My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 389: Argel Tal Cannot Catch Up to Hades
[My offspring, the words of false gods are fragile. Blasphemers cloak themselves in righteousness and presume to decide our survival. Now, attack. Drag those rejected by the gods down into hell.]
Heavy footsteps thundered across the deck of the Word Bearer. Argel Tal sprinted toward the hangar bays where the embarked craft were docked. The sudden turn of events had plunged his thoughts into chaos, but he knew what he had to do. Lorgar's crozius, clenched in his hand, shimmered with a dim, sullen light.
Lorgar was not aboard the Word Bearer's flagship, Fidelitas Lex. Argel Tal knew this for a fact, and he was equally certain that the Lord of the Underworld was unaware of it.
Argel Tal swallowed nervously, recalling that faint sense of pressure he had once felt at his back. At the very least, he could still do something…
He frantically adjusted the communication channels in his helmet, but the electronic warfare at the very start of the void battle meant that all he could transmit was crackling static. The Lord of the Underworld's voice and the Primarch's voice sounded as though they came from some distant shore, distorted and unreal.
"34-7, come in! Come in!"
Argel Tal shouted, waving toward the Stormbird at the very edge of the deck. He could hear the terrified, confused breathing of the mortal pilot inside.
"Open the hatch—let me aboard!"
He issued the order without hesitation, leapt up roughly, and directly commanded the pilot to launch. In the distance, scattered beams of light had already begun to flare—some of the Primarch's forces had started their attack.
After a brief moment to catch his breath, the glow of macro-cannon fire lit the void.
Argel Tal struck the bulkhead in frustration. His own 34th Grand Company had not joined the assault. In fact, the warship they were on was moving away from the center of the battle. This was already the greatest concession he had managed to wring from them through persuasion.
"Head for those black ships! Open surrender signals!"
Argel Tal roared. He felt the slight tremor of the ship hull as the engines howled and the deck scenery rapidly fell away behind them.
He tried once more to open a communication channel, regretting that he had never bothered to befriend the ship's techmarines. This, he reflected grimly, was the price of not getting along with heretics.
They began to climb. Argel Tal saw the Word Bearers' formations in utter disarray. He clenched his teeth as he looked at those ships frozen in place—whether they had truly been locked down during the opening signal war, or whether they simply refused to choose. And choice, after all, came with a cost.
Some vessels attempted to attack the black ships that were cutting a full-speed path through the Word Bearers' formation, but with the rest of the fleet in chaos and no unified command, their efforts were ineffective. In several cases, other Word Bearer ships even drifted into their firing lines.
Torpedoes screamed through the void, foolishly carving their paths through space, but forced by trajectory calculations and the need to avoid friendly ships, they arrived only just after the swift shadow had already passed. With no targets to strike, the torpedoes continued onward under inertia and dwindling fuel. Argel Tal watched in disbelief as ships on the opposite side of the formation descended into confusion, maneuvering wildly to evade these torpedoes that had already missed.
For a moment, a profound sadness washed over him. When had his proud Word Bearers become this? And yet, on the other hand, he sighed with relief that their stupidity had not resulted in an even more catastrophic price.
He did not know which feeling hurt more.
The ship was gliding, shuddering. Argel Tal could sense the pilot's discomfort—the poor soul he had chosen. Long-range communications were cut, while short-range channels could not be used quickly enough to warn the ships blocking their flight path.
Argel Tal growled through clenched teeth.
"Head for the Fidelitas Lex!"
He stared at the racing black ships. Even at this distance, those gaunt leviathans were moving impossibly fast across his field of vision.
"…Do not resist… do not…"
That voice continued to echo intermittently inside his helmet, driving Argel Tal's anxiety ever higher.
But there was nothing he could do now except pray.
Argel Tal drew a deep breath. The ship carrying him weaved from the flank of the Word Bearers toward the Fidelitas Lex. When Argel Tal ordered the change in destination, the pilot audibly relaxed—at least this meant they would not have to deliberately expose themselves to the "enemy's" firing range.
Argel Tal made one last attempt to open his communication channel. In desperation, he tried to contact the surrounding ships, only to fail yet again. Enemy electronic warfare had severed all ship-to-ship communications.
So Argel Tal closed his eyes, pressed Lorgar's crozius against his forehead, and began to pray.
Amid the chaos of the Word Bearers' fleet, no one noticed a single small craft making its way toward the Fidelitas Lex.
. . .
The warship suddenly lurched violently.
Argel Tal opened his eyes. The vessel was gliding. He rapped on the bulkhead, signaling for the hatch to be opened.
Blinding light speared in through the crack of the door. Icy air slammed against his power armor. Without hesitation, Argel Tal leapt from the ship, which was still skimming low over the deck, struggling to set down. He hit the deck like a fired shell and staggered as he landed.
He had come down on the shadowed deck of the Fidelitas Lex. Shrill alarms howled all around him. Panicked mortal crewmen shoved past his sides, scrambling desperately for any corner that looked remotely safe.
He lifted his gaze. His battle-brothers were standing on the deck, shouting orders for the mortals to return to their stations.
Within the Word Bearers Legion, even the mortals were largely devout believers. The Primarch's religious reforms had been too brief and too abrupt. Even most of the Legion's warriors had not been convinced, how much less those overlooked mortals?
But Argel Tal had no time to mourn. He stepped forward, breaking into a run, and shouted at the nearest Word Bearer. He could tell the warrior was from the First Company.
"Hey—"
The next instant—
BOOM!!!
A deafening explosion tore through the deck. Rippling, kaleidoscopic light flashed and vanished in an instant—bodies thrown aside by the collapse of void shields. Argel Tal felt the Fidelitas Lex heel sharply to one side. There was no time to think. He gripped the black Spear of Censure slung across his back with his right hand and sprinted toward the source of the blast.
Refugees fleeing in terror brushed past him. A massive shockwave, mixed with loose metal cargo from the deck, surged toward him like a tidal wave. Argel Tal ran into it head-on. The pressure of the blast hammered against him, shards of metal gouging furrows across his armor, yet his pace never slowed.
He saw other warriors running forward as well—no. Argel Tal realized they did not share his destination.
He roared for them to turn back, but the shockwave swept everything away. Communications, already crippled by ion storms, were completely unusable. All that remained was the colossal howl of the wind and the alarms carried along within it.
The gale passed, and Argel Tal plunged straight into a wall of smoke. The Fidelitas Lex was on fire. The stench of scorched metal filled the air, and for a fleeting moment Argel Tal thought he was running once more through the shattered ruins of the Perfect City.
Luminous green silhouettes flared to life in his visor. He heard the bark of boltgun fire. He saw sparks flashing within the smoke. At his feet lay fallen battle-brothers, as if merely asleep.
Argel Tal's heart clenched painfully.
He ran toward the deepest darkness. It was no longer just smoke, there was something else there, something he understood all too clearly.
More and more Word Bearers lay fallen at his feet. On the outer edges, bodies were marked by spilled blood, bullet impacts, and plasma scars. But the deeper he went, the fewer signs of battle there were—
—even as the number of fallen Word Bearers continued to grow.
Argel Tal began to gasp for breath. Perhaps it was exhaustion from sprinting across the length of the entire deck. His steps suddenly faltered. A numb, heavy sensation spread through his right hand. Darkness pressed in on him. The smoke thickened, almost solid, forming a tangible barrier.
Panting, Argel Tal felt the crozius in his other hand grow dimmer still.
No—no—he thought. He was reaching his limit, and the fading crozius was the final blow to his will.
Argel Tal tore off his helmet. Thick smoke immediately burned into his lungs. He opened his mouth and roared:
"—Silent One, Lord of the Underworld! Hear the prayers of your faithful!!!"
His hoarse, desperate cry vanished straight into the darkness, as if it had never been uttered.
The smoke instantly blackened his mouth and throat. Fighting down the urge to cough, Argel Tal continued to shout,
"In the name of Primarch Lorgar—I beg you to grant salvation to the Word Bearers Legion! Our father has been betrayed by Perturabo, possessed by a daemon! I implore you, Executioner beneath the God-Emperor, grant them the punishment they are due!!!"
When he finally forced the words out, Argel Tal began to retch violently. He coughed up a mouthful of thick, black phlegm and tried to keep speaking.
"—My battle-brothers, in Lorgar's name, cease fire! Cease fire!!!"
As if nothing had happened, Argel Tal ran on in endless darkness. Even the fallen Word Bearers beneath his feet had vanished. He ran mechanically, each step growing heavier, weaker than the last.
At last, he could go no further. With a heavy crash, he collapsed onto the deck. He gasped for air, coughing, the pull of unconsciousness growing stronger and stronger—
And then he saw it: a distant, faintly drifting green glow.
Argel Tal seized this final chance. He shouted at the blurred silhouette with all the strength he had left.
"Lord of the Underworld!!! Please, hear the plea of my lord Lorgar!!!"
In an instant, a blazing light stabbed into his eyes. Argel Tal felt it with shock—his eyes flooded with involuntary tears as the light struck him. Power surged through his limbs. Staring in disbelief, he met the gaze of that black-armored figure.
A crackling hiss mixed with static made its way from the emergency vox-port on Argel Tal's breastplate.
"Who are you?"
The voice was cold. But in the very next moment, footsteps sounded behind Argel Tal. He saw the Lord of the Underworld withdraw his gaze from him and raise his weapon—
Bang!
A Word Bearer clutching a gun fell at Argel Tal's side, letting out a cry of pain. Argel Tal's pupils constricted sharply as he stared at his struggling brother—
After a brief moment of thought, Argel Tal decisively brought the blackstone spear down upon the moaning warrior. The man went instantly still, like a corpse—yet he was still alive.
Argel Tal crouched on the deck. He drew his bolt pistol from his waist and tossed it aside. One hand clenched Primarch Lorgar's crozius, the other the blackstone spear. Then he rose slowly, staring straight at that presence.
He planted both long weapons into the deck—along with the one on his back—and raised both hands.
"Lord of the Underworld! My father Lorgar is not here—he is on Cadia! Held under house arrest by Perturabo!"
Argel Tal shouted. Clearly, his actions and words had bought him the Lord of the Underworld's trust—and his patience. After all, time was everything in a boarding action. Argel Tal could feel that judging gaze sweep over him, pausing for a moment on the blackstone spear with puzzled interest.
"Pick up your weapons. Come with me."
The calm command rang out. Without hesitation, the Lord of the Underworld pressed on, passing through the breach torn open in the wall and into the interior of the Fidelitas Lex.
Only then did the soulless warriors behind the Lord of the Underworld come into Argel Tal's view. Unaware of the true nature of the Blank, Argel Tal could not know that he had just forced his way through a threshold that even they would have found deeply unsettling—through sheer force of will.
He clenched his teeth and grabbed his weapons. Even if it meant sacrifice, even if the Word Bearers would brand him a traitor, he would follow.
. . .
Argel Tal could not catch up.
He ground his teeth, trying to keep pace with the heavy yet urgent footsteps ahead, but all he could do was listen as they drew farther and farther away. The Lord of the Underworld was fast—far too fast for him to match.
The black-armored Blank ran alongside Argel Tal. He cursed himself for being slower than even mortals, while he continued to struggle against the crushing weight of exhaustion.
The darkness ahead gradually thinned, receded. Warriors in red helms—those who had been swallowed by the blackness and then cast aside—lay slumped against the walls, utterly spent. Argel Tal hoped they were still alive. He could faintly hear their breathing. At times, as they ran past, a struggling Word Bearer would be finished off with a follow-up shot by the Blank, but the good news was that they did not seem to aim for the head.
The Lord of the Underworld moved as though he knew every passage aboard the Fidelitas Lex, charging straight toward the command deck with practiced certainty, bypassing every ambush point, every trap, every chokepoint that might have slowed him.
Argel Tal heard explosions in the distance, like muffled thunder—Word Bearers demolishing corridors in an attempt to halt the invaders' advance.
But it was all in vain. As if their actions had been foreseen, as if every possible configuration of this mechanical labyrinth had already been traversed, the Lord of the Underworld's steps would always turn at exactly the right moment.
At last, Argel Tal burst into the command chamber, gasping for breath. There he saw the Lord of the Underworld already forcing the ship's master at gunpoint to alter the Fidelitas Lex's course. The remaining crew trembled as they worked at the consoles. Several figures lay collapsed on the deck. Argel Tal recognized them as the ship's Navigators.
He hoped they were still alive. He repeated the thought silently—at least the liquid pooling beneath them was not blood.
The figure holding a gun on the captain slowly turned his head. A flash of crimson light gleamed. Argel Tal saw a being whose left cheek was carved through by a vicious scar: a cold, mechanical face devoid of expression. On the other side, white hair fell loosely, and within a pale, calm face, eyes as black as event horizons fixed upon him.
The Lord of the Underworld was staring at him—indeed, he even seemed intrigued.
"Speak. You have five minutes and seven seconds."
Argel Tal drew in a deep breath.
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 421: Guilliman Scores Some Points[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed