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

Barbarus, Northern Mountains, Xenos Overlord Necare Territory, Mountain Path to the Summit.

Now.

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The toxic mist thickened as they ascended, each step feeling as if the gas was gnawing at their armor. 

The anti-corrosion layer peeled away, exposing the gleaming metal beneath, which quickly succumbed to rust. 

Some Death Guard's armor, already scarred from previous battles, now showed its innermost fabric layer through deep gashes. 

The black and yellow stains spreading on the fabric made it look like thin paper, fragile and ready to tear.

They were nearing the summit. 

Since the cannon bombardment, Mortarion's group hadn't encountered much resistance—only the occasional high-ranking puppet trying to ambush them, quickly dispatched by Mortarion. 

The Xenos Overlord Necare, cut off from supplies and surrounded, seemed to be at the end of its rope.

But more daunting than the enemy was the toxic atmosphere of Barbarus itself.

Huznir was the first to falter. 

The poison seeped through a large wound in his leg, and his skin began peeling away, revealing the corroded, white muscle beneath. 

His labored breathing echoed within his armor, suppressing his pain and struggle.

"Mulner, take Huznir back down the mountain to rendezvous with Mozar and the others," Mortarion ordered. 

Mulner glanced at him, as if he wanted to argue, but his own sluggish movements betrayed his condition.

"Yes, sir," Mulner replied, supporting the unwilling but weakened Huznir as they limped back down the mountain.

The further they climbed, the denser the poison became.

Calas Typhon found breathing difficult, his respirator working at maximum capacity, buzzing ominously as if it could fail at any moment. 

He noticed that his weapon was beginning to crack at the junction between the handle and the barrel. 

The breathing tubes inside his armor were melting, falling away. 

The remaining Death Guard were also reaching their limits, their slow movements and heavy, labored breathing a clear indication of their struggle.

"Typhon, take the remaining Death Guard and retreat," Mortarion ordered again. 

Despite his formidable armor and status as a Primarch, even Mortarion couldn't afford to underestimate the poison.

Calas Typhon knew they had reached their limit. 

Any further, and they would face a point of no return. 

But could Mortarion really slay the Xenos Overlord Necare and return safely?

"Mortarion... are you really going to keep climbing?" Typhon asked.

"Yes," Mortarion replied, gritting his teeth. 

He had to kill his father with his own hands. 

He had come this far, and his father was mocking him, leaving the upper reaches unguarded as if daring him to continue, taunting that he would never have the strength to kill him.

There was no turning back now.

Today, Necare, only one of us will leave this mountain alive!

Typhon suddenly noticed something moving past him toward Mortarion. 

He froze for a moment—was it Hades?

"Hades, are you also going to continue up with Mortarion?" Typhon asked in surprise.

"Yes," Hades replied, though he wasn't faring well either. 

Despite the secondary layer of skin from the Xenos Overlord sewn into his armor, he could feel it slowly dissolving under the corrosive poison. 

He had little time left. 

Moreover, Hades's armor lacked a breathing system, making it even harder for him to breathe. 

But he could still push on.

He wasn't at the point where he could fall yet.

Typhon, as if hearing something unimaginable, shook his head but said nothing more. 

He led the remaining Death Guard back down the mountain, taking one last, long look at Hades and Mortarion. 

It was as if he wanted to remember them forever, or perhaps he was mourning them in advance.

Mortarion's tall figure gradually disappeared into the mist, with a stifling presence trailing alongside him.

The summit was within reach. 

The two silently continued their ascent.

"Are you okay?" Mortarion asked.

"Let's make it quick," Hades replied with a bitter smile. 

Even with the Xenos Overlord's leather in their armor, it wouldn't function for long in the densest poison. 

Once the armor failed, even a Primarch would struggle to stay conscious in such an environment.

"Just as I thought," Mortarion said, glancing back at Hades. 

As long as Hades could help weaken his foster father's psychic powers, Mortarion was confident he could decapitate him.

"And... thank you," Mortarion added.

Hades was taken aback. "It's nothing. I know how tough it is to fight alone."

Hades had fought alone in the south, and in many moments of crisis, the presence of a comrade would have made things much easier. 

He hoped he could suppress Necare's sorcery and psychic powers.

The summit lay before them.

It was a flat area about the size of a basketball court, as if an axe had sliced the top off the mountain. 

The tall, eerie figure stood there, surrounded by toxic mist, a long, tattered cloak draped over its shoulders, moving without wind.

Necare, Mortarion's foster father, looked surprisingly humanoid compared to the grotesque Xenos. 

He was taller and more muscular than Mortarion, like a giant. 

He wore a combat robe adorned with intricate sacrificial symbols and spells sewn into its fabric. 

His pale, ashen skin was exposed to the toxic air without any sign of corrosion, as if it was one with the poison. 

His sunken eyes were veiled in a ghostly white, with thick yellow-red veins snaking across the eyeballs. 

Malevolent black-green psychic energy crackled around him.

In his massive, pale hand, he held a giant scythe—"Oblivion," an Xenos weapon that glowed with a strange bronze-purple hue.

Necare hadn't waited in his fortress lower on the mountain but stood alone at the summit.

Upon seeing Mortarion, he let out a disdainful chuckle.

"Finally, you've come, my cowardly son."

In an instant, Mortarion charged, scythe in hand.

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