he is only one of many, many other dangerous beings in this universe. He is expecting you."

"Hm. Is he now?" Clicking his tongue, Khanzyth glanced over to his Kabalite Warriors and twin Incubi before returning his gaze to the old man. Raising his wrist-mounted Vox, the Archon activated the speaker. Once he finished giving orders for his vessel to follow, Khanzyth turned his attention back to Orin. "Lead the way then, Mon-Keigh. I look forward to capturing and torturing this new lord of yours."

To his surprise, Orin darkly laughed. "You are more than welcome to do so, Lord Archon, but believe me, you won't be successful. Many have tried to kill him, and those that have, they ended up dead or worse. Come with me."

Turning on his heel, the Almeracian led the way, guiding the Drukhari through the bloody ruins.

The carnage was considerable.

Everywhere Khanzyth looked, he saw ruins of every shape and size.

Giant busts and marble statues depicting some male or female figure were defaced and cracked, some crumbling. Few if any were left untouched by whatever calamity touched this world; every statue was either headless, limbless or marred with deep gaping holes.

One statue had no arms nor head, while another statue depicting a strong warrior had gaping hole in its chest, the handsome bearded face badly shattered on one side.

As they passed by the ruined remnants of their statues, Orin harrumphed in indignation.

"Your gods, I gather?" Khanzyth drawled, his tone bored.

"Our warrior forebearers," Orin grimly replied, his eyes filled with a deep bitter fury. "Everything he touches turns to ruin."

Clicking his tongue, Khanzyth said nothing, looking amongst the collapsed temples as he surveyed the scene around him.

He saw a father bawling his eyes out as he held in his arms the crushed lifeless remnants of his son.

He saw a heavily bandaged woman missing an arm sitting dazedly by a shattered wall, her unfocused eyes staring blankly ahead with a perpetually haunted expression.

He saw a little boy scurrying around in the debris, digging like an animal, calling for his mother.

He saw a group of people huddled together over a fire, trying to keep warm, their clothes ripped.

Everywhere he looked, fear and despair could be found in such bountiful quantities, so much so that even with his warmask on he could sense it. It reminded him a little of Commorragh in a way, if not a sliver of that twisted city-state within the Webway.

Pulling his mouth into a sharp-toothed grin in spite of himself, Khanzyth reared his head back and inhaled through his nostrils, relishing it.

"Hmmm," he purred. "How delicious!"

Beside him, the other Drukhari cackled, some of them sensually moaning and licking their lips. Only the Incubi twins showed some level of restraint, the two of them standing silently beside Khanzyth as he followed their guide.

Offering the Archon a glance, Orin said nothing, focusing all his attention on the path ahead.

On some stone walls and on parts of the ground nearby, Khanzyth made out black silhouettes etched along them.

"Why have your people drawn those silhouettes, old man?" One of the Kabalite Warriors spoke, much to Khanzyth's irritation as he and the others offered him a glare.

Orin let out a low, despondent, mirthless laugh. "They didn't. What you see are the outlines of those that hadn't been able to avoid the blasts."

Looking from side to side, Khanzyth couldn't help noticing with a mixture of curiosity and interest more statuesque figures, their forms grey, all of them posed in a variety of fearful gestures.

"I see some of your statues are untouched," he noted, gesturing to them.

"Those aren't statues, Lord Archon," Orin replied, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he spoke. "Those were people. Flash-heated corpses preserved in ash."

Looking to him in surprise, Khanzyth returned his eyes back to the grey figures, taking their features in once they were close enough.

A mixture of men, women and children were standing and crawling in terror, with one or two individuals curled up, as if attempting to pitifully hide within themselves.

A mother and father were posed trying to shield what looked to be an infant and a little girl, their expressions locked in fearful malformed screams.

Smirking beneath his helmet, the Archon unholstered a Splinter pistol and aimed, firing a shot.

Several figures burst into dust, drawing a sinister cackle from the Drukhari and a harsh glare from Orin.

"The joke is on you, Lord Archon," the latter spoke. "You can't satiate your cravings with that which is dead."

Khanzyth chuckled. "You would be surprised, old man. The dead are just as fun to torment as much as the living. Our flesh-sculptors are the finest in their craft, capable of making even metal scream in agony."

The old man said nothing, his eyes staring long and hard at him before averting his gaze. "I have no doubt that's true."

As the group continued onward, Khanzyth glanced around, keeping his eyes peeled for the slightest indications of a possible ambush.

Crossing a road, the Archon was following Orin, when the Incubi twins suddenly raised up their hands in warning, their weapons drawn.

"My lord, I've just spotted a number of vessels hovering over the sky," Yrazyth spoke, pointing to some dark shapes in the distance.

Wrinkling his nose, Khanzyth grabbed Orin by the throat, his power sword clenched as he snarled, "What is the meaning of this, worm?!"

To his surprise, Orin didn't let out a single grunt of pain whatsoever, not even a grunt of discomfort. Rather than suffocating, the old man was calmly and quietly standing there before him, his wrinkled visage devoid of any expression.

Looking at his Incubi warriors in confusion, Khanzyth looked back to Orin, puzzled by what was happening.

It was then that the Archon suddenly became aware of something unusual; under his grip, the man's neck felt unusually hard and solid, the skin and muscles showing no signs of jostling, let alone forming any signs of either imprints nor indentations.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, Khanzyth looked at his gauntleted fingers and Orin's skin, perplexed as he pulled them away to discover no cuts nor bruising whatsoever.

"Are you finished, Lord Archon?" Orin spoke.

Snarling, Khanzyth struck him with the back of his gauntlet as hard as he could, hoping to draw blood...only to find himself cringing. Massaging his sore hand, Khanzyth looked up in incredulity, his eyes widening upon seeing the unblemished face of Orin staring at him.

"Save your energy, Drukhari," Orin admonished. "If I had wanted you dead in the first place, I would have torn you all apart in seconds with my bare hands."

"Then why don't you?" Yrazyth questioned, his klaive ready.

"Because the new Lord of Almerac commands it. Now come, the master awaits."

Turning his back to them, the old man pressed forward.

Exchanging puzzled looks with his Incubi bodyguards, Khanzyth followed, his intrigue matched by his growing sense of unease.

For several minutes, no one spoke a word, the planet silent save for the crackling fire and the howl of the evening wind as the sun started to set, casting reddish gold and orange hues.

Shifting in discomfort, Khanzyth fidgeted with his power sword before glancing up at the vessels, a collection of strange silver structures that were covered in what looked to be solar panels, all of them completely stationary in the air.

Finally, he spoke.

"Your attack vessels have an unusual design," the Archon commented.

"Those are not ours, Lord Archon," Orin responded, "nor are they vessels. They are drones."

Humming to himself, Khanzyth nodded as he digested that information.

"I see..." He replied, his curiosity growing as they passed a dilapidated house. "What can you tell me about this new lord of yours? I gather he is a considerably powerful Almeracian warrior."

"He is not Almeracian," Orin said sharply. "He is a being unlike anything you can even imagine, Lord Archon. I would say that in spirit your kind has much in common with him, but based on what I've seen, that is a disservice to you Commorrites."

Khanzyth chuckled. "How flattering."

The old man gave no response, his dead eyes focused on the path ahead.

Moving past the crumbling ruins of a library, the Archon suddenly became aware of a number of loud crashes, along with the distinct sound of pistons and working servos and a dull throbbing.

Curious, he followed his guide around a corner to the right, only for Khanzyth and the other suddenly freeze at the unexpected sight up ahead.

Looming over everything was a gigantic structure that resembled a black trapezohedron, its ominous shape casting a shadow over the planet.

Beneath that, Khanzyth spotted a castle of neoclassical design with enormous pillars stretched hundreds of meters high, its structure grand and impressive, the only building to be left untouched.

However, it was the creatures in front of the castle that piqued his interest.

All around were a number of giant bronze and copperish ant-like machines with large black eye-like lenses with long whip-like antennae, their forms sophisticated yet gruesome.

While clearly mechanical in nature, the creatures looked as if they had been crafted from the corpses of numerous species, their innards a complex network of fibrous muscle strands, wires, cables, pulsating organs and interconnecting pipework, some of them glowing with yellow energy.

Their six ball-jointed limbs were long, thick, twisted and gnarled, some of them having what clearly looked like bones, although occasionally Khanzyth spotted something that looked vaguely like a person's face on a given section.

In some ways, he found himself uneasily reminded of the Tyrannids, while another part of him couldn't help thinking of the Necrons, if not some bizarre modified insectoid variant of the Flayed Ones, but nothing in their appearance aside from some trace elements suggested a direct connection to either.

Many of the creatures were hunched in a fetal position, while a few wandered on patrols, their bodies twisting, shifting and snapping into taller and even more grotesque bipedal humanoid forms, the process so painful-looking that they uttered agonizing screams.

Looking to his guide, Khanzyth directed his attention over to the beings. "What are those?"

"They are called Mechanix," Orin answered.

Frowning, Khanzyth glanced back to the machines. "'Mechanix'?"

"Specialized flesh-crafted drones designed to fulfil every whim of their master's will," the old man explained. "From what I understand, he had enslaved a species of intelligent Formicidae with telepathic abilities eons ago, but he had them all modified into something debased for his own sick purposes. Gods know how many beings have been grafted into those foul things - whether they're dead or alive, it's all the same to him. He's weaponized their telepathic abilities to amplify the terror and chaos that he creates. Even worse, through means I have yet to even fathom, he's managed to make every organism grafted into their beings all cognizant of what's happening to them. Their collective suffering provides the new lord both his nourishment and endless entertainment."

Curious, Khanzyth raised a questioning brow underneath his warmask before looking back to the strange creatures with a certain level of appreciation, their shrieks and despairing cries punctuating every movement and transformation made.

'Nourishment?' he wondered.

It was a curious phrase which suggested something similar to the Drukhari, which made Khanzyth wonder if a raiding party had conquered this world before them, but based on Orin's words, it seemed to suggest a different presence altogether.

As the Archon silently observed the machines, Khanzyth folded his arms in interest, listening to the heavy dull thrum and surge of power.

In many ways, the Mechanix reminded him of the sort of beings created by the infamous Lords of Pain; when it came to their craft, the Haemonculi flesh-sculptors were masters in the art of agony, always coming up with new ways to create havoc on the body.

If only he had a Haemonculi with him - he was sure that they would have been fascinated with these beings.

Every entity was a conglomerate of several different species grafted into metal and into each other, a gigantic living and breathing torture rack of grotesquery that only a Drukhari could appreciate. 

Perhaps he could capture these creatures and take them back with him once this mission was over, if not keep one of them as a pet.

"What are they doing exactly?" the Archon questioned, tilting his head as the machines sat unmoving.

"They are tapping directly into the energies of this planet, making preparations."

"Preparations for what?" Khanzyth pressed.

Orin shook his head. "That, I do not know, Lord Archon. Regardless of what, I recommend not shooting them - destroying even one will cause a nuclear explosion."

Khanzyth watched as the Kabalite Warriors gave each other anxious glances, his Incubi bodyguards shifting ever so slightly in unease.

"Was that what caused some of the destruction here?" the Archon questioned.

"Some of it," Orin admitted. "The new Lord of Almerac is clever. Dangerously so. In our attempts at showing mercy, he used our sorrow and compassion against us. Thus, when we tried to put some of our loved ones out of their misery once they became part of those wretched creatures, it ended up backfiring horribly, with catastrophic results. And now Tae Tamrac, our great capital city, lies in ruins."

Khanzyth was silent, nodding thoughtfully as he absorbed the old man's words.

Looking to the giant black trapezohedron that hovered over the castle, the former gestured to it. "And what is that structure?"

"That is the tyrant's personal vessel," Orin answered. "Many have tried to destroy it, and many have failed. I know not from what world it is from, nor the materials used in its construction, nor that of its owner. All I know is that they're blights on this world, and should you be successful in disposing of them, know that all of Almerac will owe you a debt."

Khanzyth raised a curious brow. "You would willingly betray your new lord?"

The old man gave him a flat look. "I am merely stating facts, Lord Archon. Nothing less, nothing more."

"A very dangerous statement to make, old man," Khanzyth said as he crossed his arms. "You know of our nature."

"That I do very well, Lord Archon," Orin replied, "and from what I've seen, your kind are as monstrous as the being that lords over the throne."

"So why even make it?"

To Khanzyth's surprise, the old man let out a low despondent laugh, murmuring, "Why indeed. Perhaps it is because you are lesser than him and I find you more pitiable. You are free from your so-called "Thirst", and yet, you are too scared to move forward, for what else was there for the likes of you? What do you know of living, Drukhari? What do you know of love and happiness when all your kind had ever done was bask in the torment of others and the wretchedness of your own infantile and cruel fancies? You believe yourselves masters, Drukhari? Perhaps by confronting your monstrous mirror you can ultimately overcome that darkness, if not your grotesque nature. Then again, who's to say that you Drukhari even care about things such as salvation and/or redemption? What do those words even mean to a person such as you? You dreaded having your souls devoured by Slaanesh, but....do any of your people have a soul at this point? How many species and civilizations have you tortured, enslaved and extinguished in your own cowardice? Are any of your kind worth saving?"

Silence fell over the group as they digested the old man's words, some of them agitated, but none dared to strike him.

At least, not yet.

Lifting his arm, Orin then gestured to the castle. "This way please."

The castle's interior was as exotic and grandiose as its exterior.

Inside, the Drukhari found themselves in a well-lit long and spacious hallway of black marble, the ceiling so high that it seemed to stretch all the way up hundreds of feet, the stone walls lined with lush royal red tapestries of satin.

In the middle of said-hallway was a large, elaborately designed fountain lined with numerous stone sculptures encircling it in the center, all of them depicting a muscular group of nude males holding up a bowl with a bathing goddess inside.

Upon seeing the sculptures, Khanzyth gave Orin a look, raising a brow under his helmet.

"I see your Queen has interesting tastes in art," the former dryly remarked.

"Maxima respected strength, as do many an Almeracian," Orin replied.

The hallway was silent save for the the constantly running water from the fountain and the groups' footfalls as they clacked along the marble.

At the end of the hall was a grand porcelain staircase of unusual height, and together with their guide, they climbed up several different levels, the passages growing tighter and narrower.

As they ascended, Khanzyth couldn't help feeling tense, the Archon looking over his shoulder down to the entrance.

"Is something wrong, Lord Archon?" Orin questioned.

"No, just surprised to see how seemingly empty this castle is," he commented lightly. "I gather your master's soldiers are on the top level."

Orin chuckled. "There aren't any. He slaughtered everyone, including the soldiers. Their remains now wander the courtyards as part of his foul Mechanix."

Humming, Khanzyth tightened his grip on his power sword. "I see." With a sharp thrust, he attempted to stab the old man...only to find the blade unable to penetrate the man's skin.

Pausing in his steps, Orin turned give the Archon an unimpressed look, giving a withering glance to the weapon and the other Drukhari, all of whom started raising their weapons, completely caught off-guard.

Khanzyth stared in disbelief, his eyes wide like saucers beneath his warmask as he looked at both the power sword and the old man.

Like the power swords wielded by their Craftworld counterparts, Drukhari power swords were capable of maintaining a potent power field that would burn and disrupt the atomic bonds of any substance the blade would come into contact with.

Combined with the heavy coating of horrific toxins and poisons, they were capable of causing all forms of excruciating death.

And yet...this didn't even affect the old man at all!

Not only did it fail to even break his skin, but it also failed to even leave a mark of any kind; not a single cut or bruise could be found anywhere.

For several moments, the air was still as Orin gave Khanzyth a look of pure contempt.

"Trying to kill an old man, are you?" the former rhetorically questioned, shaking his head. "Typical Drukhari. I was actually going to wish all you good luck, but if that is the best you can do, then I'll save my breath. Perhaps your deaths will be the new Lord of Almerac's one good deed."

Khanzyth snarled as he attempted to strike again, only for the old man to grab him by his wrist, causing the Archon to wince.

Gods, the sheer power in his grip, it was far stronger than anything he ever dealt with!

"PROTECT THE ARCHON!" His Incubi cried, raising their klaives as they prepared to strike, the Drukhari taking aim.

Without even turning to face them, the old man effortlessly grabbed the former by the blades, the edges not even cutting into his skin.

"W-Wha?" Yrazyth sputtered.

Straining with all their might, the Drukhari struggled to overpower Orin, but the latter was undeterred, looking passively on.

With a single shove, Orin sent the three of them hurtling down the stairs, causing them to crash into the other Drukhari below them.

Blasters, Splinter Pistols and Rifles and Disintegrator Cannons were fired along with Splinter Cannons, all of them striking their target with pinpoint accuracy, but though the old man staggered slightly under some of the shots, he remained standing.

His clothing became torn around the chest area, but nothing on his person was damaged.

Staring in incredulity, Khanzyth and the others stared wide-eyed at the old man, shakily watching him as he regarded them all with pure, undisguised loathing.

Clenching the handle of the power sword in his hand, Orin's voice boomed, "FOOLS! Despite my warning you to save your strength, you waste it on me?!"

Taking a step down toward them, the Drukhari flinched, the latter edging back with their weapons raised.

For several moments, Orin said nothing, his eyes hard and cold, regarding them as if they were all nothing but maggots under his boot.

Raising the power sword to study the blade, his eyes squinted before sniffing it, harrumphing.

"...I see." Looking up at the Drukhari, his wrinkled eyes narrowed. "You tiny things. You tiny, stupid, cowardly little things. You believe yourselves warriors?" He then spread his arms wide open. "Come then! Come and take your best shot, you sniveling little rats! Show me what makes you "Drukhari" the fiercest warriors in the universe!"

Khanzyth fired his Splinter pistol, watching as the rounds struck the old man directly, but the man remained defiant and untouched.

Giving the Archon a glare, Orin's mouth curled in disdain as his voice lowered, "Look at you. Look at you all, shaking and trembling like a bunch of scared whelps. What entitled and insufferable little brats you all are. You call yourselves warriors?" He then started to laugh. "You are all absolutely ridiculous." Tossing his head back, his mocking laughter grew as the Dark Eldar growled. "You Drukhari prey on those you perceive to be beneath you, and yet here I stand, an old man who has lost everything, with armies smashed, and you are unable to even hurt me, let alone kill me. You are...the saddest, most miserable and pathetic race of beings that I have ever met. You Drukhari are not warriors - you came here thinking that you were the hunters, but the truth is, you are so far down on the bottom of the food chain, I actually pity you. And now you have made the fatal mistake of coming. Here."

Raising the power sword, he gestured to the top of the stairs.

"Up there you will find the new Lord of Almerac waiting for you, but if this is the best that your lot can do, you might as well not even bother. I would suggest killing yourselves to spare yourselves for what's to come, but I know that you won't, because you Drukhari are a cowardly lot. Allow me to demonstrate what a true warrior looks like."

Taking the power sword by the blade, Orin lifted it up and impaled it straight into his chest with a grunt.

Blood stained the marble staircase as the old man collapsed to his knees, slumping back as he raised his fluttering eyes to the ceiling.

"F-For Almerac..."

With that, Orin gave his last breath, the castle falling silent as the Drukhari all stared up at his unmoving body, watching the crimson flood flow down the stairs.

Pushing themselves off the floor, Khanzyth climbed upward and approached Orin's body.

Grabbing the handle of his power sword, the Archon planted his boots onto the latter and pushed his corpse aside, watching as it rolled indelicately to the foot of the stairs.

"A pity that we couldn't savor his suffering," Khanzyth commented. "Such waste." He then pointed up the stairs. "Let's pay this "Lord" of his a visit then, shall we?"

As he took a step forward, Bhumar blocked his path. "Wait!" Pausing in his step, Khanzyth stared at the Dracon, waiting for his explanation. "My lord, shouldn't we...shouldn't we retreat?"

"Retreat?" Khanzyth questioned. "What are you on about?"

"My lord, I think it would be advisable if we were to leave this place, preferably as soon as possible," Bhumar warned. "That man was far stronger than anything our kind has ever dealt with, and he wasn't even wearing armor! No forcefield generators, no special equipment, nothing! Our weapons didn't even graze his skin!"

"And yet my sword was what killed him," Khanzyth pointed out the obvious.

"Only after he used it on himself!" Bhumar retorted. "His strength exceeded that of any Mon-Keigh Space Marine or Primarch - one shudders to think how strong the rest of their soldiers were in life, and he was nowhere near as tall nor as built as those monsters. If that old man was unphased by our weaponry, how much more dangerous is this "Lord" of his?"

Khanzyth considered his points, watching as the rest of the Drukhari anxiously looked down at the body at the foot of the stairs.

Scoffing, Khanzyth gave a dismissive wave. "You are overreacting, Bhumar. It was a mere fluke, nothing more. Now move aside."

"But-But Lord Archon-"

"I said move aside!" Khanzyth warned, threateningly stepping forward, his mask inches from the youth's. "Are you not a warrior? You are a Dracon, not some crying infant fresh off the breast, so gather your nerves and act like it - you're embarrassing yourself!"

For several moments, the two of them stood stock still, the air tense.

Finally, Bhumar backed down, lowering his head in deference. "My apologies, my lord. I've overstepped."

Khanzyth stared him down. "Make sure it doesn't happen again." For several seconds, his lensed eyes lingered on the Dracon's, then finally looked back up the stairs. "Now, let us greet this mysterious "Lord of Almerac" - we will show that old dead grox that the blood of Khaine flows through our veins."

With power sword in hand, the Archon began his ascent, his Drukhari following close behind.

Autumn's Last Voyage

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: Starbreaker is a property owned by DC Comics and "Warhammer 40K" is a property belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own any of these titles nor these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter Three: The King Of Terror

"So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear .

Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost;

Evil, be thou my good."

- John Milton

The black trapezohedron levitated off of the planet, trailing off into the atmosphere before disappearing into space.

From his throne inside the vessel, Starbreaker watched on the display screen before him as the world of Almerac was sent hurtling into the sun.

On another display screen, he watched as its population scrambled and screamed in terror and desperation, calling to their gods.

As they uttered their final last shrieks, the screen flickered off, while a modified satellite stirred to life on the ceiling, pointing directly down to Starbreaker's dark form.

Yellow eyes rolled back in pleasure as his form pulsated with power, the collar flaring and flapping as the satellite transmitted the energy directly into his body, savoring the flavor and seasoning of negative emotions of its population.

On the display screen, the sun gave its shuddering last breath, its form rippling with power before finally going supernova, while Starbreaker's drones collected all of the energies released.

In mere moments, only darkness remained.

Peeling his yellow eyes open, Starbreaker leaned back in his throne, a satisfied, rumbling growl echoing through the dark passages of his vessel.

A sun on its own was always a delicious meal to have, but the fear and despair of a dying world and species was the extra touch needed to make his food taste all the better.

Pushing himself out of his seat, Starbreaker calmly approached a window, folding his arms behind him as he observed the debris and stars outside, his mind a complex network of thoughts and reflections.

Eons ago, a lone Sun-Eater had inexplicably found itself in the middle of a war.

By their nature, Sun-Eaters were not sentient creatures - they cared not for political agendas, nor did they contemplate the meaning of life.

What mattered was finding food, their species existing only to consume suns, and nothing else.

However, on that day billions of years ago, something had changed.

A lone Sun-Eater had found itself wandering in the middle of a conflict, and despite all attempts at stopping it from both sides, it remained unharmed.

In their desperate attempts at trying to stop it from consuming their sun, trillions ended up dragged into it, and from this consumption, the Sun-Eater started to experience an inexplicable change over the course of time.

From this event, a flicker of intelligence emerged.

For the first time in its existence, the Sun-Eater was able to see things, understand things, even perceive things, things it didn't have a word or name for.

It was able to feel sensations that it had no words for, sensed things it didn't understand.

For a time, the Sun-Eater experienced confusion, then frustration, and finally, curiosity.

Staring out into the stars, Starbreaker letting out an amused huff.

To think that he had been such a simple creature back then, and now here he was, master of the stars.

Countless centuries were spent studying the various technologies it had encountered, along with the bodies of their owners, beings that were so much smaller and frailer than it.

And yet, to its growing fascination, it was able to interphase with their remains, access their memories, their knowledge, and from their remains, it had learned much more than it was able to comprehend.

It learned of sights, smells, touch, tastes and hearing.

It learned of art, of music.

It learned of laughter and emotion.

It learned of conflict and hatred.

It learned of loss and despair.

So many centuries were endured in order to properly process and study these things, and many more were spent understanding their technologies.

From the ruined satellite dishes that had been floating and scattered amongst the countless shipwrecks, he had learned how to use them for both communications and for directing energy into his own being. It had been during one of these experiments that he had inadvertently contacted another species, and for the first time in its existence, it had experienced social interactions.

Staring out at the window, Starbreaker chuckled as he recalled his nascent beginnings in remembrance.

He remembered how nervous he had felt after he had assumed the form of a species so different from his own.

Starbreaker's ancient mind recalled his first attempts at trying to live amongst the Korugarians on a distant colony of theirs, how awkward and scared he had felt at the time. How much he hated that sensation.

It was with the Korugarians that he had seen families for the first time, and on that colony, he saw something called "happiness".

He hadn't really understood it at the time, and for a brief period, Starbreaker had wondered what it meant to be happy.

He had asked others about it, but the answers given were myriad and confusing, even contradictory.

He had tried to relate to the Korugarians, even tried to understand them, but over time, he came to see how alone and sad he had felt, a stranger amongst a sea of beings so unlike his own.

All of them seemed so happy, and with so many of them living such small and fleeting lives, he started to resent them all the more for it, especially since they never lasted long.

On this Korugarian colony, he had experienced his first taste of pain, both his own, and someone else's.

The former had made him angry and scared, but the latter?

The taste of fear, it had turned out, was quite addicting, and he had needed more of it.

Thus, from this event, a legend was born.

Staring at his reflection in the window, the collar flared, yellow eyes gleaming.

Consuming suns and stars gave him plenty of power as it was, but the taste of dying species and worlds was something addicting.

He had visited many worlds throughout the billions of years, and everywhere he travelled, death followed.

Turning away from his reflection, he traveled down a long corridor, where a number of raised pedestals lined the sides.

On each pedestal was a glass display case, but floating suspended within was a disembodied head, each of them carefully preserved and attached to various wires and tubes.

On the bottom of the display case, a single label could be found.

Alstair.

Athmoora.

Avalon.

Bismoll.

C'ythonis.

Czarnia.

The petal-like collar flared as yellow eyes gleamed.

It had taken much effort to find a suitable skull from that species; whatever method Lobo had used to dispatch the rest of his kind, it had been incredibly effective, but thankfully there had been enough genetic material available to restore the head itself.

As Starbreaker admired his work, he pushed on, studying the other labels.

Dhor.

Krypton.

Terminus.

Tethys.

Thoron.

Trom.

Valeron.

Velorpia.

Viro.

Voorl.

Vryga.

Zintha.

Zoron.

Hundreds of heads lined the walls, a mixture of the human, the humanoid, and the inhuman, all of them from the countless worlds that he had visited and/or claimed throughout the centuries.

All of them were different in shapes, sizes and skin coloration, some having two eyes, one eye, dozens of eyes, hundreds of eyes, or no eyes at all.

Stopping in front of one display case in particular, Starbreaker picked up the newest head added to his collection, running an approving taloned finger along its sharp features in admiration.

A curious species this one was; from all indications, it seemed one that had once been capable of generating psychic powers, but countless centuries of inertia had resulted in their abandonment.

Its thoughts and memories, however, painted a dark and desperate picture - a once-grand empire now shattered, its people fated to endless horror, to struggle in a universe of perpetual darkness.

Staring down at the head, Starbreaker regarded it with fascination.

For billions of years, he had studied every species known in countless galaxies, studied every piece of art, literature and form of technology crafted, had traveled and visited every conceivable world imaginable.

From the blood-drenched world of Ysmault to the darkest corners of the universe, there wasn't a single world he hadn't visited.

And yet, it would seem there were many, many more beyond the veil of reality.

Another universe thriving with negativity, of relentless, unending brutality, suffering and conflict, where dark gods ruled and laughed.

A city of perpetual twilight and torment, where suns and worlds were extinguished for this kind's amusement.

A universe that knew only war. 

The petal-like collar flared, yellow eyes glinting as it thought of the endless opportunities presented.

New worlds to visit, conquer and consume, new species to torment...

Staring down at the disembodied Drukhari head, he pondered his options, measuring carefully the risks and rewards from this potential new pursuit.

Throughout the vast eons, he had created numerous business ventures, had gifted criminal empires, dictators, countries and worlds with a small portion of his immense power in exchange for various privileges. He had amassed enormous wealth and political influence, was gifted numerous worlds and properties of his own.

Many species worshiped him as a god, relied upon him for their feeble affairs.

And yet, admittedly, he was feeling a little...bored.

Slitted yellow eyes stared into the Drukhari's closed ones, his thumb caressing the disembodied head's cheek. 

Perhaps he should pay this universe a visit, starting with Commorragh.

From the torso, a series of tendrils emerged, slipping into the skin and nerve bundles, the head letting out a shuddering gasp.

As the skin where the neck was started to seal, Khanzyth's eyes fluttered open, revealing a cold pair of glowing yellow eyes.

Tilting the head back and forth, Starbreaker studied his features carefully, testing the facial muscles, looking left, then right, all the while tuning out the Drukhari's screams for release in his mind.

Satisfied, the cosmic vampire pulled his mouth into a vicious, twisted, sharp-toothed grin, his twin fangs and fearsome yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Author's Note: And that concludes this story!

So, some of you are probably scratching your head wondering why I would even bother devoting a story to such an obscure character.

When it comes to DC or Marvel projects, I sometimes like to look around and see what kind of characters are available that not only deserve more exposure and/or appreciation, but also might be potentially interesting to use for a given story.

Needless to say, the catalogues for both companies are absolutely MASSIVE, with an enormous wealth of characters that I had never even heard of such as Snowflame, the cocaine-powered supervillain, and Tyrannofucker Prime (which has to be simultaneously the most awesome and hilarious name for a character that I've ever heard of lol XD), among countless others.

It was when I was going through some of the Justice League heroes and villains lists that I came across Starbreaker, and once I had, I was admittedly kind of intrigued.

The idea of an interstellar vampire is nothing new in science fiction - there were the Star Vampire creatures from Robert Bloch's "The Shambler From The Stars", the movie "Lifeforce" and the novel that it was based on explored the idea back in 1976 and the eighties, plus Vampirella was originally an alien from the planet Draculon in 1969 before subsequent retcons were made to her character.

There were also the E-vampires from the video game "Gene Troopers", the awful "Dracula 3000", the Nagai and Anzati from "Star Wars", the fascinatingly snake-like vampires from the "Roswell Conspiracies" animated series, and to a certain extent the Drukhari and Blood Angels from "Warhammer 40K".  I suppose an argument could be made that this also applies to the C'tan from 40K as well to an extent since they also consumed stars and worlds, especially considering their original relationship with the Necrons in old 40K lore.

So, what makes Starbreaker so special then? Well, for one,  I'd argue Starbreaker is one of the first notable attempts at taking the classic vampire and placing it more in the realm of superhero/space fiction, albeit with his own interesting set of characteristics. He is also a surprisingly powerful character with a ton of interesting abilities that make him stand out from his peers, including the ability to change his size, firing energy blasts to being able to bend space and time itself, among countless other powers.

Since he appeared in 1972, fifteen years before "Warhammer 40K" was ever created, it kind of seemed appropriate to use something that kind of fit with those characters and with that setting.

The other reason was because, initially, the story was going to be based around the Drukhari invading Apokolips and encountering Darkseid, but  I was admittedly kind of tired of seeing characters like him and Braniac being used over and over again.

Don't get me wrong, both are cool characters in their own right, but at the same time, though, they're kind of overused imo, and there are a ton of villains kind of more deserving to be in the spotlight, be it Starro the Conqueror, Evil Star, Mongol, Queen Bee, the Spider Guild, Doomsday, etc.

Thus,  the idea of this story was born.

Shout-outs to Akularz-Shati, WymWrld, Stuff3 and Egyptianmaus for their insights into the Drukhari and for their suggestions - thank you so much for your help, guys! I enormously appreciate it!

Stay safe and healthy, everyone! :D