My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 481: Trazyn: Oh, He Absolutely Wanted To
To say he was not tempted would have been a lie.
Trazyn—Overlord of the Solemnace Tomb World, Archaeovist of the Solemnace Galleries, collector king, casual gatherer of "figurines," historian, utterly ordinary passerby—
For one brief moment, he genuinely considered the possibility of adding a Primarch to his collection.
The purpose of Trazyn's journey had never been the Primarchs themselves.
He pursued something far grander.
The sleeping Lord of the Underworld awaited him like ownerless gold, like a priceless jewel of immeasurable brilliance.
And beyond that, Hades possessed value far exceeding even this...
Regarding Hades—and all the individuals connected to him—Trazyn had plans of his own.
The cunning Necron overlord stood upon a far larger chessboard.
To a Necron who had slept for millions of years, the history of humanity was only a fleeting instant. The Horus Heresy would naturally tear the galaxy apart, but that was humanity's affair.
Trazyn merely needed to ensure that the Warp and the material universe did not fall completely out of balance.
He considered himself righteous.
The galaxy required order.
The Warp should not interfere excessively with the laws of realspace, and this universe absolutely could not endure the birth of another Warp god.
The Master of Mankind must never ascend to godhood.
With humanity's immense psychic presence in the Warp, the birth of the Dark King would unleash catastrophes beyond imagination.
And yet, on the other hand, Trazyn personally wished to help Hades.
Even if Hades lacked that special constitution, the fascinating and profound soul within him was already enough to move Trazyn deeply.
An interesting and upright alien friend.
Trazyn wanted this addition to his collection.
Of course, that was not all.
His ambitions stretched much further—measured not in years, but in millennia; not in personal gain, but in the restoration of civilizations.
Trazyn, who still considered himself alive, wished to attempt something new.
He risked nothing.
At worst, he could simply shut down his systems and return to slumber.
Trazyn reflected quietly. The indicator lights across his face blinked with the same rhythm used by human Tech-Priests.
He "looked" toward the wary Corax behind him and felt his passion for history burning brightly once again.
Every Primarch was unique.
But some fascinated Trazyn more than others.
Previously, he had paid little special attention to Corax. Yet through contact with the Primarch, Trazyn found himself increasingly intrigued by him.
Corax possessed an instinctive sense of equality toward others.
The Necrontyr—the predecessors of the Necrons—had once been a civilization of extreme centralization.
The overlords possessed everything.
And those seated upon the highest thrones held the authority to determine the fate of the entire species.
It was precisely the Silent King's unilateral decision that led the Necrontyr into the tragic river that transformed them into the Necrons.
The Silent King trusted the lies of the C'tan and converted the Necrontyr into soulless, fleshless Necrons.
They possessed no souls.
Could not truly die.
Could not reproduce.
As a species, they had already failed completely, because no new life could ever join them again.
Trazyn could no longer clearly remember the day he had become a Necron.
Had he resisted?
Surely he had.
But resistance must also have been meaningless.
A highly centralized society permitted no dissenting voices.
Sometimes Trazyn wondered that if the Silent King had been willing to listen to the voices of others, or if their civilization had not been so rigidly centralized, would their fate have become something less cold?
He did not know.
Instinctively, Trazyn touched his hard metallic fingertips.
The sensation of a soul had long since vanished.
Meanwhile, his sensors faithfully relayed Corax's movements to him.
The Primarch was subconsciously trying to protect him.
Corax kept subtly shielding Trazyn from enemy sightlines, as though believing this was his battlefield—a Primarch's battlefield.
Trazyn realized keenly that even if it were not him standing here, but instead any ordinary Raven Guard legionary or subordinate of Corax, the Primarch would still behave exactly the same way.
Trazyn could feel dangerous thoughts stirring within himself.
He admired beings like this.
And now he understood something.
Perhaps this was also why he respected and appreciated Hades so much.
Hades and Corax were fundamentally the same kind of person.
No...
Hades was even more interesting.
But the historical value Corax displayed was already enough to tempt Trazyn greatly.
This was a specimen perfectly suited for the very center of the Human Gallery—Illuminated beneath grand spotlights, standing upon elevated ground, posed mid-charge as though leading his warriors forward.
Admittedly, Corax himself looked rather gloomy.
Trazyn began seriously considering the lighting arrangements.
Perhaps dimmer lights?
Or maybe the Lord of Ravens should instead be displayed in a darkened corner?
Trazyn found himself genuinely conflicted.
He'd better collect a few of Corax's Raven Guard followers and some mortal auxilia as well, arrange them beside Corax himself.
A snicker rang out, abruptly pulling Trazyn away from his thoughts on how to position his new exhibit—no, not now. Not yet.
He couldn't simply pluck a piece he fancied from a game still in progress.
You should have some patience, Trazyn, the ancient Necron thought to himself.
When the match was over, when the lights went out—then he would make his move.
As a passing champion of justice who had lent humanity a helping hand, Trazyn trusted that the Master of Mankind would not be so narrow-minded.
He was only borrowing them for display.
"Can you keep up?"
Corax's whisper brushed across Trazyn's red robes. Trazyn briefly reviewed the maximum speed this body could achieve and shook his head.
His usual body could not convincingly masquerade as a Mechanicum Tech-Priest, so Trazyn had selected only a shell that most closely resembled one.
"…As expected."
Trazyn stared at Corax. The Primarch had nearly hunched himself into the shape of a drawn bow, like a raven poised to strike. Corax was tense now; instinctively, he tried to make himself appear as large as possible, like some animal display of intimidation.
That posture would also make an excellent exhibit. Trazyn thought this casually. He knew what was about to happen. His sensors told him there was still enough time, and so he was not nervous in the slightest. His exhibit would remain perfectly intact.
Unlike the leisurely Trazyn beside him, Corax unconsciously swallowed hard. He stared ahead with bloodshot eyes, the blasphemous sight before him so horrifying that he nearly wept tears of blood.
He saw his brother—Alpharius.
Within the pool of gore, a black talon that could scarcely still be called a hand stretched outward, trailing an overwhelming aura of bloodshed. Rough brass-like scales crawled across the arm, and blood slowly trickled through the grooves between them.
Corax could not understand—he simply could not comprehend this sight, something no being with a conscience could ever tolerate.
It was the image of a soul utterly fallen.
Yet deep within himself, what Corax found even harder to accept was that his own soul faintly resonated with this brutal hellish tableau.
The Primarch's black pupils widened. Corax forced his instincts beneath the weight of reason.
Run. Run now. Don't think of anything else.
This place was a hell that magnified every abyss of desire.
The stench of rot filled his nostrils. Behind him, the decaying monster was vomited forth from its cocoon. Corax felt every hair on his body stand on end. For a moment, he could barely move at all. The wound Horus had once torn through his abdomen throbbed violently. Corax was certain there were unseen forces here—watching him, pressing down upon his soul.
And then the Tech-Priest beside him shifted slightly.
Corax saw Trazyn take a small step backward.
Corax, you need to pull yourself together.
The Primarch forced the thought into his mind.
You are not the only one here. And you are not the only one who needs saving.
"…!"
The Primarch let out a ragged gasp of pain. His lips moved slightly—
"Three." The whispered word escaped him, and in that instant, Trazyn suddenly felt this body of his lifted off the ground.
Even Necron technology failed to react immediately. His sensors shrieked with warning tones as Trazyn discovered, with some astonishment, that he was "flying."
Corax was running.
With one hand, he carried the archmagos-like figure aloft while sprinting at full speed, fleeing desperately, trying to escape his fallen brother.
A Primarch's speed truly surpassed Trazyn's imagination.
Trazyn became even more certain that Corax deserved a place in his collection. He carefully recorded this rare experience—being carried through the air by a Primarch would surely remain a one-of-a-kind memory in the entire galaxy.
Corax panted as he ran. He heard their howls behind him. His vision began to blur; the road ahead turned dim and indistinct. The Primarch released an enraged cry like a cornered beast. His free hand tightened around the triple-headed power whip while behind him he heard Alpharius's mad laughter.
Unbelievable.
Alpharius was actually faster than him.
"Go find the Khan!" Corax roared. Aiming toward the distant corridor, he hurled Trazyn away. His vision was becoming ever more washed in white haze. Something was happening here that Corax could not comprehend—but there was no time left to react.
Corax suddenly raised his arm. His power whip cracked against the axe flying toward him with a sharp metallic clash!
The whip absorbed much of the force, yet even so, Corax felt the sheer impact leave his arm numb.
"Your opponent is me." The Lord of Ravens stood there and spoke calmly, waiting for his enemies. Arcs of electricity flickered along the power whip in his hand.
He stared fixedly at the two beings before him.
Are they still alive? Can the dead even be killed?
Corax remained silent.
Just stall them a little longer, the Primarch thought. Then I'll find another chance to escape this place.
The white mist concealed the direction Trazyn had been thrown. Corax clenched his teeth. If Trazyn could be trusted, then at the very least, Corax hoped he could get out alive.
A mere Tech-Priest had no business being dragged into a war between Primarchs, Corax thought.
He raised his whip and looked upon his enemies with the resolve of a man marching toward death.
. . .
Trazyn, having slammed heavily into the ground, struggled to lift his head—and saw a pair of feet.
Feet dusted with the ash of dead leaves.
"This way, please." Trazyn's electronic voice sounded dry and stiff. Some of his composure finally seemed to have vanished. The ancient Necron pointed behind himself.
The obviously travel-worn Mortarion halted in his tracks. The Pale King stared down at him with a distinctly unpleasant expression.
+?+ Mortarion emitted a puzzled sound.
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Tn: I updated the story once every 2 days, but if you want to see more chapter of this story ahead of time, please go to my Patreon.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 525: The Erasure[1]
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[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/my-life-as-death-164167815
[2] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/my-life-as-death-164167815