Chapter 171: Saving Barbarus
Barbarus.
Pale and feeble sunlight filtered through the mist, offering a trace of comfort to the people below. Farmers, rising from the darkness of night, donned their protective masks and prepared to begin another day of agricultural labor.
Farming had been the unchanging tradition of the Barbarusians for millennia. But now, even the most ordinary routines have begun to shift.
It wasn't just that the ownership of this planet had changed hands; it wasn't merely the massive Star Ring faintly visible in the skies above; nor the occasional, fleeting glimpse of artificial satellites.
Upon this planet's surface, at the farthest edge the eye could reach, were towering black spires.
Black towers thrust out of the earth, piercing layer upon layer of mist, stabbing into the dense green fog.
The towers are vast, their presence is overwhelming, and their peaks were shrouded from sight.
These grim towers were not solitary. Between mountain ranges, across wastelands, upon cliffside coasts—though differing slightly in size, they all shared the exact same design. The towers were rapidly extending skyward, growing taller with each passing moment.
The people of Barbarus did not understand what these towers were for. Yet in the minds of the farmers, there lingered a faint belief that those who governed Barbarus were about to implement another decisive plan—just like when they once led the Barbarusians to liberation.
Thus, even as these black towers exuded an ominous aura, even when the farmers were informed that sowing seeds this year would no longer be necessary, even as the vast silhouettes of starships loomed clearer and clearer in the sky—the farmers still carried on with their daily work.
Because they believed that Lord Mortarion and the Death Guard would not harm this land, nor the people upon it.
The black towers stood in silence, watching the masses.
. . . . . . . .
Inside a conference room sat Mortarion, Hades, and Vorx. All three were silent.
Hades activated the holoscreen in the room, bringing up a data report from a recent experiment conducted in a lowland region of Barbarus.
In the image, a layer of green brittle frost covered the ground.
"This was the 104th regional test," Hades said. "I've cross-checked it multiple times with the other tech personnel. All current experimental results are consistent with projections."
"I believe it may be time to conduct a planet-wide psyker purge on Barbarus."
"We've run thousands of simulations on the global purge, together with the other Magos Biologis."
"Phase one: activate the black towers. The toxins in the atmospheric mist surrounding the planet will crystallize and settle, attaching to the terrain and forming a loose, poisonous crystalline layer."
"We estimate this layer will average about two meters thick, however, in mountainous regions, it could even exceed four meters."
"It's estimated that over 90% of Barbarus' native fauna will die during this process."
These native creatures had long adapted to Barbarus' toxic environment, evolving over millennia to store toxins in their bodies—many of them had even been tainted by warp energies.
To humans, these creatures were not just useless—they were outright harmful.
Rotting Plaguehawks, Boilhounds, Pale Laughers...
To be safe, Magos Biologis Druid had already conducted genetic and physical backups for all lifeforms on Barbarus. But Hades believed it was very unlikely any of these toxic species would ever be needed again on Barbarus.
As for the rest—those capable of surviving in non-toxic environments and with relatively low toxicity—after appropriate genetic modifications, they would be reintroduced into Barbarus' ecosystem.
Hades had once asked Druid whether there was a need to introduce new species to Barbarus. The cautious Magos told him there was no need.
The radical shift in environmental conditions would stimulate and accelerate the re-evolution and mutation of the existing organisms. There was no need to introduce alien species. Moreover, under the future ecological framework, plant life on Barbarus would be relatively sparse, and the native fauna would be fully sufficient for the planet's needs.
"Phase One will last approximately one full standard Barbarus day, at least until the final traces of warp energy are purged."
Hades paused and looked at the two before him.
Mortarion was the judge of whether this operation would be initiated, while Vorx had been invited to give his opinion as a native of Barbarus.
Ordinary Barbarusians couldn't maintain their sanity in the oppressive presence of a Primarch. Vorx was the only viable representative for the role even though he had long been removed from Barbarus' natural environment.
Hades couldn't read Mortarion's reaction. The Primarch, whenever he remained still for long enough, would become shrouded in a natural barrier of poison fog that obscured his true form entirely.
Oh, right. During the time Hades had been in seclusion, Mortarion had personally developed a new "Plus Version" of his toxic censer, blending toxins derived from some Terran flora and fauna.
The result was that the poison fog around the Primarch was now even more pungent than that of Barbarus itself.
Since the fog posed no threat to the Primarch, Hades simply watched Mortarion grow more… fragrant by the day.
As for Vorx, seated silently to the side—though his face was expressionless, Hades could tell the young man was stunned.
Perhaps he simply couldn't imagine that Hades and the Magos Biologis were planning such a wild, sweeping transformation of Barbarus.
"Next comes Phase Two," Hades continued, ignoring the others.
"Phase Two: we deactivate the anti-psyker field. At this point, the warp-twisted psychic environment of Barbarus will have been thoroughly purged."
"Then the Tech-Priests will release a sufficient amount of rainfall agents into the atmosphere. These agents will accelerate the condensation of the toxin-laden fog—which had just settled and begun to rise back into cloud form—into dense rain clouds."
"And then... comes the storm."
Hades said it plainly.
A storm.
A torrential, planet-spanning deluge.
Rain that would seem to wash away everything.
The mist that had enshrouded the planet for ages—mist held aloft by psychic constraints for tens of thousands of years—would now descend with the weight of all of Barbarus' poisoned history.
It would smash into the land, breaking apart the crystalline toxin shell that coated the planet.
The de-psyked toxins would then re-dissolve into the water.
"According to calculations by the Magos, we'll dig temporary canals throughout the major regions of Barbarus. The rainwater will flow down these trenches into designated zones, where the Mechanicus' purification engines will be waiting."
Those massive machines—each one the size of a small mountain or a giant factory—would continuously separate the toxins from the water, releasing the cleansed water into the seas near Barbarus' equator.
"Based on projections, rainwater alone won't be enough to completely dissolve the toxic crystal layer," Hades added. "So at the same time, the Magos will induce a boiling of Barbarus' coastal seas."
Interestingly, while Barbarus' mist was heavily toxic, its oceans were not as severely affected.
There were toxins present, but in small quantities—and they were mostly concentrated near the shores.
Once the toxic mist was dealt with, Barbarus' own purifying capacity—(though Hades wondered whether the planet really had one)—should prevent oceanic contamination from becoming a significant issue.
Just as Magos Biologis Druid had once lamented to Hades:
"This toxic fog is practically raising humans in captivity—restricting them to specific regions of land."
The development of a civilization is ultimately a question of reaching for the stars or journeying across the sea.
But on Barbarus, neither was possible.
Civilization had been shackled.
But it didn't matter now. With plug-in technologies from beyond the stars—from the Imperium itself—Barbarusians no longer needed to develop their own science or civilization.
Sometimes, the universe simply doesn't play fair.
And all of this?
It's all thanks to Mortarion.
If it were any other planet, such a large-scale ecological overhaul would never have been granted so easily.
But a Primarch's political status, combined with the military clout of his Legion, allowed his homeworld to casually receive massive resources and an endless scroll of exemptions written on parchment.
Hades glanced at the two seated before him.
Mortarion remained unreadable as always—still shrouded in fog thick enough to blot out even the shape of his armor.
Vorx, however, was clearly, visibly stunned.
Hades maintained his formal tone as he continued presenting the next phase of the plan:
"The conclusion of Phase Two will be marked by the cessation of rainfall."
"When we observe that the soil has been eroded to a depth of at least one meter, we'll halt the artificial precipitation. Natural rainfall will continue for approximately three more days, then gradually cease in separate regions."
"This entire stage is conservatively estimated to take at least one full Barbarus standard month."
When the rains finally stopped, the planet—shrouded in a toxic veil for all eternity—would reveal her true face for the very first time.
Hades was tempted to romanticize the image, to imagine what the planet might look like from orbit, unveiled.
But the simulations had told him the truth, their plane would most likely be a dull, murky brown ball.
He blinked and chose not to describe what came next.
That would be reconstruction, which would require negotiation—even if Hades already had the entire rebuilding plan and follow-up solutions mapped out in advance.
"So?"
"What do you think?"
Hades looked eagerly at the two of them. This was the result of months of sleepless work with the Mechanicus Magos—calculations and simulations that had burned out several of the Magos Biologis' wetware brains.
Vorx slowly came back to his senses. The sheer scale of what he had just heard was overwhelming.
He had heard stories of wars that reshaped entire planets—but he had never witnessed such a thing.
And Hades had presented a transformation that wasn't born of brute force, but of precise calculation and data-driven planning.
Step by step, each action layered atop the last—until it became something...
Colossal.
As Hades described it, Vorx could see it—could feel it: the poison frost crystallizing on his armor, the torrential rain hammering his helmet, streaming down the curves of his plating.
He could almost stand in the post-storm Barbarus.
He lifted his gaze—and for the first time, he saw a sky full of stars.
Until now, Vorx had never known—never imagined—that without the mist, standing on solid ground and looking up...
One could actually see the stars.
Even on Galaspar, the sky was choked with smog from heavy industry, something like sunlight never touched the planet ground.
So, when the toxic fog is finally lifted… what would the sky look like?
Vorx wondered—would he be able to look up and see the stars, just like he did from a starship's viewport?
He was completely enthralled by the vision Hades had described—a Barbarus without poison, a future free of suffocating air.
Once, that dream had lived in every Barbarusian's heart.
Perhaps even as they gasped their final breaths, the people of Barbarus had dreamed of this world.
Vorx wanted to voice his support right away.
But since the Primarch had yet to speak, he could only sit stiffly in place while Hades looked at him with hopeful, glowing eyes.
Not speaking up felt... wrong. Disloyal, even.
Hades blinked, realizing Vorx might be hesitating out of respect—or fear—for Mortarion. So he spoke directly:
"Vorx, what do you think?"
Vorx froze. Then, without thinking, the words escaped his mouth:
"I support it. A world without poison has been the dream of generations."
The moment the words left him, Vorx regretted it.
He instinctively glanced toward Mortarion—just as the Death Lord's shrouding miasma began to slowly shift.
"Is that so?"
The Reaper's rasp tore through the room like a scythe.
A sudden burst of pressure exploded outward—his mood impossible to read. Vorx swallowed hard.
Now he really regretted it.
But then he saw the look in Hades' eyes—hopeful, even grateful—and Vorx felt he had to be brave.
"Yes, my lord. When I was a child, people in my village would often gather and talk about the days when the fog might be thinner."
"If the next day promised lighter mist, the mood of the whole village would lift. People would smile more."
"But if it was thick fog…"
Vorx paused.
"That meant more death. No work. No harvest."
"But you only hoped for 'less fog.'"
Mortarion caught the flaw in Vorx's words instantly.
"Yes, my lord," Vorx nodded solemnly.
"Because even the most deluded among us would never say something so impossible as 'no fog.' That was a child's dream—naïve, and spoken only in innocent moments."
"But still, we hoped. We—the people of Barbarus—have always longed for a future without toxic mist."
Mortarion stared at Vorx, then turned his gaze toward Hades.
It had been Hades' counsel, after all, that convinced him to even consider purging the fog in the first place.
But now, standing at the edge of that decision…
Mortarion hesitated.
It's not just about liberation. Behind liberation, you promise a peaceful future.
You cannot replace one tyranny with another.
He was Barbarusian. He understood his people. They longed for a tomorrow without poison.
But if the environment became too gentle…
Would it make them soft?
The memory of his foster father Necare flashed through his mind.
The towering man, screaming at a younger Mortarion:
"You weak filth! Get stronger, or die!"
Necare had stripped him bare and thrown him off a cliff—
"Climb back up, you worthless trash!"
"Don't make me save you again, garbage!"
Was he doing the same thing his foster father did?
No. Mortarion would not become like him.
No. No. No.
He forced himself out of the shadow of that memory, pulled his mind free from the nightmare.
And then he spoke:
"Very well."
The Primarch made his judgment:
"I trust the people of Barbarus."
Even without poison, they would still be resilient.
Mortarion believed in resilience—because in his world, those who lacked it didn't survive.
He had spent countless hours in his youth cradling the bodies of those who succumbed to the gas, frozen and lifeless.
If they had only been stronger… maybe they'd have lived.
Resilience, or death by the environment. That was the equation.
But now he stood before a new variable—he could change the environment itself.
So what was he really striving for?
Mortarion stared at the data-scrawled screen before him, lost in thought.
His sudden agreement shocked Hades.
He had prepared a dozen rhetorical strategies to convince Mortarion.
He hadn't expected such a clean, immediate yes.
And for that, he had Vorx to thank.
Vorx—you did great.
Hades had already decided to treat Vorx to a good meal.
Ever since they are working with Magos Biologis, things like food has stopped becoming a problem.
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