My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 446: Everyone's Losing Their Minds
The world was upside down; here, there was no right or wrong.
. . .
Amid the chaos, the jagged Nightfall began to accelerate. The haggard queen lifted the hem of her fire-scorched dress and ran through the soundless gunfire. Her sharp high heels struck the starry void, each step splashing brilliant tides of the Warp.
Shimmering blue and radiant violet scattered drop by drop across the deep night.
Her loyal soldiers followed her, even as their formation was inevitably torn to pieces. The black-and-white knight advanced with heavy strides, charging brutally toward the fleeing survivors.
The knight's iron steed ripped open the ranks in great bounds. Its roaring plasma engine spat scorching breath; the thunder of hooves startled the darkness and shattered the curtain of night.
A purple-robed noble, adorned with countless golden ornaments, joined the fray. The flourishes of his blade were cautious to the extreme. He hesitated as he pursued the fleeing lady, as if intending to seize the scorched, tattered hem of the Nightfall Lady with his delicately manicured fingers.
But before a queen and a knight baring their fangs, ready to fight to the death, the noble was clearly out of his depth.
Guns against guns. Warships dogfighting across the decks. Soldiers slaughtering each other in the corridors. King against king, commander against commander, Primarch against Primarch, legion master against legion champion.
Konrad Curze exhaled foul, bloody breath as he moved through the shadows, toying with the arrogant intruders.
The lightless night was his domain.
And now, the surging promethium and poison gas only increased his chances.
"…You have no idea what you've done, Lion." Konrad Curze hissed. For a moment, the Lion glimpsed some dark shape flicker past the ventilation ducts.
He raised the Lion Sword. The Lion now stood within the shadows. Fulgrim had not followed; the Phoenician was trying to contact his sons outside, while Lion El'Jonson was confident he could deal with Curze alone.
"I do."
Lion El'Jonson spoke without hesitation, without doubt, without wavering. He was right; he was loyal.
"The ignorant one is you, Konrad."
Curze let out a mocking laugh. Lion heard the clatter of chains.
"You…"
Curze murmured softly. Suddenly, the Night Haunter became terrifying. Uncontrolled rage and sorrow surged within him.
"…You are about to make the prophecy come true, Lion."
The next instant, whirling chains shot straight at Lion's face!
A crisp metallic clash rang out. Lion blocked the blow with his sword. The blood-stained chain wrapped tightly around the Lion Sword, pulling taut in midair, while the blade emitted a death-rattle creak.
Lion gripped the hilt with both hands, his arms trembling under the immense force.
"Fool." / "Madman!"
Clang!
The force at the other end suddenly vanished. Already prepared, Lion braced with his back foot and steadied himself. His sword carved a silver arc through the air. The chain still tangled around the blade struck his greave before it could fall away—
The Lion roared in anger. A monster's howl answered him. Their weapons clashed briefly; sparks flew, illuminating the two figures.
One face twisted into inhuman madness.
One winged helm splattered with blood, appearing calm yet seething with violence beneath.
Clang—!
Metal parted.
Curze spat mockingly at the Lion, then slipped back into the night before the next strike could land.
Aboard the Nightfall, there was only midnight.
And the night was long.
Curze's target had never been the Lion. He needed… he needed to reach the Phoenician.
Arrogant and foolish, stubborn and narrow-minded—such a man, the one most eager to bite, was the luckiest fool of all. He only knew how to make enemies, believing that killing the foe before him would solve everything. He was wrong—terribly wrong.
One last time. Just one last time. If Konrad Curze failed—then let them all fall together into eternal damnation!
Lion El'Jonson would, sooner or later, pay for the sin of his dullness.
Curze rubbed his fingers together; a small spark flickered at his fingertips. Smiling, he lowered his hand and snapped his fingers over the viscous liquid.
Brilliant firelight erupted within the chamber, blazing through the night and illuminating Lion's face—fixed with the desire to kill Curze. The stubborn Lion no longer seemed willing to think.
Flames surged, scorching Curze's limbs. It was the pain of judgment, and he drank it like fine wine, like sweet spring water.
In the religions of old, flame dispelled ignorance, bringing hope and light.
This was Conrad's final blessing—to himself, and to his brothers.
The space began to tremble. In the compartment filled with murky poison gas, several tiny sparks suddenly flared. Footsteps started to grow unsteady—clear evidence that gravity itself had begun to behave strangely.
The Nightfall was plunging toward the Warp rift torn open by the First Legion, with unstoppable momentum.
In the command chamber, Corswain's pupils suddenly widened. He realized Sevatar's plan. His attacks became even more ferocious, but that damned bat possessed astonishing skill as well.
They fought inside the command room. Sevatar was nearly insane—he didn't even fear Corswain striking the Nightfall's command console. Blade marks split open buttons, exposing the naked wires beneath.
It was as if they no longer needed this Gloriana-class Battleship.
Corswain's questioning roar exploded:
"What exactly are you trying to do?!"
Sevatar's glaive knocked the sword aside.
"It's you who should ask that," the Lord of the Crows said, raising a brow. He looked strained, yet somehow still seemed at ease.
"The Night Lords have only ever wanted to survive."
"You were the ones who attacked first!"
It was Konrad Curze who had launched the first strike at Fulgrim!
Corswain roared. Sevatar fell silent for a moment, but his casual reply only enraged the Calibanite knight further.
"You don't get to accuse me now. Why don't you call over one of the Emperor's Children?" Sevatar said provocatively.
. . .
Fulgrim panted. He stood at the entrance of the blasted, collapsed corridor, sword raised in guard.
He still… still couldn't understand what had happened. Everything had unfolded too quickly.
From believing Curze had been imprisoned by his sons, to seeing Curze and Lion locked in a duel with the intent to kill—Phoenician accepted this absurdity. To him, his brothers and this world alike had already descended into madness.
What had happened?
Why did Curze want to kill him, while the Lion firmly believed Curze would commit some… betrayal?
After the Astronomican had gone dark, this was the first time the Phoenician had found companions—and he had never expected this scene.
He thought there would be a conversation. A discussion about the future, about how to respond, perhaps some talk of Ferrus… but never this—mutual slaughter, with the resolve that the other must die.
Madness. Everything had gone mad.
Fulgrim wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth again. He listened to the calls of his sons over the channel. His Lord Commander, Eidolon, was about to arrive. The Phoenician stepped slightly outward; the Emperor's Children would blast open this corridor again, and he would withdraw immediately.
Curze had gone insane, and the Lion looked at Fulgrim as if he were garbage. The Knight King had walked past him as though stepping over a useless corpse.
The message radiating from Jonson was clear—Fulgrim was useless; don't drag him down.
Fulgrim did not believe that either of the two Primarchs before him could be trusted, or fought alongside.
…Give him some time… he needed to calm himself… then he would go find Ferrus… even if it was only a corpse.
Emperor… give him a brother he could speak with normally.
Fulgrim felt as though he were on the verge of collapse, and the deepest pain came from those "brothers" he had thought he could trust.
"My lord! The charges have been set!"
An urgent call came through the channel. Fulgrim stepped outward silently. He seemed to hear the rumble of shifting stone, and the sounds of battle beyond. The countdown began; the bomb's display lit up red.
In the command chamber, Corswain's sword already lay on the ground. Sevatar's glaive as well. Corswain slammed Sevatar against the command console, punching furiously at that infuriating face.
"—Fulgrim!!!"
A frenzied, grief-stricken scream burst from the raging flames filling the compartment. A ghostlike figure reflected in Fulgrim's pupils. In that instant, time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Fulgrim swung his sword. He succeeded in tearing open Curze's flesh; droplets of blood scattered. But the Night Haunter's other hand clutched his arm like a drowning man.
His eyes were filled with pleading tears.
In an instant, the hunter's silhouette appeared within the flames. The Lion did not hesitate—his sword whirled through the air, tracing a full circle like a complete moon.
In the slowed flow of time, Fulgrim saw Curze's face, unable even to clench in pain before the blow.
He heard the explosion behind him; fragments of stone were about to fly into his field of vision. A piece of Lion El'Jonson's helmet had been shattered by Curze, leaving one sharp eye exposed. Fulgrim saw the Lion's cold, contemptuous gaze.
Coward.
The Lion said it silently to Fulgrim.
For a moment, Fulgrim could not tell whether the Curze who wanted to kill him, yet whose eyes brimmed with tears, was his friend—or the Lion who had saved him, yet looked upon him with disdain.
Or perhaps neither of them were.
The Phoenician faltered.
This world must already be insane, he thought.
He no longer wanted to argue right or wrong. Fighting madmen only dragged one into the same mire; the best response was to stay far away.
He began to run backward. Curze's severed hand, still gripping his arm, clung tightly to him. In that final moment, he saw Curze—kneeling, weeping bitterly after failing once more—and beside him, the Knight King, expressionless, watching him leave.
The blazing flames burned behind them, outlining their backlit, frenzied silhouettes.
Curze sobbed. He had failed again.
Sevatar heard Curze's crying… Failed, he thought. Enduring Corswain's fury, he groped with the hand pressed against the command console, reaching deep into the split opening, prying apart the safety lock.
Sevatar bared a mad grin.
The next moment—an explosion.
The Nightfall, plunging into the Warp, began to break apart.
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Note:
For those who are unaware why Curze is trying to kill Fulgrim, he saw the Daemon Prince Fulgrim and resolved to save his brother by killing him first before he could fall.
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