My Life as A Death Guard

In the vast, boundless Warhammer universe, a small planet quietly floats—Barbarus, a yellow-green blur from the distant expanse of space.

In the trajectory of this world, countless mundane, endless individuals exist—

They are born into this world, struggle to live, and then silently die.

Unaware of why they were born, unaware of why they die.

Yet, they cling to, obsess over, and covet—the taste of life, struggling to live, unwilling to die.

Just like humans in thousands of other worlds.

Perhaps the humans on Barbarus are better or worse compared to those on other worlds?

But regardless, centuries of life have accustomed these humans, whose average age is less than twenty solar years.

Life is inertia; people busily revolve around their inertia, in their brains incapable of realizing more, inertia is the law, maintaining inertia, maintaining life, staying alive.

They labor day after day on the barren land of Barbarus, silent like livestock with their vocal cords corroded by toxic mists, living in perpetual oppression and fear.

Perhaps, on some day in these countless centuries, one among them once erupted in this oppression, grew angry in this fear, raised a rebellion, picked up a knife to face the tyrant’s oppression!

—But no matter what, he must have failed.

The beings who attempted to change have long died, and the human history on the planet remains the same, following its predetermined inertia.

This planet quietly revolves around its star, the gods of fate silent, wordless, actionless.

Until the day the infant capsule descended from the sky.

Until the Lord of Death walked down from the perpetually mist-shrouded mountains.

The long-stalled, endlessly repetitive gears of fate, receiving the directive from the highest god, started to close in, the decayed gears began to mesh, the ash-covered machine started to operate, gears clanking as they slowly turned.

—The meticulously woven fate began to move.

The protagonist was a guest from beyond the stars, the supporting characters were slaves to a script repeated for millennia.

He joyfully simmered his wonderful broth, everything was ready, everything complete.

Seven meticulous weavings, seven heartfelt blessings, seven ingredients simmering, seven centuries of preparation.

Seven blessings, seven curses, seven destinies, the thick soup already emitted an alluring aroma.

All things rot, all beings endure.

The merciful father had long prepared everything for his beloved son, he watched his unique child.

In the eternally unchanging great garden of the benevolent father, a designated place was already reserved for his cherished child!

On the most beautiful, fertile, enchanting, and comfortable soil of the great garden, in the most lovely, cozy, and agreeable wilderness visible from the window of the father’s mansion—

Flesh boils were tirelessly licked by diligent rotflies, thick phlegm and decayed scars were reluctantly offered by adorable maggots, disaster-ridden bones stood amidst the stinking, sticky fluids, putrid flesh formed soft, warm ground.

Nurglings chirped happily in the branches, Great Unclean Ones offered their treasured relics, plague bees buzzed, rotflies droned, plague toads joyously extolled the grandfather’s benevolence in the pus.

This was such a warm family!

Every member nervously and eagerly prepared the warm and comfortable home for the arriving child.

When he arrives, countless filthy contaminants will burst forth under the father’s command, endless flesh boils will rise under the father’s gaze, the child’s favorite abode will appear before him, complete.

That child, the one who has not yet embraced the father’s bosom, the poor child, he will love it here, he will praise everything!

Oh, how great the benevolent father! How great the benevolent father! All the life in the great garden could not help but smile at the thought of the soon-to-arrive beloved child, that fortunate child! They silently blessed him in their hearts.

However.

However. However.

An uninvited guest stole onto the stage of repetitive stagnation.