My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 448: The Great Angel Is Desperate, But He Doesn't Say It
Long ago, Sanguinius came to understand a truth:
People need an angel.
A holy, valiant, perfect angel.
That is Sanguinius.
He spreads his wings, sheltering those who desperately need something to rely on, bringing them spiritual solace.
He is perfect and powerful.
But is that really the truth of the thing called "Sanguinius"?
Beneath the shattered mask, rage surges.
. . .
"So," the Great Angel smiled, his crimson pupils hidden behind slightly narrowed eyes, giving away neither joy nor sorrow, "none of you wishes to betray the Imperium."
He stated the fact calmly. This time, no one would interrupt him.
Sanguinius breathed evenly. The Great Angel was seated now—the thing he was using as a makeshift chair still tried to struggle beneath him. Under his weight, Curze let out rattling coughs of blood, as if trying to refute Sanguinius's conclusion.
The Great Angel's wings shifted. He brutally smacked Curze with one of them. After several sounds of breaking bones, the Night Haunter finally went still.
Sitting opposite the Great Angel was Lion El'Jonson. The Lion slumped against the bulkhead, utterly drained, the blood flowing from him "freezing" him in place against the wall.
"So," the Great Angel smiled, "what exactly is going on here?"
"Curze betrayed us. He tried to kill Fulgrim." the Lion hissed the words.
When the truth was spoken, for a moment the Lion felt that what stood opposite him was not the Great Angel, but something… more terrifying.
The smile vanished from the Great Angel's lips.
He lowered his eyes, face cold.
"Then let me see the truth." Sanguinius spoke casually. He reached out, removing one gauntlet and revealing the hand beneath the armor.
Lion's eyes widened sharply.
The Great Angel's nails were as sharp as Curze's, but far more immaculate.
Sanguinius tilted his head, as if selecting, and finally chose a relatively intact patch on Conrad Curze's neck.
The Great Angel casually wiped the skin there.
"Forgive me, Curze," the Great Angel said gently, "This will determine whether I kill you next."
Space Marines could drink—or consume—the flesh of their enemies to obtain fragments of their memories and information.
Among several Legions, before Sanguinius's return, the Ninth Legion had been the most addicted to this practice. It had ceased to be merely a means of gathering intelligence and instead became a cruel instinct.
On high-intensity battlefields, the Ninth Legion had even resorted to cannibalizing their own kind.
Thus they gained a fearsome name—
Ghouls.
Only after Sanguinius returned to the Legion did the situation improve. That history was eventually abandoned, buried deep in the past.
Conrad seemed to try to struggle, but after being slapped by the Great Angel's wing, his jaw appeared completely shattered, leaving him unable to voice resistance.
Fingertips pierced skin; blood flowed.
It has not yet reached the worst point, the Great Angel thought—because even the filthiest traitor's blood still ran red.
Beyond that, the Great Angel could not say. He had personally seen what those who turned to dark cults eventually became.
Sanguinius raised his hand and drank the Night Haunter's testimony.
The three of them were still inside the space pod that hissed as air leaked away. The temperature inside was nearly the same as the vacuum outside, yet the Great Angel had no intention of moving the interrogation elsewhere.
After what had just happened—the true fury—the true crimson hell—both antagonistic Primarchs silently agreed that the Great Angel now might genuinely throw one of them into space.
Lion remained silent, watching Sanguinius. The Great Angel drank the blood with far too much familiarity—there was even a hint of urgency in the motion.
The blood spread. The Great Angel calmly closed his eyes. He let his hand fall loosely, almost dejectedly, droplets of blood dripping from his fingertips.
For some reason, during the time the Great Angel kept his eyes closed, both Lion El'Jonson and Konrad Curze maintained a tacit silence.
The Great Angel's eyelids trembled slightly. He seemed to be experiencing nightmare after nightmare, his body twitching involuntarily in small spasms.
The chamber was silent. The stars peered through the cracks in the ruptured hull, watching the three Primarchs, while Baal's sun cast a sharp boundary of light and shadow inside the compartment.
For a brief instant, the King of Caliban's instincts told him to draw his sword and prepare for battle.
But in the next moment, that instinct vanished, dissolving into nothing.
The Great Angel, trapped in hallucinations, trembled at the corner of his mouth. The curve grew wider—
"…By the God-Emperor."
Lion's pupils shook violently. Both he and Curze clearly heard what Sanguinius had just said.
Had Sanguinius finally gone mad as well?!
Lion began to struggle. The knight of Caliban forced himself upright again, reaching for the sword lying on the ground.
An unarmored hand firmly grasped the one he extended.
He could not move forward.
Lion steadied his thoughts and calmly turned his head. He saw the Great Angel's stiff expression—bloody tears flowing from the corners of his eyes.
"…I'm fine." Sanguinius said hoarsely.
But the hand gripping the Lion's did not say the same. It tightened more and more—until the already shattered arm-plate could bear no further strain. The Lion's blood seeped through the gaps between the Great Angel's fingers.
Those crimson eyes stared fixedly at the King of Caliban. After witnessing Curze's memories, the Great Angel seemed, for a brief moment, to harbor an extra measure of hatred toward the Lion.
After a short contest of strength, Lion silently gave up. He stepped back, and the Great Angel released his hand in satisfaction, blood dripping from his palm.
"Now, yours." Sanguinius spoke expressionlessly. The vampire began to drink blood. What gave the Lion a subtle sense of dissatisfaction was how quickly the Great Angel withdrew from his memories.
Sanguinius fell silent. He stared at the Lion in silence. For a moment, Lion suspected that the statue called the "Great Angel" had already shattered.
The Great Angel let out a long, deep sigh.
He buried his flawless face into his blood-stained, dirtied hands, rubbing his face in a gesture of weary resignation.
Then the Great Angel lifted his head and stared at the Lion expressionlessly.
"Now, I announce my judgment," Sanguinius said.
"You, the Dark Angels and the Night Lords, may both be stationed on Baal—and only there. You must be stationed on Baal. The Imperium cannot withstand another bout of such internal strife."
"What do you mean?"
The Lion stared at the Great Angel.
"Sanguinius, are you saying… Konrad Curze is innocent?"
The Great Angel hesitated for once.
"No," Sanguinius said. "He is guilty."
You might be as well, Lion. The Great Angel muttered silently to himself.
But telling him about Fulgrim's prophecy now would likely only create more trouble.
"Konrad Curze can be imprisoned. But as long as the Night Lords are willing to cooperate, Baal will welcome them."
"And," the Great Angel narrowed his eyes, "Lion, I think you should learn a phrase."
"What?"
"For the God-Emperor."
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