My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 449: The Great Angel Is Busy Again Today
[ Baal ]
The footsteps of the Great Angel echoed through the prison corridor. In the sealed hallway, countless candles burned fiercely, casting wildly dancing shadows.
Sanguinius walked in silence. Beside him, Sevatar followed respectfully, limping. The Legion Master of the Eighth Legion had had one of his legs broken while fighting Corswain.
But at least he was still alive. He lived, Konrad Curze lived, and the Eighth Legion still existed in scattered fragments—Sevatar was already satisfied with such a result. Even if they might be the first legion to lose their Gloriana-class Battleship.
It didn't matter. Even though the Night Lords still had the Nightfall, their dwindling numbers were no longer enough to maintain the vigilance a Gloriana required.
At the time, Sevatar had lain contentedly in the ruins, ready to accept his final death—
Then he was dug out by a Blood Angel named Amit. Apparently the other man thought he was dead and was about to take a bite, to see whether he could dig something useful out of his brain.
At that point, whether he wanted to wake up or not, he had to.
The good news was that although the Great Angel's attitude toward the Night Lords was not very friendly, he had still reluctantly accepted them.
Thinking of this, Sevatar gave a dry laugh in his heart.
This was the reward for "loyalty."
As long as they were still human, had not yielded, and still retained a human soul, they were rare commodities in this endless night.
Sanguinius had realized this as well.
No matter how degenerate the Night Lords had become, in the end they had not knelt.
Yes, they ate people, flayed skin, went mad, broke rules, spread terror, even harmed innocents and took pleasure in tormenting humanity—but they were still a good legion. They had not fallen.
So even though the manpower-starved Great Angel disliked and detested them, he had no choice but to accept the Eighth Legion.
Sevatar walked silently behind Sanguinius, almost meek and gentle. He knew this was their last chance.
Beside him, the Great Angel's steady footsteps echoed. He no longer wore the smile he used for his sons and people; in the flickering firelight, his face was expressionless.
Sevatar knew that the Great Angel had just "argued" with Lion El'Jonson and then taken part in eighteen battles of varying sizes.
The Great Angel had tried to persuade the Lion, but the Lion was not someone whose thinking changed easily.
—But the Lion would eventually yield.
Sevatar knew this, because that was reality—and the Lion was not a true knight. A true knight would abandon everything, even life, for certain ancient and stubborn codes. But Lion was not that kind of man. From his fighting style, it was clear he would use any means for victory.
A beast, Sevatar mocked inwardly, a wild beast who merely wore the skin of a knight.
Even Konrad Curze—so long as Curze retained a shred of reason—would not slaughter innocents. That was the Night Haunter's bottom line.
But whether the Lion had a bottom line… that was another matter.
This was also an advantage. The Great Angel only needed to lay out the pros and cons; given time, the Lion would figure it out himself.
And now… the Great Angel was clearly going to meet Konrad Curze alone.
Sevatar glanced subtly at Sanguinius. Long ago, he had heard of the Blood Angels' situation.
If the Imperial Truth were used as the dividing line, the Imperium's legions could be roughly categorized:
First tier: absolutely believed in the Imperial Truth. Even if they personally saw daemons, they would try to explain them through it—the Ultramarines, the Imperial Fists.Second tier: believed in the Imperial Truth, but realized something existed in the Warp, maintaining an ambiguous stance—the White Scars, the Sons of Horus.Third tier: did not believe in the Imperial Truth and established their own religion—the Word Bearers.
Among them… the Blood Angels actually fell somewhere between the second and third tiers.
The reason was simple: in Baal, the Blood Angels' homeworld, there truly existed a religion that worshiped Sanguinius as a god.
Back then, the Great Angel used his agreement to follow the Emperor as leverage, demanding that the Emperor not abolish Baal's religion.
The Word Bearers' religion worshiped the Emperor as a god; on the Blood Angels' side, Baal worshiped the Great Angel himself as a god.
From a secular perspective, Sanguinius's ambition might even have been greater than Lorgar's.
This should have been an action worth examining deeply, but the Great Angel suppressed those probing gazes with his personal charisma. As a result, not many people criticized the religion on Baal.
Now Sevatar limped along, and the Great Angel finally revealed his true face. Religion—this was the solution found by the Emperor's perfect son.
How ironic.
Whatever. Sevatar couldn't bring himself to put on a pious face and spout nonsense about praising the God-Emperor or praising the Great Angel. He'd rather have a daemon drill into his skull.
Still… speak to humans like a human, speak to demons like a demons—and when facing the Great Angel, remember to praise the God-Emperor!
That was what Sevatar muttered inwardly.
Fortunately, Sanguinius couldn't read minds. He had no idea what the seemingly cooperative commander of the Eighth Legion was actually thinking. Otherwise, the Night Lords might already have been thrown back into the void.
The two walked in silence. The smell of blood grew stronger—not a good sign. Sevatar hoped Konrad hadn't casually killed a few Blood Angels again during one of his fits.
The Great Angel before him looked almost cold to the extreme.
Finally, after passing through layer upon layer of guards, the two stopped before the great cell.
Sevatar fell silent.
He stared at his suffering father, Konrad Curze. His eyes felt dry; he wanted to cry, but in the end nothing came out.
Konrad stood with his back to them, bare upper body gaunt and covered in scars. Before the Primarch stood a figure stitched together from countless pieces of servitor corpses—
An image of the God-Emperor.
Using Primarch hair as thread, dense black strands protruded from the flesh. The meat twitched slightly—whether from maggots writhing inside or because the flesh was still fresh, it was hard to tell.
Sevatar felt like he was about to vomit.
Konrad was praying to a statue of the God-Emperor… By Nostramo, just kill him already.
At the same time, alarm bells rang in the Prince of Crows's mind. Sevatar cautiously watched the Great Angel, already considering how he would fight to the last moment for Konrad if the Angel felt insulted and decided the Night Lords had fully fallen.
Sevatar's hand unconsciously drifted toward the dagger at his waist.
Sanguinius seemed not to notice his little trick. Expressionless, the Angel slowly raised his hand… and began to applaud.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The Angel clapped slowly, his face stern.
"Quite artistic. I think Fulgrim would like it if it's made with a different material."
Curze, who had been muttering to the flesh-crafted Emperor statue, slowly turned his head. Bloody tears had already dried on his cheeks.
"…Fulgrim can't come back." He rasped. The next moment, the imprisoned Primarch slammed himself against the bars, shaking them violently.
"He said He forgave me! He actually said He forgave me—what right does He have to forgive me?! God—Fulgrim is gone—and He forgives me?! Did He forgive me in Fulgrim's place? Or on behalf of those I killed?!"
Sevatar could see that Konrad had fallen into madness again—even worse than before, enough to terrify any rational being. He stepped back in shock, while the Great Angel showed no fear and stepped forward instead.
The Angel bent down expressionlessly, meeting Curze's hunched, tear-streaked gaze.
"Scum," The Great Angel suddenly broke into his most familiar smile. He smiled at Curze, crimson eyes unreadable.
"Then get out here and atone."
"Of course," The Angel smiled, reaching out and gently placing his hand on Konrad's grip on the bars—
Then he squeezed.
The iron bars strong enough to hold Konrad Curze let out a faint scream.
Sevatar's pupils widened. He watched as the Great Angel casually bent the bars apart and stepped leisurely into the cell. Curze instinctively tried to retreat, but with his hand gripped tightly by the Angel, he had nowhere to go.
"Before that, I think it's necessary for us to get to know each other."
Beneath the Angel's smiling lips, sharp fangs showed.
"What do you say? While everyone else is struggling to survive, you are just a piece of scum who only know how to run away because you're a Primarch."
With a slap from the Great Angel, Curze—whose jaw had just healed and who was screaming—instantly went silent.
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