My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 480: Corax's Desperate Journey
Corax remained silent, concealed within the shadows of the Vengeful Spirit's ceiling as he watched the Sons of Horus moving back and forth below him.
Warriors passed constantly through the corridors, yet not a single one noticed the lean Primarch hidden overhead.
"..."
Corax blinked. His pitch-black pupils shifted sideways toward the figure beside him—
Archmagos Trazyn.
Now there were two "people" hiding on the ceiling of the Vengeful Spirit:
One was the tall, gaunt Primarch.
The other was the mysterious Archmagos.
Corax cast him a doubtful glance, but ultimately said nothing.
Ever since Horus had boarded the Raven Guard fleet, Corax had realized there was something unusual about Trazyn.
The Archmagos—originally stationed aboard the White Scars fleet—had rushed to the Raven Guard ships at incredible speed and had somehow predicted Corax's retreat route perfectly, using strange devices to blast open corridors through the Raven Guard vessels in advance.
Within the hidden darkness, Corax stared at the green indicator lights glowing across Trazyn's faceplate.
Even his facial augmentations were unusual.
Could an ordinary Archmagos really accomplish such things?
Corax doubted it.
He had also noticed the Khan's suspicion toward Trazyn, yet both of them had tacitly chosen silence.
At the very least, Trazyn was helping them.
And now, with two Legions isolated and unsupported, they desperately needed every ally they could get.
Corax was grateful for Trazyn's intervention. Deep down, he even felt genuine appreciation for it. In times of crisis, a helping hand always felt warm.
So the Primarch decided to overlook these insignificant details.
He would remain wary of Trazyn, but he would also trust him.
Using only his eyes, Corax signaled whether Trazyn could accompany him deeper into the ship.
Trazyn answered with the steady glow of his green indicator lights.
And so they moved.
It was a flawless infiltration.
No one noticed the shapes hidden in the darkness. No surveillance device captured even a glimpse of their passing forms.
This was unlike a certain someone in the past, who had once left behind footage of himself awkwardly crawling beneath xenos security systems.
For Corax, stealth was as natural as breathing or drinking water.
For Trazyn...
Well, regardless, primitive human eyes and technology were incapable of detecting him.
Relying on his previous memories of the ship's layout, Corax advanced toward the Vengeful Spirit's secondary command chamber.
What unsettled the Primarch was that the immense vessel felt increasingly like a living organism awakening from slumber. The deeper they went, the hotter and more sinister the ship became.
The Vengeful Spirit felt to Corax exactly like Horus himself—as though something inside them was awakening.
Something had taken control of them. Parasitized them.
They were slowly becoming hollow shells.
Corax found himself worrying about the Khan again.
The Great Khan had confidently assured him that their brother Mortarion would be enough to guarantee their escape from the Vengeful Spirit.
Mortarion?
Corax thought back. His only real interaction with the Primarch of the XIV Legion had been a brief encounter at the Council of Nikaea, when Mortarion carried out the Emperor's command to burn Prospero.
Corax frowned as he recalled it.
He did not remember anything particularly remarkable about Mortarion—certainly nothing suggesting he could defeat Horus.
The truly powerful were easy to recognize at a glance.
Sanguinius, for example, or Lion.
They radiated a presence that inspired instinctive fear and submission.
Corax did not remember ever sensing such an aura from Mortarion.
A faint unease began creeping into him again for the Khan's sake.
But since the Great Khan had given his word, Corax could only choose to trust Jaghatai.
At least...
Corax's eye twitched as he heard the mechanical scraping sounds of Trazyn climbing behind him.
At least he currently had the Archmagos with him.
...Sanguinius... Sanguinius… Corax thought silently as the Primarch slipped into their final destination.
The machinery controlling the massive vessel beeped steadily throughout the chamber. Mortal crewmen worked nervously at their stations, while two Navigators muttered quietly together in one corner.
Behind them stood Sons of Horus legionaries, bolters in hand, guarding the workers.
Corax glanced at Trazyn. For some reason, he was beginning to develop a favorable impression of the strange Archmagos.
Trazyn was nothing like the Tech-Priest that Corax knew.
He was different.
There was something vividly rebellious about him that Corax appreciated.
Simply put, he was not numb. He had his own will.
The pale green indicator lights on Trazyn's face blinked softly. The mechanical Archmagos raised a hand and gave the Primarch an ancient "OK" gesture.
Corax understood immediately.
The Archmagos was signaling that the Primarch could move.
Trazyn had already severed the room's connection to the outside world and sealed the exits to prevent any screams from escaping.
Corax's task was obvious.
Corax flexed the claws of his Raven's Talons slightly. His lightning claws responded eagerly.
The operation needed to be fast. Clean.
Grant them swift deaths.
There was not a trace of light in the Primarch's pitch-black eyes.
. . .
"...Sanguinius?"
Corax's astonished voice rang out softly.
The Primarch stood before the command table. Blood covered his clawed gauntlets, yet he still carefully sorted through the documents with the one talon untouched by gore.
His dark eyes widened slightly.
He saw phrases he could barely comprehend—
The Second Empire.
The Great Angel.
The Second Warmaster.
The Executioner...
Sanguinius had founded a new empire?
And one centered around religion?
For a moment, Corax could not decide whether Horus or Sanguinius had gone more insane.
Or perhaps all of them had.
Ever since returning to the Imperium, aside from Guilliman, Corax had rarely met anyone truly sane.
None of them were normal.
Not Horus, who hunted him.
Not the Khan, who insisted Mortarion could somehow solve this nightmare.
Not Sanguinius, who had apparently elevated himself into a god.
Corax remained silent, but his hands never slowed.
He memorized the location of the tunnel—the route leading to the "Dark Side."
He recorded the star paths and coordinates leading to Sanguinius.
Once he had gathered all the evidence he needed, he turned toward Trazyn, who appeared unusually interested in the weapons carried by the Sons of Horus.
Corax gestured that it was time to leave.
"Enough?" Trazyn asked.
"Enough."
Once more they melted carefully back into the shadows.
Because Corax was now stained with blood, he had to move even more cautiously this time.
He had no idea what situation the Khan currently faced. Corax decided they needed to return to the hangar deck immediately and escape.
However, he had underestimated the strangeness of the Vengeful Spirit.
The ship was alive.
The path they had taken inward no longer matched the path outward.
Warp currents had twisted and reshaped the corridors.
Corax continued stealthily onward, confusion slowly giving way to a deepening frown.
The psychic presence in the air was growing stronger and stronger.
The atmosphere itself felt cold enough to freeze solid.
A nauseating stench drifted faintly through the corridors.
No matter which direction he chose, it felt as though he was only drawing closer to something profoundly wrong.
Behind him, Trazyn suddenly spoke, "We've entered a region where the Warp overlaps with physical reality."
His mechanical voice echoed alongside the grinding of gears.
"Do you have a solution?" Corax asked through clenched teeth.
He looked toward Trazyn. The green lights in the Archmagos's eyes flickered.
"I am not especially sensitive to the Warp," Trazyn admitted, "but with the detection instruments created by our Forge Worlds, I may be able to navigate it."
"I'll lead."
Trazyn paused for a moment, then slowly turned in place before selecting a direction.
"This route should avoid most of them," he said. "But I can't guarantee it."
"No matter what, we'll still need to pass near the two areas with the strongest psychic concentrations."
"Lead the way," Corax whispered.
His hand brushed the power whip at his waist.
"I trust in the wisdom of your Forge World people."
"Excellent," Trazyn replied cheerfully.
And so they continued onward.
. . .
Corax found it difficult to describe what he was seeing.
Decay permeated everything.
Before him stood a gigantic cocoon—larger even than a Primarch.
A ritual altar had been erected aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
Rotting leaves crumbled beneath his boots.
Around the breathing cocoon lay the collapsed bodies of countless Death Guard legionaries.
Corax quietly stepped backward.
Slime stretched into thin strands beneath the soles of his boots.
He was certain now that they were no longer fully within the material universe.
A vast power was carefully maintaining whatever incubation was occurring here—and it seemed too occupied to notice anything else.
Something was hatching inside it.
Staring at the cocoon—large enough to contain an entire Primarch—Corax suddenly arrived at a deeply unsettling realization.
"We need to pass through here," Trazyn said.
Corax looked at him, silently weighing whether the strange Archmagos's words could still be trusted.
Trazyn met his gaze directly. The Archmagos did not hesitate in the slightest as he held eye contact with a Primarch.
Anyone else might already have been trembling and kneeling before Corax.
"Are you certain?" Corax asked quietly.
Trazyn nodded firmly.
After only a brief moment of judgment, the Primarch chose to trust him.
Carefully holding his breath, Corax slipped past the slowly pulsing cocoon.
As they advanced in silence, the rotting leaves gradually disappeared behind them. A thick metallic scent of blood began circling Corax's nostrils.
Bronze chains lay along the base of the walls, motionless, as though silently watching them pass.
Then Corax saw a pool of blood.
Countless World Eaters corpses hung upside down from the ceiling above it.
Every one of them had been neatly decapitated.
Blood dripped steadily from the severed necks into the crimson lake below.
"We're going through this?" Corax whispered.
Trazyn nodded again.
The earlier success had given the Primarch some confidence, and so Corax lifted one foot into the blood-soaked ground—
"GET DOWN!!!" Trazyn suddenly roared.
Corax dropped instantly without hesitation.
In the next moment, a massive blossom of blood mist exploded through the space where he had just been standing.
The blood pool began violently churning.
At the same time, the entire Vengeful Spirit shook with it.
Corax nearly slammed into the wall from the violent tremors.
Struggling to steady himself, the Primarch watched in horror as a hand slowly rose from the pool of blood.
And behind him—he heard the rustling, cracking sound of the cocoon splitting open.
"...Can you contact the Khan?" Corax asked slowly.
His own communications no longer reached the Khan, but perhaps Trazyn still could.
"I already sent a distress signal," Trazyn replied dryly.
Almost absurdly, the Archmagos raised the Omnissian axe in his hands as two creatures—similar, yet utterly different—appeared before and behind them.
Corax felt despair settling in once again.
The wound across his abdomen throbbed painfully.
Perhaps he should never have trusted the Khan.
"I'll count to three," Corax whispered to Trazyn, "Then we run."
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