My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 482: Mortarion: ?
Sometimes, luck matters.
For example, at this very moment, Trazyn was undoubtedly fortunate.
Because Mortarion had lost part of his memory, and afterward, the Pale King had only skimmed through the countless reports of the Legion's earlier campaigns.
As for the Necrons—these xenos the Legion had once fought in its earliest years—Mortarion retained little impression of them. He merely remembered that certain special weapons used by the Legion had originated from them.
Within the fog, those dim eyes fixed tightly upon Trazyn. Mortarion felt a strange sense of familiarity, but that was not what shocked him most—
The "being" before him had no soul.
The Pale King could not sense even the slightest trace of one.
Time itself seemed to slow. Mortarion stood there in disbelief, staring at Trazyn sprawled on the ground. The Pale King tried to discern something—but there was truly nothing.
This being before him cast no reflection whatsoever into the Warp. Like a stone, it was entirely material, something utterly ignored by the Immaterium.
Ordinarily, even blanks possessed traces within the Warp—their "souls" resembled entities rejected by it.
The Warp was, by nature, inclusive. Servitors, tech-priests whose flesh content had fallen below one percent, even an old gun worn down by use—even the "Deceased One"—all possessed their own Warp reflections.
Unbelievable…
Mortarion stared fixedly at the prone, trembling Tech-Priest pointing the way for him. From the Warp's perspective, there was nothing there.
Nothing at all.
For a fleeting moment, Mortarion wondered whether this Tech-Priest had somehow surrendered his entire soul to the "Deceased One"—but if so, how could he still be alive?
What exactly was this thing?
"…My lord, that way."
Trazyn shakily pointed behind himself. Even the indicator lights across his body seemed frozen stiff, mechanically blinking green.
Mortarion drew in a deep breath. Only when Corax's desperate roar echoed once more from the distance did the Primarch finally turn and hurry away, repeatedly glancing back over his shoulder.
Not until Mortarion's questioning gaze vanished into the white fog did Trazyn release a long, profoundly relieved sigh in an almost human manner.
If he had been human, he would likely have been drenched in sweat by now.
Crisis resolved…
…Mortarion. The signal lights on Trazyn's face blinked softly as he lay against the deck of the Vengeful Spirit, thoughtfully turning back to stare toward the roiling fog.
Trazyn recalled the Pale King's Warp presence from moments before. One who had torn authority from Nurgle himself—Mortarion had already begun to grasp the domains of "Death" and "Plague."
A Primarch whose compatibility with Nurgle was extraordinarily high, a Primarch who had already begun to devour and turn back the power of a god—his potential for growth was immense.
…Mortarion could still evolve further.
Could he one day seize authority over "Life"?
Could he master the domain of "Rebirth"?
Trazyn lay on the floor in contemplation, staring at the violently churning fog. The pure white Warp-mist obscured his vision. Faint roars and the crash of metal echoed from within.
Trazyn could easily imagine the fierce battle raging there.
Combat between Primarchs was always breathtaking—demigods slaughtering one another while gods themselves poured power into the conflict. Within that fog there must be a struggle beyond compare: the tragedy of brothers turning upon each other, the determination to fight unto death.
And with Nurgle's power already descending—could Mortarion tear away yet another fragment of authority from the God of Life and Death?
Unfortunately, Trazyn could not record any of it. That would become his greatest regr—
A massive shape suddenly burst through the white mist!
In the next instant, Trazyn found himself airborne again!
An even larger black shadow thundered down the corridors of the Vengeful Spirit at incredible speed!
Through the violent jolting, Trazyn slowly turned his head.
Through the gaps between enormous wings, he saw Corax—his face drenched in blood—looking back at him at the exact same moment. Blood streamed down from Corax's forehead with every impact.
The Lord of Ravens stared at Trazyn in confusion, yet also with something like relief, as though celebrating the fact that both of them had somehow survived.
Another moment passed before Trazyn finally realized what was happening: they were both being carried by Mortarion, tucked under each arm as the Pale King sprinted forward.
Trazyn was clamped beneath Mortarion's left arm.
On the other side, Corax hung over Mortarion's shoulder, stubbornly continuing to spray blood everywhere.
Behind them, furious roars echoed through the deep corridors. The beasts bellowed as they tried to pursue them, but the churning white fog seemed to hinder their advance.
—And so, the Necron's cognitive processes gradually resumed functioning.
From the looks of it, their direct confrontation had not lasted very long.
In fact—Trazyn stiffly registered the Pale King's grip, the hand clutching him so tightly it could practically be called restraint—it was entirely possible the Primarchs had never truly fought at all.
For once, an image formed vividly in the ancient Necron's mind:
Amid the chaos of the Warp, the Pale King had simply charged straight in, hoisted the desperately fighting Corax over his shoulder, and immediately run off again, leaving the two Alphariuses(?) standing there in stunned disbelief.
Arriving like the wind.
Leaving like the wind.
With a casual wave, leaving only endless fog behind.
Was this… Trazyn wondered, far too different from the Mortarion personality profile he had previously compiled?
Trazyn concluded that updating his database had become absolutely necessary.
For Corax, however, this was perhaps the best possible outcome.
Even if he still did not fully understand how his brother had descended so suddenly—or how he had simply carried him away without hesitation—at the very least, it looked like they were going to survive.
Corax quietly coughed up another mouthful of blood. Mortarion's… wings were lightly flapping against the Lord of Ravens as they moved. Corax glanced toward the stiff, bewildered Tech-Priest, who still seemed unable to process the current situation, and let out a relieved breath.
"You'll be fine." Corax spoke weakly, his voice hoarse.
"Mortarion's here. We'll be alright. Trust me."
Right before Corax's eyes, Trazyn somehow became even more rigid.
The Necron remained silent. He could feel Mortarion's blade-like gaze scrape across him at Corax's words.
Corax could never know that, from Trazyn's perspective, the most dangerous thing here right now is Mortarion.
+…What exactly are you?+ The Pale King's murmur drifted down almost like a thought spoken aloud.
He had just witnessed the fate that in the past might have been his own, yet time had not allowed him to properly react. Mortarion had wanted to curse them, wanted to condemn them for taking that giant frog hand—but in the end, he had not managed to say a single word.
Take Corax.
Withdraw.
Rendezvous with the Khan.
That had been Mortarion's plan.
It was just that… along the way, a tiny little complication had delayed him for a moment.
Mortarion tightened his grip.
Under his arm, Trazyn—who had been quietly trying to struggle free—immediately went still again.
Don't even think about running, Mortarion thought.
The Pale King continued rushing forward. They burst out of the narrow corridor and entered a far broader hall.
+Prepare yourselves.+ He still gave them a warning.
Then Mortarion spread his wings.
"Ughhh—AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
"Bleurgh!"
This time, they were genuinely airborne.
As he was violently buffeted through the air, Trazyn thought dazedly that if he were still flesh and blood, he would already be vomiting.
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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.
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