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

Barbarus, Northern Mountains, Frontline Wasteland.

Now.

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The sun was setting, casting a yellowish hue over the world.

A lone withered tree stood in the barren wasteland, while a pack of Plague Hounds sped across, kicking up dust. The fog mingled with the dirt, making it hard to distinguish earth from sky.

Herila's vision was blood-red, her blood flowing freely, luring predators from afar.

She raised her gun and fired again.

The targeted hound suddenly leaped, its long body compressing into an impossible shape, flinging soil everywhere.

It dodged!

Herila took a deep breath and quickly reloaded, but the blood on her hands made the bullets slippery.

She fired again.

Two shots rang out.

The hound repeated its trick, jumping twice to avoid the bullets, but its companion was less fortunate, falling to the ground in spasms.

The first bullet was a feint; the second, aimed at the other hound, was Herila's true target.

The remaining Plague Hound snarled, its running speed somehow increasing even more!

Herila aimed again, firing three more shots, but the agile hound dodged them all.

Damn it!

Out of options, Herila shifted her focus to the two hounds trailing behind.

Bullets whistled through the fog, aimed at the fast-moving targets.

They found their marks—flesh torn, blood splattered! The hounds collapsed, their momentum causing them to slide across the ground.

Two more down.

One hound remained, but Herila couldn't relax—this was the most dangerous one, now dangerously close to her tree!

She quickly fired again, sending a barrage of bullets its way. The hound leaped straight at her!

Herila's pupils constricted, but her hands didn't falter.

After emptying her clip, she grabbed her rifle with one hand and drew her knife with the other.

The Plague Hound bared its fangs, its foul-smelling saliva dripping as it lunged at her—

Herila braced herself, using the rifle to wedge it between the hound's jaws, while she drove the knife deep into its body.

The impact knocked both of them off the branch, sending them plummeting to the hard ground.

Branches cracked, the withered tree shuddered.

The ground hit Herila like a ton of bricks, her back searing with pain, her chest numb with agony.

The massive Plague Hound, over two meters long, pinned her down, its jaws lunging for her throat—

With a sickening crunch, the rifle snapped under the pressure!

Herila shoved the broken barrel deep into the hound's throat, her entire forearm disappearing into the beast. The hound, unable to bite down, could only thrash about in vain.

Its claws dug into her abdomen, tearing through flesh.

"Gah!"

Herila plunged her knife into the hound's belly, twisting it with all her remaining strength. The hound's pale, diseased lungs slid out through the wound.

Both were locked in a desperate struggle, blood and flesh flying as they fought to the death. Herila's vision began to blur, her eyes bloodshot.

No! She couldn't die!

She had to deliver the documents!

Gritting her teeth, Herila pushed the rifle deeper into the hound's throat, finally breaking the deadlock. The beast's blood, mixed with corrosive bile, sprayed from its mouth.

Herila held on, refusing to let go.

The fog thickened over the wasteland as nightfall approached.

The two figures beneath the tree lay still.

After what felt like an eternity, the hound's massive body slumped to the side.

Herila, covered in blood, lay gasping for breath, staring up at the foggy sky.

No, she couldn't stop now.

She couldn't die until the mission was complete!

Death Guards were known for their resilience, after all.

Herila slowly regained her senses.

—Her ribs were broken, her right arm corroded to the bone, her abdomen pierced, her left leg fractured.

Fortunately, the wound to her abdomen hadn't damaged her organs; but her intestines were spilling out.

She just needed to reach the command center before she bled out.

Herila checked the documents inside her coat—they were unharmed.

She stuffed her intestines back in, roughly bandaged herself, and picked up a stick to use as a crutch. 

Struggling to her feet, she started walking again, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

Her vision began to darken, the world turning black and white, static filling her eyes.

Almost there... almost...

Why was it so far?

So far...

Hang in there, Herila. You can do it.

You swore to protect this place.

Herila could no longer feel pain, the world around her turning black.

It's too dark, she thought, so she tore off her gas mask and tossed it aside.

But it was still dark... why?

Suddenly, fear gripped her heart—what if she failed to complete the mission?

No, no, no, Herila, you can do this!

You can, you can!

A lone scarecrow stood in the field.

Herila recognized it; it marked the edge of the human settlement. Seeing it meant she was close.

She smiled, or at least she thought she did.

If she collapsed here, someone would find her.

But even so, her numb body kept moving forward, mechanically, driven by the need to complete the mission.

She had to protect everyone—she had sworn to.

Wait?

Was there someone up ahead?

Herila couldn't be sure; her vision was too blurred, filled with black and white spots.

She couldn't be sure.

"Herila!!!"

"Herila!!!"

"Herila, hold on!!! Don't die!!!"

Ah.

It was Hades' voice.

Herila felt herself smile, her face wet with tears.

Finally, I've fulfilled my vow.

Hades, look, I did it.

I'm a strong Death Guard now.

I can protect everyone.

And we've finally met again.

Herila could hold on no longer. She collapsed.

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