My Life as A Death Guard

The Endurance

<+>

Mortarion stood on the observation deck, his imposing frame cloaked in the dim shadows of the chamber. In the distance, the Galaspar system glimmered like a small, bright speck, slowly drifting in the vast expanse of space.

It was silent, but Mortarion knew the people down there were wailing.

This was a realm utterly twisted and broken.

The rulers of Galaspar, The Order, brutally exploited their people.

The skies of the main planet were shrouded in the smog of chemical factories, the rivers ran with murky chemical waste, and the inhabitants of the underhives murmured in despair. Enslaved by chemical substances, the people had long since lost themselves—apathetic and obedient.

The minor ruling class was physically modified, with whips integrated into their arms, and injected with a cocktail of different chemical agents to maintain their brutality and aggression.

Above these people who are tormented by drugs and life full of suffering, were the carefree supreme rulers.

All they needed to do was stay safe and sound in their spires, occasionally reviewing data sent from the lower and middle hives, and perhaps, in a fit of pique over unsatisfactory tea, execute all the workers involved in its production.

The tyrants of The Order lounged lazily in their paradise, knowing full well that no one could challenge their dominion.

Beyond the primary planet, countless satellite worlds had been transformed into heavily fortified bulwarks, their orbits bristling with colossal cannons and torpedo batteries.

This was a star system wrapped in layers of defenses, nearly impregnable.

Though this civilization lacked the technology for interstellar travel, they didn’t need it. All they wanted was to stay secure and comfortable within their fortress.

Thus, they rejected the Imperium’s invitation.

The exploratory fleet dispatched by the Imperium was shot down.

But the cowardice and fear of death didn’t stop with them.

Imperial Army bureaucrats shelved plans for an assault on Galaspar.

Their proposal? A blockade.

The reasoning was that the Imperium lacked sufficient forces in this sector, with two other Legions already engaged in battles against Orks.

In their simulations, a campaign against Galaspar would devolve into a protracted war of attrition. They envisioned encircling the system and slowly dismantling its defenses bit by bit.

Absurd.

That was Mortarion’s conclusion.

Tyrants ravaged their domain, humans cried out in anguish. Aside from the difference in species, the ruling class of Galaspar was no different from that of Barbarus Overlord.

The judgment had already been rendered.

Mortarion gazed coldly at the frozen Galaspar system.

Let doom and death be their companions.

He would deliver the verdict of death.

Let the Death Guard bring an end to it all.

<+>

Planet Sigma-373, Now

<+>

Hades poked his head out of the shuttle again, resembling a chubby rat cautiously peering around.

Jin stood outside the shuttle, perplexed, his display screen showing a large question mark as they prepared for their second sortie.

In the distance, the first group of Mechanicus Explorators had already reached the city, beginning their search and survey operations.

Sonic probes revealed that the underground storage chambers were still just food silos—no pajama-clad Necrons in sight.

Simple defensive barriers had been set up around the plaza housing the blackstone obelisk, awaiting further study by the Magos.

Aside from the atmospheric anomalies preventing the shuttle fleet from ascending normally and the earlier distress signal (which had yet to receive a clear response from any fleet), everything was proceeding like a textbook planetary archaeological mission.

No enemies, no sorcery, no discovery of massive weapons caches—the planet’s armament remained at a regional level.

The only active system was the agriculture network, with those food-laden little vehicles tirelessly following their pre-programmed paths.

Hades scratched his head. Was he being too paranoid?

After first encountering those bizarre records, Hades decisively retreated. For a while, he hunkered down, relying solely on the data sent by drones and the Explorator forces to analyze the situation.

He meticulously reexamined the information gathered from the villages and even summoned Magos Korklan to help decipher the findings.

In the end, their conclusion was that this civilization was relatively ordinary, centered around psyker research.

Throughout humanity’s long history, civilizations experimenting with psykers during the Golden Age weren’t uncommon—many were far more extreme than this one.

The psyker research here seemed to still be in its “trial and error” phase, akin to mixing things together to see what happens.

Hades had also scoured the village for more notes left behind by the inhabitants, where exaggerated claims boasted about their “latest scientific breakthroughs” and “investment recommendations.”

The most hyped technology? A method to alleviate fatigue and headaches.

Which… seemed to resemble the side effects of being in a null-psyker zone.

While countless issues—illness, bad luck, geographical challenges, or even ghostly sightings—could conveniently be attributed to fatigue and headaches, Hades suspected this might actually reflect the effects of exposure to a low-concentration anti-psyker field.

Hades summarized the intelligence he had gathered:

The largest city on this planet was built around a central blackstone obelisk.
Farther from the city were small “scientific” villages dedicated to psyker research.
This lost civilization likely had two factions.

The Explorator forces had relayed data from the front lines, showing that the city was filled with numerous churches and religious sculptures.

Cross-referencing this with the earlier records, it seemed to align with a typical trope: a technological faction rebelling against a religious one.

What was intriguing, however, was that the technological faction here appeared to study psykers, while the religious faction revered the blackstone obelisk as their deity.

So how did the humans here go extinct?

Strange—no matter how one analyzed it, it felt peculiar.

Maybe he just lacked enough experience?

Hades sighed. Ah, Hades, there’s still so much you’ve yet to see.

As Hades stared at the intelligence, deep in thought, Magos Korklan uncharacteristically acted normal for once. Extending the longest of his auxiliary limbs, he gently patted Hades’ shoulder.

“Nothing unusual,” Korklan remarked.

“I’ve seen civilizations upload their wills into bio-wetware, only to fade away. Others became obsessed with virtual companions, leading to population collapse. Some rulers even controlled entire civilizations through virtual avatars, creating void religions and eventually meeting extinction.”

“Small civilizations without mastery of biological cloning often destroy themselves in civil wars. And those led by psykers attempting to overthrow ruling classes? There are more of those than I have comments in my code annotations.”

Right, thought Hades. There was still the unresolved question of why the woman named Raibo, supposedly an Untouchable, was advocating for psychic power.

But as Korklan rambled on in electric murmurs, Hades pondered deeply. Regardless of how suspicious things seemed, reality was reality.

For now, the situation appeared clear: no threats had been identified, save for Hades himself chasing shadows.

According to Korklan, the atmospheric anomalies would soon dissipate.

Was he just overthinking this?

After repeatedly confirming there were no dangers in the reports from the Explorator forces, Hades decided to personally visit the obelisk plaza.

This time, Magos Korklan would accompany him.

<+>

■■, ■■.

<+>

“Help… us…”

Weak, gasping whispers echoed through the dim and putrid underground space. The stench of decay filled the air.

“Oh, child, quiet now,” murmured a voice.

A Decayer rose from the viscous pool, its rotting form manifesting from the mass of writhing human bodies.

“He’s here,” the Decayer muttered.

The moment the one despised by the Plaguefather stepped onto this planet, the Decayer had already claimed victory.

There would be no escape.

Carefully laid bait, a trove of sacrifices, placed at the weakened boundary between the Warp and physical reality.

Erase his presence, stall for time.

The Plaguefather would be pleased.

The bolt stuck in the gears of fate was about to be removed, and destiny would continue its inexorable march along the predetermined path.