My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 497: Malcador Says You've Done Well
A large mouthful of blood burst from Malcador's lips.
"Cough!!"
The glow of the entire altar vanished instantly. At its center, the old man suddenly collapsed. The staff in his hand, wrapped in strands of pearl-and-gem chains, struck the floor. Treasures scattered across the ground like splashes of blood.
Watching the ritual from afar, Mortarion saw the disturbances in the Warp recede and immediately rushed forward. He tried to help the fallen Malcador to his feet, but the old man waved him away, indicating that he needed no assistance.
Malcador gasped heavily for breath.
Beside them stood an altar that could almost be described as completely bare.
Ordinarily, it should have been covered in treasures.
Unfortunately, neither The Endurance nor the Death Guard possessed such things.
Before the ritual had begun, Malcador had stared with a dark expression at the pile the Death Guard had assembled: scythes that appeared to incorporate Necron technology, a complete set of glassware from Mortarion's laboratory, a pure silver wine flask devoid of any decoration, and countless pieces of precious metal that looked as though they had been hastily stripped from various weapons and machines.
The old man's wrinkled mouth twitched.
He slammed his staff against the ground.
"Out! Get out, all of you!"
Mist erupted.
The little Deathshrouds emerged from beneath the ground, shrieking as they hoisted up the "junk" and scattered in all directions.
After much hesitation, Malcador had ultimately decided to perform the ritual aboard The Endurance. He contributed some of the treasures he carried with him and arranged a makeshift altar.
Better than nothing.
To summon power from the Warp, one required symbols and tokens. The more specific the symbolism, the easier it was to draw the desired power.
Even an ordinary mortal, surrounded by luxury and indulgence, could attract the attention of Slaanesh if they harbored even a trace of greed.
Conversely, if no suitable offerings or symbols were present, the burden fell entirely upon the caster's ability.
A psyker could tear open the veil by using themselves as an anchor, while a more powerful psyker could call forth Warp energies with precise intent.
Malcador was currently facing the latter situation.
Aboard The Endurance, a vessel utterly impoverished and completely unrelated to Slaanesh, the old man had been forced to rely entirely upon his own power to guide the Warp's energy of the Six Desires.
Mortarion frowned.
Beneath his hood, his eyes betrayed neither joy nor anger as he stared at the kneeling Malcador.
Something about the old man had changed completely.
At last, Malcador's violent breathing calmed. Leaning on his staff, he slowly rose to his feet.
Mortarion turned his head.
Malcador looked even older than before.
"What part did you take?" Mortarion asked.
Malcador did not answer immediately.
Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly removed the hood he had always refused to take off.
The hollows of his eyes seemed darker than ever.
"Authority," Malcador said.
"And... some other things. Concepts that haven't fully taken shape."
Or rather...
A portion of chaos mixed together with greed.
"The Emperor..." Malcador paused and casually wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "He changed his mind."
"What was the original plan?" Mortarion asked.
Malcador glanced sideways at him.
The Primarch was startled.
Never before had Malcador possessed such a sharp gaze.
He had always seemed like a damp, shadowy court schemer lurking behind the throne, his eyes perpetually murky.
"He wouldn't have been this greedy."
Malcador drew a deep breath. Merely speaking of the Emperor seemed to irritate him.
The old man lifted his gaze toward the distant void.
"The remaining portion of that power—the part purified beneath his greatness—along with his own power, has gone to Cadia."
"Lord Regent of the Imperium, were you planning to sacrifice Fulgrim?"
Malcador cast Mortarion a glance.
A long silence followed.
The old man gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
In the end, however, he merely said:
"Be prepared to sacrifice everything..."
Malcador raised his eyes and stared at Mortarion with an odd expression.
"Mortarion, if the Imperium required your sacrifice—would you accept it willingly?"
"..."
"I accept sacrifices that have value."
"Even if it required you to do the thing you hate most?"
"You're going to kill the commander of the Death Guard?"
Malcador broke into a violent fit of coughing.
Waving one hand dismissively, he replied:
"No. When you get there, you'll understand."
He paused for a moment, almost speaking to himself.
"...But I know for certain that you're absolutely going to hate it."
Mortarion looked as though he wanted to say something more, but the old man merely coughed and waved him away before departing.
Malcador raised a hand. The jewels scattered across the ground flew back toward his staff, embedding themselves into it and forming intricate layers of ornamentation.
Mortarion watched the old man's retreating figure.
There was still one crucial point he had not understood.
If they were simply trying to replicate what had happened to him, then Fulgrim alone should have been enough. Why did Malcador also need to obtain a portion of Slaanesh's power?
And what was this thing he was supposedly guaranteed to hate?
The mist dispersed.
Where the towering Primarch had stood moments before, there was suddenly nothing.
Whatever it is, Mortarion thought, as long as it doesn't require me to fall.
Of all things, only corruption is unacceptable.
But if it truly means killing Him...
Mortarion's thoughts stalled for a moment.
"..."
If that was what He desired...
Then the scythe would rise as always.
Perhaps he should not even entertain such a possibility.
Mortarion stopped thinking about it.
At that moment, a psychic message echoed through his mind from the Warp.
It was Malcador.
+Come here.+
+Cadia is almost within reach.+
. . .
Corax had decided to stop thinking.
Everything that had happened...
He could no longer understand it. No longer reason through it.
Aboard the Pride of the Emperor, the Lord of Ravens had hurriedly attempted to leave. But as the vessel descended into the Palace of Six Desires, Corax quickly discovered that he himself had sunk into an unknown region.
It appeared to be a corner of Slaanesh's domain.
As expected, he encountered the armies of Slaanesh there.
But there were others as well.
He saw members of the Emperor's Children and Eldar who had been forcibly restrained upon instruments of torture.
Corax paid no attention to the Eldar.
But he released some of the Emperor's Children.
Through conversation, Corax learned that these wretches—twisted almost beyond human recognition by endless torment—were the only loyalists remaining within the Third Legion.
After Corax freed them from their devices, some chose to end their own lives immediately.
Others swore oaths, declaring their desire to follow Corax and take vengeance upon the traitors.
As they continued rescuing as many Emperor's Children as possible, the entire section of Slaanesh's palace around them began to tremble.
The temperature dropped sharply.
Cold black tears began seeping from the walls.
A familiar sensation told Corax exactly who was responsible.
The Reaper.
Remaining calm, the Primarch led the remnants of his force through the chaos.
Amid daemons slaughtering one another, they searched desperately for a path out of Slaanesh's realm.
But then, as golden flames blazed upon a throne—
"My lord... you're glowing."
The lightning claw-whip in Corax's hand twitched.
The Primarch lowered his head in confusion.
And saw himself.
Glowing.
A Primarch renowned for stealth was now shining with brilliant golden light from head to toe.
+My son, seek the Second Divine Kingdom.+
+Reinforcements.+
The next moment, Corax and the surviving Emperor's Children awoke aboard a battered, barely functional ship that looked as though it might fall apart at any second.
The Primarch opened his eyes in despair.
On the ceiling above him hung a smiling portrait of the Emperor.
The vessel he now occupied was heading toward the hidden side of the Imperium.
Next time, Corax thought, the next time I see Eldar...
I'll just kill them immediately.
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