My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 506: Mortarion Strikes First
A fireball blossomed.
The shockwave hurled fragments of the warship into the void, where, in an instant, it became a burning, sinking island adrift in space.
The blazing flames reflected across the metal faceplate as Trazyn watched the humans' naval battle with amused interest.
"So they're deliberately letting you escape?"
Behind Trazyn, Malcador sat slumped in his chair, eyes closed, utterly drained.
The ship shuddered violently. Chunks of stone fell from the ceiling.
"What else?" the white-haired man replied impatiently. "Did you really think they intended to let the Vengeful Spirit become His vessel and be sacrificed for this idiotic plan to lure Him?"
Trazyn's head rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees, emerald light glowing in his optical lenses.
"But Hades is still playing around aboard the Vengeful Spirit. From what I can see, he doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving anytime soon."
"He soon will," Malcador said wearily, rubbing his brow. "If I pull out that arrow, the Black Domain will once again be anchored to a physical body."
"I'm getting confused," Trazyn said, blinking his luminous green eyes in an almost human manner. "So... they want you to pull the arrow?"
"No." Malcador opened his eyes slightly, their expression impossible to read. "They want the me on Cadia to lure it away—to lead it back to the place of sealing and imprison it once more."
Trazyn stared at him.
"But who is supposed to do it?"
Malcador met his gaze but did not answer directly.
"Alpharius once told me that he and I are not so different."
Trazyn abruptly raised the Omnisian axe in his hand, the imitation Martian priesthood blade shimmering with green light.
Malcador looked at him calmly and continued,
"The Master of Mankind once foretold that a mighty psyker would stain the Eye of Terror with the colors of Chaos. At the time, we all believed it would be Magnus."
"...Malcador," Trazyn said softly, the axe blade reflecting half of the old man's face. "Are you loyal?"
"I am."
Malcador waved him off irritably.
"But you'll have to give me some time. I'm currently fighting them over the rights to use my soul."
His gaze passed beyond Trazyn and fixed upon the observation window. Frowning as though he had realized something, the old man slowly shook his head.
"...Let him do as he wishes."
Before Trazyn could respond, Malcador closed his eyes again, already drifting toward sleep.
Trazyn stood there for a moment, muttering to himself before turning back toward the viewport. Watching the explosions of the human fleet, he traced them across the glass with a finger, connecting each blast.
Half an hour later, Malcador was practically dragged aboard a shuttle bound for the planet below.
Deep inside the hastily launched shuttle's cabin, the White Wolf's eyes gleamed with life. At his waist, over his sheepskin coat, a string of jade beads swayed with the turbulence.
The Great Khan would personally escort him to the destination.
. . .
A moss-green warship cut through the endless armada like a dagger.
A swarm of self-detonating meteors enveloped the outer edge of the Death Guard fleet, their engines driving them relentlessly into the Warmaster's formation.
Explosion after explosion ignited, linking together like a river of fire, illuminating the Death Guard's suicidal charge toward glory.
At the forefront, the Fourth Horseman held its prow high. Upon the skeletal steed, the Death Knight raised his spear, forcibly tearing open a path.
Not every vessel made it through.
Some Death Guard ships concealed behind the meteors were struck and crippled. Knowing they could no longer keep pace with the formation, they broke away of their own accord, pushed their side thrusters to maximum, and hurled themselves into the Warmaster's overwhelming fleet.
The six-spiked skull showed neither joy nor sorrow.
The Reaper's scythe carved away flesh.
The blade swept into a perfect full moon, spraying arcs of blood through the air.
Beneath the gas mask, his lips moved.
Though no sound emerged, the contempt blazing in his eyes spoke clearly enough.
Mortarion had only one thing to say:
Come again.
The crimson Alpharius spat blood.
The scarlet pool beneath his feet had long since turned into gray-white ash.
Like creeping moss, that ash continued spreading toward him.
Even after Alpharius's ascension to daemonhood, Mortarion still towered over him.
The gaunt specter lowered his head to look down upon him as the scythe in his hand swept toward him once more—
Mortarion suddenly paused.
He turned his head.
A screaming plasma bolt grazed past his ear before disappearing into the darkness at the far end of the corridor.
Mortarion looked over.
There stood Omegon, advancing with an uneven, staggering gait.
The corners of the Pale King's eyes creased.
Mortarion was smiling.
He casually reached up and removed his gas mask.
The corners of his mouth, cracked open by poisonous corruption, stretched into a grin.
Opening his mouth, Mortarion spoke softly.
"So... you're out already?"
Within the dim corridor, Mortarion's amber eyes shone brilliantly—like twin golden flames burning in the darkness.
"Very well..." Mortarion said, sounding almost lonely.
Then he smiled again.
With a casual step to the right, he slipped past Alpharius's blood spear. Raising his free hand, he waved it overhead and shouted at the top of his lungs—
Omegon desperately tried to gun him down, crying out in hopes of cutting him off, but Mortarion had already shouted the words:
"Hades! Food's here! This way!!!"
Mortarion's wild, malevolent laughter echoed through the corridor.
Yet the instigator fled the very next instant.
The white mist surged, and Mortarion vanished, abandoning the two opponents who had been locked in combat with him only moments before.
Omegon slowly turned around.
The darkness he had only just escaped was once again flooding down the corridor toward him.
"Mortarion!!!" The crimson Alpharius roared in fury.
At the furthest reach of that roar, the white mist billowed together once more, coalescing into a humanoid shape.
In the next instant, the great scythe thrust forward.
One slash.
A reverse sweep.
An upward hook.
A horizontal cut.
Heads rolled.
Mortarion advanced effortlessly through the corridors of the Vengeful Spirit, making his way toward the location Lorgar had given him.
He could feel death.
Within the Eye of Terror, billions upon billions of deaths.
Some belonged to the Warmaster's armies.
Others belonged to the Death Guard.
He harvested lives, sensing the countdown hanging over every living being's head.
Hades was devouring the colossal vessel.
Beginning at the stern.
Mortarion estimated that by now the entire aft section of the Vengeful Spirit had already become a silent hell of death.
The gods have done something, Mortarion thought.
They've slowed Hades down.
The Pale King raised his hand.
White mist exploded outward.
The densely packed soldiers and daemons blocking his path screamed as they fell into death.
And now, speed was everything.
Mortarion's objective was simple.
Before Malcador rescued Hades, before the Black Domain returned to its proper place, he would join the Hades aboard the Vengeful Spirit and kill Horus.
Malcador had told him to stall.
To wait for reinforcements afterward?
A trace of mocking amusement flashed through Mortarion's lifeless eyes.
His scythe swung in broad, sweeping arcs.
Centered upon the Primarch, within a radius of five meters, a thick rain of blood began to fall.
So this is how Terra sees the Death Guard?
As something conservative?
Yes.
Mortarion's gaze dimmed for a moment.
He had been too conservative.
He had behaved as though life itself still mattered to him.
Strictly speaking, this was the first battle since the Primarch's return in which Mortarion fought in a style that was wholly, completely his own.
The Galaspar Campaign.
Use the fewest soldiers.
Accept the highest casualties.
Rip open the strongest defenses.
Strike directly at the enemy's supreme commander.
After Galaspar, Hades—acting as the Legion's logistics chief—had sternly condemned this kind of extreme warfare.
But to Mortarion now, even that was too conservative.
As long as he kills Horus first, they won't have to worry about retreating after Hades is rescued
Mortarion couldn't help but smile; death filled him with joy.
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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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