Chapter 187: Your Brother, Horus
The order from Terra forced the Death Guard fleet to reluctantly depart from Barbarus, a planet still under construction.
Hades gazed out the window.
On that brown-hued world, the machines of the Graia Forge World were laboring tirelessly—turning muddy ground into wheat fields, transforming swamps into grasslands.
Barbarus was to become a pastoral garden world. Some of the Barbarusians would farm the land, preserving their ancient heritage—but even farming would no longer be truly "farming." They would become scenery in the eyes of others.
The Magos of the Graia Forge World had promised Hades, with utmost conviction, that when the fleet returned to Barbarus, they would see a beautiful garden world, not a world of sludge.
Hades hoped so. But the new order from Terra had also once again delayed the planned conscription from Galaspar.
Currently, Galaspar's reconstruction under the Mechanicum was proceeding well. Mortarion, Garro, and Vorx had already handled the planet's administrative paperwork, so the Death Guard no longer had to worry about the system.
In Hades' plans, the Death Guard was to recruit a new batch of soldiers from Galaspar and expand their mortal auxiliary forces, forming a fresh contingent of weapons and armored troops under his command.
'I hope the Graia Forge World can hurry up and produce the corresponding weapons, armor, and ammunition,' Hades thought silently.
Compared to Hades, who remained preoccupied with affairs in the rear, the atmosphere among the Death Guard was rather upbeat. Another war was on the horizon, and the scythes that had been honed through endless training would finally have a chance to taste blood.
And when they learned that the allied force this time would be the 16th Legion—the Luna Wolves—some of the Terran-born Astartes began recounting their past joint operations with the Luna Wolves to the Barbarus-born warriors.
Before each Legion's primarch was rediscovered and became their true leader, most Legions had, at some point, fought under Horus' command.
This primarch, officially the first to be found, had—through his presence—allowed the other Legions to build their own fantasies about what their primarchs might be like.
But after indulging in fantasies of their own unfound primarchs, what remained was a shared respect for the 16th Legion's commander—
The Warmaster was, without a doubt, a primarch worthy of reverence.
Now, they were to work alongside the 16th Legion—the Luna Wolves.
Mortarion stood before the docking bay, his expression grim as the shuttle smoothly carried them toward the Luna Wolves' flagship—Vengeful Spirit.
The interplay of shadows and light cast by the shuttle's movement flickered across the primarch's warplate, making the miasma surrounding Mortarion appear even more ethereal.
"I have no expectations for this new brother of mine."
Hades glanced sideways at Mortarion.
It was clear that, after dealing with several of his brothers, Mortarion's heart had grown cold.
Still, given that Horus was, in the canon, the best among Mortarion's relationships within the primarch network, Hades suspected Mortarion might end up contradicting his own words.
Horus Lupercal, the future Warmaster, the Emperor's golden son, is the finest among the Primarchs.
The only one who could truly be compared to him was Sanguinius, the Angel. And yet, in truth, Horus wasn't the best in any one specific field—what made him remarkable was that he was good at everything. Balanced excellence.
Much like the man himself. While most of the Primarchs were known to be stubborn or obsessive in one area or another, Horus was remarkably smooth, diplomatic—even charming.
That is, in all matters except those concerning the Emperor.
If not for his eventual fall, Horus would easily rank among the top three Primarchs anyone would want to meet.
Of course, number one would always be Sanguinius.
From the perspective of the Death Guard, while Mortarion's betrayal in the original canon remains difficult to pin down, it's likely that his decision to turn came from two key factors: his disdain for the Emperor, and his deep trust in the Warmaster.
Without Horus, no matter how much Mortarion disliked the Emperor, he might never have turned traitor.
In the lore, Mortarion was openly jealous of the closeness between Sanguinius and Horus.
He wished that he were the one Horus favored like that—not the Angel.
A strange relationship among Primarchs, to be sure.
But given that this was written by a certain British author, Hades could only nod in understanding.
As for Horus' eventual fall, from Hades' current position in the timeline, there wasn't much he could do to interfere.
That was the Emperor's problem.
What Hades could do, however, was keep developing his anti-psyker units.
If anyone rebelled in the future?
He'd just deal with them head-on. Simple as that.
—And maybe make sure Mortarion didn't get led astray by Horus again.
Though this time, unlike in canon, Horus hadn't been Mortarion's guide within the Imperium—Malcador had taken that role.
So, hopefully, Mortarion's feelings toward Horus wouldn't be quite so… friendly.
'Hopefully,' Hades thought to himself.
Suddenly, a warning light blinked on.
Harsh red light sliced through the dim shuttle interior as the docking ramp began to lower.
A bright white glow spilled inward, washing over Mortarion and the other Death Guard like morning sunlight on a death shroud.
And there he was.
Standing at the center of the landing platform, the Primarch looked like a miniature sun—bright and warm in the cold, dark void of space.
His platinum armor gleamed like the rays of dawn.
A brilliant gold-red gem sat proudly at the center of his breastplate.
The white cloak behind him billowed with stately grace.
His head—noble and clean-shaven—wore a gentle, radiant smile.
"Hey! My brother, it's been too long."
Horus smiled as he greeted Mortarion, waving enthusiastically, his approach open and eager.
Mortarion silently retracted everything he had just said.
Watching Horus stride toward them, so dazzling he might as well have been a living star, Hades began to realize something deeply troubling.
No one could resist the charm of a friendly, well-adjusted Primarch—especially not one who knew exactly how to use that charm.
No one.
Not even Hades himself.
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