My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 404: A Surprise for You
[Terra]
Crack
In the dim chamber, a stark white light shone down, glaring and harsh. A corner of the pitch-black statue split open.
Footsteps echoed—one hurried, one slow—the dragging sound of robes sweeping across the floor of the sealed room.
The Emperor gazed thoughtfully at the statue. He reached out, tracing the line of the fissure running across its surface.
Beneath his hood, the old man's voice rang out, urgent, carrying rare anxiety.
"Is it too late?"
The Emperor remained deep in thought. He looked toward the statue—its face hidden beneath a black hood, head bowed as it clutched a scythe in silent vigil. A crack had spread from its back, branching outward like a spider's web.
Golden light flickered at his fingertips. The glow shimmered faintly, and within the statue, something seemed to answer with a flicker of its own.
Stone splintered with sharp cracks. The fissure trembled, yet the bottomless darkness within showed no sign of receding.
After a long silence, the Emperor finally spoke. In his eyes burned the light of the highest heavens.
"I underestimated the extent of Their madness." The Master of Mankind spoke heavily.
"I thought Them cowards, and placed my hopes upon Their mutual strife."
"Now it seems…"
His voice trailed off, thinning into nothingness within the oppressive dark.
Malcador's low voice broke the silence.
"We went too far, didn't we?"
The Emperor suddenly waved his hand.
"I have been crossing the line from the very beginning." The Master of Mankind spoke calmly.
"And now, it appears They have chosen the most chaotic of endings."
He stared at the crack. At its very center, it resembled the shape of an arrow. Ever-shifting blue light flickered within, mingled with fine moss, dried bloodstains, and a shimmering liquid that seeped steadily from the arrow-shaped wound in the statue's core.
"We…"
Malcador opened his mouth. The old man felt his throat dry. For once, he felt a trace of anxiety and unease, though no sacrifice seemed too great to bear.
"…have we truly lost him?"
The Emperor fell silent. Even he seemed unable to answer that question.
"Perhaps… there is still a chance."
"But to exchange for him, we will need a piece of equal value."
Standing behind the Emperor, Malcador stared at his backlit silhouette. In that instant, realization dawned upon him.
The Imperial Regent pondered briefly—but in that fleeting moment, he considered enough.
In the end, he decided it could be done.
It would be worth it.
"I am willing to go."
Malcador spoke, his hoarse voice aged yet resolute.
The Emperor said nothing. He listened as Malcador bowed to the Master of Mankind, then turned to leave the chamber.
Malcador's hurried footsteps echoed. As he passed before the statue, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"Malcador, go to Macragge."
"It is about to become lively there."
The Emperor spoke abruptly. He saw Malcador pause—then the old man burst into laughter as he departed the chamber, as though mocking his own fate.
Terra must have someone to guard it. But at this moment, if everything had already come to pass, then the Wolf King's force had lost its purpose in being deployed—
Malcador would need new allies.
The Emperor remained silent. He stared at the statue before him. It was now riddled with cracks, looking as though it might collapse into dust at any moment.
A soft, bitter chuckle echoed in the chamber.
For the Emperor, he now only hoped that the sacrifice would bring the return it deserved.
On the chessboard, the pieces began to move.
The Fool prepared to leave Terra, heading for Macragge.
The Hungry Wolf and the Librarius were nowhere to be found.
The Lord of the Underworld could not move.
The chessboard trembled violently, as if it would split apart in the next second. Some of the pieces, sensing the instability beneath their feet, began to move across the fog-shrouded board.
Yet the move that would decide the game was still unfolding.
. . .
[Cadia]
Everything here had already passed beyond description. All things—dust and firmament alike—were swept into the surging tides, shifting and twisting with every passing moment.
Concepts crashed against the shore in surging waves—belief, theory, common sense, truth—everything was collapsing. Here, it was more absurd than dreams, yet more real than reality.
This was Cadia.
A dragon's roar, tearing through reason and laden with absolute fury, burst forth from the sky-swallowing tides. Jagged metallic wings blotted out the heavens as needle-like shards plunged from above. The metal from countless corpses melted, flowing in violent reverse currents toward the center of the battlefield.
Magma fell like torrential rain. The sky was no longer the dragon's domain. Flames scattered across the undulating metallic wings like fleeting starlight, vanishing as soon as they appeared.
Silver-white wings beat once more. The Lord of the Underworld raised his hand.
Twisted space gathered in his palm, accompanied by savage lightning. With a flash that pierced the night, arcs of electricity lashed outward, warping into the shape of a long, curved scythe.
Lowering his gaze, molten rock splattered against his face. Through the rain of fire, he saw his enemies.
Within the blazing inferno, the four figures grew immense, indistinct, unreal. They were like pure malice stepping forth from hell itself—but at this moment, the Lord of the Underworld, his silver-white mask contorted in fury, seemed even more like a demon clawing his way out of the abyss.
A strange, shimmering blue light flared beneath the two-headed bird. Hades heard, in that instant, the brief scream belonging to that body—but the next moment, a sly, triumphant laugh rang out.
As if impatient, the sharp beak cackled wildly. With a sweep of the scepter—
BOOM!!!
The entire continent blazed with light.
A bolt of lightning powerful enough to cleave a Titan descended from the galaxy itself, bearing the force to split a planet in two. In less than a heartbeat, it struck the figure hovering midair above the battlefield.
Hades raised his hand. Space around him twisted violently; his form blurred and wavered.
In the rotting grasslands, the glow of flies flickered. A corpulent presence muttered as it caressed the cauldron in its arms. A salty, reeking tongue slick with mucus licked across the bones in its grasp.
Cough!
The warping space faltered.
The dragon's form snapped back into clarity. Across the seamless silver-white armor, a vein-like fissure writhed and expanded—a breathing, rotting crack erupting across the breastplate—
The very place where the Plaguefather Ku'gath had splashed his foul concoction.
There was no time to evade again.
Liquid metal surged like a collapsing mountain, crashing down upon Hades. In the next instant, a thunderous detonation and shockwave ripped through the air.
BOOM!!!
CRASH!!!
A vast silver blossom exploded across the sky, every droplet flashing with ever-shifting light.
The false god plummeted from midair, his body slamming toward the earth. His sky-obscuring wings collapsed like a crumbling bridge.
Without hesitation, above a domain filled with bloodlust and song, a crimson figure and a vivid violet shadow moved simultaneously. Axe and whip lashed down together into the crater where lightning's aftershock still lingered—
In that moment—a sliver of time barely worthy of the name—everything stretched impossibly long.
As he fell, the silver-white mask cracked under the might of the lightning strike. A corner broke away, revealing the face beneath the void-dragon mask. A black tear traced down from the corner of his eye.
The being known as Hades seized control of the rampaging body at that instant.
This might have been good news.
Or it might not.
Because it meant the remaining power was now within what Hades could bear—but if it was within his limits, then it also meant he could not win.
The good news was that Hades might at least understand how he died before the end.
Under normal circumstances, Hades might have started cursing—ranting about some overpowered administrator dropping into the dungeon with cheat codes enabled, railing against his wretched luck.
He might have left final words for the Emperor, Malcador, Mortarion, Vox, Garro, Angron… one by one.
But now, Hades thought none of that.
There was only one thought in his mind.
If he could not win, then—
"I'm going to take at least one down with me."
That was what the being called Hades thought.
And it was what he did.
With that thought, a cluster of razor-sharp spikes began to coalesce in his hand. Spatial ripples coiled around him. In the corner of his vision, he saw the figure charging toward him—not merely an attack. Beneath its surface, some conceptual blood was surging.
Without the slightest hesitation, Hades chose his target.
Frenzied, silent darkness began to gather.
A faint ripple flickered beside the domain of mocking laughter. Blue feathers tilted slightly, as though stirred by a passing breeze.
The eldritch blue bird burst into laughter—but in the next instant, its laughter cracked, twisting into a shrill screech—
This had not yet happened, and yet the body of Kairos had already begun to move. It lunged violently toward the pure ground of the garden.
But in the very next moment, a scythe tore out from the space before it!
Blood and metal sprayed together from the severed rift in space. With shattered remnants scattering outward, Hades—his resolve already made—abandoned all defense and chose instead to strike directly!
Crackling blue lightning erupted. The scythe capable of cleaving space itself gave a mournful cry amid the explosive radiance. Fragments shattered apart, scattering silver-white sparks.
Beneath the pale green arcs of electricity, four flecks of silver splashed to the four corners.
But the greedy darkness had already arrived first. Rifts split open one after another, revealing the dreadful humanoid shape within.
Time seemed to freeze.
Or perhaps—for the two standing face to face—time no longer held meaning.
They were not gazing at one another across the river of time.
Hades seized "Kairos's" arm. Solidified blue feathers burst apart between his fingers as rippling darkness swept across them.
The Fateweaver was caught.
Regardless of time.
Regardless of space.
Regardless of concept.
As if recalling something delightful, the being staring directly into "Kairos" eyes revealed an incomparably radiant smile.
Blood mingled with silver metal streamed down from his head, trailing past the strange curve of his lips.
"I've got a surprise for you." Hades said with a grin.
A voice so soft the entire world would never hear it whispered out. The world blurred and shrank to this single patch. A domain of darkness enclosed the area, trapping a fragment of power belonging to Tzeentch.
Even if it was only a fragment, the Lord of Change had invested more than enough capital in it. Destruction was unacceptable.
And for this particular fragment alone to be destroyed—that was even more intolerable.
The Lord of Change had His own calculations.
The plan had already succeeded!!!
There's no need to linger!!!
Within the Empyrean, monstrous waves suddenly surged sky-high. Shrill screams echoed. The land called Cadia trembled like a lone boat capsizing into a tidal sea.
The other three erupted in furious roars as well—but the Changer of Ways, who held dominion over Cadia at this moment, had already begun to exert His power. Space compressed violently. Distances of ten thousand leagues shrank in an instant. The domains of the four gods began to overlap.
Their authorities were inherently opposed—their divine powers different in nature—and they began to crush against one another, struggling to tear free—
At the same time, having chosen not to attack further, the moment he grasped Kairos, Hades drove the spike in his hand into one of his own hearts—Hades knew exactly how to force himself into a near-death state.
Thanks to Mortarion's description, Hades had long understood what would happen when his consciousness faded at death's threshold.
He also knew that in that final instant, his only chance to splash the enemy with blood was through his own death.
As if aware of his intent, the violent void-dragon power surrounding him dimmed at that moment. The waters of the River Styx surged and rolled back in. Even though the vast ocean upon Cadia was suppressing him, if he sought death with all his will, he could still wield the authority of the Black Domain for a fleeting instant.
The bone-piercing spike plunged coldly into flesh, broke through bone, and at last a final blossom of blood bloomed from his chest—
Only when standing on the brink of death does a person truly discover where their limits lie.
Hades burst into wild laughter. In front of his eyes flashed Tzeentch's lightning arcs, he even realized there was no killing intent within them—
But he knew it was already over.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
He fell completely into the abyss, the waters of the Styx quietly enveloping him—
Darkness exploded!!!
Upon Cadia, across millions of acres of land, titanic waves roared and churned. Amid them, labyrinths stretched without end, blood pools sank as deep as oceans, gardens lay vast and level, and palaces loomed to blot out the sky.
These were the domains of Tzeentch, Khorne, Nurgle, and Slaanesh.
And at this very moment, upon Cadia—within a dimension invisible from planetary orbit—there suddenly ignited a small, isolated world.
This tiny world measured only five paces in length and width.
Five paces.
The distance an auxiliary soldier could cross in a second.
The space a Space Marine could stride in an instant.
A mere fraction of a Titan's step.
Five paces.
Enough to accomplish nothing.
It could not bridge the gulf as Hades ran desperately toward Herila.
It could not outrun a single bombardment from friendly fire.
It could not pull back a friend on the brink of betrayal.
It could not evade an ambush from the Lord of the Night.
It could not grant him a final farewell with a comrade.
But now—
Five paces.
The Lord of the Underworld.
The Omnissiah.
Head of the Silent Sisterhood.
Executioner.
The Silencer.
Commander of the Death Guard.
Acting Commander of the World Eaters.
Hades proved that five paces could fucking crush four Greater Daemons bearing the power of gods!!!
Thanks be to Tzeentch—for solving the warp equation of squeezing four Greater Daemons into five paces!
Absolute fury.
Absolute unwillingness.
Absolute battle intent.
All of it dissolved—melting into the cold, silent River Styx. The waters surged and roared, filling this tiny world.
Chaotic shrieks, curses, laughter, riotous colors, emotion, impact—
All vanished within this black-and-white realm.
Black and white flared in blinding bursts! Silence descended! Smoke rose—but not a whisper of wind could be heard! Not a trace of color could be seen!
The vast ocean that had swept across the planet receded in an instant, exposing a dry and barren riverbed. Withered corpses stared hollowly at the sky. Fires burned quietly. Flowing magma glowed with a dull crimson.
The final survivors lifted their heads in confusion, murmuring the name of the Lord of the Underworld. Among mortals, only those who had spoken His name survived this battlefield.
Yet even in survival, they were already blind, deaf, and mad.
True mortals had no right to witness what had transpired.
As if by instinct, those who remained scrambled toward the central crater of the battlefield. Limbs missing, they still crawled, dragging themselves forward.
Tap
Tap
Tap
Calm footsteps echoed.
Boots stepped across scorched earth, gathering ash—just as on that day.
Crunch
A foot came down, crushing the skull of a maimed figure crawling toward the Lord of the Underworld. Blind, deaf, and mute, the mortal made only a faint popping sound as his head burst.
Blood dripped.
Lorgar walked slowly across the desolate land.
Tears streamed from his eyes. The strange blood-vessels running from beneath his neck up across his face pulsed, like dense lines of scripture.
At his side followed the hollow figure of Perturabo. The Lord of Iron's abdomen bore a dark, charred wound.
With every step, a Greater Daemon crawled forth behind Lorgar, raising its weapon.
At the edge of the battlefield's center, the shattered form of Vashtorr swayed as it rose to its feet. Furnace-fires reignited. Cables coiled like venomous serpents, turning toward the prize at the heart of the field.
The outcome… was already clear.
At the center of the battlefield, within absolute silence, a faint sound of breathing stirred.
With absolute will.
Absolute unwillingness to yield.
Absolute refusal to let go.
And—
Absolute resilience.
That figure, from amid the wreckage and ruin, slowly—
Slowly—
Stood up.
There was no more silver metal.
No lightning arcs.
No Black Domain.
Nothing remained.
A body damaged beyond its limits could no longer bear any of it.
Liquid metal dripped away, revealing Hades' face.
From his chest, the spike rose and fell with his ragged, rasping breaths.
"COME HERE!!!"
Hades roared hoarsely. His voice was already broken, torn and incomplete.
"COME HERE!!! You fucking idiots who play rotation tactics!!! Fight me!!!"
"I am—"
He shouted, feeling himself burning, turning into one more handful of ash in this world.
He raised his scythe, feeling the blessing and strength granted to him at the very beginning of this story—bestowed by the place he once called home.
"I am—"
"DEATH GUARD!!!"
The Fourteenth Legion, the Death Guard—renowned for their endurance.
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