My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 431: Mortarion Is Despairing Again Today
Mortarion awoke in a haze of utter despair and near-unconsciousness.
Not surprising. Mortarion thought numbly as he sat up from the rubble, fragments of stone sliding off his body with soft clattering sounds.
Through his blurred vision he saw a vast, thriving forest. He was in a clearing within the dense woods, and he could see shapes flitting among the trees.
The good news was that—for the moment—they couldn't reach him.
Mortarion quickly checked his condition.
Wet blood flowed down from his forehead. He felt a slight sense of suffocation. The gas mask he wore had been struck by fragments from a phosphor shell and was now useless.
Beyond repair.
The Lord of Death decisively removed the gas mask. The sharp fragment that had pierced the mask had also stabbed into his face, leaving a clearly visible streak of blood running past the corner of his mouth.
As he took the mask off, a strong, putrid stench immediately rushed into his nose.
Mortarion pulled out bandages and took several bottles from the containers still intact at his waist. He poured the contents onto the bandage, then wrapped it around his mouth and nose.
From removing the mask to restoring some protection took only a few seconds, but the foul smell had already caused the wound at the corner of Mortarion's mouth to take on an unnatural sheen.
Mortarion only hoped that worms wouldn't start growing in the wound later, since that would mean he would need to expose himself again to the toxic environment to clean it.
His vision had now cleared. Tightening his grip on his scythe, Mortarion lowered his head and saw that he was standing within a shattered altar.
The pitch-black altar was cracked open, leaking pus-like fluid. Seven corpses lay sprawled across it, and rubble from the Macragge hospital was scattered over the structure.
This clearly wasn't Macragge. Mortarion concluded.
This was a teleportation array.
He had been transported to some hellish place. Mortarion sincerely hoped this wasn't the Warp—it probably wasn't, since the veil hadn't been weak enough at that time.
So… from the very beginning, the enemy's plan had been to teleport him away and separate him from his Death Guard.
Not to attack Macragge.
The enemy's target was him.
Mortarion wanted to take a deep breath to suppress the turmoil within him, but instinct stopped him. The habits he had formed on Barbarus taught him to breathe as little as possible.
His breathing was shallow and slow, like someone dying and slipping into a deep coma.
A sound came from the forest. Damp rain-mist drifted through the air.
Mortarion tightened his grip on his scythe. The blade flashed coldly as he stared toward the source of the noise, crouching slightly, ready to reap at any moment.
Mortarion swore that it was the most blasphemous being he had ever seen.
The most disgusting thing he had ever encountered.
A bloated figure slowly emerged. Its body looked like that of a giant corpse swollen from being soaked in water for too long. Its skin was a pale, rotten green. In its belly was an enormous mouth big enough to swallow three mortals whole, with rotting yellow teeth jutting outward.
The Generous One—Rotigus Rainmaker.
It made a clumsy bow, as though trying to show respect to Mortarion.
"We have long awaited your return," it said.
"All here has been prepared for you. You may claim it whenever you wish."
"You—"
A faint curl of smoke rose from the barrel of Mortarion's pistol, Lantern. The Lord of Death stared expressionlessly at the Rainfather, a bloom of blood opening on the daemon's belly.
Mortarion considered whether he should step forward and engage it in close combat, or simply wait and observe.
Even though he was filled with overwhelming hatred and battle-lust, the thought of fighting something that looked like a pile of vomit ready to explode slowed Mortarion's actions.
"Well then," The Rainfather finally gave up on its seven-line opening. The gash in the daemon's belly swiftly folded back into place, and in an instant there was no sign of injury.
"You should return to the family that loves you, Mortarion."
The Greater Daemon spoke sorrowfully. Two drops of pus-like tears even squeezed out beside its tiny green-bean-sized eyes.
The daemon's greasy words slid over him like a tongue. Mortarion felt goosebumps rise across his skin. What nonsense was that bastard talking about? Mortarion could not understand a single word.
"Everyone in the Garden misses you. You would have been His good child."
"It's not too late to return now."
Rotigus spoke slowly. It didn't particularly enjoy saying these words. Normally, this sort of speech should have been delivered by Ku'gath, the Plaguefather. Ku'gath got along very well with Mortarion, while he favored Calas.
But now…
Calas, the one to whom it had personally granted wings, had already strayed from the path. And the Plaguefather…
Rainfather shuddered faintly. Rings of fat rippled across its body.
It didn't know whether that unfortunate fellow was still "alive."
Even merely thinking about it made Rotigus feel a chill.
Absurd. Too absurd.
Since when could the concept of "death" fall upon a daemon?
It had died.
Within that monster's domain—it had died.
And that was not the "death" governed by the Kindly Father. It could hardly even be called that—
Rotigus's thoughts abruptly halted. It shouldn't think too much about such matters. The Plaguefather would reappear eventually. The Kindly Father would gather together the concept of "plague" again and grant it rebirth.
But for now, the concepts of "plague" and "disease" had temporarily become vacant. Nearby concepts could use them, but none truly possessed them.
Some of the concepts originally governed by the Kindly Father had also become vacant.
The Kindly Father was reassembling them, which consumed His attention and strength. Thus, He had chosen to focus on only one thing.
The child He loved most.
Mortarion.
Rainfather realized it was still speaking with him. So it squeezed a smile onto its face, trying to make Mortarion understand that this was a warm and harmonious family.
Mortarion silently stared at Rainfather.
No matter how the battle was fought, daemon fluids would inevitably splash onto him.
And with parts of his armor already damaged, that was the last thing Mortarion wanted to happen.
Mortarion remained silent. The wound at the corner of his mouth had begun to itch.
He was now on an entire planet belonging to the enemy, isolated and without aid.
First, he could not surrender. Surrender meant corruption. It meant the ending he had witnessed that day.
Second, he could not die. Death would also mean surrender—his soul trapped within this Warp-tainted place, becoming a permanent slave of the enemy.
Finally, while satisfying the first two conditions, he had to resist his enemies as much as possible and harm them whenever he could.
Mortarion was a pessimist.
He did not believe anyone would come to save him now. Neither Angron nor Guilliman were the sort who could resolve a situation like this.
And the Imperium's true anti-psyker specialist…
Mortarion allowed himself a faint, bitter smile.
He could probably guess what Hades had ultimately faced.
But Hades was still alive—otherwise Hades would never—
"Never."
The Lord of Death's hoarse voice sounded, so soft it was almost inaudible.
"In the name of Hades, I will remain loyal to humanity."
—answer him.
Mortarion was satisfied to see the daemon let out a piercing, horrifying scream.
But then—
"That monster! It's already dead! Dead! Humanity was doomed long ago!"
Rainfather's bloated body instantly dissolved into a pool of pus, seeping into the soil. As it vanished, foul, rancid rain began to fall from above.
Mortarion heard the sound of corrosion on his armor.
Dead?
Perhaps he should have realized it long ago. Why deceive himself any further? Mortarion thought.
In the forest he saw the shapes of Space Marines emerging—bloated and slow.
Dead?
Mortarion asked himself: then why could he still gain strength through prayer?
Perhaps it was a lie, Mortarion thought. But even if it were true, he could not allow the enemy's words to shake his resolve or make him hesitate.
He had not seen Hades's corpse yet, so how could he be sure that he was really dead?
The rain suddenly grew heavier. Drops the size of beans struck Mortarion's hood, corroding the fabric almost instantly. The burning droplets slid across his face, and Mortarion heard the faint sound of flesh being eaten away.
The makeshift protective bandage he had just wrapped around his mouth and nose dissolved at once.
Mortarion kept breathing.
The defensive systems within his body began to work, running at overload, almost as if they were wailing in agony.
He was alone now, on a planet prepared by his enemies.
His armor and mask were useless.
The poison in the air now was far more vicious than the toxins that once covered Barbarus.
Mortarion gasped for breath.
He gasped again and again, as a deep—profound—sense of despair crept up his heart, gnawing at it like maggots chewing flesh.
No… no no no…
Mortarion forced the thought away. The enemy had already begun attacking his mind.
He could not fall for it.
—Even if he ultimately walked the worst possible path, he would struggle as much as he could before he fell.
Perhaps Hades was already dead.
Mortarion thought this.
But he could not die yet.
Mortarion could not die. He could not surrender. He could not collapse. He had to stand here.
If he failed, it would be a betrayal of the road he had already walked and the people he had met.
He could not do that.
That would be disrespect to his old friends.
It would mock every effort he had made before.
That would be… wrong.
So Mortarion began to pray.
He raised his scythe.
Murky raindrops slid down his face.
He would use the souls of his enemies to console the fallen.
Even if the price would be—
Mortarion trembled. He remembered the fleeting phantom he had seen years ago on that Eldar world.
But he had already resolved himself to all of this.
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