The Only Person He Feared
For everyone on the battlefield, the air had never felt so clean.
Gone were the sticky, greasy odors. Gone was the stench of fermenting flesh.
Just moments ago, the giant moth—a mass of fungus and decay—had vanished.
In its place stood a "person."
Marnes Karga, the Chapter Commander, whose will was once as unyielding as steel, now looked like a novice witnessing a master at work.
His power gauntlets sparked weakly, hanging limply. The frantically pulsating data stream in his prosthetic eye was gone, replaced by a blank emptiness.
"This… this is in accordance with… the Holy Codex?" he murmured, disbelief coloring every word.
Before him was the newly reborn Primarch—no longer a demon, no longer Mortarian in his grotesque, corrupted form—but purified Mortarion.
His skin was pale as Macragge rock. Every muscle radiated a pure, golden light. Through translucent skin, the psionic energy inside shimmered.
He no longer required breathing. No longer bore a body forged from the Emperor's genetic fragments. Instead, he possessed a "phantom body," molded in reality by an unparalleled power, resembling a living saint.
Mortarion had transcended Nurgle's grasp. He had become a manifestation of "order" itself.
"This… this is His Majesty's power."
Chief Think Tank Digglis covered his eyes. Even partially blinded, his psionic senses recoiled at the purity before him—pure enough to sting even a mortal psionicist.
"The Primarch… purified?" Company Commander Agman whispered, trembling as he gripped his bomb pistol. "By the Emperor… what mercy, what greatness…"
But peace did not last.
"Whoosh…"
The sky darkened. Poisonous clouds, once dispersed, were stirred again. A colossal, decaying hand, large enough to cover half a continent, pressed down, its weight more conceptual than physical—a "fatherly embrace" turned malevolent.
It sought to drag the planet, and all on it, into Nurgle's eternal Gardens of Decay.
"My child… come back…"
"The outside world is cold… but a father's embrace is warm…"
The moist, sticky whisper sent chills down every mortal spine.
Mortarion raised his head. His eyes burned pale white flames, unwavering.
"Slavemaster! I've had enough of your so-called 'pampering.'"
He gripped the Imperial Sword. Its flames shifted from golden-red to pale white in his hands.
"Robert, take the girl—step back."
He did not turn to them. His voice was calm, resolute.
Then, he bent his knees.
"Boom!"
He shot into the sky like a shooting star defying the current, aiming straight at the colossal hand.
Gravity was irrelevant. Warp pressure intensified as he approached. Maggots rained from the air, yet he pressed on.
"You cannot contain me! The Oppressor!"
He poured all his psionic power into the sword.
Then, a sudden change occurred.
"Buzz—!!!"
The Imperial Sword screamed, its pale flames vanishing.
A chilling black-gold energy coated the blade. Black lightning coiled along it.
This was no longer Eileen's flame. Nor Old Huang's soul-power.
It came from Terra, from the Golden Throne itself—the one who had endured ten thousand years, gradually transforming into something beyond human comprehension.
The King of Kings. The Lord of Humanity.
[Holy crap?!] Old Huang's voice screamed in Eileen's mind.
[That smell… cold… frozen for ten years!]
[A big one?! Really you?!]
[Did the salted-meat old geezer come personally to perform a basic attack?!]
[Eileen! Don't stare! That energy is terrifying! Not for children!]
Mortarion felt it too.
The sword's weight threatened to crush his will. Yet at the same time, its edge could cut through the sharpness of gods.
He accepted the power.
"With this sword—I sever your shackles!!"
Mortarion roared.
"Sizzle—!!!"
No shockwave. No explosion.
Only the sound of a hot knife through butter.
The golden sword light, laced with black lightning, carved a thousand-meter rift through the sky.
The decaying hand of Nurgle was tofu before it. From palm to wrist to forearm, it split cleanly.
"Ugh—!!!"
Nurgle's muffled cry echoed, this time not indulgent, but fearful.
The severed hand disintegrated into pus and blood, instantly reduced to ashes by the sword's black lightning before touching the ground.
"Get out!!"
Mortarion hovered, sword pointed skyward, letting out a final roar.
The warp rift groaned, then collapsed. The darkness vanished. Poisonous clouds dissipated.
Long-awaited starlight pierced the atmosphere, bathing the battlefield in silver.
"Thud."
Mortarion landed slowly. The sword's black-gold radiance faded, flames returning to their original red.
["Phew… my main account is finally offline."] Old Huang's voice sighed in Eileen's mind, still shaken.
["If that had lasted a few more seconds, I feared the old geezer would've come up the internet cable and swallowed me whole."]
["The worst is when an older comrade lacks fighting spirit…"]
Mortarion stood tall, the only one in the galaxy who had never feared anyone… until now.
And now, for the first time, he had truly faced the power of the King of Kings—and survived.