My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 424: Within the Illusion
One day, people will realize that war and killing are unavoidable.
Killing itself is what gives Him strength.
. . .
"Illusions are an unavoidable little dessert when facing the Warp."
Hades said this as he naturally reached out to take one of the Macragge pastries that Guilliman was serving him.
"So what kind of illusions do people usually see?" Roboute Guilliman asked. The Lord of Macragge hoped to learn more about psychic knowledge.
Hades' hand paused.
"I should answer that I don't know." The Death Guard commander said.
"I'm a Blank. I've never experienced immersive hallucinations myself, but I think you could ask Mortarion."
Then Hades quickly added another sentence, as if afraid Guilliman would immediately go to Mortarion.
"Provided that Mortarion is willing to share those illusions with you. Generally speaking, no one enjoys bringing up those visions voluntarily."
"…"
"With a Primarch's willpower, I believe such illusions would not be difficult to overcome." Roboute Guilliman said solemnly.
Hades, who had been burying his head in the pastries, looked up and gave Guilliman a meaningful glance.
"I hope so. May you always maintain that resolve."
Hades paused.
"Perhaps, for some people, belief itself is also a kind of power."
. . .
Now Roboute Guilliman understood what Hades had meant.
He and the Ultramarines moved forward through the blood-red fog.
The mist blurred everything.
There were no enemies.
Only after a long march did bodies begin appearing in their sight—corpses leaning against the bulkheads.
At first, Guilliman believed these Ultramarines might attack him, so he remained constantly on guard against them.
But when the first shrill scream erupted, Roboute Guilliman realized he had been wrong.
The scream came from the rear of their temporary formation.
When the Primarch suddenly turned around, he saw that one person had already vanished from the end of the line.
"Answer me! My warrior!" Guilliman shouted. The Primarch gestured, ordering his warriors to follow him while he himself turned and ran toward the direction where the man had disappeared into the mist.
After eighty-eight steps, Guilliman saw it.
A headless corpse kneeling on the ground, holding its own head high in both hands.
The corpse knelt inside a circle drawn with blood.
Eight human heads were piled beside the body.
It was the Ultramarine who had just disappeared.
The head he held faced Guilliman, as if mocking the Lord of Macragge for his naivety.
Guilliman tightened his grip on his sword.
But then he sensed something.
He turned back—realizing several more warriors had vanished from his formation.
Distant screams echoed through the fog.
The corridor twisted the sound strangely.
Faintly, Guilliman felt as if those screams were actually laughter.
Including the corpse kneeling before him, eight men from this squad had already disappeared.
The metallic clashing of armor rang out.
Guilliman spun around sharply.
For a brief moment he saw Lion El'Jonson's cloak flash through the mist.
"Lion El'Jonson?!"
Guilliman shouted.
His voice faded into the fog. His remaining sons surrounded him, looking uneasy and terrified.
Guilliman called out several more times in vain.
His voice was like a stone dropped into an abyss—leaving nothing behind.
For a moment Guilliman realized the foolishness of his own actions, and the realization filled him with powerless anger.
The Primarch immediately regrouped the formation.
He did not want the previous situation to happen again.
But in the blink of an eye, another eight Ultramarines vanished from Guilliman's sight.
They disappeared without a sound.
Eighty-eight steps later, Guilliman found their corpses again.
Had they struggled in their final moments?
Cold sweat ran down Guilliman's forehead.
Were they forced… or did they do it willingly?
If they had been forced, why had they disappeared so smoothly?
But if they had done it willingly…
Could that really happen?
This time a hoarse chuckle came from the darkness of the ceiling.
Guilliman looked up.
He saw a pair of pure black eyes staring at him in madness.
The next moment, Konrad Curze lunged toward him—
—and vanished instantly into the fog.
?!
Guilliman lowered his head.
On his blue armor was a clear streak of blood.
The mark looked exactly like the wound carved by Curze's lightning claw, sharp and hooked at the end…
Roboute Guilliman took a deep breath. This is an illusion, the Lord of Macragge firmly told himself.
Lion El'Jonson and Konrad Curze could not possibly appear here—on Macragge.
His priority now was to escape this place while preventing any more sacrificial deaths among his squad.
Guilliman realized that each death was accelerating the appearance of the hallucinations.
Then the Ultramarine at the front of the formation suddenly cried out in alarm. But this time it wasn't because someone had vanished.
Guilliman looked over.
He saw the Lord of Drakes, Vulkan, lying naked on the ground—his body scorched and burned.
?!
Guilliman let out a startled cry.
"Vulkan?!"
But this time his brother did not immediately vanish into the mist.
Guilliman ran forward. Kneeling down, he tried to examine Vulkan's body.
The moment he reached out his hand, blood surged up from the floor.
The blood rose rapidly, swallowing Vulkan in an instant.
"VULKAN!!!"
Guilliman's hands searched desperately through the blood—but then he stood up.
His gauntlets were stained red, droplets of fresh blood dripping down from them.
All of this is an illusion.
Guilliman once again reaffirmed his resolve.
He could not allow himself to lose control again.
This was all a lie. Its purpose was to distract him.
Guilliman, you should understand that.
"My lord, please maintain your reason."
The Ultramarine beside him, Polis, suddenly spoke, reminding Guilliman.
Guilliman steadied his emotions. The light of reason burned fiercely in his eyes.
"Stay vigilant. These are all illusions."
Guilliman paused.
"We cannot afford any more losses."
So this is what illusions are like? Guilliman thought.
He felt anger at being toyed with. His enemy was provoking him with invisible hallucinations, while he could do nothing but remain trapped here.
A mocking snort suddenly sounded, clear in Guilliman's ears.
Guilliman instantly recognized that it came from one of the still-living Ultramarines.
Without hesitation, the Ultramarine drove his power sword straight into his own chest.
"AHHHHH!!!"
At the moment the blood splashed out, Guilliman heard a scream—a sharp cry he knew all too well.
It was Tarasha Euten.
"STOP!!!" Guilliman roared in fury.
The Primarch rushed toward the Ultramarine who was attempting suicide. He seized the traitor's arm and wrenched it away—the crack of a Space Marine's arm breaking rang sharply.
But he was already too late.
The Primarch realized the traitor he had restrained had already lost his breath.
And around him, the last eight traitors drew their guns.
"Do you believe deceiving a Primarch would be some kind of great achievement?!"
In the mist, Tarasha Euten's dying sobs echoed faintly.
At the same time, blood sprayed from the Ultramarines around Guilliman. They did not even have time to pull the triggers of their boltguns.
The traitors fell.
Guilliman pinned Polis against the bulkhead with one hand gripping his throat.
"Traitor," Roboute Guilliman said expressionlessly, "do you think illusions can defeat a Primarch?"
He tightened his grip.
The sound of bones snapping echoed from the man's neck.
Guilliman released him. The corpse collapsed limply to the ground.
To the Lord of Macragge's relief, the wailing cries of Tarasha Euten within the illusion finally stopped.
Yet confusion burned within him—confusion, betrayal, the fury of being deceived.
Now he had to find a way out of this hallucination and find Angron.
Roboute Guilliman had killed the last eight men.
A red glow flickered in his eyes.
And then Roboute Guilliman saw Angron charging toward him with his massive chainaxe raised.
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