No One Dared Disturb Him

He picked up the Chainsword.

It's not that I want to continue fighting, but that I want to end myself.

He awkwardly placed the Chainsword sword blade on his neck and started the motor.

The saw teeth cut into his rotten but still painful skin, and dark green blood flowed down the blade.

He gritted his teeth and pressed down hard.

The blade stopped.

It wasn't that he stopped, but that the blade of the sword was held by one hand.

That hand was golden, covered with dense Ceramite gloves. Five thick fingers tightly grasped the serrations of Chainsword, allowing those serrations to cut through the gloves, skin, and muscles, revealing the silver-white metal skeleton underneath - that was the hand of Adeptus Custodes.

Adeptus Custodes said nothing.

He just lowered his head and looked at Death Guard who was kneeling on the ground, his face covered with pus and blood, and he was trying to commit suicide.

There was no expression on his face, and the golden helmet covered all his emotions.

But his eyes were exposed. Those dark brown eyes, as clear as amber, reflected the ugly, twisted, crying face of Death Guard.

Death Guard raised his head and saw those eyes.

He cried louder, not because of pain, but because at that moment, he recognized those golden armors.

That is Adeptus Custodes, the personal guard of Emperor.

They were his comrades who fought side by side during the Great Crusade era, and they were his enemies who fought against each other in the Siege of Terra era.

But when he saw them now, they were like lost children who had found their way home.

"Please,"

His voice was hoarse and trembling, and every word seemed like he had exhausted all his strength, "Kill me."

Adeptus Custodes was silent for a moment.

His hand still held the sawtooth of Chainsword and did not let go.

He doesn't need to ask why, he understands.

He looked at this Death Guard, at his completely rotten body that even the flames of Emperor could not purify, at the determination to die in his eyes, and at the tears mixed with the pus on his face.

Adeptus Custodes slowly raised his other hand. That hand did not hold any weapon.

The hand was open, the five fingers were pressed together, and the fingertips were placed between Death Guard's eyebrows.

Death Guard closed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth raised slightly, a smile that was calm and relieved, like a baby sleeping peacefully in its mother's arms.

Adeptus Custodes exerted force at the heel of his palm.

That power accurately penetrated Death Guard's demonized skull, reached his brain, and destroyed his brainstem.

No pain, no feeling, just momentary darkness and eternal silence.

Death Guard's body fell softly, and the Chainsword slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull sound.

His eyes were still closed, and the smile was still hanging on the corner of his mouth.

Adeptus Custodes took back his hand and looked down at the body that was still slowly decaying.

His gloves were stained with dark green blood and brain tissue. He did not wipe them off, but just lowered his hands and let the dirt drip down his fingertips.

His lips moved slightly as he recited the last paragraph of the Emperor prayer.

"Emperor is above, receive his soul.

He was loyal, lost, and repentant.

May you forgive his sins in your endless mercy."

The flames in the distance were still burning, and the golden light reflected on Adeptus Custodes's golden armor, illuminating his entire body like a burning statue.

He stood for a long time, so long that the Imperium warriors who came out of the flames all walked around his position.

No one bothered him, no one dared to bother him.

Sisters of Silence stood behind Adeptus Custodes, their black armors particularly eye-catching in the golden firelight.

They are untouchable and the insulators of Psionic Energy.

In Nurgle's Garden, a land soaked with Chaos energy, the power of their icons is like an invisible barrier, isolating the influence of Warp.

Those Death Guard regained their consciousness at the moment they set foot on Garden of Nurgle.

A Sisters of Silence walked up to Adeptus Custodes, did not speak, and just handed over a clean cloth.

Adeptus Custodes took the cloth and lowered his head to wipe the stains on his gloves.

"How many more?"

His voice is very soft.

"A lot."

The nun's voice was transmitted through the throat microphone, cold and clear.

Adeptus Custodes nodded, folded the piece of cloth, and stuffed it into the tactical bag on his waist.

He raised his head and looked at the Garden of Nurgle that was still burning in the distance, and at the Death Guard that were still being surrounded and suppressed by Imperium soldiers.

Some have regained their senses and are kneeling down to beg for death; some have not yet and are still fighting mechanically.

But no matter which one, their ending is the same.

They were soldiers of Imperium.

They were Angel of Death of Emperor.

They were once mankind's most powerful weapons.

Now they are a group of ugly monsters that have been corrupted by Chaos, and even they themselves cannot look directly at them.

But in this last moment, in this moment when they found themselves again, in this moment when they asked for a decent death, Adeptus Custodes gave them a quick death.

They became humans again under the watchful eyes of Emperor.

Adeptus Custodes tightened his gloves and strode towards the depths of the ruins.

His hand was pressed on the Bolter at his waist. The handle of the gun was cold and heavy.

Mortarion's entire body was twisting violently under the restraints of the golden dragons.

The body that had been tempered in the poisonous fog of Barbarus, and later transformed by the blessing of Nurgle to be as tough as a living plague container, was now like a snake nailed to a wooden board, rolling, struggling, and convulsing in vain.

Every rotten muscle is trying to break free from the golden chain, and every bone deformed by Chaos energy is creaking.

His helmet came off during the struggle, bounced on the charred ground, and rolled into the fire not far away. The golden flames licked the dark green visor, making a squeaking sound.

Mortarion didn't pick it up.

He didn't even look in that direction.

His face is exposed to the air.

It was a thin, pale face covered with fine scars.

Those scars were not left by battle. The poisonous mist on Barbarus was corroding his skin every day. His adoptive father would mix new poisons into his diet every day, allowing his body to continuously adapt and evolve amid high fever and convulsions.

His cheeks are sunken, his cheekbones are high, his eye sockets are sunken, and his eyes are dark green - they are the last remnants of Nurgle's blessing, which are being burned, faded, and peeled off bit by bit by the golden flames.

His mouth opened, revealing uneven yellow teeth, with receding gums and exposed tooth roots.

That mouth was shouting something, and the voice was hoarse and broken, like a cry for help that came from a far, far away place and was blown away by the wind.

"No, no, no... stop, Guilliman, stop!

Don't... they are innocent... please, stop!

Stop this, Guilliman!"