My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 394: Perturabo, Do You Want to Be Hit?
"What did you see?"
The heavy black helm stood upon churned soil, the bolter hanging low. Herila remained silent.
Her grip on the bolter tightened.
"The enemy's corpses, Lord of the Underworld."
Hades clapped his hands lightly. Half-crouching, he stared with expressionless black eyes at the gray-helmed corpse lying on the ground.
"They… have no souls."
Hades spoke softly. At last, he understood where the problem lay, why that strange, unsettling feeling had clung to him throughout the battle. Now he knew.
Fighting the Iron Warriors reminded Hades of his past battles against the Necrons, giving him a hazy sense of eerie familiarity.
What had they gone through? What had the Iron Warriors gone through—to become what might be the first fallen Legion known so far?
Hades reached out and drew the sword from the corpse's waist, searching for more clues. As he did so, the belt shifted, and a concealed pouch slipped free.
Hades's fingers paused. He reached down and opened it.
A photograph—three young people posing beneath a statue of the Emperor. Half of it was soaked in blood. Turning it over, he saw signatures on the back, along with a single line of writing:
"For the Imperium! For the Iron Warriors!"
Hades lifted his eyes indifferently to the corpse, recognizing it as the person standing on the left in the photo.
Pale green arcs of electricity flared. Hades rose to his feet, the flame in his fingers burning out.
"Prepare to receive an attack. Southeast direction."
His voice was clear. He watched as Herila snapped to attention, saluted, and jogged away.
A cold mask settled over Hades's face, devoid of warmth. Even as the entire battlefield's data continued to be simulated within his mind, he still devoted a sliver of thought to this question.
In the end, standing amid heaps of corpses, Hades reached his conclusion.
Someone must pay for the blood of these once-Imperial warriors.
Whoever did it—death sentence.
Hades looked into the distance. The images relayed from the fleet were crystal clear. Iron-shod treads plowed through yellow earth, a low thunder drifting on the wind—
The big fish had arrived.
Though Hades did not know who had given Perturabo such courage.
He stood in the wind, the stench of psychic sorcery brushing past his nose.
And so, darkness fell.
. . .
Ingethel let out a wet, hissing laugh. With its frog-like bulging eyes, it glanced at Vashtorr—the Lord of the Forge looked thoroughly checked.
"They are displeased with you, worm of iron and copper."
The Greater Daemon spoke with delight. As if to display the favor of the Four Gods, it spread its tiny, broken wings and glanced back at the "Lorgar" who was directing the Word Bearers in constructing a ritual altar.
"Keep it up, Uriah."
Ingethel said sweetly. Its fate was bound to Lorgar's, no matter which branch of destiny one followed.
Then it twisted its head back, pressing the attack with relish.
"Have you already failed? Have they decided it will be him?"
Sparks burst violently from Vashtorr's mouth as it shoved the artisan hammer beneath the toad-thing's chin.
+Given that our cooperation must continue, you would do well to show some manners.+
The searing heat roasted Ingethel. The daemon snorted, slime oozing out.
"I've already sensed the presence of the First One. You hate it, don't you?"
The Greater Daemon cackled.
+It is merely a subordinate,+ Vashtorr hissed. +And I am a partner. Madam, are you clear on this point?+
Ingethel smiled faintly and nudged the frighteningly hot hammer aside with a finger.
"As you wish," it said.
"You couldn't even rein in the Rust-Plague Bearer, did you really think he would retreat once things got hard? Or did he realize something? He's your only card, isn't he? I know—contracts, contracts—but right now it looks like he's about to be played out."
Fine iron wires and cables crawled upward, coiling around the Lord of the Forge. Vashtorr stared at Ingethel. Behind the gaps in the flickering flames seemed to stretch an endless hellish abyss.
+No—+ Vashtorr said slowly, each word deliberate. +—that is not how this will end. He is not that one. He has not been influenced too deeply by the Abhorred.+
If Chaos truly wanted all of this to be more secure, then it would not have chosen Perturabo.
Vashtorr thought so. Even though the fate-mark of the God-Discarded aligned with machinery and steel, darkness had still not touched the man of iron.
Steel… Vashtorr thought with bitter loathing—a blasphemous existence. It had never imagined that the God-Discarded would be bound to machinery. Did that false Emperor know what he was doing?
The Omnissiah—unwilling to bear that crown himself, he bestowed it upon another in such a profane manner?! This was not the best moment for the Lord of the Forge to walk the path of hatred, but if it did not act now… it could already feel its authority waning in the river of future time.
But… ignoring the words of that lapdog slave of the Four Gods, Vashtorr focused instead on the power steadily surging up within it, drawn from the near future—this was part of the contract.
It meant their victory. It meant Vashtorr's victory.
A gentle, magnanimous voice sounded from behind the two hideous creatures. Lorgar stared at them with violet eyes.
"Enough."
A believer raised the Illuminator and stepped aside, revealing the altar. Blood dripped down from the blackstone obelisk at its center. Corpses had been piled and bound upon the obelisk, forming an inverted effigy of the false Emperor. A sword assembled from human bones pointed directly toward the God-Discarded's position.
"Love you, darling," Ingethel said in an affected, syrupy tone. "You always do such a good job… pity… if only you really were him."
"That is unimportant," Uriah said. He was the last believer from Terra. Flames roared as, beneath the gaze of the false god, he cast himself into the fire, completing the final sacrifice.
"Faith itself is personality."
As he spoke, his new body twitched violently.
Vashtorr stared darkly at Lorgar. The Lord of the Forge pondered—impossible, it couldn't be Perturabo… no connection… unless… unless They intended to—
The Lord of the Forge fell silent.
The next moment, as the Word Bearers' ritual reached its height and the daemonic hosts of the other Four Gods gathered, Vashtorr too began to summon its armies.
. . .
Come… come…
Perturabo thought. This was not a rational course of action, but by now, he had already committed far too many acts of madness.
He stared fixedly at the darkened corner of the map. That region was shrouded in darkness—unknowable, unobserved. The familiar sensation of slipping beyond control made his eyelids twitch nervously.
Unobserved.
The thought surfaced, only to be quickly drowned in tens of thousands of others. The Iron Warriors continued their advance. He felt the losses at the front—many warriors, much armor—but the enemy was bleeding as well.
If Perturabo wished, he could bury Hades under a mountain of resources before Ferrus arrived, but doing so would leave him utterly incapable of contending with the Lord of Medusa.
No… no, the Lord of Medusa was not Perturabo's primary objective, though the Lord of Iron could not tolerate defeat at Ferrus's hands either.
Perturabo snorted inwardly, almost amused by the thought of war with Ferrus. His focus returned to the front lines, his gaze locking onto those two monsters.
He stared at them—perfect yet incomplete creations. In a daze, Perturabo recalled the statue on Olympia that he had once smashed to pieces, recalled countless alien constructs he could never fully comprehend no matter how many nights he spent studying them.
He twisted a smile. He would smash these as well.
Only… only he needed a little leverage. He had been promised as much.
Amid the jolting advance, the Iron vehicle Tormentor was about to reach the front.
Perturabo stared into the deepest darkness, as if he could see that figure standing there.
The Lord of Iron's lips moved.
. . .
"Hades."
The taunting voice rang out.
In the darkness, beneath white hair, crimson eyes locked on in an instant. Atop the god-machine, the ion destructor snapped to bear. In the next moment, searing plasma lanced straight into the enemy ranks.
As expected, after a brief distortion of space, the violent plasma vanished. Hades could not be sure whether it was sorcery, void shields, or both.
But he did not need to know in such detail.
The colossal machine beneath him roared. The magnetic soles of Hades's black-armored boots held him firm as stone. Without the slightest hesitation, they began to charge.
A mountain-like mass of tanks surged toward him. Muzzle flashes bloomed from their grim gun barrels, yet before a god-engine Titan, they were like infants swarming an adult—utterly helpless.
With every few strides, pulses and storms erupted alternately around the Warlord-Sinister Psi-Titan. Enormous shockwaves tore open a path of iron and blood through the enemy ranks. Knights followed closely behind, exploiting the breaches opened by the Titan to clash with the Iron Warriors from the flanks.
Within the boundless darkness, Hades drew in a deep breath.
"Perturabo—come out!!!"
Hades roared, "Come out, traitor!!!"
Gale-force winds poured into Hades's mouth, yet his searing bellow crushed the wind itself, sweeping across the battlefield like the swing of a massive greatsword.
Crackling static filled the air as the broadcast systems came online. Hades heard that low chuckle.
"I, a traitor?"
Perturabo spoke lightly.
"Who was it that betrayed humanity? Who buried the truth beneath lies, deceived my brothers with falsehoods, and sought to use the Primarchs to ascend to godhood?"
Hades shouted back. The Titan beneath him roared with him as a bolt of dark lightning detonated. In the tank formation, warped space tore the helpless engines of war apart.
"So this is the truth behind you selling your life to Chaos, becoming its lapdog?! What right does a willing slave like you have to accuse him?! At least he would never make humanity slaves—the Imperium has never betrayed mankind! The Emperor has never failed humanity!!!"
"And you?! You?! Perturabo—you tyrant! Is this how you treat the sons who trusted you?!"
Perturabo let out a soft laugh. He waited for the power of the Warp to seep into the battlefield. His thoughts lingered briefly on the word slave, but the Lord of Iron quickly forced them aside.
"I am no one's puppet." Perturabo said quietly, listening to the rhythmic data transmissions ticking through the cables connected above his head.
"But when did I ever have a choice?"
For a moment, the Lord of Iron's eyes went blank—then he smiled again, and his voice rose in mocking derision.
"I merely gave them the best possible lives. Rather than wasting their days as useless trash, it is better to become the foundation of a great undertaking. Mortal minds are too shallow to grasp grand designs, they are fools who sell their lives for fleeting joy—"
As if to illustrate his point, Perturabo casually extended one hand and opened the hatch of the Tormentor. Howling wind and sand slammed into him.
"Empty military honors, meaningless praise from those above, so-called loyalty—this was always just a game of war. We are all merely players."
As Perturabo spoke so lightly, three Titans strode onto the blood-soaked earth. Massive chain-cutters roared, volcano cannons flashed, and countless Knights swarmed around the iron-gray god-engines.
Under Perturabo's gaze, they advanced toward the Titan that had plunged deep into the Iron Warriors' formation.
Perturabo felt a slight hitch in the data flow—like a firewall under attack. Something was trying to wrest control of the Titans from him. He strode forward, then suddenly burst into laughter, madness bleeding into his words.
"And you?! Hades—are you bored of this game too, so you chose to control them directly? What difference is there between you and me—"
His tone abruptly sharpened.
"No! At least I do not deceive them with false faith! Charlatan playing at godhood!"
Hades remained expressionless. He was attempting to seize control from the other side, but these Titans clearly possessed machine-spirits of their own.
Under Hades's command, the Warlord-Sinister Psi-Titan beneath him lunged forward. The damaged engine on its left arm, like a colossal blade, stabbed upward into the oncoming Titan's cockpit. The shriek of tearing metal rang out, and thin streams of blood seeped from the breach, forming faint crimson patterns.
The Warlord-Sinister Psi-Titan wrenched its arm free. After a deep, thunderous roar, the Titan before them toppled straight toward their flank. At the same time, two meters in front of Hades's position, the rippling surface of the void shield flared violently as a blinding bolt of plasma slowly dissipated against it.
The stench of scorched cables drifted through the air. On the other Warlord-Sinister Psi-Titan behind Hades, smoke was just clearing from the volcano cannon. Hades cast a casual glance aside. On the Titan that had just fired at him, the left-side frame was now engulfed in roaring flames.
Step
Hades thought, and the Titan beneath him advanced. A storm laced with savage arcs of lightning exploded outward, like a radiant crown being placed upon the Lord of the Underworld. The wreckage of the fallen Titan was blasted apart and scattered. Ripples of terror spread in waves as powerless Knights drifted and dispersed within the lake of darkness.
From on high in the gloom, Hades looked down. They were about to enter direct-fire range… The Lord of the Underworld fixed his cold gaze on the figure standing before the dark-gray tanks.
The shadow of the god-engine fell, merging with the darkness as it enveloped the Lord of Iron.
"Who gave you the courage, Perturabo?"
A flash of red light passed as Hades spoke softly.
Perturabo smiled.
"The truly cowardly one is you, Hades."
Hades raised his gaze. In the next instant, a violent psychic storm surged in the distance. Unsurprisingly, Hades heard the final dying scream of the Alpha psyker beneath his feet—already long past his limits.
The battery was empty.
Hades stared calmly at Perturabo. Behind him, the Knights of the Silent Sisterhood stepped forward. Ferrus would arrive soon… but—
"You think I can't beat you?"
<+>
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