My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 419: Please Welcome the First Victim
There are many ways to destroy a world—natural disasters, economic collapse, dynastic upheaval, war, plague—
Among them, there are always certain catastrophes that begin by seeping in from a single, tiny individual.
For example…
. . .
This was an ordinary day.
Polis walked along his patrol route as usual. He was a warrior of the 20th Chapter of the Ultramarines. Fifty-three years ago, he graduated from the Third Academy of the Ultramar Legion, ranking thirty-fourth in his class, and successfully became an Ultramarine.
Polis held his bolter in his arms. Following orders from his superiors, he and his battle-brothers were responsible for patrolling the area where the World Eaters Legion was stationed.
Polis welcomed those brothers in white helmets and blue armor to Macragge. He had heard that the World Eaters valued brotherhood and honor, and Polis admired such qualities.
Polis strode forward solemnly. His armored boots rang sharply against the steel floor.
In the distance, several passing World Eaters stopped and saluted Polis. Polis returned the salute.
One hour, thirty-four minutes, and six seconds later, Polis completed a patrol successfully. He returned to the rest chamber, where he could rest for five minutes before inspecting the next sector.
But when he entered that room, Polis realized that something in his life had changed forever.
The clean and simple room contained several chairs. The Ultramarines' "U" banner and the two-headed eagle banner hung from the walls.
In the center of the room stood a trembling old man.
"Sorry," the old man stammered,
"I originally came to visit my son, a porter working nearby, but I got lost. Sir, could you please show me the way?"
This should have been a very ordinary temporary task—helping a citizen of Macragge.
But as Polis looked at the old man, he instinctively took a deep breath. He remembered his true mission.
He was Alpha.
And the old man was as well.
And when he remembered who he truly was, it meant it was time to carry out the mission.
—Angron.
If they were to save Sanguinius, then Angron was destined to be sacrificed.
Such was fate. The scales were always fair.
Polis thought to himself: that was why he stood here, why he was an Ultramarine.
"Alright, citizen. Please come this way."
Polis said, opening the door for the old man. At the same time, this dutiful Ultramarine reported the situation to his superior.
Polis knew that this action would send other signals.
And they had already begun.
. . .
[The Endurance]
Master of the Forge Bast silently opened the heavily guarded door. Dim lights flickered on, illuminating the Dreadnought inside.
Captain Antaeus of the Fifth Company cautiously stepped in behind Bast. As soon as Antaeus entered the room, Bast shut the door and immediately locked it.
"You'd better think this through," Bast said gloomily.
"A Master of the Forge has the authority to perform routine inspections on a Dreadnought, but bringing unrelated personnel is against regulations."
Antaeus swallowed and stared at the Dreadnought. The Dreadnought personally modified by the commander gleamed coldly.
Antaeus spoke hoarsely, using the language of Barbarus:
"Bast, Io and Lena are dead."
"I know." Bast replied calmly. As usual, he walked to the command console beside the Dreadnought and activated the revival system.
Antaeus smiled faintly.
"It's hard to imagine. Lena, who passed the recruit trials with us back then, turned out to be a traitor. The commander even praised a few of us at the time."
Bast raised his eyes from the console.
"I'm not interested in that, Antaeus."
"If you really weren't interested, you wouldn't be helping me."
Antaeus forced his gaze toward the Dreadnought's dark lenses.
"So many years have passed. I became the captain of the Fifth Company. You became the strongest Master of the Forge in the armory. Io should have been the next Chief Apothecary… and Lena—"
"He became a traitor."
Bast grunted. "Forty seconds left."
The engine roared. The hiss of pressure-relief injections sounded. The Dreadnought began to tremble.
Antaeus closed his eyes.
"Bast, you were lucky. You didn't experience all that… In those few days, I just stood there, watching the people I once knew tear off their masks, drenched in blood."
"If you're dissatisfied because of that," Bast said, "I can send you to join those familiar people of yours anytime, Antaeus."
"No," Antaeus replied. "I just want to know how all of this happened in the first place. And I believe I can find the answer here."
Antaeus fell silent for a moment.
"He was the first traitor recorded in the written archives of the Death Guard."
"Calas Typhon."
Calas awoke with the parched sensation of someone on the brink of death. Dizzy, he opened his eyes.
He thought he would see a grief-stricken Mortarion—or Hades, finally ready to kill him.
Neither.
Instead, he saw two brats who still smelled of milk.
"What the hell is going on—"
BANG!!! BOOM!!!!!
A dull yet massive explosion suddenly rang out, shaking the bulkheads of The Endurance.
Red warning lights flashed. He saw one of the brats tilt his head, listening carefully to the alarms coming through the communication channel—
Antaeus suddenly shouted, gesturing for Bast to open the door quickly.
"A spaceport just exploded!"
"It's one sector away from the Death Guard—where the World Eaters are stationed!"
The Master of the Forge opened the door. Urgently summoned, Antaeus immediately rushed out, leaving Bast standing by the doorway.
Bast slowly turned around and looked at the now-silent Calas Typhon.
"My apologies, sir. The situation is sudden. Perhaps I can let you go back to sleep."
Calas thought calmly for a moment. Between dealing with whatever chaos might be happening outside and possibly facing Mortarion later, he chose the simpler option—going back to sleep.
"Fine."
Bast stepped forward, preparing to shut down the Dreadnought again. Staring at him, Calas suddenly asked:
"Kid, who are you?"
"Master of the Forge Bast, sir,"
Bast answered honestly. To prove his craftsmanship was excellent and would definitely reduce the pain of being inside a Dreadnought, he added:
"Disciple of Commander Hades."
"What did you say?!"
Calas screamed.
"Get someone else to shut this thing down—anyone will do! Anyone except you—and Hades!"
. . .
Mortarion walked gloomily through the streets of Macragge. Next, he would return to the Death Guard fleet and find a way to leave this damned place.
He would rather die on a freezing battlefield than rot away in a paradise.
But that was not what troubled Mortarion.
Silently, he calculated and planned. Step by step he walked upon the ground of Macragge, analyzing everything with mathematical precision.
Mortarion was always one step away from the result he calculated.
No matter how he computed, deduced, or analyzed—
He was always one step short.
Mortarion frowned. Irritated, he wondered what exactly he had overlooked.
A fortunate paradise. Spoiled citizens. The Death Guard. Macragge…
Mortarion subconsciously raised his head. Just before the sudden fireball in the sky illuminated his eyes, he finally realized what he had missed—
Angron?!
The Lord of Death suddenly turned and ran toward the fortress.
Behind him, brilliant flames burst across the sky.
<+>
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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