POV: Your Life at Every Level of a Night Lord (Warhammer 40K)

POV: Your Life at Every Level of a Night Lord (Warhammer 40K) The recycled air inside your first suit of power armor smells like iron and chemical lubricant, cold against skin still learning what ceramite feels like from the inside. You were taken from a hive city's criminal warrens — not because you were noble, not because you were brave, but because you were already comfortable in the dark, already fluent in the grammar of fear before anyone handed you a doctrine to justify it. The Astartes process reshaped you. The black carapace nearly killed you. Three who began the implantation alongside you did not finish it. You notice this the way you notice most things now: as information, not grief.