Chapter 176: Shattered Friendship
The dim hallway outside the infirmary was always lifeless, its lights flickering weakly as if mirroring the tension in the air.
From behind the doors, Apothecary Leo emerged in silence, tossing a pouch of compressed nutrient solution to Hades, who sat alone on a long bench. Without a word, Hades caught it with practiced ease and started drinking.
Leo approached and gave Hades a quick scan with a medical injector. Hades, long used to the routine, didn't react—he just sat there, idly chewing on the now-empty pouch, his eyes lost in thought.
Leo frowned.
Malnutrition—once again, the term showed up glaringly on Hades' report.
It was always the same.
Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Leo tossed the rest of his personal supply of nutrient pouches to Hades. He gave the other man a glance that was somewhere between pity and resignation, then turned to leave.
Normally, Leo would've stayed for a few words, even if brief. But with Hades actively maintaining his "Black Domain," the Apothecary choosing not to leave immediately was already a sign of considerable patience.
Just a wall away was the room of Calas Typhon.
Hades had no intention of going in to "catch up." As far as he was concerned, the only reason he hadn't already blown Calas' brains out was because Mortarion had physically stopped him.
Even knowing the full story, Hades didn't care. Whatever camaraderie they'd once shared, he would rather strike first and be wrong than hesitate and let betrayal fester.
Especially after what Calas had done back in the Legion.
In hindsight, Hades thought bitterly, I should've just claimed it was a misfire.
Even now, with Calas lying there weak and lifeless like a corpse, Hades refused to lower his guard. To the casual observer, he was simply sitting outside sipping nutrient paste. But in truth, his diluted Black Domain had already seeped into the room—its faint pressure looming like a shadow in the corner, heavy and suffocating.
He hadn't touched Calas' soul, not yet. But his domain hung just close enough to do so in an instant. The Lord of the Underworld stood poised with a reaping scythe, its blade resting coldly against the neck of the condemned.
Ever since the outburst at Graia-106 and the Black Tower incident on Barbarus, Hades had felt a change. His domain had grown purer, its range expanding further than ever before. If he wished, he could likely cover half the Endurance with it now.
Still, its shape remained a sphere centered on him—he couldn't yet control its direction or form.
Biting down on the pouch, eyes blank, Hades drifted in and out of thoughts—or perhaps he was simply exhausted.
. . . . . . . . .
Inside the room, silence reigned. The two within said nothing, while the invisible Black Domain crept along the floor like an oppressive fog, pressing into every corner.
On his way there, Mortarion had thought long and hard—about how everything had started, and how it had come to this. He remained silent, buried in thought.
The trio they once were had long since scattered.
Hades refused to speak to Calas, despite the fact that the initial malice had come from the latter. Given both of their natures, Mortarion had chosen to overlook that detail. In truth, many had once rejected Hades.
Calas now stared blankly at the ceiling, expression hollow. If Leo hadn't personally reassured Mortarion multiple times that Calas' brain activity was still normal, he would never have believed those dead eyes belonged to someone still living.
Especially Calas—who had once been famous within the Death Guard for his cunning gaze, those sharp eyes always scheming.
Mortarion fixed his gaze on Typhon. Deep in some corner of his mind, he still wanted to believe in him—still clung to the hope that Calas hadn't truly turned his back on them. Was that simply a habit? A residual loyalty born of past friendship?
Unlike the decisive Hades, Mortarion now faced the very first betrayal of his life.
Time passed in heavy silence.
It was only when Mortarion began to feel the stirrings of impatience emanating from the Black Domain coiled around his feet that he finally spoke—still uncertain how to face a friend who had betrayed him.
"…Why?"
It was a simple question, yet it carried the weight of everything left unsaid.
Why the betrayal?
Why the fall?
Why… everything?
Calas Typhon turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting Mortarion's with hollow resolve. His voice was a coarse whisper, broken and dry:
"Because I was weak."
Long ago, Calas had learned a bitter truth—if you don't belong, then you must become strong.
Those who fail to fit in are hunted. Because they are different. Because they are aberrations. Freaks.
But if you grow strong enough… then everything that once made you an outcast becomes a mark of exception. A brilliance that stands above the rest.
Reality had proven this to him time and time again.
Just like in the beginning—three outcasts drawn together: a skeletal giant, a child people instinctively detested, and a psyker born of both xeno and man.
They were the "Freak Club," Calas mused bitterly. And that was what had brought them together in the first place.
But in the end… he had been left behind. Or maybe simply forgotten.
Compared to Mortarion, who rose steadily without falter, and Hades, who could ignore the scorn of others as though it were dust in the wind—Calas Typhon, frail and unstable, had staggered down a path of madness under the weight of judgmental stares.
He should've died that day—on the climb, amidst the smoke and fire. That was how it was supposed to end.
But Mortarion's hesitation had saved him. That damn hesitation.
Calas knew better than anyone: despite his cold, grim appearance, Mortarion was far more merciful than most realized.
Of course… that only applied to the things Mortarion still cared about—things that hadn't been marked "enemy."
Calas stared at him. It was time Mortarion faced the truth: they were no longer on Barbarus. This was the void—harsh, unyielding, and colder than a thousand Barbarus.
He couldn't feel his old strength anymore. Not even a flicker. Worse still, he felt a strange disconnect—like his soul and body no longer aligned.
Weaker than ever.
There was no reason left to keep living, Calas thought. His very existence had been a mistake. And no matter how he struggled… this was how it would always end.
He murmured, voice barely a whisper:
"…I betrayed you. Kill me."
Mortarion shot to his feet, crossing the room in an instant. But once there, he hesitated, words catching in his throat.
"You can't… this isn't…"
He didn't even know who he was speaking to—Calas, or himself.
And then, from beyond the wall, came the soft hum of a weapon charging.
Calas didn't need to see it. He could already picture it—Hades, standing just outside, gun drawn, aim steady.
A voice called out.
"Step aside, Mortarion."
It was Hades—calm, resolute.
Mortarion had unwittingly placed himself right in the line of fire. He had no way of knowing whether the gun Hades had borrowed from Trazyn would recognize him as a shield or simply shoot through.
But Mortarion didn't move.
"I want to kill him. He wants to die. And you… what are you still hoping for?"
Was it really just the momentum of old friendship?
Was Mortarion simply unwilling to let go of the past?
The divide between Hades and Calas had long since turned into an unbridgeable chasm. So why was Mortarion still standing there? Watching? Waiting?
"No… no."
Mortarion took a deep breath. The absence of toxic gas in the air made him feel strangely uncomfortable.
"Hades… come inside. We need to talk."
"…That's an order. Lower your weapon."
For a heartbeat, Mortarion felt the entire room suffocate beneath an explosion of Black Domain energy. A pressure so dense it nearly shattered his mind, but then he blinked—and realized it had all been in his imagination.
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