The camp, once shrouded in deathly silence and vigilance at night, was rarely bustling tonight. Every member of the Reapers had been mobilised, eagerly and curiously awaiting Mortarion's return.
"No, Master Lasker also said this one looks much 'softer' than the monsters on the mountain..."
"Maybe we should get a pot ready early and..."
Most of the Reapers gathered in the camp were native Barbaran farmers. They were genuinely delighted that their leader had managed to bring back such an 'impressive' xenos. The people divided the labour and cooperated in an orderly fashion; a festive, lively atmosphere prevailed.
"Master Mortarion has returned!"
None knew who cried out first. Everyone immediately abandoned their work and turned their gaze upon the returning Mortarion — and the golden xenos beside him, Nyx. More precisely, every gaze was fixed upon the 'yellow‑skinned' Nyx.
"Father. It seems everyone in the Reapers is very fond of you."
Mortarion inclined his head slightly, lowering his voice to Nyx. "I was worried they might not immediately accept your appearance."
"...Yes... Really?"
Nyx felt those eyes clinging to his body, provoking intense discomfort. "I think, from the way they're looking at me... something's not right?"
The more he looked, the more he felt this gaze seemed familiar — as though he himself had experienced it very recently.
"Perhaps it's just excitement. Look, Father."
Mortarion pointed to a conspicuously large black cauldron at the centre of the camp square. "They were even worried you might be hungry — they've been busy preparing cooking utensils."
Why is this déjà vu growing stronger and stronger?
Just as Nyx was still puzzling over the source of this familiar feeling, Lasker approached him with an eager face and said excitedly:
"Lord Mortarion! Please entrust this 'rat‑xenos' to me! Boiling water, plucking fur — leave it all to us!"
"You must be exhausted from bringing him back."
Lasker's words struck Nyx like thunder, jolting him wide awake. He finally understood the source of this familiarity — this gaze, this atmosphere, were exactly the same as when he himself had looked at Ork greenskins and wondered how to get them into the pot!
Nyx hastily swept his gaze across the Reaper members. Behind their pale, gaunt faces, he could clearly see barely concealed appetite and hunger.
...No way? Why is my good brother's imagination so... 'rich'?
"Lasker."
"Yes, my lord!"
Lasker replied with delight, proud to have connected with his leader.
"You will—"
"Ahem——!"
Mortarion's words were cut short by Nyx's sharp cough. Though Mortarion's band was a bunch of savages, Nyx could not stand idly by and watch him execute this loyal (and very open‑minded) subordinate.
"...Very well."
Mortarion paused a moment, then revised his words. "For my father's sake, I shall not make an example of you."
He walked indifferently past the frozen Lasker. The uplifted mood he had shared with Nyx dissipated.
Lasker remained rooted to the spot, unable to move. He only felt a chill at his core — the instantaneous eruption of Mortarion's icy killing intent had frozen him from crown to sole.
...What did I just hear? Lord Mortarion... calling that 'rat‑xenos'... 'father'?
Whatever the reason — the lord considers a xenos his father, and I was about to stew someone else's father in a pot...
Gulp.
Lasker swallowed. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. Had that 'xenos father' not spoken up to stop it, he would likely be a corpse by now.
Upon the raised platform at the camp's centre, the sombre Mortarion stood beside the bizarre Nyx. Mortarion's gaze swept across the audience — the cauldron‑bearers and many Reaper members holding bowls and utensils, all staring eagerly at them. Most were pallid and gaunt; some were especially weakened by years of gas erosion.
"Mortarion. Do not blame them."
Nyx murmured. "They are simply... it has been too hard for them."
"I know, Father."
Mortarion replied quietly. Both he and Nyx understood that these people harboured no malice. It was extreme hunger and suffering that had temporarily deprived them of their capacity for reason, leading to this absurd misunderstanding.
"This is my father!"
Without further explanation, Mortarion refused to waste more time on Nyx's unusual appearance. He was convinced that, just as Nyx had earned his trust, so too would he earn the trust of every Reaper.
"...Future citizens of the Imperium."
Nyx seized the moment to speak. His voice was gentle, penetrating. "I am Carlyle Nyx."
"I see hunger and disease tormenting every one of you."
"But worry no longer."
"For I am here!"
Before his words faded, his 'yellow‑skinned' guise raised a claw forward. A pocket dimension opened from nowhere. In an instant, countless well‑packed ration tins cascaded out like a waterfall, accumulating into a hill.
Immediately after, before the disbelieving eyes of all, Nyx stepped upon an invisible staircase and slowly rose into the air. The halo behind his head blazed brightly, like a miniature, warm sun.
Holy radiance shone down, enveloping every one of them — hollowed out by toxic gas. The next second, pure, pale flames silently flickered across the surface of their bodies.
At first, the people panicked. But soon they calmed — they could clearly feel the viruses and chronic pain accumulated over years in their lungs and joints being washed away, cleansed by this warm flame.
The 'miracle' Nyx manifested, just as Mortarion had anticipated, instantly won over nearly every heart present.
Yet not all could accept Nyx.
"Impossible... How can he be a god?"
Calas Typhon clenched his teeth. His sealed lips trembled faintly.
"Only... only the Father who embraces all decay and new life, whose love knows no bounds — only He is the true god."