My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 511: The Death of Garro
Garro ran. He sprinted through the corridors, the sounds of dying men echoing behind him. The squad he led stood their ground, sacrificing their lives to buy him time.
He strode through the corridors, his heavy footsteps and pounding heart beating in a frantic rhythm. Garro could hear the pursuers closing in, their footsteps drawing nearer, but he just kept running.
He desperately pressed the communication stud on his vox-channel, cursing the Death Guard's Techmarine. Why was the channel cut off now, of all times?!
He pushed himself to his absolute limit. In the Death Guard, speed was never a priority; only a few veterans even paid it any mind.
It's a good thing it's me and not some recruit, Garro thought.
Even so, the footsteps behind Garro grew louder. The distance between them was closing at an impossible speed. It wasn't a Son of Horus chasing him, Garro realized. It was Horus.
Horus Lupercal was hunting him personally.
The realization sank Garro's heart.
He had to get this information out. He might not fully grasp its ultimate significance, but he knew its weight.
His mind sharpened with desperate clarity. His best hope was for communications to be restored, or to stumble upon a Death Guard reinforcement unit. Otherwise—in about two minutes, Horus would catch him.
Unfortunately, their previous advance had been too swift, too successful. The army had pushed too deep, leaving them too far from the main force.
After all, their plan had been to never return.
To die fighting on the Vengeful Spirit.
Garro sprinted through the blood-slicked corridor, blood gushing from his nose and mouth from the exertion. He prayed to the Master of Mankind, pleading—begging—that he might fulfill his mission.
Garro tried to call out to the Pale King, but the Black Domain blocked his pleas—or perhaps it was because he had never been truly devout to Mortarion.
But in the end, fate gave him a chance.
A rustling sound echoed from the pipes at the end of the corridor. Garro immediately knew what it was. He rushed over, drew his sword, and sliced a small opening in the pipe. The metal he had cut away fell, revealing a pair of terrified eyes within.
It was a Hound of Hades Auxiliary, planting explosives inside the pipe. Garro recognized the tattoo number on her face.
"Answer my question briefly. Where did you come fromHound of Hades?"
He had seen no Death Guard forces nearby; this mortal must have come to this level through the pipes from another.
"Lower Three, my lord," the Hound of Hades replied immediately. Seeing Garro's distinct armor, she realized he was a high-ranking Death Guard.
"That place has already been occupied by the Death Guard."
This is Lower Level One, Garro thought with relief. There were no stairs nearby, meaning Horus and his warriors couldn't reach this place quickly. They couldn't pass through the narrow pipes—these vertical shafts, spanning several levels, were only passable by slender mortals.
Besides, there might not be any communication jamming over there.
"Can you still go back and rendezvous with the Death Guard?"
The Hound of Hades's gaze shifted downward. "If I don't plant the explosives, yes, my lord."
"Good," Garro said. "M057, highest directive: Soldier, abandon your current mission. I need you to deliver a critical message—you must tell the main Death Guard force that Horus intends to destroy Cadia. The Death Guard must immediately attack the fleet they have deployed at the equator."
"Tell them this message comes from Garro. They will understand."
The Hound of Hades stared at him, then nodded. The slender, brown-haired woman repeated Garro's words once more before beginning to climb down the pipe.
Garro stood by the conduit, his hand clenched into a tight fist against the cold metal.
He prayed for news of success. Everything now rested on that slight mortal woman. Would she succeed? Would she understand his instructions? Or worse, had the Death Guard in the Lower Three all failed as well?
He realized he no longer had the luxury of choice. Even the nearest Death Guard squad was still a ten-minute march away.
His heart sank. Garro tried once more to open the vox-channel as he backed away, desperate to hide the conduit's concealed opening from Horus.
The interim Legion Commander was no fool. Under Mortarion's relentless discipline, Garro had been trained to devise the most secure methods and multiple contingency plans to ensure mission completion.
But the unforeseen was endless.
Slow footsteps echoed behind him. Garro spun, drawing his sword.
He faced Horus, who was walking toward him with a smile.
"Not running anymore?" Horus asked casually. Garro merely pressed his lips together, remaining silent.
The sword he held in a defensive stance seemed as crude as a child's wooden stick before the Primarch. No Space Marine could truly defeat a Primarch. None.
Even though Garro had always been charged with supervising Mortarion and remaining vigilant against his betrayal—even though he had constantly used the Primarch as a hypothetical enemy in his training—he had never lasted more than three moves in a practice bout with Mortarion.
"You seem to have frightened Abaddon," Horus said unhurriedly. He seemed to be in no rush. Had the Primarch not noticed that he had already sent the message? Or had he already intercepted the mortal soldier?
"I was merely fulfilling my duty," Garro said.
Horus raised his eyes, like a lion in no hurry to kill the hare in its paws. "I have never seen Abaddon look like that—what did you say to him?"
Garro repeated the words, fully expecting Horus to kill him on the spot.
But Horus merely brooded, his eyes unreadable. Lightning crackled across the Claws of Horus, yet he remained silent.
"Who ordered this?" Horus asked. "Mortarion? Or that monster?"
"My Father, Mortarion," Garro's voice rose. "The Death Guard show no mercy. If the law is broken, even the Genefather may be judged!"
He roared, "The Master of Mankind trusted you! He named you Warmaster, yet you betrayed him!"
"You too should be judged, traitor!"
This finally broke Horus's restraint. The Claws of Horus struck with absolute speed. Garro abandoned his defense, swinging his sword at Horus's arm—
Clang!
The broken blade clattered to the ground, a sound as crisp as the moment Horus's talons pierced Garro's chest. The sharp iron fingers tore through his torso, and Horus's index and ring fingers crushed his two hearts. Brutal electricity seared his organs, incinerating everything within.
Garro's pupils dilated, his vision blurring as he stared at the scratches he had carved into Horus's gauntlet.
"I have never betrayed," Horus spat, each word a deliberate strike. Blood dripped from his Lightning Claws. The Primarch watched as the damned Death Guard shook his head.
"You... know... what you are... doing," Garro rasped.
"I have never betrayed," Horus ground out through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing with fury. He clenched his fist, the viscera within it crunching with a sickening, plastic-like sound.
"You... kneel... before... those... beings."
"What of Mortarion?!" Horus roared, jerking Garro closer, his gaze locked onto the dying warrior's unfocused but serene eyes. "His state—do you truly believe he is clean?!"
Blood welled in Garro's mouth. He did not answer the Primarch's question, only looked upon him with pity, as if mocking his self-deception.
"I—!" Horus roared. "Am! Right!"
He violently threw Garro, who was slammed into the far end of the corridor. The pipe he struck let out a dull thud. Garro's head hung limp, as if he were already dead.
But Horus knew Garro was still alive.
The dying man's ragged gasps echoed through the corridor. Horus, hearing the loudest of these breaths, paid no more heed to the dying soldier. The message had been intercepted; he refused to waste any more time here. Mortarion was fast approaching.
Horus turned to leave.
Thump!
Horus spun around in a savage fury. The armor on his back, struck by a plasma shot, was melting. The circulatory system tubes beneath it hissed with a faint leak.
Behind him, Garro, leaning against a pipe, slowly lowered the hand that had raised his gun.
"For... the Emperor..."
Horus raised his weapon in a blind rage and fired at Garro. One shot, two, three... Finally, he holstered his gun and marched away.
The corridor soon fell silent.
Garro leaned against the conduit, his dilated pupils reflecting two scenes: one of surging darkness, the other of grey-white mist.
They were both spreading toward him.
Garro knew what they were, and what they signified. If he only reached out, he could leave...
But he could not leave yet.
He still did not know if his mission was complete. His comms channel continued to crackle with static. Garro waited for the connection to be restored, or for the next Death Guard squad to arrive.
Death was already close, but Garro refused to go. The veteran waited here stubbornly. He was Garro, the interim Legion Commander of the Death Guard. If Mortarion and Hades were unreliable, then he needed to make all the necessary preparations.
Until—he heard the rustle of fabric within the conduit.
Had that Hound of Hades returned?!
Garro's heart leaped into his throat. A faint tapping sound came from the conduit he was leaning against. Garro gasped, whispering,
"...I'm here."
"Lord Garro, Lord Vorx says he has received the message. He's already leading the fleet out, and the White Scars Fleet will also be heading out to support."
Garro let out a long sigh of relief. Due to the unique nature of the Death Guard, most people wouldn't know the names of their leadership. The Hound of Hades only recognized the patterns on their pauldrons, not their names.
If she had spoken Vorx's name, it proved she had delivered the message.
A woman's voice rang out, "My Lord, I've brought a medkit."
"No need," Garro gasped. In his blurred vision, he saw his own chest, nearly torn to shreds. Knowing his mission was complete... there was nothing left to keep him here.
"Why... did you come back..."
Garro saw the mist drawing closer and closer. He heard the whispers of other Death Guard—those who had already died.
"My Lord, I came back to continue planting explosives."
"Go... then."
"Yes, my Lord. May your soul return to the Lord of the Underworld."
Garro leaned against the pipes, listening to the mortal continue his ascent. Then came the beep of the bomb's countdown. Three seconds later, a massive explosion roared, and the sound of debris clattering down the pipes echoed below. He smelled blood—blood that was not his own.
Garro saw the river of death surging forward, drowning out the whispers from the mist... He still refused to choose it. His head hung limp, his gaze fixed on the ground. In his final moment, he saw the resplendent figure upon the Throne.
Garro reached out his hand.
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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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