My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 510: Loyalty and Sacrifice
Upon the wasteland of steel, the Khan stood on the ground, turning his head. The Primarch's sharp eyes reflected a small figure: Malcador, his head tilted up, gently closing his eyes as he spread his arms wide.
Before the young man, just an inch's breadth from the tip of his nose, lay complete chaos. Here, the earth plunged downward as if sliced by a blade, while violent, disordered sparks writhed and burst in the air. In this place, heaven and earth were overturned, and time itself ran awry.
A mere inch away, everything shrieked and wailed. Only the figure impaled by the spear remained, like a lonely island floating above the abyss, upholding the final vestiges of order.
There was nothing left to say. Malcador calmly opened his eyes. The young man blinked, then took his first step—
. . .
Above Cadia, two cruisers collided. Their explosion blazed with the brilliance of falling stars, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. The dying ships wailed in silence, while their crews fought their final battles. Countless other vessels swept past their dying hulls, their gun barrels glowing white-hot as they turned to face the enemy.
In this void-battlefield, the wrecks of sunken ships lay as numerous as stars, yet as desolate as a field of weeds.
Each explosion claimed tens of thousands of crew members, but the cold vacuum of space never heard the screams of hypothermia and asphyxiation.
. . .
In the uncorrupted corridors of Vengeful Spirit, skirmishes erupted. The war cries of loyalty and fury, the prayers of piety and despair, the alarms of overheating plasma guns, and the deafening tick of grenades before detonation all filled the air.
Stepping through the breach torn open by a Death Guard vessel at the ship's stern, you saw mortal crew members, expelled from the Gloriana-class Battleship by the depressurization. Their mangled, stiffened bodies were hurled into the deeper darkness by the rushing air, their eyes—too soon to close—frozen open, staring at you in blank terror.
You watched them drift into the void.
Compared to them, the explosions of the dying capital ships behind them were as insignificant as the click of a trigger—so distant, so small.
And still silent.
Blood clung to your boots. You lifted your feet and waded deeper into the darkness, where the carnage was more lavish. Shards of armor, torn apart by Power Swords, Chainswords, and Bolters, lay submerged in a pool of blood inches deep. The Space Marines had not let go of their sword hilts even in death. Their intestines and stomachs, blasted from their abdomens by Heavy Bolters,
Intestinal fluids and green bile mingled, streaming down his smooth, polished armor and merging with the pool of blood on the ground.
His armor had been meticulously maintained; even the viscous bile left only a single, tear-like streak across its surface.
You look at him. His body is entwined with that of his enemy, looking like comrades-in-arms asleep in a trench.
The battle here has long since ended. The Sons of Horus have abandoned this place. You hear the silent, hurried march of the Death Guard, punctuated by the occasional barked command.
You continue your silent walk. In a corner, you hear the soft, terrified prayers of the mortals. You walk over, and in an even darker recess, you see the praying forms of dying Plague Hounds.
Space Marines often find a clean death in battle, but the mortals are not so fortunate. They are like the dirt kicked up by artillery shells—no one cares if they live or die.
After the initial landing battle, the war pushed deeper. Those who lived, those who could fight, marched on. The dead, the immobile, were ground into flesh and bone beneath the army's feet.
You couldn't tell if they had found this corner—out of the way of the Legion's advance—on their own, or if comrades from their own auxiliary corps had dragged them here. They leaned against one another, a tangled heap of broken bodies, awaiting their final moments.
You heard their whispers, Lord of the Underworld. You blinked, and their faces, drained of blood and pale, seemed a fraction more numb, a fraction less in pain. These warriors of the Death Guard, who had fought to the last, longed for a clean, painless death—a death free from the cacophony. You walked over and closed their eyes.
Leaving the bodies behind, you pressed on.
The closer you drew to the heart of the battlefield, the louder the noise became.
First, you heard the deafening war cries. The words had blurred together, leaving only bestial roars that drowned out the thunder of Heavy Bolters and the hiss of Meltaguns. The stench of flesh seared by Power Swords choked the already cramped corridor, so foul it nearly made you retch.
But you had long since grown used to this. You kept walking, watching beasts tear at each other, saliva spraying from roaring maws as they melded with the flash of blades and the shadow of swords.
First came the bullets. The metal fragments spewed from muzzles were devoid of emotion. If they failed to tear open an enemy's chest and pierce the heart, then blades would shriek. If they failed to sever heads or cut arteries, then men would grapple on the ground, fist after fist, smashing skulls, driving nosebones into their own rugged faces until eyes bulged grotesquely, staring fixedly at the owner of the fist.
The victors rose with satisfaction, spitting out foul air, shaking bone shards and raw meat from their hands, and retrieving the swords dropped by their fallen foes before rushing to the next battlefield.
You walked across this field of slaughter, seeing mortals raise guns against giant-like Space Marines, watching the last warrior be torn to shreds within the enemy's encirclement. Death poured down like a torrential rain, and in the distance, you heard the sound of a sickened laugh.
You stepped over countless corpses, continuing deeper into the fray. You pushed open a door and saw Garro.
You stood there and stopped.
"Coward!"
Garro spat the insult. One of his shoulder guards was completely shattered, and a spiderweb of cracks had been smashed into his abdomen, where blood was faintly seeping through. His helmet had been knocked off, a piece of skin torn from his face to reveal the writhing muscle beneath.
Garro was barely recognizable, yet his blade remained as sharp as ever.
"We have simply made the same choice!" Abaddon roared. He looked far more battered than Garro, but he was still full of vitality. Their blades clashed, sending sparks flying. It seemed they had both chosen to strike at the same time, but Garro was a fraction faster. A new wound opened on Abaddon's face.
The pain drew a sharp hiss from Abaddon, cold air rushing into his mouth through the fresh gash on his cheek. He glared at Garro, his eyes burning with fury.
"As a Son of Horus, I am loyal to Lupercal! This is my duty! This is the glory I am willing to die for!"
"Coward," Garro spat, his sword raised and ready. He stared at Abaddon. The man's endurance was remarkable... even among the famously resilient Death Guard, Garro could think of few warriors who could rival Abaddon's tenacity.
Abaddon's skill was nothing extraordinary, but his stamina in battle was immense. Moreover, he had a keen eye for spotting his opponent's weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly.
Garro looked up, staring down Abaddon with contempt. "Listen well, Abaddon."
The veteran soldier gritted his teeth, his voice low yet each word enunciated with chilling clarity.
"My loyalty is to the Emperor. If Mortarion ever turns traitor, I will be the first to kill him, then I will take my own life in atonement."
"You—!" Abaddon's pupils trembled as he stared at Garro in disbelief. He was certain his heart had just skipped a beat.
He recalled the schism at the Mournival. Even Sejanus, the most vehement opponent of their Father, and later Loken, had never shown such ruthless resolve as Garro was displaying now!
Abaddon instinctively glanced at the other Death Guard. Garro's words were utterly rebellious, yet what truly chilled Abaddon's blood was that the Death Guard, fully immersed in their battle against the Black Legion, seemed to completely agree with everything Garro had said!
Garro swung his sword down again, roaring, "For the Emperor!"
Abaddon's pupils dilated. Deep within his soul, he flinched for a fleeting moment.
For Garro, that moment was all he needed.
With a feint, Garro's blade slipped past Abaddon's guard. He swept it upward in a sharp arc, and after the crisp ring of steel, Garro—his hands numb from the impact—watched Abaddon's sword spin away and clatter to the ground. Without a moment's pause, Garro thrust his own blade toward Abaddon.
Abaddon reacted, snatching the blade with his bare hand to block it. Though his strength was immense, Garro used the momentum of his attack to drive the sword downward, simultaneously kicking out at Abaddon.
Abaddon fell backward, and Garro collapsed on top of him, using his own body weight to drive the sword down with all his might.
Screeeech—!
The blade groaned in Abaddon's white-knuckled grip, its razor-sharp tip resting just against the tip of his nose. Abaddon could see the blood trickling from his own nostrils.
He looked up and saw the face of a god of slaughter.
Garro's gray eyes stared back, unblinking, filled with cold ruthlessness, his face cast in shadow.
Abaddon tried to kick Garro off, but his leg was expertly pinned by Garro's practiced leverage, leaving him unable to strike.
Abaddon heard his comrade's roar of fury, but the rescue attempt was thwarted by the Death Guard's even more frenzied sacrifices.
They held in a stalemate for half a second. Then Abaddon's arms began to tremble, and he saw Garro's face, veins bulging, eyes wide with rage.
Garro's gasping mouth pulled back in a grin, his breath coming in wheezes like a mocking demon.
Abaddon felt the muscles in his arms tearing, fiber by fiber. He could even feel blood seeping from beneath his skin. He struggled desperately... but death was sliding slowly and inexorably toward him from the other side.
In the midst of the struggle, Abaddon felt his hearing burst. Through a dizzying drone, only Garro's unwavering gray eyes judged him.
The sharp sword tip gradually pierced his flesh.
For a fleeting moment, Abaddon found himself envying Garro.
He envied Garro's ability to speak of the Primarch's crimes with such ease.
He... he could not. Abaddon's mind flashed back to the Mournival, to the arguments and the tension. If Sejanus had stood his ground just a little firmer, would things have been different?
But that was Horus Lupercal. That was their father.
The one he had sworn fealty to, the one he had followed his entire life, the one for whom he had sacrificed everything.
He couldn't do it. Abaddon could not.
He could do anything, but he could never betray his father. This blood oath was etched into his very marrow, carved into the deepest depths of his soul.
He, Ezekiel Abaddon, would never betray Horus Lupercal.
The veins in Abaddon's arm bulged and strained. A piercing, agonizing pain shot through his limb. Let go. Let him go. End your life here, Abaddon.
Abaddon's thoughts trembled. He struggled amidst the chaos, desperately trying to choose Horus, but he was exhausted. The moment he saw Garro, Abaddon knew he was simply too tired.
His hand slowly relaxed—
BOOM!!!
The great gate guarded by the Sons of Horus was violently smashed open from the other side. This momentarily distracted Garro, and Abaddon finally succumbed to the overwhelming will to survive. While Garro was still staring in shock at the intruders, Abaddon shoved him aside and rolled away, collapsing into the ranks of the Sons of Horus.
Only after he had rejoined his brothers did Abaddon catch his breath and turn his blurred eyes toward the newcomers. It was only then that he realized both armies had ceased fire.
He saw... a headless Primarch lying on the ground, his body nearly torn apart by savage claw marks.
Yet the body continued to struggle, crawling forward in a manner that defied human imagination.
Abaddon's pupils trembled. He followed the trail of blood in terror to the severed head that had rolled away. Golden ichor welled from its mouth.
+Death Guard…+ blood bubbled from Lorgar's lips. +...Hurry... intercept Horus Fleet... Bomb Cadia.+
Lorgar's severed head, lying on its side, struggled to roll to Garro's side. His eyes remained open, staring in death, as he spent his last ounce of strength to utter his final words:
+Horus wants... to take us all down with him... Go... quickly... Leave me…+
Garro stared at Lorgar's severed head, almost dumbfounded, but then he realized something. Almost simultaneously, Garro began trying to report over the comms, but the crackle of static told him the signal had been cut.
Without a moment's hesitation, Garro immediately led the Death Guard in retreat. He backed away, trying to escape, but then a bolter round struck the path before him.
From the dark corridor beyond the door Lorgar had pushed open, laughter echoed.
"Lorgar... Lorgar Aurelian... We are no longer brothers... So why do you still understand me so well?"
Out of the darkness stepped Horus, his mind unhinged.
Garro tried to retreat again. Another few bolter rounds burst, spraying blood, and Corina—the Dreadnought who had shielded Garro from the Primarch's fire—fell.
This allowed Garro to successfully escape the hall. He began to run, calling out to the fleet on the perimeter as best he could.
Horus emerged slowly, smugly, clutching Lorgar's scepter. By now, the once-shimmering staff had been reduced to a mere club.
"Pursue him," Horus commanded, casually striking down the retreating Death Guard. Abaddon immediately obeyed, leading the Black Legion in pursuit.
Horus shook his head, cheerfully raising the scepter and plunging it downward into Lorgar's fallen body. The shaft pierced through the filth-covered corpse, and then, as if hoisting a banner, he lifted Lorgar's body into the air.
Humming a little tune, Horus bent down and picked up Lorgar's severed head. Gripping it by the hair, he turned and walked back down the corridor they had come from.
Blood dripped steadily from the severed neck.
You stood there, a silent witness to the entire scene. You turned your head, glancing at the spot where Garro had departed, before finally choosing to follow Horus into the corridor.
As you trailed behind them, you heard Horus's soft murmur.
"Yes, yes, all traitors."
Horus spoke gently, his fingers stroking and playing with Lorgar's bald head as if it were a skull, though Lorgar's flesh still clung to it. "I have good news for you, Lorgar. Guilliman and Angron's armies are almost here. They're just outside the Eye of Terror."
"Traitor," Horus said, pointing a finger at Lorgar. "Traitor, traitor, traitor—"
He then turned the finger toward himself. "Traitor."
+You... can't do this...+ Lorgar wheezed.
"No, I can."
Horus looked up, his gaze thoughtful as he watched the darkness churning at the end of the corridor. He patted Lorgar. "Don't worry. Mortarion won't be coming this way."
"Your prayers have certainly expedited the arrival of these abominations," Horus sneered.
He threw Lorgar's body to the ground, drew his scepter, and shattered the Primarch's limbs. Then, he seized Lorgar's head, staring him down.
"Cry... all you know is how to cry," Horus said. "Isn't this perfect? If our Father lacks the resolve, then I shall be the one to act."
Above Cadia's equatorial orbit, the Horus Fleet's Cyclone Missiles waited in silent readiness.
"At the very least, I can help him eradicate the traitorous Second Empire. The entities within the Warp will also be kept at bay for a time... As for Sanguinius..."
Horus fell silent for a moment.
"Perhaps he was merely confused for a time? But at least I have used the majority of the Dark Side's resources. They will no longer pose a practical threat to the Imperium."
Horus laughed. "And I... and my fleet..."
His gaze drifted ambiguously toward Lorgar. "The Dark Side's choice to support my fleet... is also a threat."
The Warp was nearly at their feet. Horus tossed Lorgar's head onto his own corpse, then drove his scepter through the head and body, pinning Lorgar to the ground.
"Very well," Horus said casually. "Since you believe in him, I'll let him grant you absolute death."
Then the Warmaster turned and walked away.
The churning waters of the river of death rose.
. . .
Horus brushed past your shoulder. You looked at Lorgar's broken body and felt a wave of sorrow.
Lorgar was still wailing, not from the fear of death, but from the terror and self-reproach of being unable to stop Horus.
You closed your eyes, then opened them again. You were already standing before Lorgar. You knelt down and reached out a hand to him.
He was still struggling, but he could finally rest.
Enough, enough.
...Hades... Hades...!
You stood up and turned, hearing the call from Cadia.
Malcador coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground. "Hades, come back!!!"
The young man's voice was hoarse and strained.
Horus stood at the end of the corridor, watching Lorgar's body sink completely into the darkness.
Then he turned and began to pursue Garro.
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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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