My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 402: Beyond the Battlefield
"Faster!!!"
Korklan slammed his secondary limb onto the command table. Eerie white light poured in through the observation window, washing over the Archmagos's red robes and frosting the blood-red fabric with a pale sheen.
"This is already the fastest we can go!" Argel Tal shouted back, gripping the scepter in his hand tightly—its golden light was growing brighter and brighter, almost blinding.
Faster—faster!!!
Like the final reading before a countdown reached zero, for reasons unknown, both of them felt they were running out of time.
To gather a massive force in such a short span and break through the tides of the Warp toward Cadia, the two of them had endured countless doubts, provocations, and utterly unexpected incidents along the way—
Sudden engine shutdowns, manpower shortages, and things appearing aboard the ship that should never have existed in the physical universe.
Yet relying on Argel Tal's rationality, and Korklan's sheer violence directed at Warp entities and Word Bearers alike, their ship never stopped charging toward Cadia for even a moment.
They were now in the final stage of approach before entering Cadia. At this very instant, both of their nerves were stretched to the absolute limit.
Whether Korklan or Argel Tal, each carried a faith that demanded they reach Cadia—a resolve that even if they died, they would die on Cadia.
Blood seeped from between Argel Tal's clenched teeth. His heart was pounding wildly, and he felt as though another voice was whispering at his ear.
Korklan suddenly twisted his head around. The Archmagos's cold eyes, flickering with red light, locked onto Argel Tal.
"There's something filthy on you!"
The Archmagos roared, raising the Omnissian axe in his hand and hacking straight toward Argel Tal!
"Get away!!!"
Argel Tal didn't hesitate for a second. He lashed out with a kick at the suddenly deranged Archmagos. He knew the Archmagos was no longer quite normal—and Korklan knew that Argel Tal, too, had grown irritable.
After days of fighting side by side, both had already grasped each other's combat patterns. Argel Tal successfully evaded the Archmagos's auxiliary limbs, his heavy kick slamming into Korklan's solid skeletal frame.
Korklan, in turn, lunged forward, clinging to Argel Tal's upper body like an insect, reaching for the blackstone spear on Argel Tal's back.
"Korklan!" Argel Tal shouted, his voice muffled beneath Korklan's body.
"If you want me, just say it! You lunatic!!"
"There is something on you!!!" Korklan bellowed in frustration.
"I think you're the one with something on you!" Argel Tal yelled back. His ears rang—the sound was probably coming from the metallic components of Korklan's body. Furious, he grabbed and tore at the Korklan who was wrapped around him, beating him relentlessly—
"Praise Hades!!!"
A hazy darkness descended. Argel Tal's heart skipped violently. The crozius in his hand could not be allowed to be destroyed by Korklan.
"Shut your mouth, Korklan!"
It was useless. The Archmagos howled like a madman, chanting praises to the Lord of the Underworld.
"Stop! Bro!! I said stop!!!"
Both Argel Tal and Korklan froze mid-struggle.
Because that voice did not belong to either of them.
It sounded like… something erupting from Argel Tal's own blood vessels.
Argel Tal slowly opened his mouth. The voice continued to echo from within his body:
"Hey, I'm just a Warp enti—"
AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!
The Archmagos screamed. He began loudly invoking the Lord of the Underworld, and at the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Argel Tal caught sight of the faint glow of a timed explosive beneath Korklan's red robes.
?!
For a moment, Argel Tal couldn't tell whether it would be better to let Korklan blow up this self of his that was entangled with a Warp entity—or to first subdue Korklan and push on toward Cadia.
Amid Korklan's prayers, Argel Tal could clearly feel his soul boiling, burning. There truly was something inside him.
When had he been possessed?!
Argel Tal recalled in terror.
Then he remembered—this subtle, unsettling sensation had only begun to appear after the prophetic visions that had poured forth from Lorgar's crozius.
Argel Tal remembered that fleeting scene—
Amid hazy white mist, he found himself kneeling upon an endless expanse of land. He stared ahead in a daze, tears streaming down his face.
"Argel Tal."
Lorgar was half-kneeling before him, silver-white tears likewise flowing down his face. Between heaven and earth, there were only the two of them now—only Lorgar and Argel Tal.
Lorgar's face was filled with anguish.
"There isn't much time left." The Primarch said.
"I cannot escape all of this. Help me, Argel Tal."
Bloody tears ran from the corners of Argel Tal's eyes. His voice was hoarse.
"How… how can I help you, my father?"
"Bring the crozius and come to me. Within it remains the power of my former faith, it survived the catastrophe."
Lorgar rasped. Strange violet light surged within his eyes as he struggled in pain.
"Not only my faith, but yours as well… Argel Tal, you must reach Cadia as the first loyal Word Bearer."
Lorgar looked at him, burdened with too many unspoken words.
"You cannot reach this place alone… but fortunately, you have a follower of the Silent One by your side."
But even that was not enough.
The mist thickened. Argel Tal felt himself being rejected by the battlefield, as if lifted away, drifting farther and farther, until all he could do was watch the half-kneeling figure of his father remain behind in the fog.
Lorgar opened his mouth and spoke a few final words.
"I found you a friend."
Argel Tal suddenly remembered—
"Stop!!!"
Argel Tal shouted, his voice overlapping with that strange one.
"Korklan, give me a few minutes to explain! It's here to help us!"
"Stop chanting! I'm a good daemon!!!"
But if Korklan were the kind to listen, he wouldn't be Korklan.
The red countdown light beneath the Archmagos's robes blinked faster and faster.
Argel Tal felt his blood boiling as an endless surge of power flooded into him. He felt spikes growing from his hands—
With a violent motion, Argel Tal tore Korklan off his body and hurled the Archmagos heavily to the ground. He stared at his gauntlets, now covered in crimson spikes.
The voice inside Argel Tal screamed—
"Stop yelling!"
"I'm Ram. Stop chanting your spells, little robot."
Korklan let out a strange shriek. The engines on his Omnissian axe roared back to life.
"If you want to find your master, then listen to me!"
Ram roared, his shrill, daemon-voice ringing out.
"I'm here to help you," Ram said through clenched teeth, "you Warp-hating lunatics."
Korklan shrieked again. The Archmagos pointed at the utterly stunned Argel Tal while screaming, pulling from beneath his red robes a blackstone spike engraved with a three-headed hellhound, aiming it straight at Argel Tal.
Ram immediately shouted, "The Warp isn't just a collection of negative things! I'll say this one last time—I'm here to help my brother Argel Tal, little robot!"
Argel Tal was startled. Since when had a daemon call an Astartes a brother.
As if sensing Argel Tal's thoughts, Ram said helplessly,
"Our destinies share the same tributary, Argel Tal. I was found by Lorgar—right there, in that prophecy. Oil-drinker, put away your little toy! If you want your master to live!"
Argel Tal took a deep breath and raised a hand to signal Korklan to stop. The Word Bearer spoke cautiously, "You want to… you want to help us? How? And why?"
"Because I'm a good daemon."
Ram's taunting voice rang out.
"What? Must all existence become like those mad things? You've seen how their followers end up."
Erebus… Argel Tal thought.
"And now…" the daemon said in a strange, mocking tone, "all I want is for the Warp to continue to exist rather than be blown into a black hole by two lunatics."
Korklan shouted, "What are you going to do to the Lord of the Underworld?!"
"Or rather," Ram shot back, "what are you planning to do to the Warp?!"
"That thing—" Ram ground his teeth, a trace of fear creeping into his voice, "when he dies, he'll trigger a storm on the scale of the Eye of Terror's birth—and it will keep expanding. And the Warp, clearly, doesn't have any Necrons who are kind enough to help!"
The Eye of Terror had been formed by the shriek that accompanied Slaanesh's birth. A god coming into existence tore open the veil between the physical universe and the Warp in that region.
And the aftermath of the Lord of the Underworld's death… Ram was certain it would rip open something similar to the Eye of Terror within the Warp.
Even if the Lord's current magnitude was nowhere near Slaanesh's, he didn't need to ascend to godhood, he only needed to swing a blade at the world before dying, carving a massive rift to bleed the Warp dry.
The Eye of Terror had originally expanded slowly through realspace. But the former masters of the galaxy, the Necrons, discovered it—and so they erected vast numbers of blackstone pylons in the surrounding star regions to suppress its spread.
But if a phenomenon on par with the Eye of Terror were to form inside the Warp…
Ram was absolutely certain that the great thinking powers that embodied Chaos would never be as "kind" as the Necrons. After all, a god would never descend personally; compared to potential future losses, the calculations involving nearby peers were far more lethal.
So Warp entities could not hope for the lords of the Warp to build a wall.
Ram's voice continued to echo through the command chamber. The daemon watched with satisfaction as the Archmagos—who had been trying to bury an axe in him—fell silent.
A hissing sound filled the air. Argel Tal thought he saw vaporized moisture drifting up from above Korklan's head.
Korklan spoke, trembling,
"Wait… but…"
The Archmagos paused.
"But… that isn't what I saw."
The Primarch's death—the arrow…
Korklan felt as if he had been pulled back onto that battlefield.
All that blanketed the region was psychic residue heralding another cruel millennium. Korklan could sense not the slightest trace of the Lord of the Underworld.
Ram's mocking voice rose again.
"You think they don't know this? They know perfectly well. In fact, if not for concern over the backlash from the Lord's death, they would have acted long ago, why go to such lengths otherwise?"
A dangerous hissing filled the entire room.
"Poor little one. The Master of Mankind is very fond of you and your companions. Fate and prophecy favor you, you must have seen that arrow… haven't you?"
Korklan's body froze completely, though his hand still gripped the axe haft tightly, ready to fight at any moment.
"What exactly was it?" the Archmagos asked softly.
"A gift from the Four Gods. A curse from the Warp."
Ram's voice slithered like a venomous snake into the hearts of both Korklan and Argel Tal.
"At a sufficiently heavy price, before everything becomes irreparable, they will kill the Lord of the Underworld in a way that is 'harmless.'"
Korklan was silent for a long moment.
"Then why are you helping us?" the Archmagos asked sharply, once again preparing to cleave Argel Tal in two.
"If you are a Warp entity, then you should not support my lord."
Ram answered immediately,
"Because the Word Bearers' Primarch showed me another possibility—one far more favored by fate."
Outside the Fidelitas Lex warship, stars formed over tens of millions of years watched them in silence, watching these two tiny beings.
Ram paused, as if about to proclaim a world-shattering secret.
"Lorgar said the Lord of the Underworld understands all of this, so… if there truly is no way to save the situation, he will choose to end himself before they make their move."
Korklan let out a piercing, shrill burst of noise.
The small command chamber instantly descended into chaos once more.
. . .
What are you doing?
Lorgar, what are you doing?
The Wanderer questioned himself as he moved slowly across the savage land. Smoke and dust coiled through the air; the corpses of the Astartes had long since dried out, like relics from an ancient age.
Here, time was as disordered as space itself.
He walked on slowly. Behind him came a rasping, dragging sound—Perturabo's unconscious body was being hauled across the ground, carving a deep furrow into the earth.
Sand. Scrape, scrape.
Like the land itself weeping.
Illusory figures shrieked beside him. The twisted phantasms of Greater Daemons flickered like a broken projector, crackling and screeching. Ingethel chattered incessantly, appearing before him, behind him, to his left, to the north.
He ignored it entirely.
He was on pilgrimage—Lorgar realized this slowly. Ash from the ruins of the Perfect City swept over his armored boots.
He lowered his gaze for a moment. Do they want me to feel anger at this? To feel resentment?
He did not know.
He kept walking. He remembered many things, and forgot many others, but whatever he was doing, he knew he did not belong here. He tried to run, to flee, but the wound at his waist nailed him firmly to this fragment of time and space.
The Eye of Terror had replaced the sun, watching him.
Within the light it cast down, Lorgar dimly saw many things—so many—
[Truths]
In one imprisoned corner, he saw the shape of that laboratory; he saw the final battle on Terra, its participants only the Custodes and the abandoned; he saw the masks once worn by the gods of old, and a glimpse beyond their cracks.
He saw blazing churches, the Perfect City burning amid the flames. He heard whispers from the Warp—not that one, not a god at all—while the true gods had already extended to him a genuine olive branch.
Take it. Become a true believer.
The Deceiver would never grant him power, only use laughable tricks to fool him again and again. Lorgar, then why would you not let go?
As early as Colchis, Lorgar had founded a religion. He believed that true gods would grant them strength, give the people bread, light the road ahead, and prepare a real path for the flock.
That was wrong.
The gods laughed.
Everything they had shown him as "truth" proved it—this was false. He would leave, without hesitation, become the Dark King, and then cast humanity aside into the cold universe once he had finished using them.
Lorgar trembled as he continued forward. Behind him, Perturabo let out a low, pained moan. Wait… just a little longer…
The altar was not this way, but the other. And the gods' followers were delaying time for him as well.
So they will abandon me, Lorgar thought. Gods who use their believers will cast them aside.
Instinctively, he tried to refute this thought—so he began to pray.
Like a stone dropped into a bottomless abyss, he lay at the edge of a cliff, waiting eagerly for an echo.
There was nothing.
A crushing disappointment washed over him. Despair took hold.
Like a fish thrashing for life, he tried again.
Still nothing.
Dejected, he felt the true gods watching him patiently, waiting for his repentance.
He tried once more. He began to recite every prayer he could remember—after all, there was no time here, no space; he had everything.
Amid the dense litany of words, a subtle darkness began to surge upward.
Lorgar jolted. The vast, unconscious ocean responded to him, pushing corpses up onto the shore.
He saw pallid, emaciated xenos corpses like Mortarion's; he saw countless others, endless alien dead, and human bodies as well—frail forms slapping weakly against the coastline.
Among those corpses, Lorgar saw two familiar figures.
A sudden spear thrust up from the ocean, skewering the bodies of two Word Bearers upon it.
Clang—
The sound of a broken sword striking the back of his armor rang out.
Lorgar stopped. He gasped for air, great heaving breaths. His vision went black; the final fragments of night were here, within him—within his faith.
The vast ocean churned. Like grasping at the last straw, Lorgar cried out loudly to Them.
In the utter darkness, he saw His story.
Even though He could not leave His own footprints upon the vast ocean, the corpses lying fallen at His feet had long since marked His path.
He saw Mortarion.
He saw Angron.
He saw Magnus…
He saw himself.
Mercy, Lorgar thought.
He felt that final darkness. Even from the deepest, most distant seabed, He still answered him—answered everyone willing to call out to Him.
Mercy.
Cold droplets fell onto his face. Lorgar trembled and lifted his head—it was raining.
He walked forward.
He saw that figure.
He saw that arrow.
He saw himself.
He saw Him.
He was still fighting, even though all of it had already become meaningless.
The ending had been decided from the very beginning. He could not withstand the power of the four false gods. This was the only time they would ever cooperate—and it was the ending destined for His annihilation.
Tears streamed down Lorgar's face.
No… He should not die here.
He was humanity's only hope.
But the time left to Him was too short. Time—the law belonging solely to the physical world… no, this should not be so.
He needed to do something.
In the distance, he saw Argel Tal kneeling within the mist.
Lorgar walked over. He began to call out—using promises, using lies, using everything he could. Daemons whose fates were tightly bound to that of the Word Bearers answered him.
At the same time, he drove a blade into Ferrus's body.
The dagger plunged into Perturabo's flesh.
Ferrus was gone.
Lorgar trembled—he could not do too much.
He hurled Perturabo's unconscious body toward the altar.
This, too, was their choice. Compared to Ferrus, Perturabo was the more suitable one.
…But Lorgar himself was also a possibility.
<+>
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