Chapter 74: Parent-Teacher Meeting
On the battlefield, the smoke from the drop pods had not yet cleared, but the atmosphere had shifted eerily.
After delivering his speech, Guilliman completely ignored Zarakynel the Calamity, spear in hand, standing ready for battle.
He did not even glance at the heroic spirits and Chaos Space Marines locked in combat.
He strode over the still-twitching, limp limbs of daemons.
"Wait a moment, Captain Sicarius!"
He shoved aside Sicarius, who was about to report on the battle, the force causing the Second Company Captain to stumble.
"Eileen!"
Guilliman rushed to Eileen, his massive body dropping to one knee, the floor trembling.
Even the Hand of Dominion, so steady against the Black Crusade, now appeared somewhat flustered.
He carefully cradled Eileen's injured right hand—injured from blocking Fulgrim's attack to protect Cohl.
A noticeable gash was visible at the base of her thumb, the blood already dried and dark red. A bruise surrounded her wrist.
"Damn it!"
Guilliman growled, his usually calm and rational face now filled with regret and lingering fear.
"How did it get like this?! Were we not just here to explore the planet?!"
He looked up at Eileen's dirt-streaked little face, his tone stern, but his eyes revealed undisguised concern.
"Even if you discovered anything, or felt something was wrong, you should have told me or Calgar first! Why did you lead such a reckless expedition alone?!"
"Do you know how dangerous such a rash tactical choice was? If we had arrived a moment later—"
Guilliman did not finish his sentence. He simply held Eileen's hand tightly, as if to ensure her continued existence.
"Roboute Guilliman…"
Another cold, suppressed voice sounded behind Guilliman.
Mortarion stepped forward.
He was not wearing his signature cloak, nor his breathing mask. His pale, handsome face was now so dark it seemed to drip water.
He did not even glance at the daemons around him; his grey eyes were fixed on Guilliman.
"This is your so-called 'protection'?"
Mortarion pointed to the wounds on Eileen's body, his voice rising.
"Let her venture alone into a place full of madmen and perverts? Let her fight daemons with a short sword?!"
"Do you want her to become like that old man?! A corpse that burned to ashes for the Imperium?!"
Mortarion's chest heaved violently; it was the first time he had felt such rage since his rebirth.
He had received a text message from Guilliman the moment he stepped out of the incubation chamber, and Mortarion had nearly lost his mind in front of Cawl.
The lingering fear of his newly acquired sister nearly dying right before his eyes fuelled his anger, which he vented on his brother, who was in charge of "guardianship."
"This was a strategic accident!" Guilliman whirled around, roaring back. "How was I supposed to know there would be a warp ambush here? Reports indicate this is a safe zone!"
"Safe zone? Ha!" Mortarion sneered. "Where in your Imperium are there safe zones? You have been a complete fool as Lord Commander!"
Two demigods, each over three metres tall, completely ignored the menacing daemon army surrounding them and started arguing in the middle of the battlefield over who had failed to properly supervise their child.
The Ultramarines around them pretended to be on high alert, but their ears were practically glued to their vox-channels.
This was a once-in-a-millennium spectacle—two Primarchs arguing!
Caught in the middle, Eileen shrank back.
She looked at the furious Roboute on her left, then at the dark-faced Mortarion on her right, feeling like a mouse caught between two large cats after stealing some sesame oil.
"Heh heh… um…"
Eileen weakly raised her uninjured hand.
"Actually… I came here of my own accord…"
Her voice was barely audible.
"And… I am not really hurt, really… just a few scrapes…"
She tried to hide her injured hand behind her back.
But Guilliman reacted swiftly, grabbing it back and holding it firmly to prevent her from hiding.
"Do not move! We will have the Apothecary handle it!" Guilliman glared at her. "A scrape? You call that a scrape? Do you not know their weapons might be poisoned?!"
"I…" Eileen pouted, falling silent.
—
"Enough!!"
A sharp, furious roar, filled with humiliation, shattered the atmosphere of this domestic drama.
Fulgrim stood not far away, his magnificent purple armour rattling with his trembling.
His eerie face was contorted with rage.
Who was he?
He was the Primarch of the Emperor's Children! The daemon prince personally ascended to daemonhood by Slaanesh! The embodiment of beauty! The centre of the stage!
And now, he was being treated like air by these people…?
Even the little girl who had just offended the Prince of Pleasure was now focused on those two nonsensical "parents"?
"You… dare to ignore me?!"
Fulgrim screamed hysterically.
"I am the perfect Primarch! The Phoenix of the Prince of Pleasure! You dare to… argue about raising children on my battlefield?!"
"Look at me!! You two arrogant bastards!!"
"Roboute! I will show you my sword again!! This time, no one can save you!!"
Fulgrim had reached his limit.
His massive serpentine tail slammed into the ground, propelling him into the air.
The Blade of the Laer, radiating purple poisonous fire, with terrifying power capable of slicing through warship armour, slashed fiercely toward Guilliman and Mortarion, who were surrounding Eileen!
This strike was unleashed with hatred, without any reservation.
"My lords! Watch out!" Calgar shouted.
But Guilliman did not even turn around. He was still examining Eileen's wounds, only his brow furrowed even more deeply.
Beside him—
Mortarion moved.
He raised his right hand, the massive war-scythe "Judgement" in his grasp meeting the attack head-on.
Clang!!!
A deafening clang of metal clashing.
Sparks flew.
Fulgrim's thunderous strike was actually blocked firmly by that war-scythe.
It was as if he had crashed into an unshakeable mountain.
"What?!"
Fulgrim's pupils contracted.
He felt as if his wrist had cracked open; the force of the recoil was astonishing.
"Shut up."
Mortarion scoffed.
He slowly turned around, his snow-white hair swaying with the movement.
His grey, unclouded eyes coldly stared at Fulgrim, who hovered in mid-air.
His gaze held only the disgust one would show for refuse.
Fulgrim froze.
He stared at the "stranger" before him.
Before him stood a man clad in grey, finely crafted power armour, tall and muscular, radiating a pure, cold, yet incredibly powerful aura.
That aura…
That scent from the depths of his soul…
So familiar. Too familiar.
It was a Primarch's aura. From the same source. From that laboratory.
But…
There was no signature breathing mask. No nauseating, rotting stench. And no tattered cloak dripping with pus.
Fulgrim's mind was a jumbled mess. In his memory, his brother possessing such a soul-aura was a monster shrouded in poison gas, as sombre as a mould-ridden stone.
It could not possibly be this… this figure who looked even "cleaner" than marble.
"Who are you?"
Fulgrim withdrew his sword, asking with some confusion.
"Why… why do you smell like my stubborn, heavy, eternally rotting brother?"
He looked Mortarion up and down, a hint of mockery in his voice.
"Where did that coward who wore that ridiculous rebreather and only knew how to play with poison gas canisters go?"
"Who are you to dare block my way? Do you know who I am?!"
Mortarion looked at Fulgrim's arrogant yet utterly ridiculous demeanour.
A slow, sarcastic smile crept onto his lips.
It was a cold, ironic laugh.
That was the first time he had shown that sharp, Mortarion expression since his rebirth.
"What?"
Mortarion spoke.
His voice was no longer the muffled rasp from a respirator, but clear, deep, and with a metallic magnetism.
"Sold your soul to that bitch, and your brain too? Fulgrim."
He stepped forward, the scythe in his hand twirling slightly, its blade reflecting a cold light in the lamplight.
"You do not even recognise me anymore…"
Mortarion stared into Fulgrim's purple eyes, saying each word slowly and deliberately:
"…brother?"
Fulgrim's pupils dilated instantly.
His lips trembled; the name was on the tip of his tongue, yet he could not utter it.
An utterly unbelievable conjecture, enough to overturn his understanding of the universe, exploded in his mind.
"You… you are…"