The mornings on Baal II were always this cold and beautiful.
The Scarlet Scar stretched across the sky like a ribbon, dyeing the smooth firmament entirely rose, hanging low over the entire world.
But as time passed, Barol, the sun of Baal and its satellites, would emerge from the cover of Baal I, bringing full morning to Baal II.
It would also dye the entire world a complete blood-red, shining on the dry stones of the desert.
Youji, the water vendor, cursed the terrible weather, climbing out of his bed made of stacked transport pallets.
But no matter how bad the weather was, he had to hurry to Angel's Landing and find a good stall there, otherwise, others would snatch them all up, and his family would go hungry.
He found some ancient relics in the ruins of this Baal satellite; most were useless scrap metal of unknown purpose, but they could still fetch some money.
When Youji was younger, he was actually good at exploring ruined cities.
But now he was old, his energy was poor, and this kind of work should have been done by his son, a strong young man.
But...
"Get up! Didn't you hear the morning bell?!" Youji's angry roar erupted, and he kicked a transport pallet fiercely.
The tattered blanket on the pallet wriggled, and his son waved his arms in a panic, waking up from bed in terror.
That fool was having nightmares again. Youji looked at his idiotic son with near malice.
He had given his son to the Angels, sent him for the Chapter's selection, yet all the Chapter returned to him was a fool.
The boy tremblingly got up and followed his father to empty his bladder into the water purifier.
"You little beast, if you dare to spill even a drop outside, I will send you to witness the Emperor's mercy and get rid of you forever."
Youji cursed, unable to restrain himself.
"Be lenient with him; he is your son, my daughter's son."
An old, hoarse voice came from under the blanket of the third bed:
"If you can't love this child, at least think of his mother."
"His mother was once the wisest diviner of the tribe, and this child also inherited her wisdom; it's not his fault he became like this."
An old woman peered out from under the blanket, manipulating a deck of emperor tarot cards in her hands.
That was Youji's mother-in-law, his wife's mother.
But Youji's wife had died long ago.
"We all know whose fault it is."
Youji said almost furiously, then suddenly lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard, and whispered:
"I think we all know, it's all the Angels' fault."
"Sanguinius above!" The old woman's hand, manipulating the emperor tarot cards, trembled: "This is heresy, has your soul been cursed by the Dark Angels?"
"He was a strong young man when he went for selection, but they returned a fool to me."
Youji said, gritting his teeth:
"Who else can I blame? Whose fault is this?"
"Fate." The old woman continued to manipulate the emperor tarot: "He was destined not to become an Angel, so he returned."
"He didn't." Youji glanced at his idiotic son, unwilling to admit in his heart that this was his son.
The old woman did not continue to pay attention to Youji, but merely continued to manipulate the emperor tarot in her hands.
The old plastic tarot cards scraped across the scratched glass, leaving a grinding, clattering sound.
The old woman studied the pictures on the tarot cards, then began to shuffle and cut the deck.
Youji wanted to interrupt her, to snatch away that stack of tarot cards, but he didn't dare.
The emperor tarot was the Emperor's ritual; to refuse it was itself a blasphemy.
"An inauspicious day," the old woman said, manipulating the tarot cards, which were full of strange patterns.
Youji couldn't understand the meaning of these patterns; he always suspected his mother-in-law was a witch.
"Crimson mist," the old woman whispered.
Then Youji saw a thick, blood-colored steam rising in the desert not far away, mixed with particles full of radiation and toxicity.
Red Mist, a unique phenomenon on Baal II. This cursed mist came from Baal II's toxic oceans, and if it passed through the old cities destroyed by nuclear weapons, it would carry even more deadly radiation.
Youji cursed loudly; the radiation alarm was warning him that it was unwise to pass through this fog.
Such a thick red mist was enough to swallow any traveler.
The old woman was still manipulating the tarot cards in her hands.
She and her daughter—Youji's wife—all came from an ancient desert tribe on Baal II.
It was said that the old woman's lineage could be traced back to the bloodline tribes who witnessed the Angels' arrival.
"The Emperor on the Throne, Burning Planet, Omnissiah, Death."
The old woman's voice almost choked; she looked at the patterns in her hands with some disbelief.
The two cards symbolizing omnissiah and Death flew out of the tarot almost simultaneously.
The Emperor on the Throne, symbolizing hope.
Burning Planet, symbolizing impending disaster.
What about omnissiah and Death? What do they symbolize?
The old woman stared intently at the two emperor tarot cards that had appeared on their own.
Vaguely, she saw the patterns on the two cards shifting.
The figure of omnissiah emerged from a thousand twisting gears; it was a blue racoon.
The figure of Death appeared in the darkness; that was also a blue racoon, but beside the racoon stood a boy wearing glasses.
The boy's eyes were sleepy, but he held an old-fashioned pistol, its muzzle pointing outside the tarot, as if nothing could escape its bullets' pursuit.
The old woman recognized the image of the blue racoon.
The refugees from the Netherworld Star System brought a new faith; they worshipped this blue racoon as a saint, calling him Saint Doraemon, proclaiming him to be Death, the Spirit of the omnissiah, the devourer of Tyranid, hope, and salvation.
But it was said that within a mere three months, the refugees who worshipped Saint Doraemon had a schism, splitting into two completely different factions; the old woman was not clear on the specifics.
Was this what the tarot presaged?
But another inspiration quickly seized the old woman's mind, and she almost instinctively said:
"Death is coming, Death is coming!"
Youji looked at his mother-in-law with confusion and fear.
Then, amidst the noisy steaming mist, he heard footsteps approaching.
Youji quickly pulled out his homemade firearms from layers of tattered blankets and aimed them at the direction of the sound.
His forehead was covered in sweat; almost no one could pass through such highly radioactive mist.
"Death, you actually want to bring death to Death," the old woman said dryly.
"Shut up!" Youji cursed loudly.
They were very close to Angel's Landing, which was under the direct management of the Blood Angels, but robberies always happened in foggy weather. The worst-case scenario was that what emerged from the mist was not human.
Youji looked at the figure in the mist; the figure seemed to pick up a handful of Baal's sand from the ground.
"An Ultramarine and a Word Bearer were arguing."
"The Ultramarines picked up a handful of sand from the ground and threw it in the Word Bearers' face, shouting: 'This is city of Perfectio!'"
"The Word Bearers, not to be outdone, also picked up a handful of sand and threw it in the Ultramarines' face: 'This is Calth!'"
"Just then, a Thousand Sons ran out, crying, protecting the sand on the ground and shouting: 'Don't throw it! Don't throw it! Don't throw my men!'"
The figure seemed to have told a joke, and couldn't help but smile:
"Another one?"
"A group of environmentalists condemned the Space Wolves for wearing wolf pelts, and the Space Wolves quickly retorted: 'No, there are no wolves on Fenris!'"
"Hmm? Someone?"
The figure seemed to have only just noticed Youji and walked towards Youji's direction.
Youji quickly raised the homemade rifle in his hand, aiming at the approaching figure.
"Get any closer and I'll shoot!" Youji shouted loudly.
"You cannot stop Death! Death is approaching!" Youji's mother-in-law, the old woman manipulating the emperor tarot, cried out tremblingly.
"No!" Youji shouted almost angrily.
He noticed that the figure was not carrying any weapons.
"Don't be in such a hurry; let me tell you a joke."
The figure said cheerfully, seemingly not at all afraid of the homemade rifle in Youji's hand:
"A group of loyal Astra Militarum warriors encountered Orks in battle, and they quickly ran out of bullets."
"So their Commissar Yarrick ordered: 'Just make 'bang! bang! bang!' sounds with your mouths, imitating gunshots.'"
"Then the Orks fell one after another."
Youji stared blankly as the homemade rifle in his hand was inexplicably knocked away.
When the figure made 'bang bang bang' sounds, the homemade rifle in his hand seemed to have actually been hit by bullets.
The figure slowly walked out of the mist.
It was a man wearing an ordinary yellow T-shirt, with glasses, short hair, a hint of sleepiness in his eyes, and a light, gentle expression.
"Friend, I mean no harm." The man waved his hand and said.
The old woman behind Youji couldn't stop trembling, simply because the man in front of her was like an enlarged version of the boy with glasses on the Death card.
"Who are you?!" Youji asked tremblingly.
"Death! He is Death!" The old woman shrieked: "He is the muzzle of death, the son of war, the end and death."
The man glanced at the old woman with interest, his gaze lingering on the emperor tarot in the old woman's hand for a moment.
"Friend, you can call me—"
The man smiled softly:
"Neoth Bita, a ten-year-old elementary school student who just happened to be passing by, good at sleeping, masturbating, making string figures, and children's education."
"He's ten years old, my ass?!" Youji quickly picked up the homemade rifle from the ground and retreated to the side of his truck.
His foolish son had somehow protected him, and Youji quickly shoved him back into the truck.
The man with glasses, who called himself Neoth Bita, looked at this scene with interest, then gently pushed up his glasses and asked:
"Friend, is this Baal? Has Dante, the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, returned?" The man asked with a smile.
"..No, this is Baal II, a satellite of Baal." Youji replied cautiously.