Chapter 348: Who Came First?
Fulgrim had prepared thoroughly for Horus's promotion to Warmaster.
The Phoenix of Chemos had once hoped that his dearest friend, Manus, would become Warmaster—but those were old thoughts. Now Ferrus seemed unwilling to take such a position, and as his friend, Fulgrim understood and respected that decision.
He was also genuinely pleased to see Horus elevated. No one was more suitable. Horus was brilliant, mindful of the greater good, and on good terms with most of the Primarchs except the Lion, Curze, and Corax.
The Phoenician had a gift prepared for the new Warmaster, and had devised countless strategies and remarks in anticipation of this event.
He was well aware that some Primarchs would be dissatisfied, and as Horus's friend, Fulgrim intended to shoulder some of the burden.
After all, the Phoenician thoughtfully realized: compared with those merely reacting from the sidelines, the one at the center of it all—Horus—would suffer the greatest pressure. He was about to take on the weight of the entire Imperium.
And Horus was always so hard on himself—endlessly anxious that he wasn't good enough, that he could not live up to everyone's expectations—particularly the Emperor's.
Horus cared too much—and Fulgrim valued that about him. That was why he intended to silence a portion of the inevitable murmurs on Horus's behalf.
But…
What was happening now was certainly not among the thousands of possible scenarios he had planned for.
"Calm down, everyone—I said calm down!"
The silver-haired Primarch snapped around, hair whipping through the air.
"Today is Horus's day of ascension—what are you doing?!"
Why had the topic veered away from Horus?
Why had it escalated into conflict?
Yet even the Phoenician's rising agitation was nowhere near enough to suppress the two oddities before him—both looked upon the tall Primarch with a touch of disdain.
"I just want an explanation."
Mortarion's tone was calm, but beneath his hood his eyes burned with fury.
Lorgar's eyes widened slightly:
"You know him? The one I described?"
"Of course I know him. Even if he were ashes, I could pick out his bones from the pile."
Mortarion said, impatient.
"So tell me, Lorgar—how is it you know him?"
"Hey! Is no one listening to me?!"
Fulgrim shouted in exasperation—and, indeed, no one listened.
Sanguinius swirled the wine in his glass, the crimson liquid glimmering as he quietly downed the rest.
Horus would not want such a scene on this day. The Angel would not allow anything to spoil his dear friend's joy.
Even if the words exchanged between Mortarion and Lorgar hinted at something intriguing—something he very much wanted to hear more of.
The Khan remained seated, casually watching as the Angel rose and gave his wings a slight shake.
"I believe Fulgrim is right."
Sanguinius said succinctly—and everyone turned toward him.
"This is Horus's day. Mortarion. Lorgar."
Mortarion stared at the Angel, realizing his tactical misstep.
After a long pause, his form swayed slightly. The Lord of Death stepped back, his eyes shimmering.
"I was… impatient."
He lowered his hands and sat once more—but this time, he chose a seat beside Lorgar.
Fulgrim let out a dramatic, relieved sigh—though it would not take long before he became frustrated that his radiance could not outshine Sanguinius's.
Lorgar blinked in confusion—Mortarion's sudden hostility baffled him, and his words had been shocking. Did this brother also know something?
The Angel looked at Mortarion, deep in thought.
Mortarion tugged irritably at his hood, letting the fabric obscure the stares of his so-called brothers.
He opened his mouth, and his hoarse voice rasped out like a venomous serpent scraping across a tombstone:
"Yes. Today is Horus's day. Any other subject is… ill-timed."
Mortarion didn't look at anyone. He sank himself into shadow and noxious vapor.
"Soon enough, the name we shout will not be 'in the name of the Emperor.' Under the command of the great Warmaster, I imagine the Emperor will happily retreat back to his Terra."
Everyone's blood ran cold.
The Angel's face cracked like a poorly-made mask.
Fulgrim sucked in a dramatic breath.
Just as the Phoenician was about to ask Mortarion what he meant, Mortarion cut him off without hesitation—just as Fulgrim had tried to interrupt him earlier.
Mortarion's voice was strangely light, as though he enjoyed speaking these words:
"Do you truly think this is a good thing? We don't even know why He suddenly departed. This isn't some game of competing to be the favorite child—that liar has no interest in such play."
Fulgrim's shout rose in perfect unison with Lorgar's roar—
"Enough! Mortarion! Do you even know what you're saying?!"
"You must not speak blasphemy against God!"
Mortarion spread his hands with an air of innocence.
He turned toward the silent Angel and the Khan—the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes made it clear he was smirking.
The Angel and the Khan kept their expressions controlled, because both saw at least some truth in Mortarion's words.
The Khan did not trust the Imperium, nor its Emperor.
The Angel was ever wary of their father—especially regarding the future of his Legion.
The Lord of Death continued with chilling ease, without a trace of guilt toward Horus:
"Which is why I say today is not the day to discuss the Warmaster. We should let Horus revel for a while in being the Emperor's 'good son,' and in the vast, boundless power that title brings."
The Khan took a sip of his drink, then reached out, pulling the recently-risen and roaring Lorgar back down into his seat.
Lorgar struggled for a moment, then relented.
He glared at Mortarion, voice low and trembling with conviction:
"He is our Father. Humanity's God. You will show Him reverence."
"I expect you to retract what you said, Mortarion."
From farther away, Fulgrim let out a small but irritated yelp upon hearing Lorgar's declaration—
"So no one cares about Horus at all?!"
Only to be interrupted as the Angel pressed a fresh glass of wine into his hands.
"And why," Mortarion said lazily, "should I revere Him?"
"Because he is our father?"
"The same father who flung us across the stars while we were still infants?"
The Khan took another casual sip of his drink.
The Angel quietly averted his gaze.
Lorgar let out a sigh.
"Your vision cannot be so narrow," Lorgar said softly.
"He is the God of all mankind. Nothing He does is as simple as you perceive—every act carries greater purpose."
Mortarion drank, sneering through the rim of his cup:
"A greater purpose?"
"Then why throw me onto a toxic, rotting death-world?"
"Was His 'purpose' to watch His child choke on poison for a lifetime?"
"Or did He truly believe that Barbarus held any—"
Mortarion stopped.
His voice died.
His breath caught.
His thoughts froze as a horrifying realization blackened his mind.
When the Emperor first descended upon Barbarus…
He met only two people:
Mortarion.
And Hades.
The terrible implication smothered every spark of Mortarion's anger, sarcasm, and grim amusement—as if gravity itself had vanished and left him suspended in dread.
So… from the very beginning… the Emperor had noticed Hades?
Mortarion had been too furious back then to understand.
Too blinded to question why…
He dug into memory—and remembered:
The Emperor had contacted Hades before he ever became an Astartes.
He had told Hades things… things Mortarion himself had never been told.
Which meant—before Hades became a commander of the Death Guard—
He was already…
already…
Mortarion refused to think it through.
For the first time in his life, he desperately wanted the Emperor to be a fraud—anything but an omniscient being watching every move from the start.
Lorgar stared, stunned, as Mortarion sagged into his seat like a bundle of dead weeds.
He hadn't even begun the sermon yet.
"Have you now realized the wrong you've done to Him, brother?"
"No."
Mortarion muttered darkly.
"Just… tell me what you saw. Him—and the 'extension of His will.'"
Behind him came the sound of wine swirling in a crystal glass— either the Angel's elegant hand… or Fulgrim's impatient one.
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