"Attack!"
More than ten steel behemoths rumbled forward, their deafening engines roaring as they crushed through the rubble. They advanced in a staggered wedge formation, forming a mechanized wall that pushed relentlessly forward.
Marcusin's polished command saber cut through the smoke. Hundreds of soldiers followed alongside the tanks, infantry, and armor working in tandem, an unstoppable death line grinding everything in its path.
If Curze could destroy House Melvin on his own, then he could destroy all the nobles.
Marcusin knew clearly that Curze didn't need them to fight at all. They were the ones who needed to prove their loyalty. Marcusin's presence on the front lines was itself a display of allegiance.
Their large-scale assault on House Scarlawke's spire sent a clear signal to every noble house: they had thrown their lot in with the Midnight Phantoms, betraying the aristocracy.
There was no turning back. They could only follow Curze to the very end.
If they had chosen correctly, they could become part of his new order.
If they had chosen wrongly, the vengeance of the old order would grind them to dust.
It was an all-or-nothing gamble.
Marcusin's grandfather had been the one to take a seat at the gambling table. Now it was his turn to play the hand through, and for his first play, he went all-in.
Either lose everything, or gain everything. There was no middle ground.
Boom!
An anti-armor missile screamed down, piercing a tank's turret. The ceramite-steel armor warped and shattered under the blast, and the turret spun skyward like a burning top.
Within ten meters, the shockwave shredded advancing infantry into bloody mist. Twisted rifle parts lay scattered across scorched earth, embedded with shards of reactive armor.
The other tanks immediately fired back, erasing the missile battery.
Marcusin frowned, not because the losses were heavy, but because they were too light.
With just a few tanks destroyed, they had already breached the spire's outer defenses.
That wasn't right. Not at all. This wasn't the standard of House Scarlawke.
The defending forces were far too few. The Scarlawkes were one of the top spire nobility, and their armies numbered in the tens of thousands. Yet here, only a few hundred guarded the spire.
Where was the main force of House Scarlawke?
A creeping unease welled up in Marcusin's heart. They'd walked right into a trap.
…
"Well, well. Excellent," Count Scarlawke sneered. "I thought the monster would come himself, but instead, they've come charging in personally. Do they really think the rabble of the underhive has already won?"
"Father, if that monster doesn't come, our plan fails!" Jando said anxiously.
"Fails?" The Count's cold gaze swept across the screens. "No, this is already a success. Even if the monster doesn't show, we've purged the traitors within. That alone makes it worthwhile, a fine warning."
Jando's heart sank. Inside, he cursed his father's stupidity.
If they couldn't kill that monster, then killing anyone else was meaningless!
As long as that creature lived, their lives hung by a thread, the Sword of Damocles poised above their heads, ready to fall at any moment.
Fortunately, Jando had a backup plan.
His fingertip stroked the hilt of the dagger hidden in his sleeve. Lowering his gaze, he fixed his eyes on his father's back.
…
"Are you not going to warn them that this is a trap?"
"If I warn them, the Scarlawkes will see them retreating and detonate the nuke early."
Unseen in the shadows, the pale giant moved like a ghost, slipping into a spire twenty kilometers from the battlefield.
At the heart of the Scarlawke main tower, a micro-nuke was hidden. Once detonated, everything within five kilometers would be reduced to ash.
The warhead was meant for Curze, but he had already foreseen Marcusin's future.
As an enemy, Count Scarlawke was cunning and ruthless enough.
In his carefully laid plot, only he and his son would survive. The entire family was meant to die with them.
When the nuclear fire consumed the spire, generations of accumulated wealth would vanish alongside the kin who couldn't escape, all incinerated in a blinding flash.
If it killed Curze, it was worth the price. Without him, the Midnight Phantoms would collapse instantly.
Perhaps anyone else might have fallen for it. But these nobles knew nothing of what a Primarch truly was.
The spire stood isolated on the edge of Scarlawke territory, belonging to a minor branch family.
In Curze's foresight, Count Scarlawke lurked within it like a venomous serpent coiled in shadow, patiently waiting for prey to step into his death trap.
But no defenses could bar Curze. He drifted through the shadows like a true phantom, following the stench of guilt straight to the Count.
Boom!
A clap of thunder tore the sky. Jando's head snapped toward the window as pale lightning ripped through the leaden clouds, casting his face in shifting light and shadow.
His knuckles whitened as his fists clenched, words dripping out through his teeth like a curse.
"It's nothing… just thunder and rain. Nothing more. Don't scare yourself…"
He tried to convince himself, but even the last syllable trembled.
Because when he turned back, another flash of lightning split the night, illuminating the pale giant standing silently in the doorway.
No one knew when he had arrived. No one knew how he had found them.
Jando staggered back, every muscle spasming under the grip of terror.
Count Scarlawke's hand fell on his son's shoulder, pulling him behind, facing the pale giant across the room.
His eyes burned with venom as he demanded: "Who the hell are you?"
Curze stood silent as an abyss, too contemptuous to even reply.
"Stop right there!" The Count barked harshly, his thumb hovering over a crimson button. "One press, and the Scarlawke holdings will be obliterated in nuclear fire!"
"You're threatening us with your own family? Do you think we'd care?"
Jando's gaze slipped past the pale giant, and only then did he realize there was someone else hidden in the shadows behind him.
"The Midnight Phantoms's monster… is two men?" Jando's whole body shook. The dagger slipped from his sleeve, clutched tightly in his fist.
"It's not just us. Billions more will die with us!" Count Scarlawke laughed manically. "The blast won't just destroy my family, it'll tear apart the hive's structural stability! Both the upper spire and the underhive will suffer! You mean to say you don't care about all those worthless lives?"
Caelan nodded. "Then go ahead and press it."
The Count's laughter stopped dead, cut short like a rooster strangled by the throat, his voice rasping uselessly in his windpipe.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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