Chapter 71: Pluto! Hades! Don't Run!
Mortarion, Primarch of the Imperium.
Great leader of the Death Guard.
A man who, in this particular moment, reeked of something far worse than Barbarus's usual toxins.
No one could endure it.
"Urgh—!"
Lorgar, finally realising the full extent of what had just happened, dropped to one knee and began retching violently. He had been hit. Directly. By the residual filth clinging to Mortarion's armour after the brawl. Help.
Mortarion stared down at the kneeling Urizen with genuine confusion, unable to comprehend what abstract ritual Lorgar was performing on the deck plating.
"Magnus. Lorgar. Angron." Mortarion's voice was a low, filtered rasp as he drew a deep breath through his restored rebreather. "What orders did the Emperor give you?"
Magnus took a subtle step backward.
Shit.
The Cyclops, already thoroughly sickened by the earlier Nurgle infestation, found he could barely look Mortarion in the eye. He did not yet know the full extent of any possible corruption, but the swarm of Grandfather's daemons that had answered Barbarus's call had left him deeply wary. In that moment Magnus was profoundly grateful for his psychic gifts — distance was the only sensible approach.
As for Lorgar and Angron…
Two figures still partially coated in the Pale Lord's residual filth.
"Ask Erebus," Magnus said flatly. He knew only that the Master of Mankind had driven them from Terra in a black rage. Specifics had never been provided. The Legion Master of the Word Bearers, however, clearly knew more.
Heavy, filtered breathing filled the landing bay. Mortarion still could not understand what game his brothers were playing.
"Do not attempt to deceive me."
"I would never dare," Erebus replied smoothly.
The words instantly fixed Mortarion's attention. He studied the chaplain with the same intensity he reserved for suspected psykers. Pale eyes locked onto Erebus's face, searching for any crack, any tell.
There were problems.
With a wry, long-suffering expression, Erebus bent and retrieved Mortarion's discarded rebreather mask. A faint sheen of residual toxin still clung to it. Lorgar and Magnus both flinched.
That's the same filth.
When Erebus calmly handed the mask back, the two Primarchs were forced to concede that the chaplain truly was the bravest among them.
Mortarion snatched the rebreather in a foul mood and sealed it over his face once more.
"We come on the orders of the great God-Emperor," Erebus declared.
"God-Emperor?"
A note of genuine suspicion entered Mortarion's voice. Lord of Mankind. Emperor. But the title God-Emperor was new. Had the old man finally decided to deify himself?
Liar. Clown. Bastard.
Outwardly, the Pale Lord remained silent. He simply watched Erebus, waiting to see what further absurdity would emerge.
"Yes. The God-Emperor. We are here to obey His command and destroy all evil sorcerers!"
"What?"
Magnus's single eye widened in pure horror. No. Why is he talking about me? Did the Emperor send them after me? No — He never said that! Erebus is targeting me!
Damn you, Erebus. You deserve to die.
Mortarion's stare intensified, clearly wondering what else this creature might invent.
"This is the Emperor's command," Erebus continued solemnly.
It was coming. It was really coming. Magnus and Lorgar leaned in, ears practically twitching.
"Mortarion, my child… I am sorry."
"?"
Mortarion's grip tightened on Silence until the haft creaked. He was certain now. Erebus was a liar of the highest order. The Emperor apologising? He might as well claim the Emperor had died and risen again.
"I said do not attempt to deceive me!"
Disbelief. Accusation. Rising fury.
The Death Scythe pressed against Erebus's throat. Mortarion stared down at him, fully prepared to end the conversation permanently. To his mild surprise, the chaplain showed not the slightest flicker of fear.
"Then perhaps you do not know," Erebus said quietly, "that your adoptive father is not dead."
Mortarion's eyes lowered. When they rose again, pure killing intent burned behind the rebreather lenses.
"Last chance, Erebus. Legion Master of the Word Bearers."
"The Emperor is asking for your help!" Erebus pressed on, undeterred. "Mortarion! Only you! Only you can chart the path that will preserve the Emperor's life! He trusts you. He told me you possess a materialistic form of divination — numerology! Mortarion, the Emperor is asking for your aid!"
Then what am I? Magnus looked down at his own hands in quiet suspicion.
Lorgar lowered his gaze to the holy texts clutched in his gauntlets. So he was still too weak. He needed to pray more. He needed to ask his own gene-sons for greater faith.
Angron, the only one still genuinely concerned for Erebus's continued existence, watched Mortarion's every movement and drifted silently closer to the Pale Lord's side.
"The Emperor wishes to show you the truth," Erebus continued. "He wishes to destroy Chaos, to eradicate the daemons, and to lift the curse that hangs over you!"
"Slander!"
Mortarion believed not a single word. His scythe arm tensed, ready to execute the heretic on the spot.
But—
"Don't run!"
An aged, furious voice cut through the tension.
From the shadowed corridor, the Blood God's scorching flames flared for an instant. Six eyes flickered in the darkness. Every Primarch turned toward the blackness.
A bloodthirsty hound of Khorne came bounding into the open. Unlike ordinary flesh hounds, this one possessed three heads. One clamped the foul-smelling remains of a Nurgle daemon between its jaws. Another held a scrap of Slaaneshi silks in its teeth. The third had a blue feather and a length of tubing jammed into it like a crude trophy.
"Hades! Don't run! Don't you fucking run!"
Kor Phaeron charged after it, psychic whip already crackling. He had only wanted to test whether daemons could devour one another. The moment he released the creature, it had bolted.
Mortarion stared at the abomination in pure horror. His expression mirrored the one Perturabo had worn upon first witnessing a daemon. He could not even name the blasphemy racing across the deck.
The three-headed hound, still carrying a small Faceless Emperor statue lashed to its back, skidded to a halt the instant it saw the four Primarchs. Six eyes darted about in panic. The moment its gaze locked onto Erebus, the entire beast convulsed and collapsed flat onto the deck in terrified submission.
"What in the Emperor's name is that?" Mortarion demanded.
"That," Erebus replied without the slightest change in expression, "is Hades. God of the Underworld."
"Fuck! Run, you useless mongrel! I told you to eat the filth and you refused! I'll turn you into filth!"
Kor Phaeron's psychic whip cracked through the air as he continued his furious pursuit.
(End of Chapter)
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