My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 522: Taking Flight!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Countless torpedoes charged toward the Vengeful Spirit like moths to a flame. Brilliant fireworks erupted, and massive clouds of smoke and explosive shockwaves whipped up a chaotic storm against the colossal ship's hull.
BOOM!!!
Another blazing orange fireball bloomed on the side of the slowly drifting dark leviathan. Tongues of fire roared into the void, blasting countless shards of debris into the air. These fragments, both large and small, turned into shrapnel, hurtling toward Mortarion!
Damn you, Konrad!
The nearby explosion nearly seared Mortarion's eyes. The massive shockwave threw the Primarch off balance.
In the empty void, beside the Vengeful Spirit—so vast its end was lost to sight—the Pale King was like a single grain of rice, tossed toward the ship's stern by the turbulence of the torpedo blasts.
In less than a second, a dense rain of shrapnel tore through the Primarch's armor. Mist seeped from the wounds, carried away by the stone fragments, tracing countless white lines across the void.
Thick frost rapidly climbed his wings and skin, leeching away his warmth.
Mortarion felt himself fading, a sensation that brought him into sharp focus. He was being pulled back into the Warp as the physical world expelled him with its most extreme laws: absolute cold, vacuum, and lethal radiation.
As he tumbled, the Primarch's constricted pupils reflected the battlefield.
Colossi were locked in a deathly struggle.
The hulks of countless battleships and cruisers sank slowly through the void. Strike craft and escorts swarmed like schools of sardines, nearly blanketing the endless expanse. The shimmering glow of Void Shields layered the scene, while the flashes of torpedoes and Light Lances dimmed the very stars.
The wreckage of fleets littered the space, so dense it seemed to warp the void's own gravity. Upon their hulls, occasional patterns flashed with an eerie light—perhaps the only remaining traces of humanity in this naval slaughter.
These flashes burst one by one, each explosion a miniature spark flickering across the battlefield before being shattered by the roar of adamantium horns and vanishing into the void.
After all that, behind the colossal ships locked in a deathly embrace, and beyond that brilliant sea of blossoms, Cadia turned, shimmering with a faint, iridescent glow.
She was draped in layers of translucent gauze—the aurorae born from the Warp tides and magnetic chaos.
Beneath the auroras, the heavy clouds were torn asunder by the storm, and Light Lances, thin as blades of grass, pierced the ground. Each tiny beam seemed insignificant to the planet, yet with every flash, Mortarion's pupils dilated a fraction more.
Drifting in the void, Mortarion recalled Horus's words. At this moment, the battlefield belonged to the ships. He had erred—
He had failed.
Mortarion had failed.
He could have killed Horus.
But the gap was too great.
The gap was simply too great!
This was not a disparity between Mortarion and Lupercal as individuals; it was the chasm between their fleets. The Warmaster's army blotted out the sky, stretching from one end of the void to the other, countless banners now fluttering beneath the standard of the Sons of Horus.
Mortarion's eyes reflected the myriad shapes of the Warmaster's fleet.
He saw weapons never before conceived and engines modified beyond recognition.
This was no longer a war between individuals. From humanity's first murder to the feuds of nobles, from the religious wars against heretics to the First World War—and even the Iron Man Rebellion during the Age of Strife—the scale of war had expanded step by step. It would continue until this race burned its last grain of food and its last life in the fires of war.
This was a tomb where countless trillions of lives had fallen.
It was also a battlefield that spanned the entire course of human history.
From the discovery of universal gravitation to the Wright brothers' first airplane, from Gagarin's first steps into space to the first footstep on the moon, to the extinguishing of the fire of reason as the Martian Cult launched a new quest for knowledge across the shattered galaxy—tens of thousands of rough-draft papers had piled up to build the smallest of escorts. A single magnificent battleship could even reduce the weight of its home planet by 1%.
This was war on the Physical Side. Before mastering the Laws, the scales of victory would always tip toward the side with the greater accumulation of mass and information.
Absolute numbers, backed by absolute technology.
Now, the scales of victory tipped in Horus's favor.
If not for Trazyn... Mortarion could hardly imagine what the outcome would have been. But even though that strange xenos had already struck a pact with him, the Pale King still despaired over whether this pact could truly be fulfilled.
He could not trust xenos.
He trusted only himself.
Mortarion's arm, outstretched toward Cadia, was frozen stiff. Thick frost nearly submerged him completely. Above Cadia, the perfectly circular cratered plain stared back at him like a pupil, its gaze cold and piercing through the thousands of warships.
He had been too arrogant.
He had entrusted an almost impossible mission to Vorx, pinning all his hopes on a boarding action and a decapitation strike. He had thought that by eliminating Horus, the rest would be nothing but a routed army. But Horus had mocked him with absolute reality.
In the face of the Fleet of the Warmaster's nearly crushing superiority, why would Horus decide the outcome of the war through a one-on-one duel with him?
Mortarion's psychic achievements had lulled him into a false sense of security, the Warp granting him a delusion.
He was still unable to sway the entire battlefield on his own.
He watched as the fleets of the White Scars and Night Lords joined the naval battle, but they were merely a drop in the ocean—perhaps he should have waited for the Ultramarines—no, that would be too late—
—Fuck... why... why... why?!
The fury of being toyed with, of failing, burned within him. Surrounded by the physical world, Mortarion felt immense resentment and shame. Failure was like a drooping scythe blade, pressed against his neck.
Mortarion had always been a sore loser—except this time—he could have killed Horus—damn Konrad—why?!
He refused to accept this defeat!
Amidst a trillion flames, the Primarch's vision caught a decisive flicker of light. In the void where the husks of Death Guard ships drifted, a faint light had ignited on that battleship.
Around it, the Death Guard ships that had attempted to intercept it were all sunk, their shattered wrecks drifting aimlessly in the void, as if mocking the Pale King.
No warship remained to intercept the torpedo.
Mortarion watched as the torpedo advanced toward Cadia—slowly, yet inexorably.
He reached out, trying to halt the spark in the sky, but his gesture was futile.
The Primarch's mind raced. In forty-seven seconds, the torpedo would enter Cadia's atmosphere. If it were an atmospheric incinerator torpedo, everything would end in that instant—but if it were any other kind... the moment of death would be delayed by a few seconds.
Yet the outcome would remain unchanged.
Could Trazyn successfully escape with Hades? With Cadia's magnetic field and the Warp in utter chaos, could any teleportation device even function? Mortarion dared not imagine it, nor did he dare pray—he was simply consumed by rage, rage at his own impotence.
If the Death Guard had fifty thousand more marines, could he have stopped Horus before the end of all things? If the Death Guard fleet had been twice as large, could they have defeated Horus's fleet and intercepted that torpedo?
If Guilliman's fleet had been just a little faster... No, the Ultramarines' engines were already pushed to their absolute limits.
At this moment, would Mortarion regret his laxity in warship construction? Would he regret not demanding more from the Adeptus Mechanicus? If he had lowered his standards—if he had been more ruthless, more politically astute—the Legion would surely have been far larger than it was now.
At this moment, Mortarion understood, with profound clarity, the various policies Hades had implemented within the Legion.
His past arrogance, prejudice, and indolence had finally come back to haunt him. Weakness was still the original sin, and now it was all too late. His only chance of survival rested on others—he could only wait for them to grant him victory... No... no, no, no, no, no.
He was consumed by rage and resentment. Mortarion had nothing left to do, but there was one thing he could still achieve to soothe his tormented soul—he would kill Horus!
He would kill him!
He would sacrifice Horus's life to honor his fallen friends and sons!
Only blood could extinguish his fury!
The Reaper demanded death! He demanded Horus's death! He would carve his own failure into Horus's skull. He regretted his own late awakening—he could have been so much stronger!
Beside the hull of the massive Vengeful Spirit, the shattered, dissipating mist began to coalesce once more. After adapting to the void, Mortarion began to draw upon death again.
In the corner of his eye, he saw the subspace tides churning up from the battlefield, aiding Mortarion in resisting the physical world's expulsion. Perhaps the False Gods had descended to participate in this naval battle once more, but Mortarion knew this was no longer a battlefield he could reach.
Within the storm, the icy shell cracked, and the butterfly began to flap its wings again.
The colossal ship moved slowly in the macroscopic view, but to an individual, it was a rushing storm. Mortarion chased the storm, flying through the void—even though there was no air current here to lift his wings.
Fourteen seconds after being thrown out of the Vengeful Spirit, Mortarion regained control of his body.
It was painful, excruciatingly so. The butterfly was torn apart by the storm, only to heal again through sheer willpower.
Rapidly moving debris streaked past him, leaving a trail of abrasions. Mortarion sped forward, the great scythe reforming in his hand. He saw the window that had ejected him. With a twist of his wrist, he hurled the scythe Oblivion!
He would kill Horus!
. . .
[ Terra ]
In the shivering wind, the platinum hair on Dorn's forehead stirred slightly.
He stood with his head tilted up, watching the starry sky above Terra's Hollow Mountains alongside Vulcan.
At this moment, perhaps due to the massive gathering of Psykers, the sky they saw was in a state of profound haziness. The once-sharp stars had blurred into indistinct shapes, warping under the glow of the Void Shield.
Countless shades of black and deep blue swirled across the heavens, their texture like the frenzied brushstrokes of an oil painting.
Dorn frowned. He did not believe the naked eye could see the "omen" Vulcan spoke of. The Primarch strained his gaze toward the Eye of Terror, but saw only a few dim streaks of black.
He turned to Vulcan, only to find the Lord of Drakes staring entranced at the firmament, muttering under his breath, his eyes blazing with fire.
Dorn paused, then turned back, crossing his arms as he waited for Vulcan.
"Do you think he will be merciful?" Vulcan suddenly posed the question.
Dorn's brow furrowed so deeply it nearly met.
"Who is 'he'?"
"Our father."
Dorn raised an eyebrow. "This is no time for such talk, Vulcan. You need to ensure the timing is correct."
Vulcan lowered his eyes, his words hesitating. "Very well... I only... You can relight the Astronomican now. The distance will take some time."
Dorn turned and left almost immediately. As he went, he shot Vulkan a harsh, displeased glare, but Vulkan only sighed, offering no words in return.
"..."
He stared at the sky. The Lord of Drakes's eyes no longer saw the starry void, but a vast, surging ocean. He witnessed the light that had been extinguished flicker back to life.
Vulkan shifted his weight uneasily. Beneath his feet, deep in the palace's foundations, their Father sat. Was the Emperor's Sword, resting flat across his knees, ready for battle?
No, He has always been fighting, Vulkan told himself.
But...
"Cruel..." Vulkan murmured. No... He remembered the Archangel he had seen in the Webway... Why is He so ruthless... Does He not love His children...
Behind him, the endless mountain range trembled. The Lord of Drakes seemed to hear the wails of the Psykers. Boulders tumbled from the ridges, like debris shaken loose as a giant rose to his feet.
Dorn's work was swift.
Majestic energy surged, and specks of golden light drifted upward like fireflies. Snow melted, roaring down the slopes toward the buildings at the mountain's base. After a brief darkness, the Astronomican would ignite once more.
It would light a path for him, pointing toward Cadia.
The Eye of Terra opened its gaze once again.