My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 452: The Shattered Prophecy
Curze let out a deathlike, rasping laugh.
He was laughing, he was crying. As he looked at the broken statue, in that instant the Night Haunter was certain he glimpsed something beneath the pure white exterior—
The truth of the thing called "Sanguinius."
Great Angel… Great Angel…
Konrad struggled. Why did you not heed my warning? Why did you willingly walk into the abyss?
He began to cackle. Served you right. Truly served you right.
Now… he looked at the shattered god struggling within the vision… This was the whisper that existed every moment for Konrad Curze.
…Angel, break.
Konrad Curze wept tears of blood. He began to whimper again, as though singing a dirge for his brother.
He was right. But Curze did not wish to be right.
. . .
You felt suffocated.
Suffocation. Absurdity. Disbelief.
You looked downstream along the river of vision. Baal's radiant dawn became the lights aboard the Vengeful Spirit. You saw him. He was there.
Horus Lupercal—your closest friend.
Among the Primarchs, you were widely acknowledged as the closest of friends.
You did not know that, had fate flowed along its original course, Mortarion—who admired Horus—would have envied your bond with him.
But beyond that, he was the Primarch of the Sons of Horus, the firstborn admired by all, the Warmaster, "the one most trusted by the Emperor."
He was the man most trusted by the Emperor—without equal.
He sat there, at the strategy table where you had once spoken heart to heart. He looked exhausted, worn down—he had borne far more than you from the very beginning.
He…
You stared at his back.
He was wounded.
You knew he was wounded. You smelled blood. Yet you saw no obvious injury on his back. The heavy scent of blood pulled at you, cold as winter, filling you with unease.
You lifted your foot and carefully walked toward him.
"Horus?" you asked softly. He did not answer, so you raised your voice slightly, cautious.
"Horus?"
"…By the Emperor," Horus spoke. His voice was hoarse. He sounded hollow, like a lost soul—like a stray dog.
You stepped behind him. The Warmaster wore light armor. In his hand, he was turning over two rings.
You recognized them—the gifts the Emperor had given Horus.
The clay ring had cracked, ominous fissures spreading across it. The gold ring was dim and dull.
You realized the two rings must have protected Horus more than once—but now they could no longer hold.
You stared at Horus. You felt he was… infected? Or touched by something else. More than one presence clung to him.
But perhaps you were simply being suspicious.
Horus stroked the rings. Something in his tone made you shiver instinctively.
You founded an empire. You overthrew the Imperial Truth. You spread faith in the God-Emperor.
You did not know which of these Horus could accept.
"…Sanguinius." Horus spoke quietly. His hoarse voice contained things you could not face—disappointment, sorrow, despair, anger… you could not separate them.
Horus gently traced the cracks on the rings, as if recalling some past peril.
"…Sanguinius," the Lupercal lamented, pleaded,
"Was what I held to… truly just a joke?"
Horus spoke softly, breathing heavily. He slipped the two rings back onto his fingers and rose with resolve.
You flinched and stepped back.
You watched Horus walk toward you, but his eyes did not reflect your wings. You were only a phantom of prophecy. At this moment, Horus was real—and you, you were merely a futile passerby.
No. You were the executioner who caused this scene.
Horus stood stiffly upon the thick wool carpet of his study. The intricate patterns of ancient Terra shimmered faintly in the lamplight.
You stared in shock.
Was this truly Horus?
Or merely a daemon wearing his face?
Horus came to a halt. For a brief instant, the weary, evasive look in his eyes cleared, becoming firm and lucid. He turned his back to you again, as if facing some other presence—something you could not see.
"Father," Horus began. At once, you realized what he was doing.
"Are you truly going to grant me the title of Warmaster? I do not question your valor or wisdom. I also know that among my nineteen brothers, I am the most outstanding one."
"But I still feel uneasy. That unease clings to me like night mist. It's like a raven of ill omen perched outside my window, crying. I feel a trace of uncertainty about myself. I may be the finest among nineteen warriors, but I cannot be certain I will be a good general."
Horus fell silent.
You knew what followed. The Emperor stood before his most beloved son, comforting him.
For a moment, you felt nauseated.
The Emperor—did he know all this?
You thought of it: handing a doomed empire to the child most eager to fulfill his ambitions. The very foundation of that empire was a lie, an error.
You did not know how the Emperor reassured Horus, but you could imagine the empty, weightless words—more vague promises, a few phrases used to conceal the burden of an entire empire.
You watched Horus. He continued the scene. Horus was the most innocent participant in this game. You began to resent the Emperor.
He had personally pushed a loyal soul onto the gallows.
You did not know the Emperor's later orders to the Lord of Death. You only knew he commanded Horus to stand at the cliff's edge.
After a brief silence, Horus smiled with relief. The smile at his lips was sincere, almost without bitterness.
"I will, Father, I will—by the soul and life of Horus Lupercal, I swear I will bear the title of Warmaster. I will lead the Imperium into a more glorious ten thousand years. I will not betray even the slightest part of your expectations."
Horus smiled. You could already imagine the words spoken by the one before him—more empty promises.
You watched Horus—your friend. He was elated, standing under the gaze of the entire galaxy, crowned with laurels, joyfully receiving the Imperium from his father's hands. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, full of ambition. The Great Crusade was ending; a more glorious future was about to begin. How could he not be happy?
He looked at the Imperium in his hands with delight, like a child carefully trying to control it. He believed he would master it soon—because he knew he was the most outstanding one.
And then—
Crack
The masterpiece slipped from his hands, fell to the ground, and shattered.
Horus broke.
The Horus who had just been reliving that conversation with the Emperor collapsed onto the floor. He clutched his head in agony, struggling, sobbing. Overwhelming guilt and self-blame crushed him.
He must have struggled. He must have tried. But this was not something a Primarch could reverse.
Because he had struggled, because he had tried, his despair now cut all the deeper.
"…No…" Horus whimpered softly.
"…No… Perturabo… no… you can't… Lorgar… no… Alpharius… no, no… Fulgrim… Magnus… no?! Magnus—Russ!!"
Fragments spilled from Horus's mouth. You heard your brothers' names, heard the names of planets and worlds, heard… the names of daemons, heard the Emperor's name.
The smell of blood at your nose grew stronger.
For an instant, the lights dimmed, and you saw blood—
Blood… blood seeped from around Horus's feet. It spread across the carpet, dense and crawling. Centered on the Warmaster, blasphemous characters were written in blood.
It was a monster performing a play for you.
You blinked. Horus was still there wailing, but the carpet was clean and pristine.
Listening to his anguished cries, you could not stop yourself. You walked over, crouched down, and wrapped one wing around his back.
"Horus," you said firmly,
"This is not your fault."
You knew you were only a phantom. You could not interfere with him. You could only try, futilely, to comfort him—or perhaps to comfort yourself.
But he lifted his head.
Horus stared straight at you.
You felt goosebumps crawl up your spine.
"Then why did you betray me, Sanguinius?"
Horus didn't blink. He stared at you, the whites of his eyes threaded with blood.
Your nose twitched again—you smelled blood. Was this really Horus? Would Horus say such things to you?
No… he would.
Sanguinius realized he would.
Horus's eyes were filled with resentment.
"The Imperium Secundus? You… you abandoned us just like that? Is your new realm built upon the corpse of the Imperium? Do you think certain beings are already gone? Do you think…"
Horus let out a deep sigh.
"…You think I failed, don't you?"
This was Horus—you felt certain again. Only Horus would ask that.
Your mouth went dry. You swallowed, feeling grit scrape down your throat.
"No…" you protested instinctively, softening your voice as much as possible.
"Horus… Horus… this is only a temporary organization. I… I couldn't contact you. We've been waiting for your return."
"So I… I become the one who betrays our father?"
"No, not like that," you hurried to add. "This is… this is just a desperate measure. We've been holding on with difficulty. I've been waiting for news of the Imperium—and of you."
You watched Horus sigh again, like a dying man. You realized your words only added to his burden—your presence, your explanations, your attempt to shift responsibility, all of it increased the weight on him.
You—your empire, your "Knight-Commander," your "Inquisitor"—constantly reminded Horus of his failure.
But the truth was, the Warmaster had indeed failed.
He had not preserved the Imperium—but was that truly Horus's responsibility alone?
You paused, then tried a lighter tone.
"What do you want to do next, Horus?"
Horus stared at you. He trembled. In his eyes were hatred and confusion toward you, collapse and despair, the stillness that follows futile struggle. He looked at you, lips parting slightly.
Your reason told you Horus would say he would judge you.
At the very least, he would punish your actions. The Horus you knew was proud. You were close friends; this would only make him suffer more.
The Lupercal sighed wearily.
"…I can't forgive you."
"…But I can't forgive myself even more."
Horus's gaze shifted away from you. After a moment of stubbornness and anger, only long exhaustion remained.
"I just want…"
Horus sighed.
"…I just want to sleep for a while."
And then try to understand this world—already mad, already broken.
You felt something was wrong. Anxiety rose in you. You knew Horus's situation—he could not sleep. He needed to build a high wall in his mind to resist the whispers of devils.
"You can't sleep." you said firmly.
"You can't sleep, Lupercal. You must let your consciousness occupy all your time, you cannot give up."
Horus looked at you. You looked at him. You saw the evasive, uneasy look in his eyes. He was not aggressive. On this matter, Horus used his surrendering attitude to wound Sanguinius in return.
In that instant, you realized the Horus before you could not hold on any longer.
His body was badly wounded. His soul could not accept reality. He could go no further.
He only needed a short rest—but this world would not grant him even a second.
He did not trust you. You did not know whether that was his nature, or something he had seen in the Warp.
With his gaze, he told you he would let his consciousness sink into unconsciousness.
Horus shook his head weakly.
"…I can't do it anymore, Sanguinius… I can't."
Horus blinked slowly. He was tired—overwhelmingly so. You felt his body about to collapse into your wings. You heard the whispers rising—
You wanted to persuade him, but suddenly you realized—
Was this really Horus?
Was this the Lupercal you knew?
Would he give up so easily?
You frowned. The smell of blood returned.
Slowly, you placed your hand at your waist and gripped your sword.
"You're not Horus."
"Who are you?"
Before your words finished, the lights in the study went out at once. You saw a monster—blasphemous words written in blood beneath its feet, shattered ashes clutched in its hand. You stared at it, stared hard, trying to discern something.
You took a sharp breath. The sword in your hand did not tremble in the slightest.
Now, you thought, whether it was Horus no longer mattered.
Which side was illusion no longer mattered either.
You shouted, thrusting your sword toward the monster. You only needed to make sure you killed it.
You must kill it.
End his pain.
"God-Emperor! Grant strength to your son!"
Blinding light swallowed everything. You knew you were about to awaken from the dream. In that final moment, you saw the dying beast—you saw the dying Horus.
True and false, illusion and reality—you fell out of the dream.
————————
Curze lunged forward.
"You hurt him! Why did you—"
Sanguinius slowly stood. The hand he had placed in Curze's mouth cleanly snapped Konrad's newly healed jaw once more.
"This was only a vision," Sanguinius said calmly, delivering his judgment.
"I have made my decision. Now, Konrad, it's time for you to keep your promise."
Konrad whimpered, clutching his mouth. Tears streamed from his eyes. Perhaps he could not imagine someone so cold.
The Night Haunter… perhaps believed it had been real.
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