My Life as A Death Guard (Warhammer 30K Male MC)

— Barbarus, Southern Swamp, Wilderness —

— The third year Hades arrived in the south —

The dense white mist swirled, and the deep, soft black soil stretched endlessly. 

Between the sky and the earth, there seemed to be nothing but white mist above and black soil below.

In a clearing where the mist slightly thinned, sat a tall figure—

Mortarion, indifferent to the muddy ground, sat directly on the black soil. On his left knee lay an unconscious young man, and on his right knee rested his arm, holding his massive scythe.

He gazed into the depths of the mist, his amber eyes seemingly slicing through the thick fog, staring at a familiar figure.

Hades emerged slowly from the mist, his scythe hanging downward like a ferry's oar, gently parting the waves of white mist, causing ripples to spread.

When he was four meters away from Mortarion, Hades stopped, the face beneath his mask apologetically smiling, and then he sat down as well.

"Long time no see, Hades."

Hades looked up and smiled, patting his knee in a familiar gesture that made Mortarion relax a bit internally.

It had been three years.

"Yeah, long time no see, Reaper."

Mortarion disliked his given name, a fact Hades knew well. 

Not only Mortarion disliked it, but he also deeply resented the name his adoptive father had given him.

So the Death Guard called Mortarion "Reaper."

Reaper, both the harvester of souls and the one who reaps the fields, just like Mortarion himself.

"How's the southern liberation plan? Hope we didn't drag you down. Our Death Guard can handle it. I just watched from afar as the cannons fired in volleys, instantly dismantling the first layer of the small overlords' defenses—"

"Whoosh—BANG!"

Hades gesticulated wildly, leaning on his scythe's shaft, one hand drawing an exaggerated arc representing the cannon's trajectory.

Mortarion smiled, having indeed witnessed the cannons' power. 

However, unfortunately, these powerful cannons were ill-suited for mountainous terrain; they could only support operations on the plains. 

As for those atop the mountains—they were ineffective.

But—Hades still loved to praise others. 

The Death Guard, they truly were Mortarion's pride.

Those brave fighters, those who took up their scythes to resist for survival, they fought, they resisted, all for a future without fear.

Mortarion instinctively lowered his gaze to the young man leaning against him, the memory of his struggle against fate still vivid.

They were all warriors fighting for themselves, weren't they?

Mortarion glanced at Hades across from him, who was still boasting about his prowess.

"Hades, can you still not get close to others?"

Mortarion extended his hand, seemingly wanting to touch the invisible field around Hades.

"Hey! No! No, no, no!!!"

Hades' reaction was swift, backing away quickly, almost tipping over due to his unsteady balance.

Big brother, please, no!

Hades' heart raced with cold sweat. 

If anyone else touched his dark domain, it would just make them feel nauseous, but if Mortarion did—

Big brother, don't attract other nasty things!

Hades swiftly retreated, disregarding his dignity as he scooted backward.

Seeing Hades' dramatic reaction, Mortarion withdrew his hand, looking disappointed, his eyes seemingly accusing Hades of rejecting him.

So, it really was like this. 

After all this time, had the bond between the three of them drifted apart?

Mortarion remembered when they were still young, drinking and laughing in a dilapidated house, discussing their plans to liberate humanity. 

He had boasted that he would fight for humanity's rebellion to the end, with Typhon egging him on and Hades crawling on the ground, clapping as he crawled.

Mortarion wasn't drunk, but it was clear that Hades and Typhon were.

"Mortarion! Big brother! I'll follow you!!! I don't have any big dreams! Just want a place to draw little figures!"

Little figures? Mortarion still wondered what that meant.

But now, those happy and simple memories had faded. 

Typhon was doing well; Mortarion was pleased that Typhon had found comrades who understood him.

Only Hades, because of his unique condition, walked alone among people.

Once they defeat Necare, once there's no more oppression on this planet, Mortarion vowed to help his friend overcome this cursed condition.

Seeing Mortarion lost in thought again, Hades felt a wave of panic.

No, big brother, don't hold grudges!!!

“Uh,” Hades scratched his chin, “you know, my condition hurts people. I’m still not used to the feeling of hurting others.”

“And I wouldn’t want my friends to get hurt either, right? Reaper, if you caused someone to get hurt, it would definitely bother you, wouldn’t it?”

Hades nodded to himself, sneaking a glance at Mortarion, who seemed convinced by his words.

In his interactions with Mortarion, Hades had noticed that Mortarion was the type to internally mull over tens of thousands of words in his mind, coming up with strange thoughts, but only utter a few words. 

Unless pushed to the brink (like when he's really upset), Mortarion rarely fully expressed his thoughts. 

His thought processes tended to be more convoluted than those of an average person.

This made Hades wary of letting Mortarion misunderstand him, knowing that any misunderstanding could lead to significant problems.

Mortarion nodded, adjusting the young man beside him to a more comfortable position. “I understand your feelings, Hades.”

“If you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me. I can withstand your abilities.”

After a moment of silence, Mortarion added, “I’m not that easily hurt.”

Following Mortarion’s actions, Hades looked at the emaciated young man beside him, probably Vorx. 

It's hard to believe this future formidable Death Guard was so skinny now.

“Hahaha, Reaper, you still have to lead the Death Guard against the xenos. I wouldn't dare bother you.”

A puff of mist drifted over, and Hades, bored, reached out to pinch it.

“You’re already bothering me.”

Such a cold joke.

Hades immediately clasped his hands together, nodding and bowing to Mortarion in an exaggerated manner. “Ah, I shouldn't disturb lord Mortarion. This humble servant deserves death. I shall take my leave—”

“Hades.”

Mortarion’s stern call of his name stopped the mischievous Hades in his tracks.

Okay, okay, no more fooling around.

Hades instantly sat up straight. 

In truth, his visit to Mortarion wasn’t just because he hadn’t talked to anyone in a while and was losing his mind.

If it were unnecessary, he wouldn’t want to waste Mortarion’s time. 

After all, Mortarion had a lot more on his plate than Hades did.

Mortarion might still be thinking of a steady, step-by-step approach to eventually kill his adoptive father, Necare.

But Hades knew that seemingly endless time was actually as precarious as a stranded fish on the shore, drying up and on the verge of death.

Could Mortarion really kill his adoptive father before the final bell tolled, before the Emperor arrived?

If he couldn’t, would Mortarion’s mind gradually twist, leading him to fall as he did in the original story?

Hades understood that the events on Barbarus were destined to become a deeply embedded thorn in Mortarion’s heart, silently corroding the Master of the Death Guard’s soul throughout their long campaign.

So, before everything happened, could Hades do anything?

Hades knew his own time was also running out. 

Despite his hopes to fully suppress the black domain within his body, previous attempts had shown this idea was not feasible in the short term.

He could only distance himself from others gradually.

But Hades thought, what if—just what if—he could persuade Mortarion before he had to fully distance himself?

While their bond was still intact.

Before everything went wrong.

If Typhon could betray an entire legion, riding on Mortarion’s trust.

Then could he save an entire legion, using Mortarion’s trust?

Hades wanted to try.

At the very least, he needed to give Mortarion a veiled warning about the future.

Today, Hades was also working hard to avoid becoming a Plague Marine.

 

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