The clash between Ka'bandha and Fulgrim shook the heavens like the descent of gods to the mortal world, creating shockwaves that reverberated across Constantinople. Ka'bandha, who had annihilated countless worlds, left an indelible mark on reality through his brutal campaigns. He had transformed entire mortal realms into demon worlds and reduced divine sanctuaries to ashes. Countless native gods fell to his axe and whip, and entire mortal civilizations perished under his wrath as they desperately defended their homes.
Ka'bandha had also faced Sanguinius in the past. During the Great Crusade, their first encounter left Sanguinius gravely injured, his leg broken, though the Angel managed to drive Ka'bandha away after a desperate battle. Their second confrontation occurred during the Siege of Terra, where Sanguinius decisively decapitated the Bloodthirster without giving it any chance of survival.
Among the Bloodthirsters under Khorne's banner, only one could rival Ka'bandha in strength: An'ggrath, the Keeper of Skulls and Khorne's most beloved champion. Known as the supreme Bloodthirster, An'ggrath's power was unparalleled. However, An'ggrath did not actively serve in Khorne's mortal armies, as he was devoted exclusively to the Skull Lord himself and was rarely summoned. Setting An'ggrath aside, Ka'bandha stood as Khorne's mightiest lieutenant.
Undeniably, Ka'bandha possessed the strength to challenge a Primarch in battle.
However, this power came with a crucial limitation—it relied heavily on the winds of Chaos.
At the outset, Ka'bandha and Fulgrim fought as equals. Their divine duel tore apart half of Constantinople. This was a battle of gods, one that mortals had no place in. Even the most fervent and reckless Skaven Plague Priests, who glorified the Horned Rat with their suicidal charges, cowered in terror at the sheer magnitude of the conflict.
But as the battle wore on, Ka'bandha's power began to wane, limited by the Great Vortex and the Guardians of the Old Ones. His strength ebbed away with every passing moment.
Fulgrim, on the other hand, grew stronger with every strike. Wielding both sword and spear, the Primarch's blows carried enough force to shatter mountains. His battle fervor burned brighter with each exchange, evoking memories of the glory days of the Great Crusade when he fought alongside the Warmaster to carve out endless victories. Though Fulgrim, like Ka'bandha, was affected by the Great Vortex and the Old Ones' wards, his mortal body allowed him to remain far less hindered.
One combatant grew weaker, the other stronger. Ka'bandha soon realized that he would not escape defeat if this continued. The legendary Bloodthirster roared as Fulgrim's power sword, Glory, sliced deep into his side, cutting through his flesh from his left armpit to his chest. Boiling blood poured from the open wound.
Fulgrim's spear, Sotek's Fang, then pierced Ka'bandha's right shoulder. The Bloodthirster, despite his immense pain, grasped the weapon with one hand and retaliated with a sweeping strike from his brass axe. The blade tore into Fulgrim's golden-purple armor, carving a deep gash across his chest. Grunting in pain, Fulgrim doubled his efforts, channeling psychic energy through Sotek's Fang. The serpent god's venom flowed into Ka'bandha's wound, causing explosions of putrid purple blood and corroding flesh.
Twisting, slashing, and tearing—the battle intensified. Purple psychic energy clashed against Ka'bandha's blood-red demonic aura.
"Boundless Blood Sea!" Ka'bandha roared, his entire body erupting with torrents of blood. The crimson flood swept across the battlefield, boiling with rage and hatred. Raising his arms, the Bloodthirster declared, "This is the domain of the gods!"
"Heliopolis!" Fulgrim countered, his melodic voice ringing with unshakable confidence. His psychic energy burned like a sun, and with its full release, the illusion of a grand, radiant hall materialized before all who witnessed the battle.
This magnificent corridor was constructed of cold white marble, supported by pillars of luxurious onyx and adorned with gold. Its every corner was filled with splendor—a thousand reliefs and hundreds of tapestries, each a testament to Fulgrim's artistry and honor. It radiated the boundless glory of the Emperor's Children.
Ka'bandha, infuriated by this ostentatious display, spread his wings and charged toward the depths of the hall.
At its farthest end lay a vast council chamber. Lavishly decorated with sculptures, purple silk banners, and elegant mosaics, the room was dazzling even to a legendary Bloodthirster like Ka'bandha. Fulgrim sat upon a black marble throne, awaiting his guest with a serene and confident smile.
Exuding nobility, beauty, elegance, and unshakable self-assurance, the Primarch looked down on Ka'bandha as the demon burst through the Phoenix Gate. With a smirk, Fulgrim asked, "Tell me, who is more beautiful—me or your dog-faced Khorne?"
For a few seconds, Ka'bandha hesitated, almost convinced that he was indeed an inferior, lesser being.
Realizing the disgraceful trap he had nearly fallen into, the Bloodthirster erupted with sulfurous flames, roaring, "Die!!!"
"This is my domain, demon. Perish!" Fulgrim leaped from his throne, transforming into a phoenix of blazing fire that collided head-on with Ka'bandha's blood-red shadow.
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
"For the Emperor's Children! For the slayer of Horus!"
The two titans clashed, time itself seemingly pausing. The collision unleashed a thunderous roar, warping both the material world and the Warp. The heavens shattered, and meteoric blasts of energy rained down like a celestial storm.
All other battles halted as combatants turned their eyes to the apocalyptic duel.
Who would prevail?
The first to land was Fulgrim. The Primarch of the Emperor's Children stood firm, his power sword Glory and spear Sotek's Fang stained with Ka'bandha's blood. However, his expression was grim as he plunged his spear into the ground and clutched at his abdomen.
Ka'bandha's brass axe and whip had left brutal claw-like wounds across Fulgrim's stomach and back. Blood from the Primarch soaked the earth.
Next came Ka'bandha. The Bloodthirster laughed triumphantly, his axe and whip drenched with Fulgrim's blood. Today, victory was his… or so he thought.
In the next moment, the laughter abruptly stopped.
Ka'bandha howled in agony. Blood poured from his throat as he clutched at his neck, trying in vain to stop the flow. His immense power drained rapidly. The suppression of the Great Vortex and the Old Ones grew overwhelming. Ka'bandha's demonic flesh spontaneously ignited, his body disintegrating as his bones crumbled to ash.
"It's not… over…" Ka'bandha muttered his final words, filled with regret and fury, before being consumed by flames and reduced to nothing.
With Ka'bandha banished, Khorne's demonic army dissipated in fire and wind.
Fulgrim clutched his wounds tightly. His duel with Ka'bandha had left him severely injured, but he had chosen this path to save his people and soldiers from further harm. The sooner victory was achieved, the fewer lives would be lost.
"Look out above!" warned Sanguinius from within the Sunfire Amulet, his voice urgent.
"What?" Fulgrim instinctively tried to dodge, but his injuries slowed him. In an instant, a massive scythe descended. Its blade, imbued with Nurgle's pestilential orange-yellow blessings, sliced through Fulgrim's armor and flesh, leaving a deep wound from his left shoulder to his right hip.
"No! Lord Commander!" the remaining defenders of Constantinople cried out in despair. But they were too far away to intervene.
Fulgrim was hurled dozens of meters through the air, crashing into a pile of rubble. Blood gushed freely from his wounds. Struggling to rise, the Primarch gazed upon his new enemy: his brother.
The Daemon Primarch Mortarion, lord of the 14th Legion and master of the Death Guard, stood before him. The scythe that had wounded Fulgrim still dripped with his blood.
"Hello, brother," Mortarion greeted coldly.
"You finally decided to show yourself?" Fulgrim gasped, pinned to the ground by Mortarion's foot as he struggled to breathe.
"I've been waiting for the right moment. And now, it has come," Mortarion replied, his twisted face breaking into a malicious grin. "Look at you—broken, defeated. Is this truly the same Fulgrim I once knew? The mighty Primarch of the Emperor's Children?"
Fulgrim attempted to shove Mortarion's foot away, but his injuries and exhaustion left him helpless against his brother's crushing strength.
Mortarion reveled in his dominance, spewing mustard-colored fumes from his respirator as he summoned Nurgle's demonic hordes to block reinforcements from the City of the Sun. His Deathshroud Terminators formed a line, keeping the remaining defenders at bay.
"You're still struggling? How pitiful," Mortarion sneered, releasing another cloud of noxious gas. He loomed over Fulgrim, his decayed face displaying twisted satisfaction. "Come back with me, brother. Together, we will serve our true father, the Grandfather. It's over. Stop fighting. Embrace what you've become."
"Never!" Fulgrim spat, his voice defiant despite the pain coursing through his body. "I've made one mistake, Mortarion. I won't make another. I have seen the truth. I've chosen redemption, even if it means my death. I'll never bow to Nurgle or any of your false gods."
Mortarion's expression darkened, his fury barely contained. "Fool! You cling to the lies of our so-called father, the Emperor. He enslaved us, exploited us, stripped us of our free will! Don't you see? He's nothing but a tyrant with no regard for us. And you, you've become his dog, begging for scraps of forgiveness. You're pathetic!"
"He gave us purpose," Fulgrim replied, his hands gripping Mortarion's corrupted iron boot as he struggled against the crushing weight. "He gave humanity hope, a future. He gave me a chance for redemption when I deserved none. You, Mortarion, have thrown it all away for rot and decay. Look at yourself—a shadow of what you once were."
Mortarion growled in anger, tightening his grip on his plague scythe. "You're deluded, brother. You've let him brainwash you, like the rest of his slaves. He is no better than a slavemaster, cracking his whip while we toil for his empire. We were nothing but tools to him, pawns for his ambitions!"
"You sound like a child," Fulgrim retorted, his voice laced with derision despite his weakened state. "A spoiled child whining about unfairness, crying for attention. What are you now, Mortarion? A dog sniffing for scraps of approval from anyone who offers? A slave to your so-called Grandfather?"
"Enough!" Mortarion's rage boiled over, his words replaced by guttural growls. The Daemon Primarch leaned closer, his rasping breath filling the air as his aura of pestilence grew stronger. "You've been brainwashed. You have no idea what the Emperor truly is. He used us all, Fulgrim! He built his empire on our blood, our sacrifice. You think he cared about us? He cared about power, about control! You're just too blind to see it!"
Mortarion raised his arms, as if addressing the universe itself. His Deathshroud Terminators continued to fend off the Phoenix Guard and the reinforcements from the City of the Sun. Though Mortarion's troops had been weakened by the Great Vortex and the Old Ones' wards, they still held the line.
"I, however, have seen the truth," Mortarion proclaimed. "The Grandfather has shown me the nature of the universe: birth, growth, decay, and death. It is a cycle of beauty, of freedom. The Emperor is a tyrant, but I am a liberator! I fight for the people, for democracy and freedom across the galaxy. My Plague Star will become a beacon of liberty!"
Fulgrim, struggling beneath Mortarion's boot, laughed despite his pain. It was a bitter, mocking laugh. "A beacon of liberty? Spare me. You're nothing but a hypocrite, Mortarion. A tyrant who pretends to be a savior. You serve your Grandfather like a puppet, spreading death and rot in his name. Freedom? You wouldn't know freedom if it stared you in the face."
Mortarion's patience snapped. He aimed his mutated bolt pistol, Lantern, at Fulgrim's head. "Enough of your insolence. I was going to take you back alive, but now, I see no need. The Grandfather will give you and Sanguinius new bodies. This shell of yours is no longer necessary. This will be over in an instant."
Fulgrim's lips curled into a sly smile, even as the barrel of Lantern pressed against his temple. "Are you sure about that, brother? Care to bet your life on it?"
Mortarion frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"You've forgotten something," Fulgrim said, his voice low and taunting. "Your gun doesn't work here. This world doesn't obey your twisted physics."
Mortarion's eyes widened in shock. He instinctively pulled the trigger, but instead of a bolt of energy, only a puff of smoke emerged from Lantern. The weapon had failed.
Fulgrim seized the moment. With a sudden surge of energy, he drove Sotek's Fang upward, aiming for Mortarion's jaw. The Daemon Primarch reacted quickly, using his plague scythe to block the spear. But in the chaos, Fulgrim managed to free himself, rolling away from under Mortarion's boot.
"Too slow, brother," Fulgrim taunted as he launched a relentless counterattack. His sword and spear became blurs of motion, striking at Mortarion with the precision of a serpent. Golden energy and psychic flames filled the air as Fulgrim aimed for every weakness in Mortarion's armor.
The two Primarchs clashed ferociously, their weapons creating blinding sparks and echoes of destruction. Fulgrim fought like a storm, his strikes fierce and unrelenting. Mortarion, however, stood firm, his armor of pestilence and Nurgle's blessings forming an almost impenetrable barrier.
Fulgrim's strength began to wane. He could feel the blood loss from his wounds, the exhaustion from his duel with Ka'bandha, and the relentless aura of decay emanating from Mortarion. The Daemon Primarch was known for his endurance and resilience, and with Nurgle's power bolstering him, Mortarion seemed almost invincible.
Still, Fulgrim refused to give in. Summoning the last of his strength, he launched a final, desperate assault. His strikes became wild and frenzied, each one aimed at Mortarion's vital points. The golden and purple energy of his attacks lit up the battlefield, but Mortarion's defenses held firm.
Finally, Fulgrim saw an opening. A crack had appeared in Mortarion's armor, a tiny weakness. Seizing the opportunity, Fulgrim lunged with Sotek's Fang, aiming for Mortarion's throat. But the Daemon Primarch reacted with brutal efficiency, folding his decayed wings around himself for protection. The maneuver exposed another weak spot, and Fulgrim's power sword, Glory, shot forward like lightning, aiming for Mortarion's respirator.
The collision was cataclysmic. Sparks flew as Fulgrim's blade struck Mortarion's armor, pushing it to its limit. Cracks spread across the Daemon Primarch's defenses, the sound of breaking metal and sizzling flesh filling the air. Mortarion howled in rage and pain, using every ounce of his strength to hold his defenses together.
"Let's end this, brother!" Fulgrim roared, pouring all his power into one final strike.
"Yes, let's!" Mortarion bellowed in return, his voice a mix of fury and desperation.
The cracks in Mortarion's armor grew wider, the strain becoming unbearable. Fulgrim's sword inched closer to the respirator, to Mortarion's throat. Victory was within reach.
But the Primarch's strength failed him. His injuries, exhaustion, and blood loss took their toll. Fulgrim's blade stopped just short of its mark, barely five millimeters from Mortarion's throat. The momentary pause was all Mortarion needed. With a furious swing of his plague scythe, he struck Fulgrim with devastating force, sending him flying through the air. Blood sprayed like a crimson mist as the Emperor's Child crashed into the ruins below.
Mortarion laughed triumphantly, his deep, guttural voice echoing across the battlefield. "You fought well, brother, but today, I am the victor!"
Staggering to his feet, Mortarion approached the fallen Fulgrim, who lay battered and broken among the rubble. The Daemon Primarch's scythe dripped with his brother's blood as he prepared to deliver the final blow.
"Still hoping for Father to save you?" Mortarion mocked, his wings spreading wide as he loomed over Fulgrim. "Let me tell you something, brother: the four Chaos Gods have sealed the Warp storms and cut off the Emperor's reach. No one is coming for you. No one even knows I'm here."
Fulgrim coughed, blood staining his lips as he struggled to rise. His vision blurred, and his strength was nearly gone. As Mortarion raised his scythe for the killing strike, Fulgrim muttered to himself, his voice filled with despair and regret.
"So… this is how it ends… Father, I've failed you. Again."
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