My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 520: Moths! Moths!
In the dim light, the fluttering of moth-like wings echoed. Within the green-lit corridor, two dark figures grappled on the ground, locked in a desperate struggle.
"Die... you... bastard."
The words were spat from beneath Mortarion's respirator, his voice a guttural rasp. His eyes were wide, a chaotic mix of burning rage and bloodshot veins.
He gripped his dagger with both hands, driving it downward. The blade pierced Horus's palm, and venomous blood seeped out, the point aimed directly at Horus's face. Yet, no matter how Mortarion strained, the dagger could not sink any deeper.
"—DIE!"
Mortarion unleashed a distorted shriek, the wings on his back thrashing violently. Horus's eyes bulged, his face contorted with effort. One of his hands was clamped tight around the dagger Mortarion had driven into him, while his other hand—the one armed with a Lightning Claw—was buried deep in Mortarion's chest and abdomen. The blades had erupted from Mortarion's back, crackling with electric arcs that filled the air with the acrid stench of charred flesh.
Blood bubbled between Horus's clenched teeth. "...Madman!"
Blinding arcs of lightning erupted from his Lightning Claw, but Mortarion didn't flinch. A thick mist billowed from the Pale King's rebreather mask as he drove his blade deeper into Horus, his grip tightening with relentless force.
Horus's pupils trembled. He began to chant an ancient incantation, and power summoned from the four corners of the Warp descended, seeking to tear away the authority of this Warp-thief. The entire Vengeful Spirit seemed to shudder. A low groan of pain escaped Mortarion's mask, and Horus immediately delivered a brutal kick.
CRASH!
The blow sent Mortarion flying backward, slamming him into the observation window. The impact shattered the glass, spider-webbing cracks outward from the point of impact.
Mortarion struggled to his feet, mist seeping from his damaged armor. He reached out, and the roiling fog coalesced into the great scythe, Oblivion, once more.
He felt the seed growing slowly within the Warp. He had come again, eternally relentless, eternally hoping to possess, eternally watching him—even though He had long since grown weak.
But this time, He would not let Mortarion tear into His flesh again.
The scythe scraped across the ground as Mortarion stumbled forward, charging Horus once more. He swayed, seemingly on the verge of collapse, yet every strike he delivered struck with the weight of thunder!
Mortarion's towering, skeletal frame shuddered as if seized by tremors. To Horus, it seemed the Primarch might fall at any moment. But the scythe's whistle through the air told a different story—a story of a blow with the force of a thousand tons!
Horus couldn't be sure he could withstand a full-force strike from Mortarion. Yet Mortarion had already taken several of Horus's blows head-on, and he simply would not fall!
By any mortal measure, Mortarion's shins should have been shattered into pieces. His ribs should have been crushed to powder. The organs within his chest and abdomen should have been a mangled mess. His arms should have been splintered bone. If Mortarion had bled crimson instead of white mist, he would have been drenched in his own blood!
Yet he simply would not fall!
The fog was too deceptive. Horus couldn't tell if his attacks were even landing. Beneath that impenetrable armor, Mortarion seemed to have become the very mist itself.
Horus drew a deep breath. Mortarion had already sold his soul to the High Heaven; he would need the High Heaven's own weapons to strike back, or he would never reach the far shore—the place where he could deliver the killing blow.
He gritted his teeth as his consciousness spiraled hopelessly into the abyss, and the abyss stared back. He remembered the pact with the Four Gods. He hadn't wanted to use it, but—but—
Horus's gaze pierced through Mortarion, falling upon the shattered observation window. He saw the doom of the Death Guard fleet, and the barrage of fire pouring down upon Cadia—since death was inevitable for them all, there was no longer any need to hold back!
Even so, the moment he decided to unleash the spell, Horus still felt a pang of bitterness. He had envisioned a grander, more fateful duel—one with Sanguinius, or perhaps the Master of Mankind—not—not with a madman!
Horus deliberately plunged his soul into a deeper night, dredging up power and drinking the gifts of the High Heaven like poison. In that moment, he became aware of his own hatred. Horus hated the Death Guard, hated Mortarion and Hades from Barbarus. If Hades had never existed, none of this would have happened.
He would not have failed. He would not have witnessed the empire the Emperor entrusted to him crumble. He would not have seen his brothers transform into false gods and demons. None of this would have happened. Yet, it had all already come to pass.
A butterfly from Barbarus had flapped its wings, summoning a storm that tore the entire galaxy asunder.
He hated Barbarus, and he hated the people of Barbarus.
But all hatred would perish with the death of the enemy, leaving behind only the people and things he wished to keep.
Horus began to laugh. The whites of his eyes had turned completely black, and blood trickled from their corners. He started to chant, and as he did, he felt power surging into him without end. The eye of the High Heaven turned, its gaze gradually fixing upon Mortarion as Horus's incantation unfolded.
The Death Guard loved to use death to end all things, didn't they? Fine. Horus would grant them their wish.
Horus moved. This time, he was faster. A blur of motion, and Mortarion violently swung his scythe to block, but the Lightning Claw of Horus, crackling with electricity, had already reached his throat!
Bang!
Mortarion was slammed against the Observation Window, his throat gripped by the Lightning Claw. Horus's long, sharp index finger pierced his jaw and tapped gently against the glass.
His other four fingers tore through the armor, sinking deep into the flesh.
But this time, Mortarion, who had been struggling like a madman, went completely still.
His hands clamped onto Horus's arm, straining in a subtle, desperate struggle. He could only glare at Horus with his crazed eyes, the overwhelming hatred and murderous intent within them nearly drowning Horus.
As for why Mortarion had suddenly stopped moving...
Behind him, on the already cracked Observation Window, the fissures were spreading, weaving a web across the glass.
If either of them exerted even a fraction of their strength, the observation window behind Mortarion would shatter instantly! The immense pressure would hurl Mortarion out into the void.
Horus breathed a sigh of relief as Mortarion's wings, which had been flapping with a madman's frenzy, finally stilled. Those wings had nearly blinded Horus just moments ago.
Horus watched Mortarion with satisfaction. The moth-like monster was now bound by the web. With the joy of victory, Horus spoke, his voice a hoarse rasp.
"Look behind you."
The strength in Mortarion's grip slackened abruptly. His pupils shifted at an almost impossible angle—in the heat of battle, the Pale King had grown increasingly inhuman.
He resembled an insect devoured by murderous intent and a thirst for death.
Horus knew that during the fight, not only he but Mortarion had also been subjected to the baptism of the High Heaven. Whether by force or choice, he must have been affected by the Warp currents. This had nothing to do with gods; it was a matter of the laws of nature.
This was the law of the High Heaven: power would warp its master.
Horus wondered how much sanity Mortarion had left.
The faint light from countless torpedo explosions dimly illuminated the Pale King's profile. His pupils suddenly dilated.
Amidst the chaotic wreckage of warships, Mortarion witnessed the Fourth Horseman be destroyed in a self-destruct explosion. Not far from it, he saw a Cyclone Torpedo that had been launched.
In his peripheral vision, reflected in the countless shards of shattered glass, he saw the shockwave from the Fourth Horseman's explosion strike the torpedo. The cold, ruthless missile detonated, its massive fireball blooming in the void and illuminating Mortarion's face.
This brought Mortarion a sudden sense of relief, yet he felt his soul struggling in agony—for he knew, and Horus knew too—
The sinking of the Fourth Horseman marked the beginning of another phase. The countdown had already started—besides Hades and Vorx, the Death Guard lacked any truly exceptional fleet commanders, let alone in their current, exhausted state.
The blazing inferno of the Fourth Horseman illuminated the side of Mortarion's face.
...Good work, Vorx.
Mortarion stared at Cadia, utterly drained. The Primarch watched as the Fourth Horseman was severed, and the torpedoes, reloaded and aimed, were launched toward Cadia.
I wish Trazyn or Malcador had the power of teleportation—no—this isn't—no—
Before Mortarion, Horus smiled, seizing the moment of his brother's distraction. He chanted the final syllables of the spell. Though they were both doomed to die, Horus was determined to make Mortarion's end far more agonizing.
Mortarion would die first—but not into the oblivion of true death. Instead, he would be cast into the Warp, his soul shattered by the spell and thrown to the mercy of the gods as a lamb for the slaughter.
Horus savored Mortarion's anguish, his malice toward his brothers laid bare. He already looked forward to his own death; after they were gone, they would leave a clean slate for the Imperium, allowing his Father to start anew.
He intoned the final notes. A moment later, Mortarion snapped back to his senses and began to struggle violently. The window behind him groaned under the strain until, at the very last instant, the Observation Window shattered.
And the final syllable escaped Horus's lips.
Horus stared at Mortarion. Mortarion's pupils constricted sharply, but in the layers of shattering glass about to burst outward, a deathly pale face was reflected.
A deathly pale face, with pupils of abyssal black.
"Hello," Konrad Curze said, standing behind Horus and amiably patting his brother's shoulder. Caught off guard, Horus whipped his head around, and the final syllable of the spell he was chanting struck Konrad Curze instead.
In Konrad's vision, he saw Mortarion, along with the shards of glass, being blown out of the Vengeful Spirit in terror.
In Mortarion's eyes, he saw Konrad Curze's body melting into a mess of flesh.
The Primarch's keen sight allowed Curze to see the tremor on Mortarion's mask. Based on his calculations and his understanding of Mortarion, that should be 'You motherfucking—'
In response, Konrad flashed a sharp, mocking grin and raised his middle finger at Mortarion, who was being swept away by the atmospheric decompression.
"Asshole!" Konrad shouted, with a genuine, heartfelt smile. The nail on his middle finger fell off from Horus's spell.
<+>
Note:
Horus cast a spell to Mortarion, but Konrad interfered at the last second, causing Horus to cast the spell on Konrad.