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

It was a calm day, but they decided to go hunting.

To bid farewell to the War Hound brothers who were about to leave, Manning proposed hunting for some wild game. As before, not many responded to the call of the Space Wolves, but a few White Scars agreed to join. Hades suspected, however, that they were more interested in racing than actual hunting.

Hades hadn't planned on going, but when Jin refused to help him find food this time, and considering that War Hound Peres had always been friendly to him—being one of the first Techmarines to welcome him—Hades decided to bring some food and have a brief chat.

Of course, there were other reasons.

Hades glanced at Jin, who was busy preparing an off-road bike from the warehouse. In the distance, the White Scars' bikes were already roaring to life. Hades scratched his head.

"Is it ready yet, Jin?"

"Sir, you can't rush a vehicle's initial deployment process!"

Finally, Jin completed the long string of information verifications and invoked the Mechanicus protocols.

An off-road bike suitable for an Astartes emerged from the warehouse. It was a basic vehicle with no frills, featuring a dual-linked bolter mounted at the front.

Hades casually swung a leg over it. The servo-arms on the back of his power armor flexed slightly.

Let's see: obituary, check. A combat knife, a boltgun, a melta gun, and a combi-plasma melta were secured to his back.

And, of course, the item hidden in his gloves—check.

He had pre-encoded a mesTech-Priest for scheduled transmission, and as a precaution, he had informed several battle-brothers beforehand. Though skeptical, they trusted Hades enough to heed his warning.

"Hey! Let's move, Hades!"

Manning of the Space Wolves was already on his bike, which was so heavily modified that its original design was unrecognizable. Various bolters and melta weapons were mounted on it, their power reduced to avoid turning prey into unrecognizable mush.

In the distance, the White Scars were chatting casually. Their sleek recon bikes, devoid of mounted weapons for reduced weight, had engines that had been modified for speed. Red lightning bolts streaked across the white chassis.

Yup, they were definitely here for racing, Hades thought.

"Let's go!"

With a whoop, Manning took off, instantly leading the group.

The White Scars, not to be outdone, slammed on the throttle and began racing at breakneck speed.

Wait, that pace—was it even safe? Hades knew the White Scars had their own acceleration tech, but this seemed excessive.

By the time Hades got his bike rolling, the White Scars had already overtaken Manning. Dust rose behind them as they became tiny dots on the horizon.

Hades thought he could almost hear the cheers of the White Scars' bike machine spirits.

Taking his time, Hades followed behind Manning, keeping an eye on the map Manning had shared through the comms.

The Techmarine base was on the city's edge, close to the wilderness. However, to reach the barren plains quickly, they needed to traverse a large expanse of wasteland.

Here, countless factories dumped their waste, filling the area with toxic runoff. Occasionally, the Tech-Priests discarded what they deemed "scrapped" servitors.

But who knew if those servitors were truly decommissioned? During his training years at the Techmarine base, Hades had realized that many of the mechanical creatures he had once seen aboard small ships were actually discarded servitors.

Some servitors hadn't fully shut down and even awakened self-awareness. Like stray dogs, these surviving servitors scavenged the wasteland or stole power from factories at the city's edge to stay functional.

Normally, these servitors avoided people from a distance.

The journey through the wasteland was initially smooth. Despite the rampant dumping, the roads used by large vehicles to transport waste were clear, and they followed one of these routes.

Towering mounds of trash flanked both sides of the path, with occasional flickers of movement within the heaps.

In the distance, massive garbage trucks rumbled about their work.

Hades rode steadily, marking points of interest on his map.

When they reached a more remote area, Hades's bike malfunctioned.

A faint wisp of black smoke rose from the engine. Expecting this, Hades immediately jumped off—

BOOM!

The engine exploded, sending shrapnel flying!

The bulky bike skidded into a nearby trash heap, the impact causing metal debris to cascade down.

Bang!

Dust filled the air.

Hades stood with his scythe in hand, his helmet's display confirming the bike was beyond repair.

Judging by the explosion, the saboteur at least intended to leave him alive.

Hearing the commotion, Manning quickly doubled back, stopping on the road now blocked by debris.

"You okay, brother?"

"I'm fine," Hades replied, waving dismissively.

"Go ahead. I'll walk back and grab another bike later."

"Alright! Cheers!"

With a quick salute, Manning sped off, eager to catch up with the already distant White Scars.

As the engine roared away, Hades slung his scythe onto his back, grabbed his boltgun, and began strolling back leisurely.

He hadn't covered even a fifth of the distance when the attack began.

It wasn't an onslaught of firepower but an invisible barrage of code.

Hades's power armor froze momentarily, his backpack locked, as corrupted data swarmed into his neural interface.

At the same time, a tattered servitor heavily modified to the point of grotesqueness emerged from a trash heap, clutching a massive gun.

It fired—

Hades's body jolted as his armor grew unbearably heavy. The ground beneath him sank, and his power armor groaned under the strain.

A gravity gun!

As the servitor revealed itself, countless silhouettes appeared on the trash heaps surrounding Hades.

Most of them were broken and patched together with mismatched metal and tangled cables. But their weapons were intact—gravity guns, bolters, and primitive wands inscribed with strange glyphs.

Seeing Hades immobilized, the servitors opened fire. A massive grenade arced toward him.

Stasis grenade. His pupils narrowed—his attackers were going all out to capture him alive.

True to its name, the stasis grenade created a localized stasis field.

The assault happened within two seconds, but as soon as the corrupted data infiltrated his neural systems, Hades countered it. He regained control of his power armor and backpack in an instant.

Lightning-quick, he dashed out of the stasis grenade's blast radius. The debris his movement kicked up froze midair, highlighting the grenade's power.

Even under fire from multiple gravity guns, their immense pull couldn't slow him. Hades charged straight into the servitor horde, targeting those wielding the wands.

His instincts demanded it.

Bang! Bang!

Every two shots marked a servitor's head exploding and its wand destroyed.

Hades's towering figure slammed into the horde like a cannonball into waves. The first servitors were smashed to pieces, crimson blood splattering his pale power armor like a spider's web.

Scythe in hand, Hades reaped through the servitors. Heads flew, metal and flesh bursting apart as he carved a path of destruction.

Hades continued to accelerate amidst the crowd. He couldn't afford to slow down—reducing speed meant getting hit, and the enemy's gravity guns were not something his power armor could fully shield against!

The servos on his power backpack danced with his every movement, grabbing a servitor trying to flank him and hurling it into the midst of its comrades, knocking several over like bowling pins.

The plasma cutter in his hand whirled ferociously, plunging into the chest of a servitor before ripping upwards—tearing it apart.

Blood and flesh splattered everywhere.

These soulless servitors, oblivious to pain, seemed to emerge from every crevice, armed with all manner of weapons. They charged at Hades endlessly, their grotesque forms blending into the gray, shadowy garbage mounds like a writhing tide of worms.

But against Hades, such efforts were nothing more than a futile struggle!

Hades wielded his scythe with deadly precision, leaving a trail of crimson blossoms on this desolate plain. Blood sprayed into the air, and death celebrated in silence.

His scythe slashed effortlessly through bone and flesh—this was not a battle; it was a massacre.

The first strike of the ambush had been the critical one, but the attackers had underestimated Hades' reaction speed and the defensive capabilities of his left-brain firewall.

Even so, the enemy showed no signs of retreating. Some servitors started forming ranks. Those wielding gravity guns advanced toward Hades, firing in coordinated bursts at various angles, ensuring that at least one shot would hit.

Meanwhile, the servitors with explosive rifles moved to encircle him.

Hades immediately recognized their strategy. His sprinting form came to an abrupt halt—then he leaped into the air.

Soaring high—

At the center of the enemy formation, a particularly grotesque servitor wielded a staff. Electricity crackled around its battered body.

"Ah, I see now," Hades thought to himself, a mocking smile hidden beneath his helmet. "Do they truly believe this will stop me?"

The servitor's staff was a crude imitation of an Electroleech Stave. Its simplified inscriptions etched into the staff emitted sporadic arcs of electricity.

Admittedly, the idea was clever. Against a Space Marine dependent on electronic systems, this weapon could have been problematic. The staff drained nearby energy, potentially disabling electronic devices.

But it was too late—the majority of the staff-wielding servitors had already fallen, and this last one was no exception.

For this foe, Hades didn't even bother to raise his scythe. Instead, he descended from the sky like a thunderbolt.

BANG!

The servitor was crushed beneath his landing impact, its body bursting like a grotesque balloon. Blood and metallic shards sprayed in every direction, the fragments striking nearby servitors and piercing their heads like shrapnel.

Without pausing to bask in the aftermath, Hades became a blurred silhouette, reappearing amidst the chaos to raise his scythe once more.

Mercy had no place on the battlefield.

The Death Dance of Barbarus unfolded, with its only spectators being the sacrificial victims.

In the distance, colossal garbage transport vehicles continued their work, their engines humming as they dumped mounds of waste. Amidst the refuse, some trembling servitors tried to hide but were buried alive without a sound.

Further beyond, the sun began to rise, casting its golden rays upon the battlefield.

Drenched in blood, Hades raised the last surviving servitor. Sticky blood dripped down his pale power armor, pooling onto the disgusting, fetid ground beneath his feet.

The terrain, littered with mangled limbs and bloody scraps, resembled a putrid swamp, steaming faintly in the morning light.

The lenses of Hades' helmet glowed red for a brief moment.

[Signal source acquired.]

The servitor in his grasp continued to struggle, its cybernetic hands futilely scratching at the smooth surface of his power armor. Its distorted, fragmented electronic voice spewed gibberish amidst intermittent whispers of corrupted code.

Hades remained unmoved. With an effortless twist of his hand—

CRACK!

Blood splattered across his visor.

Hades remained expressionless. Death was the last, and often the only, thing he could do.

Casually wiping the blood off his visor, he hefted his scythe and sprinted toward the source of the signal.

What awaited him was a massive garbage transport vehicle, disguised to blend into its grim surroundings.

But as Hades approached, the vehicle remained motionless, sitting silently in place.

Without hesitation, Hades transmitted a signal across the airwaves:

"Hades, Death Guard of the 14th Legion, requests an audience."

This was no ordinary broadcast. Hades encrypted his words, though the specific method remained his own secret.

Moments later, the vehicle's doors slowly creaked open.

A figure emerged, clad in a crimson robe—a Tech-Priest. This one bore no particularly striking features. If placed among a crowd of Tech-Priests, he'd blend into the background without a trace.

The only distinguishing feature was the pendant hanging from his hood—not the typical censer or gilded ornament, but two rough, black stones.

"Greetings, Hades of the Death Guard."

Unlike Hades' solemn demeanor, the Tech-Priest's voice came through as a flat, emotionless electronic tone, sharp and grating.

"I admit, deploying Jin-306 was a bold move on my part. Before we delve into the main discussion, would you be willing to share how you saw through it?"

Hades scanned the surroundings, his eyes lingering on the terrain and the area behind the Tech-Priest. Only after confirming the Tech-Priest wasn't stalling for time did he reply:

"He was too accommodating."

It was as if Jin-306 had been tailor-made for Hades—its synthetic expressions, human-like vocal tones, and highly suggestive responses were all too deliberate.

Not that all Tech-Priests were devoid of personality; some were indeed eccentric. But those individuals always exhibited a clear sense of self.

During his interactions with Jin-306, Hades had noticed the distinct lack of such individuality.

It wasn't that Jin-306 lacked self-awareness—it was avoiding it.

Every time Hades intentionally steered the conversation, Jin-306's thought process abruptly ended.

Its inexplicable disappearances, the deliberate records it left behind... And then there was the warning from the old vehicle.

The Tech-Priest paused for a moment, then spoke.

"I see. That explains it."

"Please accept my apologies for my previous actions. I am a Tech-Priest specializing in the study of anti-psychic fields. Upon learning of your unique physiology, I rashly attempted to conduct research without your consent."

"I never intended to harm you. If it would ease your anger, I am willing to terminate Jin-306 as a gesture of apology."

"I'm not angry," Hades interrupted abruptly.

The Tech-Priest hesitated, and Hades could almost sense the gears of his mind spinning.

"I didn't mean to cause you harm. My haste led me to this misstep. If you truly harbor no resentment—"

The Tech-Priest stepped aside slightly.

"Would you consider joining me inside the vehicle to discuss a potential collaboration?"

"Collaboration?"

Hades voiced his doubt, though inwardly, this was exactly why he had come.

Finding a Tech-Priest specializing in anti-psychic research on Mars—no wonder Malcador had ordered him here so urgently.

"Yes. If you agree, we can conduct research without compromising your physical integrity."

Hades blinked.

"Fine. But we'll talk here."

"Do you really think I didn't notice the stasis field in your vehicle?"

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