My Life as A Death Guard

Hades held his bolter rifle, walking in the middle of the large group.

With the experience from their last expedition and after the Explorator forces further cleared obstacles along the path—making it easier for larger research equipment to pass—their journey this time was noticeably faster.

Soon, they passed the village they had previously visited and continued toward the city.

The dense forest was eerily quiet; the animals here seemed reluctant to make noise. Aside from the servo-skulls singing hymns of the Omnissiah in a 360-degree rotation, there were no other sounds.

Before long, the first structure came into view—a simple, small church. Its primary color was black, accented by clean, green lines etched into its surface.

Hades entered the church, curiously looking around.

Some prayers were engraved on the stone pulpit. Hades quickly translated the text:

“The blessings of the God of Grace shine far and wide, protecting this land and its peace.”

“Oh, selfless God, preserve my work for eternity and keep me from the chaos of uncertainty.”

“To endure ■■■…”

The latter part had been scratched out with something sharp, making it unreadable.

Hades could roughly guess it was the usual rhetoric, calling for believers to donate or make sacrifices.

Since Hades had hypothesized that the religion here worshiped the Necron blackstone obelisk, his curiosity about this strange faith had waned.

Though he was still puzzled by why the locals chose to revere a relic left behind by an alien race.

Hades glanced up at the church’s centerpiece—a lifelike statue of a god, entwined with vines, shedding a single tear.

Sunlight poured through the dazzling stained-glass windows, illuminating the pitch-black statue with a radiant veil.

The tear on the god’s face, poised on the edge of falling, seemed to lament the insignificance and ignorance of mankind.

Its outstretched arm appeared to be reaching for those it could still save.

If a Blood Angel or an Emperor’s Children were here, they would undoubtedly marvel at the civilization’s remarkable skill in religious art and lament the loss of its artisans.

But standing there was merely an old farmer from Barbarus, also the most outstanding engineering student from Mars.

Hades took one glance at the sculpture and dismissed it.

“What is this? Necrons don’t even look like that!”

Elsewhere.

A silver-haired woman stood silently beneath the pulpit, gazing wordlessly at the figure opposite her.

Colorful light bathed her form, the dazzling hues adorning her like a chaotic holy mantle.

The bishop standing opposite her was shrouded in shadow, his figure silhouetted by the backlight.

“Come back, child,” Bishop Mazel said with a sigh.

“You are the first saint foretold by prophecy, one who can walk the Divine Domain without punishment.”

“It’s all lies,” Raibo retorted, dismissing it all outright.

“You worship a device that damages the human soul, allowing people to be destroyed by the harmful field it emits.”

“Is it really so hard to accept reality? Why cling to those ancient rumors—nothing but nonsense—to prop up your authority?”

“Child, you’re too young to understand,” Mazel replied.

“All humans bear sin, consumed by their desires. Yet God chooses to forgive. Our ancestors arrived on this land aboard the Ark, finding peace under the protection of the Divine Domain. You must not be ensnared by your own desires, child.”

“More empty words,” Raibo coldly responded.

“You can’t even explain this so-called Divine Domain. You hide behind the guise of religion, deceiving the people, forcing everyone to endure suffering!”

“Foolishness. Absurdity!”

When Mazel responded only by quoting scripture, Raibo realized the futility of further argument.

“I will expose the truth to you all, so you can see your religion for what it is—a lie!”

With that, Raibo turned and walked away without hesitation, soon meeting her companions waiting outside.

Mazel remained where he stood, his eyes full of regret and doubt.

“My child, if you truly reveal the truth to us… I would, of course, choose your path.”

The high-ranking bishop, who once stood proudly on the pulpit, descended and slumped onto the wooden pews below.

The statue of the god above silently watched over its believers.

Did it not wish to know the truth, too?

If God loved humanity, why did it allow them to continue suffering through generations of confession and guilt?

The evidence Raibo presented was increasingly compelling: a place called the “Empyrean” existed. Humanity did not solely exist in this world but in another where their souls and minds took on a different form.

And the so-called Divine Domain?

It was, in truth, a force that damaged human souls and minds.

Mazel quietly took the obelisk-shaped pendant from his neck and pressed it to his forehead.

“God, forgive my transgression.”

He had let them go.

But Mazel did not yet realize that truth often brought calamity.

<+>

Aboard the Endurance.

Typhon sat alone in his private quarters, his eyes closed in meditation.

What should have been a moment of peace instead brought him immense frustration.

You should go see Mortarion. You know it, Calas.

It had been an agreement between the three of them, but the others had abandoned him.

“No,” Calas Typhon murmured.

Mortarion had long left them behind, even back on Barbarus.

Typhon had always tried to catch up with Mortarion, but Mortarion was too far ahead.

He was destined to be favored by the gods.

There was never any “all three of us are outcasts” nonsense. Some people were simply so exceptional that they stood apart.

When Calas Typhon realized he could neither surpass nor stand alongside Mortarion, he fell into despair.

Yet when the Imperium arrived and he learned Mortarion’s true identity, Calas felt oddly relieved.

“Yes, that’s it. No wonder. It all makes sense now,” he thought bitterly.

Though he could never keep pace with Mortarion, at least Hades remained in the same rank as him—a different kind of outcast altogether.

Calas knew his lineage as a hybrid of human and xenos had earned him much prejudice. But aside from his origins, everyone recognized his capabilities.

He even managed to become a leader of a main force on Barbarus.

And Hades?

Hades remained ostracized, a wandering specter on the desolate wasteland.

Whenever Calas Typhon felt the weight of Mortarion’s brilliance, he would cast a sly glance at Hades.

Some dark corner of his mind found solace in this.

He knew such thoughts were wrong.

But he couldn’t suppress the dark and chaotic depths of his thoughts, thoughts that drifted closer to the abyss of Chaos.

Later, Calas Typhon realized he had been wrong all along.

The agile figure in the dueling cage, moving with precision and power…

In the end, it was always him who was lagging behind.

Hah.