My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 416: Version Update
"I'm sorry."
Hades spread his hands. Brutal crimson fissures crawled across his breastplate, radiating an uneasy red glow from within—like the final cracks spreading across shattered porcelain.
"I failed."
His voice sounded like a ghost whispering in the dead of night, or like a hoarse cry calling his name from beyond a distant shoreline.
Mortarion felt only cold.
Then came the suffocating grip—the nightmare that forever smothered his soul, the agony of never being able to breathe.
Hades stared at him, expressionless.
He was no longer the commander Mortarion knew. He resembled more closely what he had been at the very beginning. His two eyes fixed upon Mortarion, and for a fleeting instant Mortarion remembered seeing those same eyes through the greasy lenses of a rebreather, in the mists of Barbarus.
But he was no longer that man of the past.
He had walked countless roads, crossed innumerable rivers. Only he knew how treacherous those roads had been; only he knew the depths of those rushing waters.
"I have neglected my duty."
Hades' voice seemed to rise from the deepest ocean trench.
"Billions will perish. Demigods will fall into darkness. I failed to stop it. I calculated everything, except that They would change their target."
"Child of Death… the road I was meant to walk… I did not finish it."
Mortarion's lungs released a deathly shriek. He began to cough violently, hacking as though on the brink of death. He wanted to speak, but his airless lungs and constricted throat denied him even a single word.
He wanted to say: Hades, to hell with that nonsense. Not even the damned Emperor fought as hard as you did.
He wanted to say: If anyone ever truly struck the warp across the face, it was you, Hades—only you!
He wanted to say: You have already walked that road. The rest of it—I, Mortarion—even if it costs me my life, I will walk it to the end!
Hades, tell me who did this. Tell me your final wish. Tell me what you didn't have time to do. Tell me! Tell me!!
Let me slap the damned warp across the face!
Mortarion struggled wildly. That all-too-familiar suffocation clamped around his throat. He fought desperately against the pain, but the invisible enemy granted him no chance to resist.
Hades!
Mortarion screamed, clawing at any sliver of opportunity.
The cold, silent waters of the River Styx began to rise. Flowing currents washed over the Lord of Death's armor, seeping into its seams. Great bubbles of air gurgled upward, sliding past Mortarion's eyes as they drifted freely toward the distant surface.
He sank into the river…
—Lord of the Underworld, answer him! Answer Mortarion!
In the endless blackness, crimson flickered.
"Mortarion."
"Be careful. Fate is beginning to rewind."
Mortarion's eyes snapped open.
The Lord of Death gasped for air in great, ragged breaths. He tore off his respirator mask. The fresh air of Macragge stabbed into his airways; he nearly collapsed. The final words of the dream still rang in his ears.
He lifted his head. The glaring light almost brought tears to his eyes.
Turning slightly, he saw Angron leaning over from across the desk, one hand gripping Mortarion's shoulder tightly.
Angron was frowning, looking at him with unmistakable concern.
Mortarion let out a wheezing rasp like a consumptive at death's door.
"I'm fine," he said.
He drew in a deep breath. His breathing gradually steadied. The pale light of dawn fell across him; motes of dust drifted lazily in the air.
"Just a nightmare."
"A nightmare," Angron repeated slowly, releasing his grip.
"Are you sure it was only that?"
"Yes."
Mortarion replaced his respirator mask.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Guilliman on the other side of the room, stunned among stacks of documents. The quill in his hand trembled.
"When is Malcador arriving?" Mortarion asked abruptly.
Guilliman slowly shook his head.
"Perhaps it will still take some time."
…
Mortarion recalled those words.
He knew his own fate.
Then what of Guilliman's fate—or rather, the fate of Macragge?
Destinies already thrown into disarray were beginning to mix together, brewing into a far deadlier toxin.
. . .
"Finally… we've arrived."
Laton breathed heavily. Spores puffed from his respirator, while Nurglings capered at his feet. He bent down and patted the little Nurgle creatures on their heads.
"Grandfather, bless me with success. Let me guide the lost wayward son back onto the proper path."
He spoke between breaths. The Space Marines beside him edged away in disgust, though the distance between them was already considerable. The drifting spores in the air gathered into oddly beautiful little clouds.
"Well then," Laton said,
"Seven Blessed are in position. Thanks to Guilliman's mercy, Ultramar is very easy to enter now."
One of the green-armored Marines chuckled softly. Laton could not quite tell them apart, but it did not matter, he only needed to know they had reached an agreement with him.
How strange… Laton thought.
They seemed to believe they were doing something righteous. But did they truly know what righteousness was?
"The Lord of Macragge is too arrogant. His empire is riddled with holes in our eyes. The infiltration is complete. He has already lost."
Laton nodded, then suddenly thought of something.
"Are you all part of the same group?"
His voice was carried away by the wind. No one answered.
Laton sighed. He felt the scars growing within his diseased body, fully aware that those cooperating with him were hardly reliable.
At the very least, to this day he had not figured out how many of them there actually were.
. . .
Severn curled himself tightly amid the packed crowd.
The slum compartments of Helion were cramped and dim. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying gently and casting a pale white glow.
He came from an agri-world. He had intended to travel by ship to join a cousin on a hive world. But during the voyage, the Astronomican had gone dark.
Severn struggled to describe what had happened in that moment.
The entire ship had convulsed violently, then plunged into endless night. For the first time in his life, he learned that the Gellar Field outside the vessel could make a sound like shattering glass.
Then came chaos.
People in the lower decks cried out, pressing and shoving together. Someone shouted something—but it was not Low Gothic. Severn could not understand.
Time seemed to stretch on forever—or perhaps only an instant. After all, the anchoring of time in the warp depended upon the Astronomican.
Severn was eventually awakened by the shout of a crewman. He came to groggily amid the sweat-stinking crowd, only to be told that the ship had found its way again—the great Lord of Macragge had saved them!
Then followed long hours of turbulence and gnawing hunger, until he was pushed and jostled with the masses into Helion's orbital plate above Macragge. Along with hundreds of thousands of refugees, he crowded into Helion's immigration hall, waiting for the moment they would be processed and allowed entry.
An itch flared beneath the curls at the back of Severn's head.
Impatiently, he scratched.
When he lifted his hand, he saw dirty fingernails streaked with traces of dried blood.
Severn muttered a curse under his breath.
He came from an agri-world. Of course he knew what this meant. His body lacked necessary vitamins. It had already been warning him.
He reached back again beneath his tangled hair.
Under the mess of curls, he could just make out three lumps growing together.
They felt almost… alive.
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Tn: I updated the story daily, but if you want to see more chapter of this story ahead of time, please go to my Patreon.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 460: Fenris Runs Deep — It's Not Something You Can Handle[1]
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[1] https://www.patreon.com/posts/155930421?collection=602520
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/155930421?collection=602520