My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 508: The Advancing Pony
Cadia.
In the sky above the Iron Wasteland, several white figures streaked past. One of them trailed a long plume of smoke as it gradually lowered its flight altitude.
The remaining escort ships also descended, following the central shuttle as it touched down.
BOOM!!!
The shuttle slammed into the ground, sending up a massive cloud of dust and a deafening roar. Bang! The twisted, deformed hatch was kicked open, and the Primarch's figure emerged from the billowing dust.
"Prepare the bikes!" The Great Khan bellowed.
The other escort ships landed, and pearl-white motorcycles rolled out of their cargo bays.
The Khan's hawk-like eyes swept the surroundings. After confirming there was no immediate danger, the Primarch turned to help Malcador to his feet. To his surprise, Malcador was being supported by Trazyn, without his staff in hand.
The Khan's lips tightened. "Your condition is far from good."
The white-haired young man waved a hand and let out a mocking laugh. "Not good, but good enough."
Seeing Malcador's insistence, Khan fell silent, his gaze fixed on the White Scars as they readied the bikes.
"The atmospheric pressure ahead is too unstable. The shuttle can't go any deeper. We'll ride you in on the bikes."
Malcador nodded. Yesugei stepped forward and draped a windproof cloak over him. In a rare gesture, Malcador pulled the hood up, completely concealing his face.
The White Scars' hospitality was always simple yet courteous. Trazyn had been given an identical cloak. The Necron tugged at the fabric curiously, but Malcador raised a hand, instantly halting Trazyn's fidgeting. The hood was pulled up, just as Malcador had done.
Dark clouds churned across the horizon. After a brief pause, the group set off. A vast cloud of dust billowed behind the charging bikes, their wheels crushing countless corpses beneath.
. . .
"Enemy ahead."
Aboard his roaring bike, the Khan narrowed his eyes.
"...Magnus."
The name escaped his lips in a low murmur. A voice drifted from the seat behind him.
"...Him?"
The Khan didn't answer. His bike roared as he pushed it even faster, the heavy bolter on its flank automatically tracking.
The Great Khan leaned low, steering with one hand while drawing his White Tiger Curved Saber with the other. Its blade reflected the distant figure.
"Malcador," Jaghatai Khan said, "Can you intervene? The Stormseers are few."
"I can," Malcador nodded slightly. "I foresaw he would come here."
The Khan fell silent for a moment. "I will get you there first, Regent."
"Keep riding, boy," Malcador said calmly. "He won't stop you."
"Do we attack?"
They were closing in. The Khan saw Magnus—a lone figure standing abruptly upon the wasteland, his feet planted on a ritual circle. His red skin clashed violently with the world's grey tones.
Magnus smiled as he watched them approach, raising a hand toward the convoy—the classic gesture of a psyker channeling his power.
"No need," Malcador said, his words laced with hidden meaning. "He's not attacking you. Keep driving."
Their convoy veered slightly, forming a small arc to bypass Magnus and his ritual circle.
As they pulled away, Magnus's figure gradually receded behind them. The Primarch's feet were planted within the glowing runes of the circle.
The Khan felt a prickle of unease. Something was wrong—he just knew it. Until—
"I feel like something's off?"
A voice came from behind the Primarch. Trazyn tapped his metallic face. "My psychic alarm just blew its fuse."
Beside him, Malcador, perched on Yesugei's bike, suddenly burst into laughter. The youth threw back his hood, his white hair billowing as he laughed wildly.
"He attacked the wrong person!"
The youth's laughter carried far. A moment later, the Khan heard a furious roar from behind him. He felt Magnus's rage, and the next instant, space itself warped beside the speeding bikes.
"Get back!" Malcador snarled. The sluggish, distorted space vanished instantly. On the high-speed bike, the youth stood up, planting his feet on the seat and facing the rear.
Yesugei frantically urged the Regent of the Empire to sit down, but the youth paid him no heed. He traced a runic circle in the air with one hand, and ominous turbulence spilled from the runes.
"You little brat! You dare attack me?!" Malcador roared. "I have killed more psykers than you've read words! Who do you think you are? You think you're the only one who sees clearly, the only one who has turned to Tzeentch?!"
The youth cursed back, his hand clawing at the air as he dragged chains from the runic circle. The chains shuddered violently, and a daemon's bat-like wings gradually emerged from the void. The White Scars stared in horror. Malcador had actually dragged a daemon out of the Warp?!
The towering daemon strained against the iron chains, yet it seemed to be a mere projection, unable to affect the motorcycle. Only the chains in Malcador's grip rattled and groaned.
It had been slumbering in its Daemon World, only to be forcibly summoned by the power of the Four Gods.
This absurdity struck Be'lakor, the First-Damned. He had navigated the Four Gods, drawing power from them, and knew full well they would never simultaneously bestow their might!
In his violent struggle, the Daemon Prince, Be'lakor, saw the mortal who had summoned him. The white-haired youth was laughing wildly, his face contorted with a demonic ferocity.
Be'lakor, the First-Damned, the Daemon Prince blessed by all Four Gods, had cunningly played them against each other to secure their favor.
"Be'lakor!" Malcador roared, followed by a chant of the Daemon Prince's true name. "I summon you here, and I command you to sever Magnus's head!"
"Who are you?!" Be'lakor snarled. He had no desire to anger Tzeentch.
Malcador laughed. "You need not know. But I grant you the power of the Four Gods! Bring me Magnus's head!—Do not fear the Four Gods; they will forgive you!"
From his motorcycle, Malcador stepped forward and yanked the iron chain. Before him, Be'lakor, the Daemon Prince who drew his power from the Four Gods, was utterly suppressed by Malcador, who now wielded the full might of all Four Gods.
Malcador reached out and tapped the space between Be'lakor's struggling demonic horns. Then, he released his grip on the chain, letting Be'lakor go like a freed dove.
Be'lakor, now under Malcador's spell, went momentarily blank-eyed. He then beat his wings and soared toward Magnus's location.
"Tzeentch!" Malcador roared. "You dare try to meddle with my mind? I don't care what schemes you're weaving! Today, I'm going to crush your Chosen!"
The youth clapped his hands in delight, giggling with renewed glee. A single wrinkle creased his face as psychic power churned in the depths of Malcador's eyes, yet it did nothing to stifle the boy's boisterous laughter.
Malcador coughed a few times, spat on the ground, and muttered under his breath, "I've always hated you little brats."
Then, the youth swayed and fell backward, yet somehow remained perched steadily on the motorcycle seat. Malcador gazed into the distance, seemingly observing the battle between Magnus and Be'lakor.
The motorcycle convoy continued to roar forward, their destination fast approaching.
Behind the Khan, Trazyn suddenly spoke in a low voice, his words meant only for the two of them.
"Malcador... was he always like this?"
The Khan remained silent, his newly ignited fury awkwardly stranded.
"The Regent of the Empire..." he mumbled vaguely. "It seems these past few years have truly worn him out."
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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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