In the spacious common activity area, groups of Astartes were scattered about, gathered in threes and fives.
When Hades stepped into the hall, he imdiately drew nurous gazes. So were as sharp as unsheathed swords, while others were more covert, observing from the shadows.
From the markings on their pauldrons, Hades could identify the legions to which they belonged.
It was the Wolves and Dogs who first ca to greet him.
Two figures stood from the groups of Luna Wolves and War Hounds, making their way toward Hades. They greeted their new brother politely.
“Welco, friend of the Death Guard,” said the one adorned with the emblem of the Luna Wolves.
“We were glad to hear of your Primarch's return. Lord Horus has always looked forward to eting his new brothers.”
Before Hades could reply, the other man spoke up.
“The return of yet another Primarch—I am already eager to et our father.”
With a mix of envy and determination in his eyes, War Hound Peres addressed Hades,
“Forgive my boldness, but your father must surely be a noble lord.”
“Peres.”
The Luna Wolves, Sunderland, softly called his brother’s na. They ought not to speak so freely of such matters.
From the information Sunderland had gathered, the newly ford Death Guard were known for their silence, and troubling rumors had circulated from the Rembrancers who once served the Dusk Raiders about their Primarch.
According to them, the newly recovered Lord Mortarion was a very... unique Primarch.
The Reaper.
This was a unanimous assessnt from the Rembrancers—rare indeed. Most of the ti, the Rembrancers, enamored with grandeur and poetic language, would use terms like “demigod,” “angel,” or “king.”
Thus, Peres’ comnt just now could easily be interpreted as a provocation or sothing worse.
But Sunderland knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault.
Because of their own Primarch's prolonged absence, ridiculous rumors had begun to spread among the War Hounds that their Primarch was dead.
Before their Primarch’s recovery, the War Hounds had enjoyed a good relationship with the Dusk Raiders. Both legions, known for their strict discipline, had worked well together.
Now, Sunderland cast a glance at Hades opposite him, wearing a faint, apologetic smile.
Hades was a warrior from his Primarch’s ho world. Sunderland could only hope he hadn’t misunderstood Peres’ words.
Still, the temperant of a legion and its approach to others often mirrored its Primarch.
If the rumors were true…
Damn it, Sunderland thought, if only one of the Ultramarines like Orlus were here.
Though Sunderland wasn’t fond of their polite yet distant smiles, he had to admit they were natural diplomats. Even their Techmarines possessed an uncanny talent for smoothing over awkward situations.
“Ah? Hahaha, well, our Primarch is a rather... unique one. He cares about us deeply. Every Primarch is a noble figure, of course, but I’d say ours is perhaps a bit more down-to-earth?”
Sensing Sunderland’s concern, Hades laughed it off.
Down-to-earth. Hades swore this was the coldest joke he’d ever told.
Still, to maintain the image of the legion... Sorry, Mortarion!
In truth, though, Mortarion was quite down-to-earth—for the Death Guard of Barbarus, at least.
However...
Hades glanced at Peres, his expression contemplative.
Angron... could he still be saved?
No, perhaps it’s the War Hounds who could still be saved.
No one expected Hades' response to be so casual, which left Shadow Moon Wolf Sunderland sowhat surprised.
Could the newly arrived Primarch be soone with high approachability?
Sunderland made a ntal note of this and continued chatting with Hades.
This Death Guard seed to have a particularly good temperant, Sunderland thought silently.
Compared to those ever-smiling Ultramarines, this Death Guard seed more inclined to engage in casual conversation, not caring about minor details or lapses in wording.
At other tables, the Space Marines studying or chatting kept subtly directing their attention toward this exchange.
However, before Hades and Sunderland could exchange more than a few pleasantries, soone who had been dozing off in the corner suddenly woke up and hurriedly approached.
He shoved aside the War Hounds and Shadow Wolf, sniffing the air as he leaned forward.
“Brother, why do you sll so bad?”
“I got woken up by your stink.”
The wolf bared his fangs, speaking with a wild grin.
Sunderland of the Luna Wolves and Peres of the War Houndss watched in astonishnt as Hades, who had been all smiles monts ago, instantly darkened his expression.
“Dueling cage.”
“Now. Imdiately.”
Hades' face was grim. Did he really sll? He couldn’t detect anything himself, but did the others he was just speaking to also notice this so-called toxic odor? While most Barbarus warriors carried respirators infused with traces of Barbarus’ toxins, he never had!
Damn it, no one gets to call slly!
The warnings of Master of the Forge Enrique were long forgotten.
Looking at the utterly exasperated Death Guard Hades and the gleeful Space Wolves Manning—who clearly just wanted to pick a fight—Sunderland quietly wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
Hmm. So sll is the Death Guard's bottom line?
What an unusual boundary. Especially considering that even jabs at the Primarch were casually shrugged off.
But Manning wasn’t wrong. Apart from the usual Space Marine sweat, Hades did carry a faint odor of toxin. Perhaps it was so custom of their howorld?
Little did Hades know, this inexplicable custom of respecting a Death Guard's "aroma" would later be adopted by the Techmarines on Mars and further ingrained into their respective Legion.
In the dueling cage, Manning's agonized wails echoed endlessly.
“Aaaarghhhhh!”
Hades pinned Manning to the ground, one arm locked tightly around his neck while the other hand immobilized Manning's attempt to reach a nearby battle axe.
When Manning’s struggling finally weakened, Hades released him, stood up, and roughly yanked the Space Wolves to his feet.
The oxygen-deprived Manning swayed for a mont before bursting into laughter.
“Not bad! Brother, you might stink a bit, but you’re way better than those perfu-drenched pansies!”
Leaning into his wobble, Manning naturally threw an arm around Hades’ shoulders and whispered conspiratorially,
“Dusk—no, Death Guard brother, I’ve got so hidden liquor. Wanna share a drink?”
Damn those uptight chanicus tin-heads who disapprove of Wolves drinking!
Manning had invited others to drink with him before, but only the diplomatic Luna Wolves and the ever-amiable Ultramarines had accepted his offers. Drinking with them, though, was...boring.
As Hades’ reason finally returned, he rembered Enrique’s distant warnings.
“Well, actually—”
But before he could finish, Manning locked an arm around him with even more force than he’d used in the dueling cage.
“Don’t say a word. Let’s go!”
The other Space Marines, who had gathered to watch the commotion, silently mourned for the newly arrived Death Guard.
The last person to be duped this badly was a perfectionist from the Emperor's Children.
Few Wolves ventured to Mars due to the Space Wolves' unique approach to learning the Forge arts, which made Manning’s antics even more conspicuous. Bored out of his mind, he often dragged others into fights or drinking sessions.
Most of the Techmarines on Mars had faced Manning in combat at so point—except for the Imperial Fists, who coldly rejected him outright.
Despite Manning’s formidable skills, the Death Guard had defeated him in such a short ti that Hades' reputation soared without him realizing it.
Reviews
All reviews (0)