My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 423: Now, It's Khorne's Turn!
[The Battle of Baal]
"No. Absolutely not."
The Archangel Sanguinius spoke calmly. His blood-red eyes reflected the hideous monster before him.
He spread his wings and slowly rose into the air. The spear in his hand glimmered with the brilliant light of Baal's sunset.
Beneath the angel hovered the self-proclaimed Khorne Bloodthirster, Ka'Bandha, breathing heavily. Countless savage wounds covered its body—
It's the proof of how brutal and frenzied its battle with Sanguinius had been.
The Bloodthirster panted, still making its final attempt.
"You should join us, perfect angel."
The daemon split its face into a mad grin. Its gaze drifted toward the distant battlefield of Baal.
There, the corpses of Blood Angels and Bloodletters were piled together.
Crimson armor, crimson flesh, crimson blood—red stained everything.
Eight minutes earlier, Ka'Bandha had exploited the connection between Sanguinius and the Blood Angels. With careful preparation, it had slain eight hundred and eighty-eight Blood Angels in a single instant.
The immense pain of his sons at the moment of death struck Sanguinius like a tidal wave, knocking the Archangel out of the sky as he fought Ka'Bandha.
White feathers scattered wildly in the wind, then, ignited by the Archangel's own agony, they burst into blood-red flames and turned to ash.
The angel fell.
And the whispers of Chaos sounded in his ears, earnestly guiding him toward what they claimed was the true path.
In that brief moment of unconsciousness, the Archangel seemed to experience centuries.
He heard lies more convincing than truth.
He saw futures more persuasive than history.
In those bizarre and shifting visions, he saw a horrifying future for humanity.
Brothers betraying brothers.
The galaxy burning.
Stars falling.
Across ten thousand years of the future, humanity vanished—leaving only endless war.
At last, the false god known as the Blood God extended a hand to him, promising everything he desired.
It promised the cure to the genetic curse of his sons—the Red Thirst.
The angel lowered his gaze calmly.
He remembered the conversation he had once had with Horus during the Warmaster ceremony.
He remembered the reactions of the Emperor and others after the farce at Nikaea.
He remembered his own conclusions.
There was something within the Warp.
Something that was the Emperor's true enemy.
And now, the Blood Angels and Baal had fallen into darkness together.
The sudden invasion of daemons.
The tempting Bloodthirster Ka'Bandha.
The being called the Blood God.
All of this strongly confirmed Sanguinius's earlier deduction.
The Imperial Truth was a lie.
It had always been so.
Gods existed, and they dwelled within the disorderly heavens of the Warp.
And now, one of them had reached out a hand to him.
+Come, my proudest child. I will give you everything.+
What should he say at a moment like this?
Sanguinius thought.
Now, his theory was missing only the final piece.
He thought of Lorgar.
The Archangel opened his lips.
Facing the Blood God's invitation, he gave his answer:
"For the God-Emperor!"
Sanguinius opened his eyes.
The Archangel who had been plummeting from the heavens suddenly surged upward!
In the next instant—during that fleeting moment before anyone could react—Sanguinius hurled his spear toward Ka'Bandha, a strike meant to pierce through everything.
It was a mortal blow.
A strike that would determine the course of the battle to come.
Having awakened from the Blood God's illusion, the Archangel immediately threw himself back into combat with Ka'Bandha.
Eight minutes later—now—the angel faced the dying Bloodthirster and needed only one final strike.
Even as Ka'Bandha struggled in its last moments, it continued to invite him.
Sanguinius simply spoke a single word.
"No." The angel said.
In the next moment, the spear blazing with pure wrath banished the Bloodthirster.
Sanguinius took a deep breath.
He hovered above the blood-soaked battlefield, as the sunset of Baal draped him in a magnificent cloak of radiant wings.
The daemon's final words still echoed in his ears:
"You arrogant fool! Do you think it's only you?!"
"God-Emperor…"
Sanguinius murmured softly, the words breaking apart in the wind.
. . .
Guilliman sprinted forward. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor, while the Librarians behind him shouted his name.
If Guilliman stopped, they would catch up to him in approximately thirteen seconds.
Roboute Guilliman believed he could survive thirteen seconds alone. Besides, the most powerful combatant in this strike force was the Primarch himself.
Between a Primarch and a Space Marine existed an insurmountable gulf in strength. If Guilliman truly encountered an enemy capable of matching him, he was certain his sons would not be able to help much.
Sometimes, he had to step forward—because only he could.
As Guilliman advanced deeper into the warship, an ominous blood-red mist began to rise.
His breathing halted for a moment.
From within the fog, he saw his Ultramarines emerging—gold and blue armor gleaming clean and bright.
What was going on?
Guilliman instinctively tightened his grip on the Gladius Incandor. From the markings on their shoulder plates, the Lord of Macragge quickly identified them.
Some were Ultramarines from the 19th and 20th Chapters, stationed on duty in the World Eaters' docking sector.
Others were Ultramarines who had been dispatched into the flames after the explosion to rescue the World Eaters.
What exactly was happening?!
Now these sons of his were running toward him from all directions through the blood mist.
"Stop!"
Guilliman's commanding voice rang out.
"Warrior, state your name and explain why you are here!"
The Ultramarine in front of him stopped and respectfully saluted.
"My name is Polis, my lord. We intended to reinforce the World Eaters' command chamber. However, upon receiving the signal from your armor, according to Combat Protocol XII, Clause 8, we chose to reinforce you first."
Guilliman let out a breath—but immediately felt that something was still wrong. He stared at the Ultramarine named Polis, remaining on guard.
"Did any of you just see an Ultramarine… using mortal blood to smear a heretical symbol?"
Polis paused.
Guilliman saw him glance slightly back at his battle-brothers. They looked back at him as well.
At last, Polis spoke with some hesitation.
"My lord, this mist appears to generate certain hallucinations. Some of the brothers have seen… strangely behaving World Eaters. But none of us have seen the Ultramarine you described."
Guilliman fell silent.
Hallucinations.
From the Death Guard, Guilliman had learned that Warp creatures often used illusions to weaken a person's mind, making it easier to corrupt them afterward.
"This is a common tactic of Warp entities. My warriors—remain on maximum alert."
Guilliman paused, staring at the Ultramarines.
He wondered whether he should wait for the Librarians to arrive.
But it was very possible they would never make it.
And even if they did arrive, could he still trust them?
Should he trust them?
But what if the hallucination earlier had been the enemy deliberately sowing discord?
After a brief moment of thought, the Primarch made his choice.
The squad of blue-helmed warriors began moving through the mist once more, heading toward the World Eaters' command chamber.
At that moment, Guilliman thought, Mortarion's face was starting to seem much more pleasant.
Meanwhile, inside an office on Macragge, Mortarion let out a hiss that sounded almost like the cry of someone dying.
"It's already been three days," the Lord of Death muttered to himself.
"I think it's time to hold a funeral for the Lord of Macragge."
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