My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 395: Run? Try Running Again?!
Without the slightest hesitation, Hades raised his hand and fired. The black scythe tore through space itself as, from atop the Titan, Hades leapt straight toward Perturabo.
Darkness shrouded him, crackling lightning dancing around his form. He saw Perturabo try to bring the turret on the back of his armor to life, but after a few soft clicks, panic flickered through Perturabo's eyes—his attempt had failed.
Almost at the same instant, Perturabo raised his weapon.
Hades lifted his scythe, compressing the black domain. One strike, just one strike—
Clang!!!
Sparks exploded between the raised warhammer and the shaft of the scythe, lighting up both of their faces. Hades' hand went numb from the impact. He clearly saw the razor-sharp tip of Obituary already touching Perturabo's skull, the luminous green blade cutting through skin, blood spilling forth.
Perturabo had already lost.
Hades felt the long haft of the warhammer blocking his scythe suddenly lose its force. Perturabo was standing inside his armor as if on the brink of death, supported only by the suit itself. His body had completely given out.
Hades pressed downward—
?!
Within the span of a nanosecond, Hades snapped his gaze upward. Reflected in his pitch-black pupils was a chaotic, distorted surge—daemonic armies and a psychic storm were sweeping toward them in an overwhelming tide.
Accompanied by crushing curses, the gale driven by the psychic storm tore through Hades' disheveled hair and flung him away! The scythe braced against the Lord of Iron's skull was a mere instant from landing, but it was that single instant short.
In the distance, the rapidly advancing Vashtorr burst into laughter.
Bang!
Hades was hurled straight into the body of the Titan behind him. Immediately after, a tank flipped by the hurricane smashed into him as well!
Boom!!!
Smoke billowed skyward. The colossal machine let out a long, distant roar as it toppled backward in an irreversible motion, crashing into the wreckage of shattered vehicles.
The sudden retreat of darkness granted Perturabo a moment to breathe. He gasped violently, like a fish thrown into the desert.
Light returned to his eyes. In that instant, he seemed to truly comprehend death itself—the wildly flickering fire of his soul appeared to vanish for a brief moment.
Perturabo began coughing violently. For that moment, his entire world went dark. No longer did vast oceans of data descend upon him—there was only himself, and nothing else but himself.
And just as Perturabo coughed and retched, beginning to regain control of his body, atop the smoke-shrouded Titan's carcass, eerie pale-green arcs of electricity leapt up around the Lord of Iron's armor, crackling and snapping, growing ever more intense. In the blink of an eye, the lightning widened from thumb-thick to arm-thick.
A cold voice rang out from within the dust and smoke, carrying a restrained fury:
"You should be grateful that this is Cadia."
Hades rose from the Titan's shattered remains. The fragments of the tank slid off his body, yet they shimmered with an eerie silver light. Perturabo's pupils trembled—solid steel had transformed into something like semi-soft silk, rippling with luster as it slid from the Lord of the Underworld's black armor.
Blood spilled from the corner of Hades' mouth as he compressed the black domain enveloping the area. Massive, trembling psychic halos illuminated the boundary of darkness, making it impossible to tell who was eroding whom.
Yet Hades' gaze was utterly calm. He stared unflinchingly at Perturabo and saw blood streaming down the latter's forehead.
The psychic density here was immense, and it was targeted at him. Were it not so, Perturabo would already be dead.
But it didn't matter.
Hades listened to the daemonic war cries drawing ever closer in the distance, felt the relentless pressure crushing down on him, his breathing growing labored—as though this place were no longer filled with air, but with the deep sea itself.
Hades lifted his foot from the shattered steel. He stared at Perturabo, whose armor had already been locked in place. The Lord of Iron had clearly realized this as well—he looked down at his armor in panic. The armor he had once taken such pride in now shed silvery-white tears, as if repenting for its sins.
Liquid metal dripped down, then—amid the encircling pale-green lightning—rose again in defiance of gravity, slowly condensing into slender spikes half a meter long. They trembled faintly as they hovered in midair, as if the raging winds could not disturb them in the slightest.
Hades, too, drew deep breaths. Through Cadia's thin mist, he seemed to glimpse the immense Eye of Terror slowly turning its gaze toward this place, suffused with bizarre, prismatic light.
Darkness enveloped them both. A sliver of time seemed to stretch endlessly long; the entire world felt like a tilted seabed. Time slowed, and the two figures, gasping for breath, slowed with it.
Hiss
Soft piercing sounds rang out in the deep night, accompanied by the shrill scream of adamantium as it shattered. The teardrops became spikes, punching through adamantium armor. Drops of blood seeped out, trickling down through the cage of steel to pool at Perturabo's feet.
The long needles stabbed straight into the Lord of Iron's body, and the caged beast could not move at all.
A trace of manic delight split Hades' lips into a smile. Unfortunately, he still couldn't precisely control these droplets, otherwise, he would have aimed for the Lord of Iron brain. Hades waited for that fleeting moment when the psychic storm weakened, his front foot braced against the ground beginning to push—
Hades burst forward.
The luminous green edge of Obituary tore through the darkness around him, the scythe charging straight for the imprisoned Perturabo's head!
At the same time, the long spikes drove deeper into Perturabo's weakened body. Cracks spread across his hardened armor, and the stench of blood rushed straight into the nose.
Hades locked his gaze on Perturabo and saw Perturabo staring back at him. The primarch's face was twisted and terrifying, his eyes splitting wide as fine beads of blood seeped from their corners.
Crackling, snapping sounds echoed from all around the Lord of Iron.
"Repent, traitor!"
In that final instant, Hades' roar rang out—but at the same time, the sharp sound of snapping steel suddenly reached his ears—
It was almost like a gust of dark gray wind.
The scythe, unable to change direction in time, cut through empty air!
The instant his foot touched the ground, Hades borrowed the momentum to twist sideways. The warhammer that slammed down beside him boomed heavily, and a clear dent appeared in Hades' chest plate.
Hades immediately spun back, swinging his scythe. Luminous green light formed a circle of death around him. He heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, but the feedback from the scythe told him he had struck nothing.
Hades' gaze snapped back to Perturabo, now farther away. He stared at the Lord of Iron in shock—Perturabo was standing there, still swaying unsteadily.
Using the fractures torn open by the spikes, the Lord of Iron had torn himself free from his armor entirely!
Now Perturabo wore only a light, Olympia-style combat suit. His upper body was half-bared, warhammer clenched in hand. Broken spikes protruded from his chest, abdomen, and arms, jutting straight outward.
Perturabo smiled.
He felt it… felt that sensation that had finally become unfamiliar. In this darkness, everything had grown silent—everything, including, including—
"So my conjecture was correct."
—Including that feeling of being watched.
Perturabo knew something had snapped, broken beyond repair. In this pitch-black ocean, he could no longer sense those controlling threads—neither those with which he commanded the Iron Warriors, nor those that pointed toward him.
This was true freedom.
Perturabo laughed aloud. No, still not quite. He could feel that detested presence within his soul, not only the recent stains of corruption and rust, but also that earlier golden light.
They coexisted within his soul. What amused Perturabo was that, in a sense, those external lights, in this black ocean, were protecting his true soul.
He even cast a faintly flippant glance toward Hades, whom he had used. Though he felt a subtle fear and unease, though his soul trembled and shrieked, manic excitement and ecstasy still kept him standing there.
"Lord of the Underworld, Hades."
"Why would you choose to be a chess piece? You possess absolute freedom. You should be the one who rules."
Perturabo said that as his soul was fading, burning away—but he struggled to gather his flame together. The Lord of Iron carefully controlled the distance between himself and Hades. The fire of his soul was shrinking, yet after stripping away those impurities, it grew ever brighter.
Even in utter darkness, light flared in Perturabo's eyes—dangerous, brilliant yellow blazing within deep gray.
With some effort, he twisted sideways. Two streaks of fire skimmed past him, leaving scorched, smoldering burns across his shoulder.
Perturabo licked his lips. He could hear Vashtorr calling to him. He looked at Hades—the Lord of the Underworld looked battered as well, clearly struggling against something—against unseen presences. Perturabo knew this was all Vashtorr's and Lorgar's support.
Perturabo slowly spread his hand and leaned back. Blood flowed down from his chest, painting itself into the shape of a battle-garb.
"I can ally with you, Lord of the Underworld!"
Hades answered by firing another shot straight at Perturabo's mouth.
He was panting; he seemed to understand now what the Four Gods were doing. A force similar to the Emperor's finger-bones—yet far more violent, far more brutal—was crushing down on him.
But Hades was resisting. He resisted fiercely. He could feel that They, too, were paying a heavy price for it, so much so that the psychic pressure suppressing him had shifted through two different colors within a few brief moments.
"Bullshit!"
Hades roared as he lunged toward Perturabo. But Perturabo had clearly prepared himself not to engage him in close combat again, and without the burden of heavy armor, he was obviously far more agile.
Without hesitation, the Lord of Iron turned around and run with all his might
Fire splashed up from the ground at his side as they began their chase through a jungle of steel beams.
Hades felt like he was about to explode with rage. He was running out of time. Perturabo was playing him—he hadn't even intended to fight him head-on!
Or had the Lord of Iron realized that, after that single exchange, that he simply couldn't beat him?!
But that didn't matter. What mattered was that his opponent had chosen to flee once again.
For a moment, Hades felt as if he had been dragged back to that afternoon, running through the flagship of the Rangda spaceship.
"Coward! Stop running!!!"
Hades shouted. He raised Obituary high as chains forged of blackstone coiled around his right arm, loop after loop.
Perturabo's words echoed endlessly in his ears—
"A self-willing lapdog, a counterfeit god—what right do you have to condemn me?!"
Hades fixed his gaze on the fleeing figure. Blood still streamed from the corner of his mouth as he took aim—
Luminous green carved a full moon across the air.
The sheer sharpness brought with it an eerie lightness. Torn flesh was exposed to the air, bone fragments spraying outward!
Perturabo let out a muffled grunt. He looked down and saw that green phantom—his left lower leg had been severed a third of the way up, contracting tendons laid bare.
Perturabo faltered for just an instant, and in that very moment, bang! A massive broken sword gliding through the air smashed down onto his head like a slab of stone. Perturabo finally lost his balance and crashed toward the ground.
To seize Perturabo, to close the distance between them in the shortest possible time, Hades lunged forward—
His icy hand reached the battlefield 0.3 milliseconds later, clamping onto Perturabo's head. But the Lord of Iron was already drifting into stupor within the black domain. Hades, too, collapsed to the ground, his full weight pinning Perturabo beneath him. Weapons lay scattered all around.
Without the slightest hesitation, Hades slammed Perturabo's head straight into the exposed, jagged steel rebar jutting from the nearby wreckage.
"Fuck!!!"
Hades roared in fury. He stared at the rebar flattened by the Primarch's skull and realized he'd momentarily lost his head in anger.
Even so, in a few more seconds, Perturabo's soul would dissipate completely within his black domain.
A thunderous roar filled Hades' mind. For a moment, he couldn't tell whether it was blood rushing through his skull or the sounds of the battlefield itself.
With his other hand, Hades reclaimed the broken sword. Struggling, he forced himself back into a half-kneeling position and drove the shattered blade straight toward Perturabo's neck. Yet the corner of Perturabo's mouth, pressed hard against the ground, curled into a smile.
The Lord of Iron had gambled—and he had won.
Boom, boom, boom—BOOM!!!
A massive warship plunged straight out of the darkness overhead and crashed into the battlefield. In a daze, Hades glimpsed silver and golden worm-like cables, explosions of fire violently assaulting his vision, psychic-laden white light flooding the scene. In that instant, Hades caught sight of the silhouette of that metal monstrosity.
Vashtorr stood at the very heart of the explosion. Its auxiliary limbs slowly lifted the collapsed Perturabo from the wreckage—and that damned thing still wore a smile at the corner of its mouth.
Hades' sanity snapped, just for a moment.
Amid the sea of fire, blasted back by the shockwave, Hades stabbed the broken sword into the ground to steady himself. Then, like a maddened bull, he charged forward, completely ignoring the frenzied psychic pressure crashing down upon him. It was as if four lunatics were screaming directly into his ears—but none of that mattered anymore. A high-pitched ringing filled Hades' head, blood spilling free—
Straight on, resolute, he raised the broken sword toward Vashtorr, who had turned in shock upon realizing Hades was still there. Hades saw the hateful smile on Perturabo's lips finally twist into the shape of terror just before a scream.
Psychic ripples spread around Vashtorr: the unmistakable sign of teleportation. Hades lunged without hesitation. He raised the broken sword, darkness itself making the entire area tremble, forcibly disrupting their escape.
Vashtorr's auxiliary limbs split apart beneath the blade. To pursue them, Hades abandoned his balance entirely. He crashed to the ground, but in the next heartbeat twisted himself forward, half-crawling, half-running as he charged after the fleeing Vashtorr and Perturabo.
"Come back here—and die!!!" Hades roared.
But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blazing, crimson steel bull charging toward them from afar. Without the slightest hesitation, Vashtorr spread its wings and rushed straight toward the beast. One auxiliary limb clamped down tightly onto the steel bull, and within Hades' darkness, the creature—sleek and panicked—carried Vashtorr and the Perturabo cradled in its grasp away into the distance.
Hades was left half-kneeling amid the ruins, his face frozen in an indescribable expression.
Then Hades roared—furious, violently furious—
"Ugh—UAAAGHHHHHHHHH!!! Come back here!!!!! Cowards!!!!!"
The next instant, the psychic tide suppressing his black domain suddenly receded, and the roar of bombers echoed across the sky.
Hades seemed utterly indifferent to it all. He continued to howl in rage. In the distance, the Knights of the Silent Sisterhood, rushing in on emergency deployment, began firing munitions into the sky. Farther still, at the center of the altar, Lorgar lay nearly collapsed on the ground, utterly spent—the hastily erected, inverted, flesh-and-blood false god statue had already been reduced to a charred wasteland.
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