My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 484: Trazyn Wins the First Round
The scent of death blanketed the entire place.
Wearing a heavy gas mask, Malcador stood before heaps of burning corpses. Beneath the eerie green phosphorus flames, countless slit-throated bodies were reduced to ash.
Reflected in the dark lenses of the old man's mask was a vision straight from hell.
Poison-fire blazed upward. Suffocating fumes rose from the burning corpses as countless xenos and human traitors—whose vocal organs had already been ruined by toxins—were silently executed by the Death Guard, their throats slit before their bodies were cast into seven enormous pyres burning throughout the hall.
Calas Typhon stood within the circle formed by the seven fires, gripping Mortarion's scythe, Mistletoe.
Bound before the Dreadnought were seven xenos of different species.
Everyone waited in silence.
Then, as though sensing something, an eerie glimmer flashed across Malcador's lenses. The old man lowered his staff, and the golden flame crowning it became stained with ghostly green.
Malcador thrust the head of the staff into the phosphorus fire consuming the corpses before him.
Seven seconds later, Malcador suddenly raised the staff high and began chanting an ancient incantation in a loud voice. Green flames surged violently upward, billowing smoke erupting from within.
Like some ancient sorcerer-priest, Malcador's body convulsed under the strain of the spell as he shouted:
"NOW!!!"
At the center of the ritual ground, the silent Dreadnought raised Mistletoe.
The scythe flashed.
Blood sprayed.
Death.
Death.
Death once more.
Seven deaths—to summon their lord.
Within the flames, twisted moth-shadows writhed across the walls of the Endurance. Warp-creatures answered the summons and manifested within the material world.
A rasping, death-rattle-like sound broke the silence.
+…Fuck.+ The Pale King's curse sounded weak and breathless, like a drowning man surfacing for air.
Mortarion, collapsed upon the ground, slowly rose to his feet. As he stood, his drooping wings gradually folded back together.
But Malcador saw it—between Mortarion's wings lay a pierced wound.
The Pale King's armor there had been shattered, exposing grotesque flesh beneath. The swollen, oily wound oozed thick black venom.
Mortarion drew a harsh breath and folded his wings completely shut.
Now the wound vanished beneath them.
Mortarion inhaled deeply. White mist poured from beneath his gas mask. Standing amidst clouds of lethal toxins, the Pale King looked strangely relaxed, as though he greatly enjoyed the environment around him.
Malcador, gripping his staff, walked over.
"You were banished?" The old man pointed it out bluntly.
Beneath his hood, Mortarion—now fully stabilized within realspace—cast an annoyed look toward Malcador. But after breathing seven slow breaths, he finally replied:
"I chose to be banished." The Primarch spoke quietly.
"He was fighting me for authority… I couldn't overcome Him unless—"
"Impossible," Malcador interrupted calmly.
"Stop entertaining thoughts of summoning the 'Deaceased One.' Your psychic presence is far too conspicuous to Him. Others might accidentally draw His attention once in a while—but not you."
"Unless the Imperium someday no longer needs you, and you can simply find a place to die quietly. Then, perhaps, you may summon Him as much as you like."
A muffled coughing sound came from beneath the gas mask. Mortarion frowned.
"Shortcuts are always tempting," Malcador continued, "but you must understand the price required to take them."
"Magnus is the perfect example."
As usual, Mortarion ignored Malcador's lecture entirely.
"You've grown weaker, Malcador?"
Mortarion frowned.
"I don't believe summoning me should have consumed so much of your psychic power."
Malcador coughed once and shook his head.
"There is no true concept of time within the Warp. The future can influence the present."
"I draw closer and closer to my anchor point. That is inevitable."
"What is meant to happen will happen. At the very least, I understand exactly what I am doing, Mortarion."
Behind the mask, Malcador's gaze sharpened.
"You should also understand what you are meant to do."
"…I do," Mortarion replied darkly.
But the old man hunched slightly and walked around behind him.
"You are still too impatient," Malcador stated plainly, "Now let us see whether your urgency was worth the price you paid."
Mortarion fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
"Horus," he said, "Horus has betrayed us. I fought him directly. Right now, he's slightly stronger than I am, but after this, it's hard to say. After seeing the Khan, he seemed even more willing to embrace the power of Chaos."
"That was foreseeable," Malcador replied, "Continue."
"Alpharius. Two Alphariuses. I couldn't tell which one was the true Primarch, but both had fallen. One had descended into the Sea of Blood. The other… replaced me."
This time, Malcador fell silent.
The old man remained silent for a very long while, deep in thought.
At last, he let out a sigh.
"I raised Alpharius personally," he said.
"I misled him."
Mortarion's gaze subtly flicked toward Malcador.
"The parts concerning fate and secrecy?"
Malcador nodded heavily.
"He misunderstood."
"Doesn't matter," Mortarion replied.
"No matter what, Alpharius's foster father was still better than mine. All I know is that the next time we meet, I'll bring him death."
Malcador nodded slowly.
"And Fulgrim and Magnus," Mortarion continued.
"Horus mentioned them while trying to sway the Khan. It sounded like they betrayed us as well."
"Did the Khan betray us?" Malcador suddenly asked.
"No." Mortarion answered immediately.
"I sensed the same aura in him as in myself."
Malcador paused.
Then, to Mortarion's surprise, the old man actually laughed.
"Hates the Imperium, but hates Chaos even more?"
"Yes," Mortarion replied indifferently.
"At least he's loyal."
"Good."
Malcador nodded.
"The Khan is clear-headed… that is good news…"
"What about Corax?"
For once, Mortarion hesitated before answering.
"He…" Mortarion spoke slowly.
"In the final moment before my banishment, I threw him toward the White Scars' ships, but my domain was abruptly severed. At the time I was fully occupied fighting Him. I don't know which corner of realspace Corax ultimately ended up in."
Malcador was silent for a moment before speaking bluntly, "Very well. Then for the purposes of this operation, we must assume Corax is lost. What of his Legion?"
"Horus's fleet shattered them. Roughly one-third remain."
Malcador shook his head.
"The Raven Guard vessels will be absorbed into the White Scars. From this point onward, we can no longer factor the Raven Guard into our plans."
Mortarion looked genuinely startled by the answer. The Pale King lowered his head and stared at Malcador in disbelief.
"The Raven Guard were never important in your original plans?" the Pale King asked.
"No," Malcador said.
"The Imperium has merely prepared itself to lose—at any moment—any Legion, any Primarch, anyone."
"Any other information?" Malcador asked.
The old man fell silent briefly, recalling the Emperor's final instructions.
"For example… a mechanical xenos species. Mortarion, did you encounter anything resembling such a being?"
Mortarion looked at Malcador in surprise.
"I did encounter a Tech-Priest entirely without a soul. I wasn't certain what it was. Originally, I intended to interrogate it after returning."
But the plan had failed.
Mortarion had been forced to choose banishment instead.
"It also…"
Mortarion paused suddenly, as though only now realizing something.
"It was swept away while holding one of my familiars."
"But now… I can no longer sense my familiar at all."
He could no longer feel his power through it whatsoever. Every miniature Death Guard was an extension of the Pale King's own authority—yet now Mortarion could sense absolutely nothing from it.
"What was that thing?!" Mortarion shouted furiously.
. . .
"A miniature Death Guard. Slightly altered proportions," Trazyn said thoughtfully.
After briefly regrouping with the Khan, he had returned to his private quarters aboard the Silent Monastery.
With obvious fascination, Trazyn poked at the tiny Death Guard struggling frantically in his grasp.
The miniature Death Guard let out a shrill little cry, sounding like a distorted battle roar. It drew a tiny dagger from its waist and tried stabbing Trazyn with it.
Trazyn found it amusing.
"I've isolated the Warp. Scream all you want, it won't help."
The Necron emitted a mechanical laugh. Pulling open his mechanized robes, he stuffed the tiny Death Guard into the shadows beneath them. The miniature creature's cries quickly faded away, silenced by the stasis field hidden within the folds of his robes.
For the moment, disaster had been avoided.
At least he no longer had to deal with the Pale King.
Mortarion had proven even more troublesome than Trazyn had expected. Clearly, more preparation would be required next time.
A pity he had failed to obtain the Primarch's dagger.
That blade had vanished together with Corax.
…Corax. Trazyn's thoughts dimmed briefly.
Hopefully he's alright, the Infinite thought to himself.
He could still dispatch another body to search for Corax. Perhaps the Lord of Ravens would require his assistance.
The Warp coordinates corresponding to the location where Corax had last fallen into realspace were—
The green indicator lights across Trazyn's face flickered rapidly. Sleeper agents hidden throughout the galaxy were already moving simultaneously, searching for the Primarch their master wished to find.
—near the fleet formations of the Emperor's Children?!
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