Chapter 69: Mortarion! You Have the Wrong Man!
Barbarus System
"Vomit!"
Sterilization protocols and repeated disinfection cycles did little to help. The closer the Chronicle of Ashes drew to Barbarus, the more daemons of Nurgle answered the planet's toxic call. In the end, the Word Bearers and Thousand Sons were forced to conduct a full-scale purge of their own vessel.
What were they even cleansing? The ships themselves had become plague-ridden.
Erebus staggered through corridors slick with foul green slime, his face ashen. He deeply regretted attempting to abduct yet another warp entity. The result? A swarm of Grandfather Nurgle's servants had poured through, each one oozing false kindness and inviting the crew to join their ever-growing family.
Magnus and Lorgar were visibly exhausted. Psychic flames still burned across the bridge, filling the air with an acrid, stomach-churning stench. Though the raw touch of the Warp lingered, the protective radiance of the Faceless Emperor statues continued to hold, shielding the mortals from outright corruption.
"Praise the Yellow-skinned God!" came the ragged cheer from a group of serfs.
Erebus sighed and made his way onto the bridge, only to find it crowded with warriors. Kor Phaeron, Jarulek, and soldiers from multiple Legions had gathered. The moment the doors opened, a blast of air freshener hit Erebus full in the face.
"…"
Khârn lowered the flamer he had been using with a completely straight face, then snapped a crisp Aquila salute to Erebus.
"How long until we reach Barbarus?" Erebus asked.
"Ugh… Erebus… right now… ugh…" The mortal ship captain doubled over and vomited at Erebus's feet. The astropaths of the choir looked equally miserable, though most of the deceived Nurgle daemons had already been incinerated.
"Erebus, I am more concerned about Mortarion," Magnus said darkly, his single eye narrowed.
So many daemons of a single Chaos God had answered the summons. Magnus suspected — with good reason — that Mortarion might already have been touched by corruption.
Erebus snatched the oxygen cylinder from Lorgar's hand and took a deep, greedy pull. A Primarch needing fresh air? The irony was not lost on him.
"Arrival…?"
Before Erebus could finish the thought, a wound tore open in the warp. Barbarus had been reached.
Then—
The Endurance, Mortarion's flagship, came powering straight through the newly opened rift.
"Shit! Brace for impact!" Erebus roared instantly.
The collision between two vessels of such size, even a glancing blow, was catastrophic. Alarms screamed across both ships. Mortarion's sons lay dazed and injured on the decks of the Endurance. The Pale Lord gripped Silence, his enormous death scythe, until his knuckles whitened beneath his gauntlets.
He would have an explanation for this.
"Murder!" Mortarion bellowed. "This is murder!"
Erebus picked himself up from the deck plating, stunned. He had never imagined Mortarion would position the Endurance directly at the warp translation point to "greet" them. If this wasn't attempted murder, what was?
"We must demand an explanation from the Death Guard!" Erebus snarled, eyes blazing. He rushed out with his honor guard, then immediately retreated as reality reasserted itself. He glanced at Lorgar, who was currently spinning in circles on the floor like a disoriented insect, and sacrificed his own company captain to the front line first.
Mortarion, seething with rage, descended via transport barge onto the landing deck of the Chronicle of Ashes. The Pale Lord strode forward like a specter of death, his towering frame radiating fury.
"I will see your legion commander now!"
His heavy, labored breathing made his fury plain to every soul present.
Before the Word Bearers could respond, Lorgar emerged at the head of his honor guard, crozius in hand.
"Whatever your identity, you will speak with me," Lorgar declared.
The statement ignited Mortarion's wrath. His identity? Primarch of the Death Guard. Was that not enough?
Since these Word Bearers clearly needed a lesson in respect, Mortarion decided to deliver it personally. His scythe whipped through the air in a blur.
In the next heartbeat, Mortarion appeared before Lorgar in a surge of unnatural speed.
Lorgar had been ready. He raised his golden crozius and met the blow head-on, the impact ringing across the hangar. Mortarion's eyes widened behind his mask in genuine surprise.
"Bring out your Legion Commander!" Mortarion demanded.
Lorgar's mocking smile only fueled the Death Lord's anger.
The two giants—one the First Captain of the Word Bearers, the other the master of the Death Guard—stared at one another for a tense moment. Then, by unspoken agreement, they set aside their weapons.
Lorgar's fist smashed into Mortarion's rebreather mask, sending it clattering to the deck. The sudden rush of Barbarus's familiar toxic air momentarily stunned the Pale Lord. Lorgar followed with a thunderous uppercut.
Lorgar shook out his aching hand. Mortarion, seemingly unharmed by the blows, grinned through the pain.
Just as Mortarion raised his scythe to strike in earnest—
"Do you wish to fracture the Imperium, Mortarion?" Erebus called out.
Erebus and Magnus emerged from the shadows. They had waited until Lorgar gained the upper hand—and landed two solid punches—before intervening. After all, one of the Word Bearers' unofficial tenets was knowing when to quit while ahead.
"Lorgar," Mortarion growled, turning, "these are the warriors you command? These are the Astartes under your leadership?"
Mortarion had seen Erebus surrounded by ornate Terminator-armored honor guards and immediately assumed the chaplain was the legion commander—that is, his brother Lorgar.
"Pfft."
Magnus, standing behind Erebus, could not contain his laughter at the Pale Lord's mistake. Mortarion's gaze snapped toward the Cyclops, confusion mixing with disgust at the presence of the "despicable sorcerer."
"Is this why you dared strike me, Captain?" Erebus asked, lowering his gaze with calculated menace, preparing to press the advantage.
"Listen well," Mortarion snarled. "I have no time for games. The front lines of the Great Crusade still require my presence!"
The Death Lord's expression of profound suffering and burdensome duty made Erebus frown.
"So you wish to fight?" Erebus asked calmly.
"That is precisely what I mean, Lorgar!" Mortarion roared, retrieving his death scythe from the deck. He had shown restraint by not slaying the so-called First Captain outright.
"Very well, Captain of the Death Guard," Erebus replied, cracking his neck as he stepped forward.
"Do it!"
At Erebus's shout, corridors and side passages erupted with movement. Countless Word Bearers, Thousand Sons, and World Eaters poured into the hangar.
"Mortarion, you cowardly worm!" Angron's voice thundered from the depths of the corridor, Butcher's Nails howling in his skull.
Erebus raised an eyebrow at the towering figure of Mortarion before him.
Well, he thought, it looks like another joyous four-on-one bout.
(End of Chapter)