My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 444: Shattered Dream
They were once glorious.
But that beauty is gone.
It's already too late, isn't it?
. . .
The Night Lords' vessel felt empty, like a hollow corpse left behind after death.
Under normal circumstances, Fulgrim would have advised Konrad Curze to maintain discipline aboard the fleet. As warriors of the Imperium, they were meant to uphold order.
But now…
The Night Lords' ship, reeking faintly of decay, felt more suited to the current galaxy than anything else.
The galaxy was dead.
What remained was merely a corpse.
The Astronomican had gone dark. A great crack split open the heavens, watching them. From it surged something truly evil—
Daemons.
Daemons… daemons…
Fulgrim breathed steadily. No matter how they dressed it up as "Warp entities," no matter how they tried to soften the term—
They were daemons.
And daemons… belonged to hell.
Now, at this very moment, this was hell.
Countless daemons emerged from shifting shadows, tearing apart their armies, whispering into souls. Endless. Without end.
There was no hope.
Fulgrim's original plan had been to seek out the Sixteenth Legion—to ask Horus what was truly happening, and what orders remained from the Emperor and the Imperium.
But he could not find them.
The Sons of Horus had vanished.
So Fulgrim immediately changed course. He intended to travel to Cygnus X-1, where his close friend Ferrus Manus had last gone.
But before he could depart, the Sixth Warp Tide struck, pinning down the Emperor's Children.
While fighting the daemons, Fulgrim heard… troubling rumors.
He urgently needed to reach Cygnus X-1 to verify them.
But now, in the dark half of the Imperium, the psychic turbulence there was visible even to the naked eye.
No matter where one stood, one could see that massive eye—
Watching them. Without sorrow, without joy. A mindless, chaotic gaze.
He needed allies.
The Emperor's Children could not reach that place alone.
The best choice would have been Horus, but the Sons of Horus were gone.
Next, he thought of Curze. The Curze of old might have managed such a task—but after the penitence crusade, the Night Lords were already gravely weakened.
The Lion? He would never agree with Fulgrim.
The Angel?
Something stirred instinctively within Fulgrim's soul.
Sanguinius was perfection—he would never approve such a reckless plan.
The Phoenician was trapped.
He did not know where to go. He had no direction. Every star system was sending distress signals.
They tried to save two of them—but afterward, Fulgrim realized it was endless.
There were countless stars in the galaxy.
And now, every single one was bleeding.
Save one, turn to save another—and the first would sink back into the river of blood.
After weighing the situation, Fulgrim abandoned further rescue efforts.
Now, two paths lay before him:
—Find allies, and head to Cygnus X-1.
Or find a star system, fortify it, and hold position.
But before he could choose, his fleet encountered the Night Lords.
Fulgrim worried about Curze. He knew of Curze's madness—he had glimpsed it before.
He had once dismissed it as the ramblings of a madman.
Until those fragments of madness began to overlap with the reality of the current universe.
What Curze had said… was true.
Fulgrim felt himself sinking—slowly, helplessly, yet with certainty—as he came to this realization.
Why had Curze gone mad?
Because he had seen all of this in advance.
If Fulgrim had seen it himself… he doubted he would have remained sane either.
. . .
Fulgrim drew a deep breath. His flowing silver hair looked dull in the darkness of the Night Lords' ship.
He had been wrong.
Curze was right. He was right.
Ahead of him, Sevatar stopped before a heavy door. The cunning Night Lord turned around, baring his teeth—what Fulgrim assumed was meant to be a smile.
"One last warning," Sevatar said sharply, "You should return to your fleet immediately and leave. This is for your own good."
Fulgrim stared at him.
"I know Konrad Curze has gone mad," the Phoenician said firmly, "But he is still my brother. I want to see him."
"As you wish."
Sevatar gave an exaggerated, theatrical bow, then pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, and a thick stench of blood rushed out.
At the same time, the Night Haunter's shriek rang out:
"I KNOW WHY YOU'VE COME!!! HAHAHAHAHA—SSSS—HAHAHAHA—"
"Fulgrim! Fulgrim of the Emperor's Children—now I'll give you your answer!"
Fulgrim drew his sword and stepped back—but it was too late.
Darkness swallowed his vision, leaving only a single point of frenzied white.
In the next instant, Fulgrim realized—
Those were Curze's eyes.
He heard Sevatar shouting, heard hurried footsteps—the Primarch had breached containment again! The King of Terrors' roar echoed down the corridor, fading into the distance.
Sevatar retreated with it. Seeing things turn bad, he fled immediately. They could seal the area afterward… and flood it with poison gas.
Curze was there—hanging upside down from the doorway. Tangled, greasy black hair dangled downward as he stared at Fulgrim.
Madness—yet in the next moment, it shifted into a sigh of despair.
Curze reached out a hand, gently caressing Fulgrim's face.
Only then did Fulgrim realize that he had underestimated just how insane the Night Haunter had become.
The shattered galaxy had completely broken this madman.
It had forced him to witness countless fractured, bleeding endings.
"…Poor thing, poor thing. Let me tell you," Curze said softly, his foul breath washing over Fulgrim's face.
"Ferrus Manus is dead."
Fulgrim stood there, as if he hadn't heard the words.
"He died in our father's plan. Died without regret. Died as something insignificant. He was betrayed. He was forgotten, only you remember him. Poor Ferrus."
A loud ringing filled Fulgrim's ears.
He heard his heartbeat pounding.
He heard the wind.
He heard the sound of blood.
He heard distant footsteps.
He heard the whispers of daemons.
He heard… heard…
"Ferrus Manus is dead."
Curze repeated it gently, his filthy hand still stroking Fulgrim's face without restraint.
Sharp nails slowly extended.
Fulgrim… betrayal… fall… Curze's thoughts came in fragments.
He stared at the beautiful Phoenician before him—
He had once been his teacher. What a wonderful relationship that had been. He had taught him how to bathe, how to dress, the etiquette of nobility.
But in the end, he had abandoned all of it.
Now he ran naked across a wasteland filled with malice.
Don't… Curze thought. Don't fall, Phoenician.
If he was destined to fall, then he should fall whole—his wings intact.
Curze wanted to save the Phoenician.
But he himself was already broken, drowning in a river of blood.
Only one being could save any of this—
But it had already chosen who to save.
The rest of them had been forgotten. Abandoned. Left behind upon the corpse of the galaxy.
Then…
Curze felt it, the Warp rift about to erupt.
The veil was unstable now. The rift should have come later—but someone had accelerated it.
Curze didn't know who. A madman. A servant of Chaos. An ignorant human.
It didn't matter.
This rift had come to take them.
But if they killed each other before it opened—if they died—
Then when the rift fully tore open, that truly chaotic psychic force would tear them apart completely, erasing them from existence forever.
Curze exhaled foul, hot breath. He looked at the frozen Phoenician.
His claws slowly descended…
Just once.
The greatest assassin only needed a single opportunity.
He focused completely. He was about to kill a Primarch—he had to commit himself fully.
Fulgrim stood frozen, submerged in overwhelming grief. Tears streamed down his face, washing away his carefully applied makeup.
Konrad Curze began to hum softly, as if soothing him.
Almost there.
His claws—
BOOM!!!!
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!"
The Night Haunter let out a piercing scream. He immediately vanished into the darkness, whimpering and roaring in fury from within it.
Fulgrim trembled and whipped his head around.
In the darkness, he saw a figure stepping forward—
A knight.
Lion El'Jonson lowered the gun in his hand.
"I arrived just in time."
The monster in the shadows shrieked:
"It was you! You accelerated the Warp tides!"
The Lion remained expressionless. He cast a contemptuous glance at the weeping Phoenician, then raised the Lion Sword in his hand.
"Otherwise, should I have come here only to find a Primarch's corpse, traitor?"
Under the Lion's command, the First Legion had forcibly torn open the Warp, arriving ahead of time at the Night Lords' location.
The Lion had judged correctly.
He had arrived at the perfect moment.
Beneath his winged helm, he glanced at Fulgrim and frowned in dissatisfaction.
"Weak."
The Lion said coldly.
Then, leaving the disheveled Phoenician behind, he strode decisively into the darkness to hunt the Night Haunter.
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