My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 495: Beneath the Gods
Upon the Golden Throne, the Master of Mankind cast His gaze into the distance.
At least in this moment, His power flowed through the Warp unimpeded.
. . .
Aboard the Endurance.
Within the command chamber, where countless signal lights flickered and innumerable Death Guard hurried about their duties, the giant of desolation stirred slightly.
Nor was he alone.
In a dark, unlit corner of the chamber, an old man who had been resting quietly slowly stepped forward.
Beneath his hood, Malcador revealed a cloudy eye. He looked toward Mortarion, and within that murky gaze glimmered golden light.
"...My lord has begun to act. I can feel His power."
"How absurd..."
Upon the old man's staff, the twin-headed eagle that had once blazed with golden fire was now coated with a faint layer of violet.
Malcador raised his head and thoughtfully regarded the golden radiance tinged with purple flame.
"Are you really going to do this?"
The pale giant opened his eyes, their depths as lifeless as a stagnant pond.
The old man coughed and chuckled. A trace of amusement appeared in his gaze as he looked at Mortarion.
"You are the least qualified person to say that, Mortarion."
Mortarion frowned and looked at Malcador disapprovingly.
"I succeeded, but that doesn't mean you—"
"A desperate measure."
Mortarion wanted to continue, but the old man waved his staff. Seeing the unnatural bend in Malcador's staff, the Pale Lord fell silent.
Once Mortarion stopped speaking, Malcador continued, "Now, give me an empty room. I need as many crowns, jewels, and ornaments as possible—"
He paused, then spoke again, irritation creeping into his voice as though muttering to himself.
"...The Death Guard don't have things like that..."
Mortarion let out a dry laugh, sounding as though he were mocking him.
"You chose the wrong place. And the wrong power."
Malcador remained silent, pressing his shriveled lips tightly together.
Ignoring Mortarion's sarcasm, he needed mediums—symbols—to channel this Warp power. The Death Guard were clearly far from the ideal setting for such a ritual.
The Ultramarines and the World Eaters might have been able to gather what he required, but those two Legions were still behind them. During Warp transit, they had been unable to catch up with the Death Guard's all-out advance.
Malcador lifted his eyes. Golden flames flickered within them as he gazed into the endless void.
"We're out of time."
His voice turned grave.
"Mortarion, give me an empty room. Then send in every luxurious thing you can imagine."
"My lord cannot hold on much longer."
Mortarion silently shook his head.
Yet at the same time, mist spread from beneath his cloak. A thin layer of fog instantly covered the entire Endurance, and from that mist emerged countless smaller Death Guard.
. . .
[ Cadia ]
Fulgrim, slumped amidst the ruins, suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood.
He awoke from unconsciousness and lifted his head in confusion. In his hands he still clutched the shattered remnants of Ferrus's armor, as if hoping to understand what had happened.
He could feel his soul trembling violently.
The divine battle above the heavens had reached even the Primarchs.
Fulgrim felt himself rapidly declining.
He realized that the portion of himself he had surrendered to Slaanesh had been utterly erased from existence.
For him, perhaps, that was a good thing.
It meant that the reputation of "Fulgrim" would suffer no further disgrace in the future.
He remained silent.
He had lost almost everything.
His power.
His talent.
His perfection.
All that remained was his loyalty.
And that was the only thing he could still preserve.
The only thing he could still defend.
Lowering his gaze to the ruined helmet of his dearest friend, he hoped that Ferrus, too, had remained pure.
He sighed.
He no longer dared hope for anything more.
The Phoenician stripped of its talents no longer wished to raise its head.
He only hoped he had committed no further mistakes.
If possible, Fulgrim wished for the Imperium to record him as dead.
The broken thing he had become possessed no value anymore.
Nor did he wish to tarnish the glory of his former self.
From this point on, no matter what face he wore, his existence would only stain the image of the perfect being he once was.
If possible, now that he had found his friend's remains, Fulgrim wished to die in obscurity and fade away completely.
The glory was gone.
Only a fragment of a soul remained.
His powerless hands could no longer continue the fight.
Fulgrim lowered his eyes.
The stabbing pain in his soul persisted—
Someone was calling to him.
Fulgrim did not know who it was.
Was it Ferrus?
Or was it Slaanesh?
The crack of bolter fire answered his question.
The Primarch looked up in shock and saw a bizarre, blasphemous procession approaching him.
At its head stood—
Lorgar?!
Even after everything he had endured in the Warp, Fulgrim was still startled by Lorgar's appearance.
+Brother.+
The floating, closed-eyed head rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, slowly turning toward Fulgrim. Golden tears streamed down its cheeks.
+The God-Emperor needs you.+
"..."
Fulgrim's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. Across his dust-covered face lingered the faint traces of dried tears.
On one side stood the Word Bearers Primarch—his head separated from his body, the eight-pointed star of Chaos emblazoned across his breastplate.
On the other stood the Emperor's Children Primarch—disheveled, miserable, every inch of him radiating mediocrity.
Lorgar stood there, looking down at Fulgrim, who sat amid the ruins.
Fulgrim's pupils trembled.
He looked past Lorgar to the Blessed Sons behind him—the Space Marines fused with Warp daemons.
Then his gaze shifted back to the eight-pointed star upon Lorgar's chest.
Carefully, Fulgrim first set down the remains of his friend's armor.
Then he rose in silence.
Solemnly.
Silver hair fell over his face, concealing his mediocre features and dull eyes.
For one who had pursued perfection above all else, mediocrity was the cruelest mockery.
Slowly, Fulgrim drew an iron sword from his waist.
His trembling blade pointed toward Lorgar.
"Servant of Chaos."
His voice shook.
"If you have come to insult me..."
"Then I shall kill myself."
"But if you have come to insult Ferrus..."
"Then—"
His wrist twisted, turning the blade sideways.
In better days, such a movement from a Primarch would have sent dazzling light flashing across a magnificent weapon.
But now, through Slaanesh's deliberate cruelty, Fulgrim had been restored to a body of utter mediocrity.
And the only iron sword this body could lift was dull and lifeless.
"Then let us fight."
He raised his head slightly.
A strand of lifeless silver hair fell across his brow, revealing the Phoenician's withered, unremarkable face and clouded eyes.
Faced with Fulgrim's challenge, Lorgar spread his hands helplessly.
The staff in his grasp slipped free and crashed to the ground with a clang.
Fulgrim glanced warily at the fallen weapon.
Still trembling, he said nothing.
The Phoenician looked terrified.
And on the verge of collapse.
+I am loyal.+
Lorgar's words entered Fulgrim's ears.
As if trying to reassure a frightened bird, Lorgar raised a hand and wiped it across his cheek.
Golden flame instantly ignited upon his bloodstained fingers, as though seeking to burn away every impurity.
Lorgar flicked his hand, scattering the golden fire.
Then he spread his arms wide and slowly, cautiously began walking toward Fulgrim.
+The God-Emperor needs you,+ Lorgar said urgently.
+The Reaper must return to the vicinity of his anchor point, but his entire focus is on Slaanesh right now. We need another projection attuned to Slaanesh to guide him back.+
Fulgrim looked as though he were about to break.
He could no longer understand when the universe had become so utterly insane.
And the truth in Lorgar's words filled him with a cold, penetrating dread.
"I haven't escaped Her?!"
"Slaanesh is still watching me?!"
The Phoenician shrieked.
The final straw had fallen.
Without hesitation, he pulled the sword back and pressed it against his own throat.
He swung to behead himself without the slightest pause—
"I am loyal!"
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