Whether Mortarion could hear him or tacitly cooperate was beyond his control now.
Kallas Typhon had collapsed onto the corpse pile again, breathing out more than in.
"Typhon!!" Mortarion's keen ears caught his companion's faint cry.
"Hahaha..." Nakerre burst into wild laughter; he felt only a pitiful psychic breeze waft toward him, a breeze so weak it couldn't even stir his hair.
"Shak—" Nakerre, about to mock that overreaching ant, was horrified to find his body suddenly immobile.
No matter how frantically his mind urged or how his psychic energy surged, he couldn't move a muscle; the terror of death cloaked his heart for the first time.
"Die, filthy Alien!" Mortarion's great scythe flashed across Nakerre's neck in a thousandth of a second, the Alien having frozen for less than 0.05 seconds.
An ugly, hideous lizard head rolled like a melon across the battlefield the two had ravaged, eyes wide with endless terror; blood gushed like a fountain from the severed neck, the towering body slumped, limbs twitching in a final struggle... "I finally killed you, Alien!!!" Mortarion leaned on his war-scythe, gazing at the grotesque head with the happiest smile of his life; he would take it to honor the little girl, then turned his gaze to where Typhon had fallen.
"I'll take you... home... Typhon, hold on..." Mortarion staggered toward him, clutching his adoptive father's severed head.
Exhausted—utterly drained—Mortarion climbed the wall, blurred eyes searching for where Typhon had fallen; he had no other way down.
"What's he doing? Suicide jump?" Swain muttered.
To the trio's astonishment, Mortarion spotted Typhon and simply rolled off the wall toward him without hesitation.
Crushing Typhon himself was better than letting the Alien do it—Mortarion couldn't think further.
Thud—the sound of flesh striking flesh. Mortarion, still clutching the Alien's head, blacked out completely... In the next instant, blazing golden light flared atop the mountain, scattering the perpetual poison mist of the Tongtian Range; even the toxins seeping through Mortarion and Typhon's wounds were swept clean.
The Emperor, clad in resplendent golden armor, stepped to Mortarion's side and gently lifted his battered son.
Rising, The Emperor cradled Mortarion like a rag doll; the Primarch's furrowed brows relaxed as he sank into unconsciousness.
"Is this real or an act?" For a moment Swain couldn't tell whether The Emperor's tenderness was genuine or performed for Corax's benefit.
In his memory, opinions on The Emperor varied, but most agreed He viewed the Primarchs merely as tools to unify the galaxy.
Yet in that instant, Swain felt The Emperor's unmistakable fatherly concern for his gene-son.
As The Emperor lifted Mortarion, a squad of Custodians and Sisters of Silence emerged from the golden light and hoisted the unconscious Typhon.
"Kill him?" The thought flashed through Swain's mind—this man was the very reason Mortarion and the Death Guard would one day fall to Nurgle.
Kallas Typhon—later First Captain Typhon of the Death Guard, the very first Astartes among them to embrace Father Nurgle.
It was he who slew the Legion's Navigator, stranding the Death Guard in the Warp; watching warriors sicken and die from plague, Mortarion finally knelt to Nurgle and entered His embrace.
"Heal him!" The Emperor commanded, snapping Swain from his reverie; a Custodian produced an arm-thick golden syringe and jabbed it casually into Typhon.
The custom needle slid effortlessly through Kallas Typhon's tattered underlayer, and the Custodes-issue serum surged brutally into his veins.
Typhon's faint breathing steadied visibly.
"Recover any of Mortarion's men on this mountain who can still be saved." The Emperor ordered.
"By your will, my lord." The accompanying Custodians set off downhill to gather the Death Guard still clinging to life.
The Sisters of Silence took up the guard duty.
In the Death Guard's current state, the mere approach of a Sister of Silence would finish them off for good.
The Soulless nature of the Sisters makes them unsuited to certain situations; that is why they operate alongside the Custodians—ordinary humans simply cannot endure the sensation of their souls being devoured.
"The Emperor really has shown the last ounce of kindness, Stinky; it's time for you to Rise!" Swain watched as the Custodians began to round up the still-breathing Death Guard at the foot of the hill, plunging the golden stim-packs they carried into each body, while the roar of Stormbirds thundered overhead.
Not only the Custodians—under Corax's order the Raven Guard joined the race against time to save lives.
The poisonous mist that had plagued the Death Guard in the Tongtian Range could not penetrate Astartes power armour, let alone the Custodians whose suits were worth a planet apiece; the technology of the Mechanicum of Mars ensured their armour could survive every hostile environment.
Moments later the wounded were loaded onto Stormbirds and flown to the warships in orbit; there they would receive the finest medical care. The people of Barbarus left their birth-world for the first time in this fashion—something no one had foreseen.
"Why not just finish Typhon off?" Swain was still toying with the idea of quietly killing Mortarion while he lay unconscious,
yet no matter how great Mortarion's gifts, he would never notice; Typhon, already at death's door, would perish without their lifting a finger.
Or the Sisters of Silence need only stand nearby and Kallas Typhon would be truly dead.
"He is Typhon, not Typhus; kill one and another will Rise. A fish in open water is easy to watch—let it dive and you'll never find it," The Emperor said.
"Enough chatter—you just want to fish." Swain rolled his eyes at The Emperor.
Knowing that scoundrel as he did, Swain was sure The Emperor had already condemned Typhon in his heart; the only question was when. Typhon's death meant little compared with Nurgle behind him; trading a single bait for a chance at the greater prize was simply too good a bargain.
"Where… am I?" Mortarian opened heavy eyelids; harsh yellow light greeted him. The Primarch sat up on the broad med-bed and yanked the drip from his arm.
"The first thing you do on waking is pull out your drip—the medicae will be cross." A stranger's voice sounded; only then did Mortarion notice the tall golden figure seated nearby.
Ornate auramite armour, golden olive leaves framing jet-black silken hair, set off The Emperor's stern yet merciful air.
"Who are you? Where are my brothers?" Mortarion rose, eyeing the man warily, every muscle ready for battle.
"I am The Emperor, Master of the Imperium of Man, your father. The stir of your blood should tell you. Typhon is being treated; he is only mortal and will need long to heal," The Emperor replied.
"I just slew the last wretch who dared call me son!" Mortarion snapped, bristling.
"I saw; he deserved it. That you slew so mighty a xenos by your own strength gladdens me; I am proud to call you my son," The Emperor praised.
"Besides Typhon, every Death Guard still breathing on the mountain has been saved. Rest now—your Legion is on its way, and your brother Corax will acquaint you with the Imperium." The Emperor gestured.
A Custodian approached bearing a tray: upon it sat the hideous, horned head of a lizard, skillfully preserved by The Emperor's artisans so the trophy would not rot and offend the senses.
Even in death Mortarian could read stark terror still fixed in Nakerre's eyes.
"Your trophy; an offering must be properly kept. You should also thank Corax—his Legion saved many of your sons." A shimmer of gold and The Emperor vanished from the antiseptic room.
"Mortarion, my brother—seeing you on your feet lifts my heart." Corax greeted him warmly, taking the xenos head from the Custodian; now was time for brothers to speak.
"Corax… thank you, brother." The genetic bond felt strange to the taciturn Reaper of Barbarus.
Corax sensed no awkwardness—he had felt the same; in time Mortarian would grow used to it. Wine, after all, was the surest key to loosen any tongue.
A trick Corax now wielded with ease.
Soon he led Mortarion from the med-bay, guiding him unerringly toward The Emperor's private refectory; Mortarion still carried the lizard's head.
Two brothers sharing drink and meat while a lifelike reptilian skull sat beside them—an odd sight indeed.
Odd, at least, to Swain; to these native sons of the galaxy it was nothing unusual. In some ways the brothers were very much alike.