Standing before the oculus, a solitary figure clad in deep red battle plate and draped in a vermillion cloak stared into the darkness. Golden hair framed a face that was cruelly elegant, sculpted and regally pale; a face that might have been called beatific were it not for the emptiness in his eyes.

Mephiston they called him, the Lord of Death…

Keep reading this Eternal Crusade short story by Graham McNeill