Chapter 70: Lorgar: Why Am I Always the One Who Gets Hurt?
When was the last time a righteous four-on-one brawl had broken out among brothers? Olympia, of course, against Perturabo. That time, the Emperor's timely intervention had spared the Lord of Iron from being beaten to his knees and forced to beg for mercy.
This time, Erebus seriously wondered whether that old bastard on the Throne would appear again once they really got going on Mortarion.
"Quick victory," Erebus signaled to the others with a sharp glance.
"Lorgar!" Mortarion roared at Erebus.
The real Lorgar, still sprawled on the deck, seized the opening and delivered a savage kick to the back of Mortarion's knee. "Shut your mouth."
Lorgar stared at the fool before him. The Pale Lord could not even recognize his own brothers. He must already be touched by the Warp's evil gods.
"The gods have descended upon this world," Lorgar intoned, golden crozius raised. "The Emperor will destroy all false deities and heretics. Mortarion, awaken!"
The crozius swung toward Mortarion's head. The Death Lord answered with a sweeping arc of silence, his enormous Death Scythe meeting Lorgar's blow with thunderous force. Mortarion might not have been the greatest duellist among the Primarchs, but he was undeniably the toughest, the most enduring, and the most stubborn.
"Get out of the way, Lorgar!" Erebus bellowed.
Mortarion watched as Erebus launched a powerful mid-air kick aimed at his heart. The Pale Lord seized Lorgar by the shoulders, using the Urizen as a shield. Lorgar let out a pained howl as Erebus's boot connected solidly with his back instead.
"Emperor, aid me!" Magnus roared.
A surge of golden light erupted from the Cyclops's form. Far away on Terra, the Emperor—lounging with melon seeds and tea while watching the unfolding spectacle through borrowed psychic senses—noticed the trickle of faith power from the "trash can" had grown slightly stronger. Though it was not strictly His own power, the Emperor graciously lent Magnus a little more blessing.
If Perturabo was merely twisted, Mortarion was pure, intractable awkwardness. The Emperor knew this was the perfect moment to show the Death Lord some paternal love. The green bastard would sneer and groan, outwardly respectful yet inwardly defiant and demanding. The Emperor was no fool — He understood every Primarch's heart — but some truths were better left unspoken. He had no desire to repeat the disaster of their first meeting, when He had slain Mortarion's adoptive father.
"Come on, Erebus! Yes, hit him! Right in the face!" the Emperor muttered approvingly.
"M Magnus, is this how you use psychic power in a family matter?"
"Lorgar, you useless sack—if not for Erebus, I would beat you myself."
The Emperor offered running commentary on their technique while keeping careful watch. Should the brawl spiral out of control, He would intervene.
Angron came roaring down the corridor like a red hurricane, then paused, staring at the chaotic melee with unexpected calm. His World Eaters and the Word Bearers were savaging Mortarion's Deathshroud. Iron Warriors and Thousand Sons provided supporting fire. On average, each member of the Deathshroud faced seven to ten warriors from other Legions.
"Brothers, perhaps we should talk peacefully," Angron rumbled. "This might have been an accident—"
A pair of golden psychic feet materialized from the void and booted Angron squarely in the back. He hurtled forward and collided with Mortarion. The Pale Lord, seeing another attacker, kicked him away in fury.
"You fucking bastard!" Angron bellowed, Butcher's Nails screaming in his skull. "Blood for the Emperor!"
He wrenched Gorechild from his belt and swung at Mortarion.
Even against four Primarchs, Mortarion refused to collapse. He maintained a brutal rhythm—parrying Lorgar's crozius, deflecting Angron's axe, and absorbing the strikes from Erebus and Magnus with grim endurance. Eventually, he could no longer track all three at once. He simply bore down on Lorgar, pinning the Urizen beneath his greater bulk and hammering blow after blow into his proud face, heedless of the punishment raining down on his own back.
"You damn green rotten thing! If you have the strength, kill me!" Lorgar roared.
"You call that hitting? Your blows are as weak as your gene-sons," Mortarion snarled back.
"Didn't your parents teach you how to fight properly?"
The louder Lorgar shouted, the harder Mortarion struck. The Death Lord's red eyes burned as he focused entirely on pounding Lorgar's increasingly bloody features.
"Enough! Enough! Stop fighting! Pull him off!" Erebus shouted, grabbing Angron to help drag Mortarion away.
Mortarion's own face was swollen, yet he still landed two or three vicious kicks on Lorgar before being wrenched back.
"Little brat! I'll kill you!" Lorgar howled, fury finally overtaking pain after nearly ten minutes of relentless beating.
Erebus quickly moved to restrain him.
"Erebus, don't stop me! If you try again, I swear we're through!"
Erebus immediately released his grip.
Lorgar hesitated, staring at Erebus in disbelief. The chaplain simply pressed the golden crozius back into his hands.
"Go on. Go, go."
Erebus gave Lorgar an encouraging shove from behind. Lorgar stood frozen for a long moment.
"Hahaha… I was only joking," Lorgar muttered.
How could he possibly win a one-on-one against Mortarion? Group fights were exhausting enough—solo combat would be suicide.
"So you are Erebus," Mortarion growled, finally turning his full attention to the chaplain.
"Yes. Erebus, Legion Master of the Word Bearers," Erebus replied calmly.
Mortarion fell silent for a beat.
"So Lorgar is the weak one," he sneered venomously.
The real Lorgar stepped forward openly. "This only proves my sons are superior to yours!"
"Hmph. Commander of the Word Bearers," Mortarion continued, ignoring Lorgar, "I have one question. Why does this ship reek of Barbarus's atmosphere?"
Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.
It's over. Mortarion is finished.
(End of Chapter)