My Life as A Death Guard

Mars, Now.

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How much can a single sentence stir the tides of the future? The future is a roiling sea of intrigue and conflict: death matches, the snarling and whimpering of war dogs in the blood pools of Nuceria, the relentless roar of Angron’s Butcher’s Nails. Destiny has long since been reshaped beyond recognition—

But now, at this moment, none of that concerns Hades.

He is eating porridge.

Even though his life will one day be intertwined with the life-and-death fate of a civilization, of an entire species, eating porridge is, undeniably, an integral part of Hades’ existence.

Hades picks up his spoon, scoops up a bit of Mars-specific algae, and lets the vinegar-colored seasoning drip into the white porridge. He casually stirs it and continues eating.

It’s lunchtime. Brother Peres of the War Hound, has left. He’s been spending more time sitting with the Space Wolves lately. After their less-than-pleasant encounter in the wild game, Space Wolf Manning’s curiosity about Peres has evidently increased several notches.

As for Mortarion and Malcador’s matters, after waiting for a week without any word, Hades had decisively filed them under the “not worth thinking about unless notified” category.

However, as it turns out, notification did come—but a bit too late.

The cafeteria doors burst open. A swarm of servitors carrying incense and crimson silk flooded in, and hymns began to echo in Hades’ ears.

The entire hall was instantly cloaked in sanctity—except, of course, for the Space Marines inside still holding their bowls and eating.

“Huh?”

Magos Yordan rushed in, his massive frame unusually quick.

“Stop eating! The Son of the Omnissiah is coming to inspect the Techmarine Training Base!”

The Ultramarines, Imperial Fists, and other Space Marines immediately set down their bowls and began helping the servitors clear the tables.

Other Techmarines followed suit, tidying up their attire. Some were even preparing to leave and change out of their work uniforms.

Compared to them, Hades was focused on one thing—eating faster.

Just a bit left. He can finish it! No big deal!

“Stop eating!”

Magos Yordan reached over to grab Hades’ bowl. Draped on one of his elongated appendages was a ceremonial robe, obviously of Martian design, with golden threads interwoven into crimson fabric.

“Your Primarch is here! Stop eating!”

“Stop eating and put on your ceremonial robe!”

Time was tight. Yordan’s superiors had suddenly informed him of this visit and mentioned that the dignitaries were already on their way.

Oh, Omnissiah!

Hades was still wearing standard Techmarine work attire, smudged with machine oil. He didn’t even have a Mechanicum insignia pinned on!

But compared to everyone else’s panic, Hades’ instincts kicked in, triggered by Yordan’s actions—

Do not waste food!

Just one last bite—this is wrong! Let him scrape the bottom, just once—just once!

It won’t take long!

“Stop eating!”

A flustered Yordan reached out with his primary limb, trying to snatch Hades’ bowl. This disrupted Hades’ movement—

“Let him eat.”

A familiar voice echoed through the hall.

Hades, mid-scrape, nearly shot porridge out of his nose.

The others stood up to salute in unison. Magos Yordan seemed frozen, turning slowly as if malfunctioning.

His primary limb discreetly withdrew.

“My lord, welcome to the Techmarine Training Base.”

For the first time, Hades realized even electronic voices could carry a trembling undertone.

Magos Yordan, trembling audibly, moved to greet the newcomers.

“My lord, I am Priest Yordan, responsible for the training of the Techmarines. It is an honor to have you visit.”

“Our base offers the most comprehensive—”

Yordan’s nervous chatter was drowned out by the hymns sung by the servitors.

The towering figure of the Primarch was surrounded by a retinue of lavishly robed Priests. Metal and cables adorned their forms, while stooped scribes and Imperial officials trailed at the rear of the procession.

Mortarion, unarmored, was dressed in a ceremonial outfit blending Barbarus and Imperial styles. The subdued hues of Barbarus managed to suppress the gaudy splendor of Imperial regalia. The simplicity stood starkly against the crimson backdrop—much like Mortarion himself.

Mortarion nodded, signaling everyone to stand at ease.

The Primarch patiently listened to Magos Yordan’s ramblings.

“Thank you for your dedication to the training of Techmarines. I already look forward to entrusting the next batch from the 14th Legion to you.”

Hearing such acknowledgment from the Son of the Omnissiah himself, Magos Yordan looked on the verge of overheating with joy. Faint wisps of smoke even seemed to rise from him.

“No trouble at all, no trouble at all,” he muttered, extending tiny appendages to tighten screws on his smoldering parts.

Mortarion’s raspy voice rang out again.

“Then, allow me to apologize for this sudden visit. I am curious about the progress of our Legion’s first Techmarine.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to take my Techmarine to review the dealings between the Legion and Mars.”

“Would that be acceptable to the base?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Techmarine Hades can leave immediately!”

Mortarion offered a barely perceptible nod, a token of gratitude.

Then, he turned his gaze to Hades, who was frozen mid-scoop with his spoon still in hand.

He walked over. The Priests surrounding the Primarch made way for him.

As Mortarion entered the hall, his innate aura began to exert itself, suffocating everyone present.

The other Techmarines felt the pressure in full force—this was unlike any other Primarch’s presence!

The poison-tainted air of Barbarus crept insidiously into their lungs. The Primarch’s figure, tall like a withered tree, with a gaunt and sunken face, was draped in funeral-like robes.

Unlike the radiant glory of Guilliman or Sanguinius, or the stern solemnity of Dorn and Ferrus Manus, this Primarch shattered their expectations.

Silence. Death.

The poisonous aura slowly strangled the throats of everyone in the room.

Space Wolves Manning instinctively held his breath.

Wasn’t this the same poison smell on Hades before?

Do all Death Guard smell like this?!

And where’s the friendliness we were told about?!

This is friendly?!

Weren’t Space Marines supposed to resemble their Primarchs?

Without paying any heed to others, Mortarion fixed his gaze on Hades, who was still clutching his spoon.

“Did I interrupt you?”

“Huh?! Huh?!”

“N-no, not at all!”

Hades internally ranted furiously: Big guy, could you keep a lower profile? Or at least give us some notice! Look at the other Priests behind you—they look ready to murder me!

Indeed, the Martian Priests responsible for Mortarion’s itinerary were silently seething.

Who could have predicted this Primarch would insist on detouring to the Techmarine Training Base mid-route? Mortarion’s unplanned stop threw the carefully calculated trajectories into disarray, forcing an overhaul of the protective formations by various Mechanicus factions.

“Are you still eating?”

“N-no, I’m done!”

Startled into action, Hades hastily put down his bowl.

Mortarion offered a slightly puzzled expression. From his memories, Hades didn’t have such a small appetite.

“Let’s go.”

Hades stood immediately, eager to escape the room. The daggers in the stares of everyone else seemed to flay him alive. If he didn’t leave now, he feared he’d actually be torn apart!

From a distance, the Ultramarines, Imperial Fists, and Iron Warriors watched with wide eyes.

He was sure he could hear Space Wolf Manning’s growling, but in reality, Manning hadn’t made a sound.

Mortarion blinked in confusion, clearly unable to grasp Hades’ thoughts.

Regardless, the Primarch achieved his goal and saw no need to linger.

Standing beside Mortarion, Hades joined the towering procession as it slowly departed.

The Techmarines, only now freed from the oppressive aura of their Primarch, took several moments before regaining their composure.

They had just experienced a close encounter with a Primarch.

“That was… a very different kind of lord.”

“Every lord is unique,” someone muttered among the Ultramarines.

“Didn’t Hades say he wasn’t familiar with hisPrimarch?”

Manning’s voice was low, but his frustration was clear. The lingering scent of poison in his nostrils made him grind his teeth.

The comment snapped the Techmarines out of their stunned reverie. Suddenly, they remembered Hades’ earlier remarks.

Silence.

The gathered Space Marines began pondering: If our Primarch visited Mars, would they come to see us?

The Ultramarines were confident that Guilliman would. The Space Wolves felt the same about Russ. The Iron Hands, however, remained silent, knowing the answer was likely “no.”

The White Scars seemed indifferent, while the Salamanders shared the Iron Hands’ reticence.

As for the Iron Warriors? Their thought processes had simply stopped altogether.

<+>

“I need to discuss some Legion matters with my warrior. It’s not convenient for the Priests to join us.”

Mortarion’s flat, emotionless gaze bore into the Priest who attempted to board the vehicle.

The towering Death Lord now unleashed his full aura, the temperature seemingly plummeting in the area.

Logical systems whirred.

“Understood, my lord,” the Priest’s electronic voice finally conceded.

Mortarion paid him no further heed and boarded the vehicle, followed closely by Hades and a scribe.

The transport was a specialized vehicle, its exterior pitch black with reinforced doors designed for privacy.

The vehicle began moving, kicking up a trail of Martian dust. Not far behind, Mechanicus convoys followed closely, shadowing the Primarch’s transport.

Mortarion glanced indifferently out the window.

“It’s done.”

Done?

As if responding to Hades’ confusion, the hunched scribe removed his hood. Until now, he had blended seamlessly into the crowd, utterly unremarkable.

It was Malcador.

The Sigillite deep, penetrating gaze fell on Hades, though he said nothing.

“Shortly, you’ll leave with Malcador,” Mortarion announced.

“Huh?” Hades blinked in confusion.

“To do what? Where to?”

Mortarion furrowed his brows in irritation.

“Ask him. I don’t know.”

“I was only fulfilling his request to bring you here.”

Hades shifted his gaze back to Malcador, but the elder simply closed his eyes.

“You’ll know soon enough. For now, let me rest a while.”

Surely they weren’t handing him over to the Mechanicus as material, were they?!

“Stop overthinking,” Malcador said, opening his eyes briefly to glance at Hades with exasperation before closing them again.

“It shouldn’t be dangerous,” Mortarion added.

“If it is, this psyker won’t get away with it.”

Hades blinked.

“Then why make such a spectacle?”

Why be so… ostentatious?

“If you want to hide something, why not place it in the shadow of something even more attention-grabbing?”

Malcador’s voice drifted through the cabin.

Primarchs naturally drew the focus of those around them. With so much attention on a Primarch casually altering his itinerary, less notice would fall on other corners of Mars.

The cost? Merely deepening the Martian Priests’ strange impressions of this Primarch: arrogant, stubborn, uncooperative, self-serving.

But it was evident neither Mortarion nor Malcador cared about such things.

Realizing Malcador’s intention, Hades fell silent.

Although he knew Mortarion likely ridiculed Malcador regularly, at this moment—

Mortarion, weren’t you getting played by Malcador?!

However, Mortarion’s expression was indifferent, as though leaving a bad impression on the Priests was utterly inconsequential.

This won’t do!

Hades hurriedly began explaining the behavioral patterns of the Martian Priests to Mortarion, presenting his prior plans for the Death Guard’s integration with Mars. Earnestly, he implored Mortarion to value these Mechanicus Priests, who most Primarchs regarded with disdain—

Aside from those with a penchant for machines, the majority of Primarchs were not particularly welcoming toward the Mechanicus.

Unfortunately, even at the end, Hades doubted Mortarion grasped the importance of cultivating a good relationship with the Priests.

<+>

As their vehicle reached a barren wasteland on the outskirts of a Martian city, a deafening roar interrupted their conversation.

[Welcome to the section under my jurisdiction.]

[Priest Collier Zexi will oversee the next portion of Lord Mortarion’s journey.]

A massive steel beast burst from underground. The convoy of insect-like metallic vehicles scurried forward at astonishing speed, swarming around their transport like a colony of mechanical insects.

Atop one of the colossal “insects,” a tall female Priest stood steadily, her crimson robes fluttering in the wind.

Dust swirled as jammers activated, shrouding the convoy in obscurity.

“It’s time.”

Malcador, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly sprang to the vehicle door with uncanny agility.

Bang!

The door flew open, and Mars’ scorching sand whipped violently into the cabin.

Collier Zexi bowed slightly. One of the giant insect’s joints extended toward the vehicle’s door, achieving a delicate balance between the two moving beasts.

“Go!”

The frail elder immediately hopped across the joint with surprising speed. Hades blinked in astonishment before hurriedly following, stepping over the metallic limb.

“Come back soon,” Mortarion’s voice echoed from behind them.

With the two aboard the insect-like vehicle, Collier Zexi glanced at Mortarion, nodding silently in respect.

A Mechanicus Tech-Priest, bound tightly with chains, appeared at the joint’s end.

Although the Priest’s engine had clearly been locked with code restraints, Collier Zexi had added extra chains for good measure.

Mortarion hefted his scythe, Silence, and retrieved the Priest from the insect’s limb, placing him in the seat across from him.

He nodded toward the female Priest outside.

[It is my honor to escort Lord Mortarion.]

The insect’s limb retracted swiftly, its tip striking the ground with a heavy thud.

Collier Zexi maintained her elegant stance atop the racing vehicle as the metallic swarm gradually moved away, the sandstorm they stirred dispersing.

Mortarion watched them disappear into the distance before reaching out to close the door.

Bang!

The vehicle’s interior fell silent, leaving only Mortarion and the captured Priest.

Resting his chin on his hand in an almost casual manner, Mortarion fixed a piercing gaze on the Priest.

The Death Lord’s raspy voice broke the silence:

“I hear you’re interested in anti-psyker technology, Priest Korklan?”

“And, I hear you’re also quite fascinated by the Death Guard?”

The response was the mechanical body of Priest Korklan beginning to smoke and tremble.