My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 451: The Angel… Broke
What did you see?
You saw a hero marching to his death, struggling in his final moments yet still failing to protect the galaxy he loved.
You saw the stubborn one trapped, time spinning uselessly, leaving only decay.
You saw the compassionate one fall into flames of rage, fire blazing, the shell remaining empty.
You saw the one mocked by all desperately trying to prove himself, only to destroy himself amid applause.
You saw… you saw… you saw yourself.
You stood there. Beside you was the Lion, Lion El'Jonson—your "Knight-Commander," your "Warmaster." You understood but could not agree with Lion's strange obsession with the title "Warmaster," yet you still granted it to him.
The Lion stood at your right. His black helm shone brilliantly under Baal's morning sun. It gave you a trace of confidence and hope. The Lion, having received the title of Warmaster, would do his job well—you reassured yourself.
By accepting the titles of "Knight-Commander" and "Warmaster," Lion El'Jonson had already signified his submission to you. Your former brother now bowed to you.
You felt a faint sense of absurdity and unease at that fact, but it was the best solution for now, you told yourself.
The dark side of the Imperium needed a center—a place to spread faith, a place to preserve the spark.
At your left, Curze, missing one hand, hid himself beneath a pitch-black hood—your "Inquisitor," the sinner who judged sin.
Konrad Curze would atone under your command, redeeming himself for ten thousand years and more.
Before you, radiant in pure golden light, he felt ashamed, saw his own ugliness and insignificance. He began to atone—or perhaps, for Konrad Curze, placing himself in greater suffering was the only way to soothe a conscience he never truly had.
You gazed at Curze for a moment. He feared your eyes and retreated into shadow.
You sighed softly.
In hell, only laws more cruel than hell itself could deter the hearts of men. You knew you needed hands to deal with filth, and the already-stained Konrad was your best choice.
You shifted your gaze away from Konrad Curze. He would fulfill his duty. At least… his Legion commander, Sevatar, could share some of your burden.
And you—you.
You were the "Pope" and the "Archangel" of the "First Divine Realm," or perhaps the "Second Empire." You were a symbol, a focal point for people to look toward.
As early as the celebration at Ullanor, when you witnessed the full argument between Mortarion and Lorgar, and later at the Council of Nikaea, when you went to question Angron—you already knew the truth.
You were the chosen one.
You were destined to save the people.
The greatest evidence was that you possessed a pair of wings you never wanted. Those wings made people willingly revere you as a god.
You had an entire planet that worshiped you as its religion—pious, ignorant people who believed you were divine.
You had always evaded this issue, always fled from it. You hid yourself within the Great Crusade's legions. But now, you could no longer escape.
You needed to admit it.
You were a god.
Gods existed in this world. Gods answered the calls of believers and granted them power.
Look—the Emperor is a god.
Lorgar was right.
They needed gods to protect them. They needed faith, or they would be consumed by the unclean. You had to give them hope and preserve the spark. This long night could not grow any darker.
You—born with wings, child of divinity—you were their living hope.
You had to accept it all.
You did not know why the Emperor refused to be called a god. Perhaps he had his own reasons. But you knew you yourself had never wished to be sanctified. You looked at your army—your army was not perfect.
The Red Thirst.
The thought came abruptly. They represented your impurity. You were flawed, but you had hidden that flaw.
In the long night you had once been uneasy—the rage of your sons, their madness, terrifying; you felt their craving for flesh; you saw the monsters your sons became—on the battlefield, devouring flesh in frenzy; they raised their heads to look at you; you saw the flaw within their souls—you could not avoid it, because even you had once felt saliva gather at the corner of your lips in the dim hours.
…
The bat at the bedside let out a soft laugh, as if waiting for the fall—or screaming, begging him not to descend so easily.
…
No, you thought. This was trivial now. In this hell, the savagery of the Blood Angels would instead lend you glory.
You had once worried about this flaw, but now—in this hell—a little imperfection was clearly nothing.
You only needed to restrain your own desire.
With you as their example, your sons would restrain themselves.
A faint, disdainful smile tugged at your lips. So this was all, you thought. "Prophecy is nothing more than this."
You looked into the distance, toward your subjects. You would have to adapt to your new title, your new life. You needed to give them hope, to tell them—the Emperor is a god.
Faith would grant them strength, and grant you strength.
Would you be twisted beneath their faith? You did not know. Perhaps you had grasped what the Emperor feared, but at this moment, the distortion of one person meant nothing before the suffering of half a galaxy.
You accepted it willingly.
The "First Divine Realm"—you, the Warmaster, the Inquisitor—you would struggle in hell, bringing new light to the people. Even if it was poison despised by the old night, now it was the only medicine for you dying patients.
On this map, you would spread light again, bring hope to those who had been forgotten…
The forgotten…
Wait? Had you forgotten something?
Oh, right. Horus Lupercal.
Horus—your closest friend, your brother, the one you were closest to among your many brothers. It was he who patiently guided you back to the Imperium, he who taught you how to lead a Legion.
You fondly remembered learning aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Those memories were so beautiful—so beautiful they felt unreal—but they had existed in your otherwise miserable life.
You remembered watching Horus's little protégés causing trouble, then pleading with you to keep their secrets, and after Horus discovered them, begging you to speak on their behalf.
A beautiful time, you thought.
You glanced subconsciously at the "Warmaster" and the "Inquisitor" beside you—if only it were Horus, you sighed once again.
You felt the weight of the laurel upon your head and looked into the distance. The rising sun was a little dazzling. You thought of Horus.
…Horus…
—-?!
Suddenly, you realized something—
Something terrible, absurd, enough to make you collapse on the spot—
If you crowned yourself Emperor… what would Horus think?
He was the Warmaster of the old night.
And your coronation would personally overthrow that old night.
Your coronation would even seem like mockery and condemnation of his governance, of his failure that led to the galaxy's fracture.
The Emperor had just granted Horus the title of Warmaster, commanding him to take charge of the Imperium—but under his leadership, the Imperium had been torn apart.
Worse, his closest friend—you—would cast him aside and establish a new realm.
And now, at your side, there was even another Warmaster you had appointed and crowned.
—Horus—what would Horus think?
Knowing Horus as you did, you suddenly understood.
Your coronation, your new empire, would cause Horus to collapse.
Ambitious and suspicious, Horus would never accept your actions.
And that would become the decisive factor in Horus's fall.
The dawn of Baal shone upon your crown. People cheered for you, but you felt dizzy.
You could not avoid founding the empire. The dark half of the galaxy needed faith.
But you also realized that if you did… the Horus you had failed to contact, the ally you longed for, the friend you hoped for… would immediately be released from the chaotic Warp by those entities.
Then, full of joy, believing he had found his closest friend and an ally, Horus would face your betrayal.
He would see you crowned Emperor, declaring that the Imperial Truth he upheld was a lie, abandoning the Imperium, taking up the words of the Word Bearers, appointing your agents—the Lion, the Bat.
How could he possibly accept that?
Yes… this time, you would be the one to betray him first.
If you did nothing, you would all be ground down slowly by the millstone of time. If you acted, you would personally push your closest friend into the abyss.
Sanguinius began to tremble.
He shook his head in disbelief, again and again.
The bat let out a sob-like cry.
This was the truth.
This was… the future you would face when forced to choose.
Ignorance is bliss.
But now—welcome to the future.
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