Warhammer 40k Deathwatch Black Shield Novels & Stories

A giant warrior made entirely of shadow. Holding a black sword. Its glowing eyes locked onto Thomas. Then it spoke. One sentence. One terrifying sentence. "The Heir dies first." To Be Continued...

Their features were generic and did not resemble the former Alpha or his long lineage of tyrants. Electra looked at the front of the plinth and expected to see the Dark Sky Pack crest. The circular shield, with a background of deep, velvety black. At the top of the crest, a silver crescent moon emerges from behind a cloud, casting a dim glow over a powerful and sleek werewolf with fur that was a mix of deep black and dark gray, blending with the night. On either side of the werewolf, towering pine trees stand with their branches reaching upward, creating a frame around the shield.

The face of the slave warrior forms, every detail identical, only her eyes remain her dark pits of Shadow. The black death reemerged with me, whispers words to cheer me on. But I need no such compulsion. I have enough wrath inside me to destroy much more than just one soul. My hand reaches for her neck, as images of her hands on Shades flash through my mind, the push, her smile as she hovered over the balcony admiring her handiwork. One can not touch shadow, but as my hand lifts, it deforms into the hand of a Black Death, a shadow grip around its neck and its eyes widen in wonder.

It gave her time to think. She didn’t head straight to the infirmary but meandered the hallways. The place seemed to have changed since Nathaniel had been in charge. The Alpha’s pristine mansion which had been void of life now felt like a city now lived inside the walls. Shifters, vampires, and wiccans wandered around, all in the same black uniforms that consisted of combat boots, cargo slacks and shirt. There were some variations such as a few agents wearing clothes meant for the frosty outdoors but, it was the same outfit. It was the outfit of soldiers.

When he opened them again he was back in the grand hall of Reinhold in the shadows, he watched contently as the last members of Divine Victory drew their weapons against Terribor Strife who waited patiently on his throne. His men slowly approached out of the shadows, donned in black and blood red outfits with a mask of a rabid dog. “My orders are to stay in the shadows and not to engage”. Shreftwood stepped forward “You will pay for your crimes Terribor Strife!” Terribor stood from his throne and clicked his fingers, more silhouettes began appearing round the edges of the room. “Will I Shreftwood Swiftrunner? Or will you?!” “I am Death”, Severance whispered again.

“Then we have them.” “We have them,” he confirmed, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, reassuring kiss that tasted of pine and absolute possession. “But the human watchman remains a wild card. Rowan Black is not a wolf; he does not care for the judgment of the tribunal. If he realizes the silver supply has been cut off, he will unleash his iron guards on the Shadowclaw District out of pure malice.” I pulled back slightly, my mind already rearranging the tactical board. “Then we don't cut the supply off yet.”

Michael's eyes blazed an intense scrutiny as he approached, drawing closer to the edge of the shield, and, as he did so, I noticed three other creatures had broken away from the army and were edging towards us, until finally all four of them stopped just a few metres away, lined up in a row. 'The Archangels,' I said to Ethan, not taking my eyes off of them. The Angel closest to where I stood, stepped closer to the shield. This one was darker-skinned than the others, with black shadows under his eyes like war-paint, and tight wiry blonde curls closely-cropped to this skull. Reaching out, he touched a gold-nailed hand to the shield, which fizzed and sparked under his touch and he snatched it a

And standing guard around the edge of the black pool were the True King’s personal wardens. They were not standard Husks. They were four elite Shadow Wraiths entities composed entirely of dark smoke and ragged, freezing cloaks. They had no faces, only glowing, abyssal black voids beneath their hoods. They floated inches above the ice, holding long, wicked scythes forged from the same corrupted obsidian as the heart above them. I pulled myself back behind the archway, pressing my back flat against the freezing ice wall, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Are they wearing the black tactical suits with the silver crests? Yes, Buzz shouted over the screaming sirens. The heavy vanguard gear. We cannot penetrate the front lines. Those are the Mark Four tactical suits, Valerie said, a cold, mocking smile touching her lips. I know those suits. I designed the trauma overlay for the Blackwood guard two years ago. Killian thinks his men are invincible, but they have a massive, fatal design flaw. Dominic stopped, his dark eyes locking onto hers. What flaw?

"What is your duty? To serve the Emperor's will! What is the Emperor's will? That we fight and die!"—chants from Warhammer 40,000 (videogame) (Content Warning—this chapter contains scenes of graphic violence and gore, reader's discretion is advised.) ** Ides of January, 41 AD The raw cry of—"Traitors!"—ripped through the torch-lit tunnel like a banshee’s wail. “Die!” SWISH THRUST “Urk—”