My Life as A Death Guard

The monitor beeped incessantly, notification after notification. The day’s inspection schedule for the ship compartments had been issued. The Armoury was requesting materials from a nearby star system. Summary reports of issues from various departments poured in. Three more Death Guards had submitted requests to meet with Mortarion.

The shifting light reflected off Mortarion’s power armor, its smooth surface gleaming with an almost blinding brilliance as one notification after another illuminated the screen.

Seated at his desk, the Primarch silently reviewed and approved the reports. On the Endurance, countless Death Guard were hard at work at their posts.

Coordination and reorganization always demanded an immense amount of manpower and effort.

The room was spacious and bright. On the wall opposite the door, hanging above Mortarion, was a banner made of coarse burlap. Its stitches were fine and meticulous. At its center, a silent skull encircled by thorns—the emblem of the Death Guard—gazed down upon the room.

The monitor displayed a time alert, signaling the next batch of approvals to begin.

Mortarion looked up. In the corner of the room, Hades was curled up around his scythe, Obituary, snoring loudly in a completely undignified pose, shattering the room’s previous tranquility.

“Hades, wake up.”

The snoring continued.

Mortarion thought for a moment, then drew Lantern from his belt. The xeno-tech pistol hummed softly, blue light beginning to gather as it charged. He pointed it at Hades.

“Huh?!”

The snoozing Hades jolted upright instantly, gripping his scythe in a defensive stance.

Mortarion, satisfied, holstered the Lantern, pretending nothing had happened. He also shifted his gaze, feigning ignorance of the saliva string still clinging to Obituary.

“The next batch of approvals is ready, Hades. Wake up.”

Realizing Mortarion had only roused him for work, the previously alert Hades immediately slumped, wobbling over to lean his scythe against the wall before wiping his face groggily.

His brain felt like mush. Even as a Space Marine, this relentless schedule was unbearable.

Ever since that pivotal conversation days ago, Hades had been plunged into an intense workload. Sleeping an hour a day, only to be dragged out by the tireless taskmasters for yet more overtime, had taken its toll.

By the Emperor… Mortarion was now sleeping just ten minutes a day, seemingly immune to exhaustion.

This, Hades thought, was exactly why he had no aspirations of leadership. Being a rank-and-file soldier made it so much easier to slack off.

Hades felt as though he’d been thrust back to his grueling days on Barbarus, during the early struggles of building their first outposts.

Ah, but times have changed. The people have changed.

Forcing himself to blink away the drowsiness, Hades quickly inspected his power armor and Obituary. All seemed in order.

As though sensing Hades’s readiness, a knock echoed through the room.

Mortarion turned off the monitor, silencing the incessant beeping.

Hades snapped to attention in the center of the room, gripping Obituary upright.

“Enter,” Mortarion rasped.

Hades straightened, schooling his face into a stern expression, playing the part of a proper backdrop.

The door opened, and a warrior clad in standard combat gear stepped inside.

He stood at attention and saluted with the Aquila.

Mortarion nodded, gesturing for him to lower his hands.

“Proceed.”

Mortarion glanced at Hades. Without a word, Hades handed Obituary to the visitor, who accepted the scythe with both hands, gripping it horizontally.

The soft, slightly wavering white glow flickered. Everything seemed in order.

“With the weapon bestowed by the Emperor, swear to speak your heart without deceit or omission.”

Even though Mortarion trusted his sons, Hades decided a thorough screening was necessary.

After learning that Hades could channel his black domain through his scythe, Obituary, Mortarion and Hades agreed to use it as part of this process. The timing was convenient, allowing them to conduct these checks under the guise of selecting candidates for a new unit.

In the Legion, swearing an oath on a weapon gifted by the Emperor was a fairly standard practice.

When Hades had struggled to find a justification for using his scythe to administer these oaths, Mortarion had casually solved the issue by stating to Barasine,

“Have them swear on Hades’s Obituary. It is the first weapon granted to the Death Guard by the Emperor after their formation.”

Huh. You can do that?

Hades had stared at the scythe in his hands, his thoughts spiraling. Well, that does make sense… Why didn’t I think of that?

The solemn silence in the room snapped Hades out of his daze. His task for the moment complete, he stepped quietly into the corner, observing Mortarion and the Barbarus-born warrior before them.

“Deniel, what did you see?”

The warrior opposite Mortarion swayed slightly, then began to speak.

“I… I saw twisted flesh and festering wounds.”

“My vision was clouded, as though white mist had shrouded my eyes. I seemed to be lying atop a heap of corpses.”

“And then…”

Deniel hesitated.

Mortarion stared at him silently, unblinking. The weight of his gaze seemed to press on Deniel until the warrior finally spoke again, his resolve firm.

“I… I saw you kneeling, my lord.”

Mortarion remained unmoving. Most warriors, it seemed, had witnessed this same vision.

“Are you certain of what you saw?”

The Primarch’s quiet but immense aura filled the room. The air seemed to grow colder in an instant.

Deniel trembled slightly but quickly steadied himself, his eyes resolute.

“I swear it is the truth of what I saw.”

“Very well.”

Mortarion raised an eyebrow, signaling that this interrogation-style interview was over.

Hades stepped forward, took the scythe back from Deniel, and watched silently as the warrior departed. Then, he waited for the next candidate.

“We’re about done here, right?”

Hades leaned over to glance at the monitor in front of Mortarion. After five hours of these interviews, they had picked out a few promising candidates.

To Hades’s surprise, even after the shared vision, there were no signs of corruption within the Death Guard.

Even Typhon had merely been shaken, not tainted.

“Hmm.”

Mortarion remained deep in thought, his expression dark.

Now, where would he find Untouchables?