My Life as A Death Guard (Warhammer 30K Male MC)

On an unnamed slope in Barbarus.

Hades stood still, staring intently at the figure in the pale mist. For a moment, he felt they made eye contact. Even through the thick fog, the tall, gaunt man stared back at his newfound kin.

In the Warp, the garden's master grumbled in discontent. The meticulously brewed fate had recently acquired an unsettling flavor, but it was fleeting. He scratched a pustule on his chin, yellow-white pus oozing out, which improved his mood somewhat. Perhaps the unpleasant taste was just a fragment of a nightmare.

He continued to stir his cauldron, where countless exquisite diseases and plagues danced and sang, praising his benevolence.

He would get what he desired.

On the stage of the four gods, an uninvited guest had seemingly appeared.

But evidently, this guest's first appearance went unnoticed by the audience.

A blue avian snickered—wait, has he really arrived unnoticed?

Hades hesitated for a moment but decided not to call out. The puppets were still on their way; there was still time. He turned and helped Typhon rescue the remaining people from the carriage.

Firstly, to save them, and secondly, to use them as cover to delay the puppets.

Hades thought darkly.

Most of them were doomed.

Once the people were out, Typhon spotted Mortarion’s castle and, in a panic, started running towards it.

Following his lead, the people also began running towards the fortress. Most didn’t have gas masks and couldn't survive in this altitude's toxic air.

As the crowd moved towards the castle, the mindless puppets changed their trajectory as well.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Hades sneaked back to the rear of the transport, grabbing his crossbow and aiming.

He trusted his gas mask would protect him from the poison gas here.

As for the puppets that were following them... Several times, Hades found a chance to take a lethal shot to shut them down, but he didn’t. Timing was everything; he was waiting for the right moment.

Just like in the original story, Typhon began shouting at Mortarion,

“Who are you?”

He cried out, half-sobbing, half-wailing.

“High and mighty, watching from afar? You can see us! You can help us!”

The faster puppets started attacking Typhon, who was clearly struggling. He was alone, desperately swinging a rusty dagger in the muddy ground.

Others were already falling to the gas, lying unconscious on the ground, their fate sealed.

The remaining ones, like Typhon, were battling the puppets, but since they are lacking combat experience, they were quickly torn apart—

Typhon was soon overwhelmed too. His psychic abilities only allowed him to hold out a bit longer.

The surrounding puppets seemed intent on tearing his limbs off.

Hades aimed but held back, waiting.

Waiting for Mortarion to make a decision, to decide to save Typhon.

Without that, none of them would escape.

“Help us! Stranger!! You can help us!!”

Hades knew Mortarion was having an intense internal struggle.

A few gunshots rang out, and the puppets fell to the ground. The figure from the fortress is holding a flamethrower.

It worked. A smile curled on Hades' lips.

Seeing Mortarion raise his weapon to aid the humans, the puppets guarding the fortress let out angry roars. They were both Mortarion's subordinates and his jailers.

They grabbed their weapons and charged towards Mortarion, while the main force of the slavers aimed at him as well.

Mortarion leaped down from the high parapet, landing heavily enough to create a shockwave.

He pulled out a long whip made of intertwined chains, swinging it with a fierce intensity. Each lash resulted in splattered flesh and blood.

Mortarion moved through the puppets with a mix of madness and calm, like a lone wolf dominating a flock of sheep. Each pass divided the puppets into smaller groups, which he then tore apart.

Initially, the puppets could suppress Mortarion with their numbers, but as time passed, the fight turned into a one-sided massacre. Mortarion, bloodthirsty and relentless, abandoned some defensive maneuvers for more aggressive attacks.

While Mortarion unleashed his wrath, Typhon struggled nearby, clutching his gas mask and wielding a knife to fend off the attacking puppets.

Hades, hiding by the transport, fired arrows at opportune moments. Without being directly targeted, he had precious time to aim. Each arrow flew silently, hitting its mark with deadly precision.

He successfully killed three puppets attempting to ambush Typhon and repeatedly thwarted those aiming to attack Mortarion, allowing Mortarion to focus on offense rather than defense.

When Hades fired his last arrow, exploding a puppet’s head, the slaughter was nearly over. The ground was littered with flesh, blood, and twitching limbs. The few remaining puppets fled up the slope.

Though some puppets still harassed Typhon and Mortarion, they posed no real threat. Hades emerged from his hiding spot and ran to the small transport vehicles.

He managed to start one and called out to the few surviving humans—unbelievably, they had survived the gas and puppet attacks.

"Run!" Hades shouted. The people scrambled into the vehicle.

“Aren’t you coming?” one of them asked.

“No, not yet,” Hades replied, preferring to take a calculated risk.

They didn't insist. The gray vehicle moved slowly but steadily towards the valley, ensuring their safe descent.

Hades found a medium-sized truck for his own escape. He started it and moved it to a safer distance.

Then, he went back, sabotaging the other small vehicles by smashing their fuel valves with a wrench. Fuel spilled out, covering the rocky ground.

With that done, he turned his attention back to Mortarion and Typhon, who were now arguing.

As a former shut-in, Hades couldn't understand or mimic their behavior, but he respected it. This was a world where beliefs held real power.

But now wasn't the time for debates—Mortarion's foster father would soon attack!

Hades took a deep breath, his gas mask creaking with the pressure.

“Typhon! Calas Typhon! And you, over there! Are you running or not?!”

“The aliens are coming! If we don’t run now, it’ll be too late!!!”

The tense atmosphere of existential pondering vanished. Both turned to look at Hades in surprise, eyes wide.

Hades waved them over.

Meanwhile, the horns atop the mountain sounded, signaling the high lords' call to attack.

Typhon anxiously said something more to Mortarion, but the Primarch remained motionless.

Hades understood Mortarion's dilemma. His entire life had revolved around two options: "kill my foster father, or die." The sudden appearance of Typhon and Hades introduced a third option: "escape."

It was like someone telling a person who had played a game with only choices A and B their entire life that they could simply unplug the console and stop playing.

Mortarion had never encountered such a choice. This new concept overloaded his inexperienced brain, akin to a CPU overheating.

‘Damn it, don't just stand there.’

Hades saw puppet soldiers beginning to descend from the mountain top.

“Move it! You two!!! There’s no need to die here!!! Live to fight another day! If we survive today, we'll come back stronger!”

He watched as Typhon half-dragged Mortarion towards him. At first, they stumbled in a hesitant run, but soon they were sprinting.

Hades jumped into the truck and started the engine.

“Get in!”

Mortarion leaped into the truck bed, pulling Typhon in with him.

The moment they were aboard, the engine roared to life, and Hades immediately floored the gas pedal.

At that moment, Mortarion's foster father's enraged voice echoed through the psyker-enhanced air.

“Face me, child, or we sever all ties!” The narrow mountain pass seemed to reverberate with the hollow shrieks of the Overlord. “Do you hear me, brat? If you dare run away, I will ensure you die without a grave! Abandoning me is abandoning your life!”

“I’ve been as good as dead all along!” Mortarion shouted back. Crouched in the truck bed, he raised his gun and took aim.

“Until today!”

Bullets flew, bursting into flames upon hitting the slaver’s vehicles. The fuel spilled earlier ignited, creating an inferno that consumed everything in its path—the grey, squat vehicles, the grotesque stitched puppets, and the fortress Mortarion once called home. The flames reflected in his eyes, burning away his past.

Mortarion cursed as he fired wildly at the fortress, as if trying to shoot the very air around it.

Then he stood up in the speeding truck, hurling his gun towards the flames. It traced a perfect arc through the air—

He then began tearing off his belt and other gear, cursing under his breath and throwing everything away.

Finally, Mortarion shouted towards his past,

“Go to hell!!!”

Ah, the rebellious phase of a Primarch.

Hades, though a bit pained by the discarded gun, had to admit that Mortarion’s rebellious behavior was quite exhilarating.

Now out of immediate danger, Hades began to relax, whistling and laughing,

‘That’s cool.’

Each of the three had their own thoughts as they sped towards their destiny.

<+>

Author's Note:

The past few chapters have deeply borrowed from the story "The Buried Dagger." I apologize for this; I couldn't think of a better way to phrase things. Referencing official material gives a sense of "predestined fate."

If this is infringing or causing discomfort, I will make modifications or delete this content.

Side note:

In the official lore, Mortarion and Typhon have a vibe reminiscent of a tragic girl being swayed by a cunning boy.

Mortarion's trust in Typhon runs so deep that even the voice in his head is Typhon's.