Chapter 360: Guilliman: What the Hell? Why is Everyone Coming for Me?
"It's getting more and more unsettling out there," Ku'gath Plaguefather, Chief Nurgling of the Plague God, said sorrowfully.
Deep in the Garden of Nurgle, he watched the Nurgle portal before him, listening to the wails of agony from the other side. Tears the size of beans rolled down his cheeks, and his stirring of the plague slowed by half a beat.
"Grandfather hasn't let us out for a long time."
He stirred the plague in the cauldron. These massive clusters of diseases didn't focus on quality but had terrifying lethality against mortals.
"Should we be worried?"
Anxiety gnawed at him.
"We are safe here," said Mortarion, Primarch of the XIV Legion, beside him.
He glanced at the busy Iron Warriors.
These losers disliked revealing details of the battle on Cadia to anyone, but out of respect for their Primarch, Barban Falk, who had successfully ascended to daemonhood with the help of a Tzeentchian sorcerer, casually mentioned the melee on the Dawnlight and the surface of Cadia in a recent conversation.
His description of the Emperor, the vision transmitted back from Perturabo's perspective, tightened around the Pale King's throat like a noose of steel and fire, constricting second by second.
For some reason, when he truly felt the scene of the Emperor's manifestation described by Falk, his body, which he prided himself on being the grandest and most resilient, began to tremble in fear.
But Mortarion would not admit it.
"If you think there's anywhere left where we can feel safe, you are too naive," Magnus the Red stepped out of the shadows, his single eye mocking Mortarion.
"Outside, terrifying daemons howl, wanting to break in, while we are locked inside. I don't know whether inside or outside is safer. I'm afraid there is no place in this galaxy that can be called safe. None. Even if we hide on the most distant frontier world of the galaxy, it probably won't be safe."
"From the Formless Lord?" Ku'gath asked.
"From him, or his father, the Emperor, my friend," the Crimson King said menacingly.
"No, don't say that name." Ku'gath looked terrified. If the Formless Lord's reputation in the warp was enough to stop lesser daemons from crying at night, there was an even more terrifying existence above him.
"Hehe, look at you, scared witless," Magnus mocked Ku'gath, then looked at the silent Mortarion.
"How ironic, brother."
"To think we would join forces again... The last time was during the Siege of Terra. Look at what you've become, Mortarion. Still clinging to your numerology?"
Magnus stared at the other's mutated body, watching the jagged horns piercing the filthy armor, watching the moth-like wings symbolizing death now riddled with ulcerated holes, like a shroud gnawed by maggots.
Listening to the faint rustling of insect limbs rubbing against each other under the mask, Magnus laughed happily.
Their relationship had never been good, even ten thousand years ago.
Especially at the Council of Nikaea, Mortarion, who superstitiously believed in numerology, publicly opposed the psychic powers used by the Thousand Sons.
For Magnus and the Thousand Sons, this was no council, but a trial against the Thousand Sons and him.
And Mortarion, he always stood on the opposite side of psychic power, always criticizing everything Magnus brought.
And now?
The brother who hated psychic power most had now become a daemon himself, a slave to Nurgle.
A stinking, failed, hypocritical clown who always opposed him!
"You are the same," Mortarion responded coldly, then looked away.
He watched the Iron Warriors who were still busy.
Tzeentch seemed to have no intention of keeping this Legion all to Himself after obtaining it. Instead, He released many of its members and began to push for military reform within the Chaos Legions.
Yes, reform.
When Nurgle provided the Death Guard with Exalted Plague Marines—physiologically comparable to Primaris Space Marines and capable of surviving in realspace somewhat independently of warp influence—other gods also launched their own actions.
Khorne provided the furnaces and promised a war a century later, throwing daemons into the wastes as fodder for the growth of countless Chaos warbands. Warriors who killed eight daemons would become Eightbound, gaining even greater power.
Tzeentch brought prophecy and generously stated He wouldn't hoard the Iron Warriors, scattering these Space Marines trapped in infinite pain.
Scattering them into various Legions that still possessed Primarchs.
"Of course, my brother," Magnus said proudly, seeming not to understand the mockery in Mortarion's words.
"Although you have submitted to the Chaos Gods, you are still far inferior to me."
Mortarion took a deep breath, unable to hold back.
"Your master didn't send you here to chatter like a flamboyant peacock."
"He has already killed one of our brothers, a brother not protected by the Gods, and let those four replacements take over his Imperium. So what will he order those replacements to do next? I don't think I need to tell you."
Mortarion gripped Silence, putrid juices squeezing out from the cracks in his armor, a low growl in his throat.
"We are all his stains, a mistake, and now he wants to completely destroy all of us, just as he destroyed Horus back then."
"More than that," Magnus sneered.
"He wants to replace us with our copies."
"How pathetic? Does he think this can cover up his failure? Does he think this can change everything that happened ten thousand years ago? Does he think I will surrender just like that? Never, I am completely different from the past..."
"It seems only you, Magnus," Mortarion interrupted his self-aggrandizement coldly.
"Hehe, better than some guys who aren't even worthy of being replaced," Magnus looked down and mocked.
Inhale~ Exhale~
Mortarion took a deep breath.
"I have an entire Legion and can do many things. No one, not even the Emperor, dares to ignore me. And you, Magnus, a sorcerer defeated by Bjorn, how many sons do you have left?"
"I'm afraid your First Captain has a different opinion on that."
"..."
"Alright, let's get down to business."
Seeing Mortarion fuming, Magnus pursed his lips and tapped them lightly with his index finger.
"I came here to construct a weapon. Frankly, looking at history, regarding venomous malice, I really can only come to you."
He glanced at Ku'gath.
The Great Unclean One shyly scratched his cheek, scraping off chunks of rotten flesh.
"And to build a weapon, you must identify your target."
Mortarion looked slightly confused, while Magnus made a gesture of lying down with both hands.
"Romulus?"
"Or rather, Guilliman," Magnus corrected, then continued before the other could speak:
"Exactly. And to understand him, we must consider his lineage, his background, his bloodline, and his ancestors."
"The Emperor?"
Mortarion seemed to think of something, then asked cautiously.
"Correct," Magnus said.
"You see, I know Him, I understand Him. The Changer of Ways showed me that history. In the long years, He played many roles to facilitate His actions. Tyr of the Norse, Enlil of Babylon, Set of Egypt, the Capitoline Wolf... also playing the role of Father God, Creator..."
"Among them, Romulus is..."
The Crimson King talked endlessly, narrating the origin of Rome, a she-wolf nursing two brothers, thus becoming the symbol of this ancient city-state, until the Pale King seemed to believe it all.
"The Emperor never forgets the past. Perhaps every one of us is a replacement for something in His past," Mortarion commented, his raspy voice laced with rust-like bitterness.
"Perhaps we can all find clues in the long river of human history, those years the Emperor personally experienced, and the correspondence between them, our so-called archetypes. And our weaknesses may also be hidden in those histories sung as myths," Magnus replied with a smile, a look that gave Mortarion the creeps.
Did this peeper really gain insight into the fatal weaknesses of all brothers?
Mortarion subconsciously clenched his knuckles, the joints making a muffled sound of mucus stretching. Lost in thought, he didn't notice the corrosive liquid soaking through the seams of his gauntlet, etching hissing, festering pits into the ground.
The only thing to be thankful for was that the currently revealed replacements were only Guilliman, the Lion, Sanguinius, and Magnus. He didn't even know who he was replacing, so naturally, he didn't need to worry about it.
But I really should collect some history. I must overcome that guy's weakness.
For no reason, a look of disgust appeared in Mortarion's cloudy eyes, filled with loathing for the so-called 'archetype' he did not yet know.
By the way, there were also those brothers' weaknesses; he must master them too.
Mortarion looked up at the confident Magnus.
"My archetype had no weakness. He spent his life in glory, and I have no weakness either."
Recognizing the meaning at a glance, Magnus suddenly raised his head. The golden patterns on his crimson armor flowed with scorching brilliance with his movement, and the entire hall trembled with the pressure he emitted.
Ramesses II—
Egypt's greatest Pharaoh, with achievements shining through the ages, flawless in civil and military rule, finally sleeping in glory.
What a perfect life!
As soon as this thought emerged, the faces of the opponents at the Council of Nikaea flashed in his mind, and Leman Russ's heavy blow shattering his spine.
Magnus's hatred instantly surged in his chest, causing psychic flames to leap uncontrollably around him.
When the historical truth unfolded before his eyes, everything had an answer. The Emperor was wrong, those ignorant brothers were wrong.
And he, Magnus the Red, the Crimson King, was always correct!
"How about it?"
Magnus leaned forward slightly, asking, wanting his brother's answer.
"If what you say is true," Mortarion nodded in agreement, his words full of hostility.
"I will forge a weapon for you. Romulus murdered his brother to become king, so ending with a murder couldn't be more appropriate."
Heh, so his sons have been killing each other since ancient times.
Recalling the story of Romulus, the Pale King sneered inwardly.
Plague corruption was the most convenient, and Grandfather Nurgle happened to be good at it. As for the carrier of the toxin, it wasn't hard to find.
He didn't say who the weapon would eventually point to, nor did he disdain to say it. Whoever wanted to fight Romulus could go ahead; he wasn't going.
If those four were really that easy to deal with, it would be fine. Grandfather Nurgle warned them early on not to try to do things they couldn't do, and the Dawnbreakers were never His primary target.
Since they knew the weaknesses of the Lion and Guilliman, instead of fighting the elusive Dawnbreakers, it would be better to direct the blade at more tangible targets.
"That would be best," Magnus replied with a smile.
He didn't say who he would stab with the dagger either, as long as it was in his hand when needed.
After watching for so long, even Perturabo died. He would have to be out of his mind to face those four directly.
In places unnoticed by many, the strategic focus of the gods began to shift gradually.
"This is the contract."
Mortarion extended a rotten claw.
"Pleasant cooperation."
Magnus endured the nausea and extended his hand, then suppressed a series of plans rising in his heart.
He had to keep an eye on Vashtorr later. This 'Machine God' had been collecting fragments of Caliban. Stabbing the Lion when the opportunity arose would also be acceptable.
Deep in the wasteland, Khorne, peering at this transaction through the blood mist, let out a disdainful snort.
His scarlet eyes swept over Angron, who was still slaughtering madly on the battlefield—a collection capable of nothing but killing. Hot breath spewed out, and He finally chose to close His eyes.
Patience.
In the Warp, Unknown Eldar Crone World, Fabius Bile's Laboratory
"Bile, are you playing me?"
In the reception room, Fulgrim, heavily made up, was looking at the Lion in the culture tank, hands on hips, scolding his son.
"I think you are playing me!" Fabius Bile retorted.
Compared to the rosy-faced Fulgrim, who didn't seem to be hit hard by the recent failure, the old Apothecary looked much worse.
It was all because this 'benevolent father,' who had just sent twenty thousand Emperor's Children to their deaths, brought a blood sample of Arthur not long ago.
Fulgrim claimed he got it by swinging his sword personally, risking half his life for it.
Fabius studied it all night, but no matter how he replicated it, the result was the Lion.
At first, he thought there was a problem with a step, until he made long comparisons, even risking attacking Dark Angels living in Chaos warbands to extract their gene-seed for detailed comparison, only to find that he seemed to have been played by his unreliable father again.
"That shouldn't be! That's the blood I got with my own hands."
Fulgrim scrutinized the face in the culture tank. Thanks to his increasing consumption demands, Fabius Bile's skills had become increasingly exquisite.
Majestic, handsome, transcendent arrogance.
Looking like a unique demigod at first glance, definitely not of this world.
But—
Why wasn't there a trace of Arthur?
Where was the gentleness hidden under the indifferent appearance? Where was the unsparing attention to everyone? Where was the restraint retained even while releasing emotions?
Why was there none at all?
This face didn't even look like him; it wasn't as good-looking as Arthur!
"I think you must be hallucinating," the old Apothecary said from the side, smoothing his remaining hair.
"Impossible, absolutely impossible. Although I forgot everything else, I remember this clearly," Fulgrim waved his hand hurriedly.
Bile looked disbelieving, only feeling that this snake had gone mad.
"..."
"Forget it, forget it."
The two were deadlocked for a while, ending with Fulgrim's defeat.
"You continue your research. Next time I come, I hope to see an existence that satisfies me. I'm busy, leaving now."
Slaanesh's completion was not without cost. At least the Third Princess, who had always been slacking off, had to get busy creating value for her master to complete Himself.
Fulgrim waved his hand in annoyance, tucked the culture tank under his arm, and left directly.
Using the Lion to make do for now wasn't impossible.
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