My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 457: Beneath the Grandeur
John's day began with prayer.
Fatigue weighed heavily on him, his eyelids drooping with drowsiness. The coarse sleeping bag was unusually warm, and he didn't want to get up. Every aching muscle in his body resisted the very idea of rising.
"Indulge in idle thoughts, and sloth will follow."
The line from the Sacred Sayings flashed through John's mind. He had to fight his own laziness—those who surrendered to sloth would fall to the path of desire. So, despite the discomfort coursing through his body, he forced himself out of the sleeping bag.
Muttering passages from the Sacred Sayings, he began maintaining his weapons—a plasma gun and a dagger. For him, they were enough.
Two weapons, a simple plasteel angel figurine, and a cheap necklace from his lover. Aside from these, John owned nothing of his own.
He gathered his belongings and, yawning, went to collect his ration bar. The sleeping bag wasn't his; as an auxiliary trooper, he and others took turns using such supplies.
Their fleet was currently stationed above a hive world near Baal. The First Legion had classified it as "still of value."
And because of that, this moderately corrupted planet had not been reduced to a glassed sphere by the brutal Warmaster.
Thank the Emperor. Thank the Angel.
John murmured the prayer again in his heart. He could have been assigned to garrison duty on Baal itself, but he had traded his post with someone else.
The reason was simple… the next planet they were to conquer was his homeworld.
John had once been the only son of a noble family on that hive world. Before the Astronomican went dark, his greatest worry in life had been how to confess to his parents that he had a girlfriend from the mid-hive—Lilia, whose grandfather had even been a deputy leader of some gang in the underhive.
John wasn't afraid of those low-hive thugs. In the eyes of the upper-hive elite, such people were insignificant. The real issue was bloodline.
Nobles intermarried to preserve their status. In their eyes, John's behavior was tantamount to suicide.
What made the prodigal son despair even more was that his father disapproved of Lilia's lifestyle.
John sighed. He stepped into the queue for ration bars. In front of him stood a tall woman, reeking of sour odor.
It could have been a romance story—if this weren't the Warhammer universe, if the Astronomican hadn't gone dark.
When the Astronomican failed, the hive city fell into chaos. But with armed force, the nobles quickly restored order.
Yet six weeks later, hordes from the underhive broke through the barricades between the lower and middle levels—then came blasphemous chants, rituals, and even traitors among the nobles, who gleefully joined the madness rising from below.
Before the hive fully fell, John's father had shoved him onto an evacuation ship.
John came from a military family. His father was a general; his mother held no rank but was an excellent marksman.
Unfortunately, their son was a disappointment. In that final moment, as his father kicked him onto the ship, John's only thought was: What about Lilia?
She lived in the mid-hive—but that place had already fallen.
John sighed again, listless.
He really was a bastard.
Scratching the back of his neck, he picked off a flea, stared at it briefly, then popped it into his mouth, chewing before swallowing.
He wondered if his parents were still alive.
More likely, his father had died holding his mother, detonating themselves to take the enemy with them—they were that kind of people.
He had come back to avenge them.
It was his turn. A red-robed, many-eyed Tech-Priest handed him a ration bar.
"Praise the Emperor. Praise the Angel."
John said it, then wandered off to find a spot, squeezing in among all sorts of people. Hugging his plasma gun, he gnawed at the ration bar with his teeth.
In the end, he was the only one left alive.
Their entire hive had escaped on just one ship—and on the journey to Baal, five-sixths of those aboard had died.
John was certain now that he's the only survivor that came from his homeworld.
Those who had fled with him—his fellow countrymen—had all been purged by the "Shadows."
Yes, only he remained. Every time John recalled what happened on Baal, a chill ran down his spine.
The long journey had left them utterly exhausted. Some had begun using psychoactive drugs to get through the ordeal.
As usual, in the refugee camp on Baal, John pushed away the syringe his friend offered him.
"No…"
John lowered his head, fiddling with his necklace, mumbling indistinctly, "You know my old man never let me touch this stuff… he'd break my legs."
But the next moment, he felt something warm on his cheek.
Slowly—very slowly—John raised his hand and touched the warm liquid on his face. It was blood.
His heart beat sluggishly. Turning his head, John saw something even more terrifying than the tide of daemons—
"Shh—"
The creature of shadow crouched atop his compatriot's corpse, blood soaking the hem of its tattered black robe.
Its pitch-black eyes fixed on John, tilting its head with interest.
"Cherish your last bit of purity."
It began walking toward him.
John collapsed onto the ground, feeling a spreading warmth between his legs. He trembled uncontrollably as the shadow loomed over him, then crouched down.
A long, slender hand reached out—its nails packed with filth and bits of flesh—as the creature extended it toward John's hand—
"No."
John didn't even know when his voice had come out.
"No—please, please… this is my last connection to my home. This is the necklace Lilia gave me. Please—please, no."
The hand hooking toward the necklace stopped.
The creature's foul breath washed over John's face. It said nothing. The next instant, the overwhelming pressure vanished.
John collapsed fully onto the ground, surrounded by the corpses of his countrymen.
Now, he was the only survivor.
The assembly call sounded. John stuffed the last piece of that hard-to-swallow ration into his mouth and followed the crowd toward the landing pad.
He remembered his squad leader—a bearded, heavyset man. John had always wondered whether the guy could even fit himself into a sleeping bag.
He found his assigned transport without trouble, squeezing into the stinking cabin. The engines roared—they were ascending.
John found a spot to lean against and closed his eyes to rest. He was exhausted.
Feeling the vibrations of the wall behind him, the idea of returning to his homeworld gave him a strange sense of peace.
I'm back.
John thought, gripping the battered necklace hanging around his neck.
I will die on my native soil.
I'm coming to find you.
Under his father's teachings, John knew what a line trooper was—and he knew that was exactly what he had become.
But he had nothing left to fear.
John let out a breath. His brief rest was over. Every muscle in his body resisted movement, yet he still walked toward the hatch.
He heard those horrific roars, the screams, the howls of psykers and daemons—somewhere in the haze, he even thought he could make out Lilia's voice among them.
John took a deep breath.
He knew. Of course he knew… Lilia had long since been corrupted.
The Lilia who had captivated the prodigal John had been a famed beauty of the mid-hive. She loved to sing, craved excitement—he had once tried to persuade her to stop using drugs.
John lowered his head, casually performing one last check on his plasma gun.
That "Inquisitor" had meant well… he thought.
In this damned world… what right or wrong is there anymore?
John gave his necklace one final touch. The hatch began to open, and a foul, fetid wind rushed in.
"For the Emperor!!!" John shouted, the first to raise his weapon and charge out.
God… if you truly exist, please forgive my home.
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