My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 502: The Calm Malcador
The shuttle carrying the two Primarchs came to a stop on the landing pad. The blue flames within its engines died out. Abaddon disembarked first, guiding the two Primarchs onto the deck of the Vengeful Spirit.
There were not many people on the deck. Aside from the necessary servitor personnel, no one else could be seen. The atmosphere was desolate.
Fulgrim looked up at the fleet of the Sons of Horus floating in the void. Those massive warships drifted above Cadia's equatorial orbit, arranged in a precise formation.
It did not look like a deployment meant to prevent a surprise attack.
A deep humming sound echoed through the bay. Turning his head, Fulgrim saw another shuttle landing on a nearby pad.
Rolling mist drifted from the slowly opening hatch. Strange violet light flickered through the white fog alongside golden flames. Then a figure holding a staff stepped down the ramp—
Malcador?!
Fulgrim remembered the Emperor's earlier words. He wanted to rush over and demand answers, but Lorgar, standing before him, stopped him. The Word Bearer's severed head floated quietly, as though reminding him not to be impatient.
The moment the old man appeared, the Sons of Horus beside Fulgrim raised their weapons in alarm.
Malcador coughed lightly and tapped his staff.
A pressure descended.
Aside from the Primarchs—who had long ceased to resemble ordinary beings—almost everyone present felt it: a heavy, imposing aura that commanded respect without needing anger.
Behind Lorgar, Fulgrim's hand trembled slightly. His eyes were fixed on the violet flames burning atop Malcador's staff.
He thought he knew what they were.
Malcador?
The old man removed his hood. He was no longer wearing his plain-colored cloak. Instead, Malcador was dressed in white robes embroidered with golden threads, gemstones gleaming among the fabric.
The uncrowned king now lacked only a crown.
Fulgrim swallowed.
He remembered the Emperor's final words: if he sought rest, he should seek out Malcador.
But the problem was—what had happened to Malcador now? Why had he become… that?
And why had he appeared aboard the Vengeful Spirit alone?
Malcador raised his eyes. His sharp gaze swept over Fulgrim and Lorgar. Unexpectedly, he said nothing. Only when he looked at Lorgar did he turn his head away with undisguised contempt.
Lorgar showed no reaction.
Abaddon stiffly continued leading them onward.
+We should not waste time.+ Lorgar's voice sounded relaxed and cheerful. +Let me go see my brother Horus.+
Lorgar departed first. Malcador followed, and Fulgrim intended to go after Lorgar, but the old man pressed his staff backward.
"You come with me, Fulgrim."
Apparently, their destinations were different.
Lorgar and Abaddon headed toward one of the reception chambers of the Vengeful Spirit, while Malcador and Fulgrim followed a psyker deeper into the vessel.
"We're going to conduct a summoning ritual," Malcador said sternly. "It must succeed on the first attempt."
Fulgrim glanced at the violet flames dancing atop the old man's staff.
"You..." the Primarch said with difficulty. "You've obtained a portion of His power?"
"Slaanesh," Malcador replied bluntly. "My child, you no longer need to fear Him as much as before. He is not what He once was."
Malcador waved his staff, and the violet flames flared brighter.
"They welcome our efforts to divide His power among ourselves. In fact..."
Walking ahead, Malcador cast a glance at Fulgrim. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar, unlike the sharp gaze he once possessed.
"...it would not even be impossible for a new god to replace Slaanesh."
"You intend to—"
Fulgrim's words caught in his throat. His voice trembled.
"Me?"
Malcador shook his head. Expressionless, he answered:
"The check is tempting, but no one can cash it."
"We have no intention of doing that."
Fulgrim let out a sigh of relief.
"No. Absolutely not. I would never become... that kind of existence."
"You may want to take a look at Mortarion later," Malcador spoke casually.
Blasphemous black stains began crawling across the corridor walls, a sign that they were nearing their destination.
Malcador casually kicked aside a screaming Nurgling lying on the floor, stepped over pools of blood, brushed away drifting feathers, and walked beneath a shattered chandelier that groaned overhead.
They entered a side chamber prepared beside the main hall.
Fulgrim's breathing stopped for a moment.
He saw two completely different Alpharius.
"It's been a long time, child," Malcador calmly addressed the crimson-colored Alpharius.
"Would you mind going ahead and making preparations? I'd like to have a word with Alpharius first."
The other, bulkier Alpharius stepped aside, signaling for Fulgrim to follow him out. A chill crawled across Fulgrim's scalp.
Is Malcador really one of the good guys?
He found himself questioning it once again.
As if sensing the Primarch's confusion, Malcador let out a sigh and looked at Fulgrim with weary eyes.
"I know you have many questions right now. In truth, your father genuinely considered abandoning you, but you've already proven yourself."
Malcador extended a hand, gesturing for Fulgrim to take it.
After a brief hesitation, the Primarch reached out.
Before them, the crimson-helmeted Alpharius watched silently.
Malcador turned his head, his expression unreadable as he looked at that Alpharius. Then he looked back at Fulgrim, his pupils locking onto the Primarch's eyes—
And Fulgrim saw—
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Fulgrim screamed.
Within an inferno of flames, he saw Malcador's soul being devoured by violet fire.
Vast, chaotic, disordered power battered the psyker's spirit relentlessly.
Malcador calmly released his hand.
"We decided to save you," Malcador spoke quietly.
"Fortunately, most of your value has already been taken. Even the greediest of beings would no longer spare you a second glance."
Fulgrim bent over, gasping in pain. Through his disheveled hair, his bewildered eyes stared at Malcador.
Forcing the words out through clenched teeth, he said:
"Give... it... to me. Give it to me now."
Malcador remained silent.
The Uncrowned King lowered his staff and tapped the Primarch's outstretched hand.
A drop of violet flame fell from the staff and rapidly crawled up Fulgrim's arm.
Fulgrim took a deep breath, bracing himself for the agony he expected to follow.
But unexpectedly—
There was no pain.
No tearing sensation.
The silver-haired Primarch straightened up in disbelief.
He looked at Malcador, who remained as calm and unmoved as ever. Fulgrim opened his mouth to speak, but Malcador interrupted him before he could say a word.
"If you're finished, go inside. We don't have much time."
Malcador glanced toward the door.
"Go."
Fulgrim trembled.
He wanted to say something.
Having glimpsed the truth through Malcador's soul, the Primarch felt as though he had finally understood something.
In the end, his lips moved only slightly.
"Thank you."
Malcador waved a hand dismissively.
Omegon led Fulgrim into the hall.
The old man coughed once and turned toward Alpharius.
"I don't recall teaching you any of this," Malcador spoke calmly.
The response he received was an enraged roar.
The Alpharius who had fallen under the Blood God's blessing charged straight at Malcador.
In the next instant, Malcador was seized by the throat and slammed against the wall.
"Old man!"
Foul-smelling blood-soaked breath sprayed across Malcador's face.
Malcador merely raised an eyebrow.
"Since you've already devoted yourself to the Blood God..."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Shall we have a fight?"
<+>
<+>
<+>
<+>
<+>
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.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 525: The Erasure[1]
Link: https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/my-life-as-death-164167815[2]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/my-life-as-death-164167815
[2] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/my-life-as-death-164167815