My Life as A Death Guard

The Endurance

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Preparations for the assault on Galaspar were in full swing. Mortarion stood on the command deck above the vast simulation chamber with patience, though his frustration simmered beneath the surface.

“You need patience and time to forge a blade sharp enough to cut through the throat of an entire star system.”

This thought helped temper Mortarion’s irritation. Yet, every time he thought of the tyrant’s whip cracking down on others, his anger flared again.

He knew that feeling all too well—the searing anger, the soul-gnawing pain, and the ceaseless torment that mocked his weakness.

No one should have the unchecked power to lord over others or to vent their emotions upon another’s life.

Someone had to overthrow tyranny.

He chewed on those words, much like he had years ago while standing amidst the poisonous mists of Barbarus, staring at the distant fortress of the overlords.

If no one else would do it…

Then that someone would be him.

Beneath his hood, in the shadows, his dark-golden amber eyes glowed as he gazed down at the training below.

The largest simulation chamber on the Endurance was filled with simulated chemical toxins replicating those of Galaspar’s primary planet.

Ten thousand Death Guard soldiers maneuvered in military drills.

Bone-white figures moved silently through the gas, with precision and speed. Not a single word was uttered, yet the Death Guard executed their formations seamlessly.

Though later accounts would label the Death Guard as heavy infantry, renowned for their unyielding lines, they were also famed for their rapid marches in battle.

Mortarion valued time above all.

He observed the soldiers below as they formed circular formations—their only possible defensive tactic on the open plains devoid of cover.

If the battle reached its third phase, this would be the Death Guard’s final stand.

No matter.

Either the tyrant would die, or they would.

Mortarion raised a hand in a gesture.

The Death Guard abruptly shifted, tightening the circles. Groups of three suddenly lunged outward like a spear, striking, retracting, and returning to the protective formation in one fluid motion.

The simulated enemies around them were swiftly annihilated, their bodies littering the ground. The Death Guard had secured precious breathing space—a few moments that could determine life or death.

Beneath his rebreather, Mortarion allowed himself a small smile, clearly satisfied with the results of the drill.

Nearby, Captain Barasine approached to report on the fleet’s refits.

Over the past months, plasma cutters had been ablaze across the hull of the Endurance.

Techmarines and Mechanicum priests, along with their servitors, tirelessly roamed the ships, working to fulfill their Primarch’s vision.

The extensive refits painted a picture of Mortarion’s ambitions.

The modifications to the ship had gone smoothly. Its retro-thrusters were upgraded to enable bursts of extreme acceleration, its prow reinforced, and the entire hull fortified to withstand the stress of such speeds.

The other vessels in the fleet had received thickened armor on their broadsides, focusing their firepower on those sections.

After Barasine’s report, Vorx approached to give his update on asteroid collection efforts.

Vorx, the first Barbarus-born to hold a leadership position, was a young man from the southern regions.

Mortarion smiled, encouraging him to continue.

“The Terminus Est and its accompanying ships have completed 63% of the asteroid collection mission. Of those, 32% have been fully processed and meet detonation standards,” Vorx reported.

Good. Very good.

This was one of the slower steps in Mortarion’s plan, but Vorx had accelerated it to a pace that Mortarion found gratifying.

Mortarion observed the pale-skinned youth unique to the people of Barbarus—a mark of their survival amidst toxic mists.

As Mortarion listened, his thoughts wandered.

If not for what happened, Calas would have been an excellent candidate for the command structure.

Unfortunately, after that incident, Mortarion had been forced to sideline him.

Still, since then, Calas had refrained from meddling with psychic powers, which pleased Mortarion.

Perhaps, after this campaign, Mortarion could reinstate Calas as a Deathshroud.

He hoped Calas would survive the campaign.

No, he would survive. Calas was the craftiest among them.

Mortarion frowned slightly, though he kept his expression hidden behind his mask so as not to alarm Vorx.

There had been no word from Hades about his return.

Today, Mortarion once again cursed the Warp’s unstable communications.

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Planet Sigma-373

Hades stood atop the city wall, staring blankly at the view before him. Countless neatly arranged buildings lined both sides of the streets, extending into the distance. Far on the horizon, the towering black walls of a religious structure revealed a corner of their imposing presence.

“My lord, there’s no need to lament. The rise and fall of civilizations are predestined,” said Yad, who stood beside Hades, responsible for guarding him.

Though many might equate the fully mechanized, mind-integrated Skitarii soldiers—embedded with Magos Control Codes—to high-ranking servitor bots, in truth, each Skitarii retained their own unique personality.

Out of faith, or perhaps simply the desire to keep living, they chose to become Skitariis.

Upon hearing Yad’s words, a faint electric crackle came from Jin, who was busy collecting data nearby. The sound seemed to imply that Hades wasn’t thinking about such lofty matters at all.

“Ah, no,” Hades replied.

“Thank you for your concern.”

Hades blinked slowly, appreciating Yad’s conscientiousness in safeguarding not only his physical safety but also his mental well-being. In truth, though, his thoughts were occupied with assessing the city’s street layout for potential offensive and defensive strategies.

The streets were narrow yet interconnected, all leading directly to the central square—likely designed for the convenience of pilgrims. From the square’s center, one could theoretically be attacked from any building in the city, provided the range was sufficient.

This layout made defense challenging. Furthermore, some of the modified armed slave units led by Magos Korklan would struggle to navigate such narrow streets.

In fact, most of the armed slaves were still meandering through the forest, en route to the city at a sluggish pace.

Hades sighed quietly.

If the central square were to become a long-term research base, some defensive measures would be necessary.

Studying the drone-generated map and comparing it to his own observations, Hades marked several buildings and locations in the city that struck him as suspicious.

These structures were either distinctly different in design from others or strategically located to control key points of the streets.

Hades decided to send part of the Skitarii to scout these areas in detail, while he accompanied Magos Korklan and the remaining guards to the central square.

Along the way, Hades planned to reinforce the defenses around the square. He envisioned fortifying nearby buildings, clearing distant ones to create an open buffer zone for better defense.

While the Black Obelisk might be of prime research interest, Hades—his right eye twitching incessantly—focused instead on preparing for potential sudden attacks.

Why couldn’t he believe that this mission was just a routine exploration?

Lost in thought, Hades continued his steps.

Meanwhile, the closer they got to the Black Obelisk, the more Magos Korklan immersed himself in the task of examining it, entirely leaving the defensive duties to Hades.

Shrugging, Hades naturally accepted the responsibility.

After all, who could blame him for being overly cautious?

However—

In a hidden corner of the city, where it resembled an abandoned hippie gathering site—covered in wildly colorful graffiti and filled with absurd, cheerful art—a faint glimmer of fluorescence vanished into nothingness.

In the forest, the rest of Magos Korklan’s various modified heavy machinery units trudged steadily along the path cleared by the Skitarii.

Next to this convoy, countless agricultural vehicles continued their routine tasks of harvesting fruit and fertilizing crops.

Beneath the fallen leaves, a slime-covered hand emerged from the ground.