Chapter 454: The Death Guard's Dilemma
Most of the time, the Great Powers of the Warp sit leisurely on their thrones, moving pawns and watching the insignificant beings of the galaxy strive for ambition and survival just to please Them.
Mortals try every possible means, dedicating everything they have, begging for a tiny bit of reward flowing from Their fingers, and accepting it gladly, unaware that they have unknowingly fallen under the control of the other party.
But when necessary, the Gods will also take measures beyond common sense. Among them, the Blood God often disdains to even act.
But being impressive doesn't mean the other three often overlooked existences will remain indifferent.
Reciprocity and gentlemanly conduct have never been elements of the Great Game.
Squelch~
Writhing roots like intestines pulled out a string of muscle and fat wrapped in dried blood.
A Death Guard raised it, igniting it with flames. The fat turned in the firelight with his movement, illuminating the surrounding scene.
Inhale~
This Death Guard took a deep breath.
He marveled at the mutations occurring within.
The vision granted to him by the Warp God had always been excellent. It was like the compound eyes of an insect, but each part possessed the visual acuity of an Astartes' eyes.
He narrowed his eyes. The rhythm that once brimmed with vitality seemed to have truly stagnated. Broken massive buildings crackled, splitting upon hitting the ground under the influence of gravity.
He took a step forward.
The sky polluted by the Warp cast down dancing auroras, tearing the horizon apart. Everyone lowered their heads, trying not to stare at it.
If there were any creatures left in this world that could be called living people.
Mortarion's personal guard, his equerry—
Caipha Morarg, who had besieged Terra with the Death Lord since the beginning of the Heresy, witnessed the death of the White Scars Primarch and the rebirth of the Death Lord, and was now a Chaos favorite, stepped through the disgusting, lifeless mist.
On the ruins of this ocean planet on the verge of death, he stepped over withered shrubs, the empty armor of his kin, and skeletons stripped of even a trace of germs by unknown forces, finally finding his master in the ruins of the fallen starport.
Mortarion, the Death Lord.
Clatter~
His footsteps stopped.
From a distance, exactly seventy-seven steps away from Mortarion, Morarg gazed at that slightly unfamiliar body, examining the changes within.
Since Morarg last saw him, his body had become so pale, forming its own protective coloration in the thick fog.
No one would think this appearance was good-looking. The features that once belonged to the Garden of Nurgle were replaced by thoroughly decayed metal and tissues turned to ash. The translucent wings were also filled with pale substances, like moth scales.
Surrounding him were seven Deathshroud Terminators. These personal guards chosen by Mortarion now remained only as empty shells, their flesh hollowed out completely.
In the Garden, Morarg and Lord Mortarion were not known for their eternal joy like those cheerful daemons. Mortarion's melancholy infected many, but now he looked as gloomy and exhausted as an old man who had weathered many storms.
Morarg could feel the enthusiasm that had risen due to the reappearance of his brothers beginning to fade. Because of the despair born from the death of countless sons hovering over him, his emotions began to become indifferent.
Looking at the pale Death Lord over there, it was hard to imagine how he could restore his true colors.
"Caipha."
The Primarch's voice was as kind as ever, no different from memory.
"You saw it all."
Morarg's hand was tightly grabbed by something.
Until the shadow enveloped him, Morarg realized that person was Mortarion.
The current Death Lord was so powerful, yet so fragile.
He tightly grasped Morarg's hand, as if clutching at a life-saving straw.
"Yes, My Lord, I saw it all."
Morarg replied: "The Godblight is complete."
Mortarion was stunned, the expression behind his rebreather visibly stiffening.
Obviously, this personal guard he sent out to lead seven fleets didn't know what exactly happened.
"Yes, the plague is complete..."
He exhaled, muttering.
"The plague is complete, yes."
He repeated.
Grey mist attacked him. Morarg subconsciously wanted to avoid it; every part constituting his body was resisting death and despair.
Mortarion let go of his hand.
Morarg respectfully retreated to a distance seven steps away from his master.
"How many of us are left, Caipha?"
After a long time, Mortarion's voice transmitted over.
"Less than a third left."
Morarg lowered his head and replied:
"The death was too sudden. All seven Great Companies suffered huge losses."
"Sorry, my Lord, I failed to complete the task you entrusted to me."
Although the Death Guard split into hundreds of warbands of varying sizes after the Heresy, the Legion's structure remained, able to quickly integrate and restore when the Primarch needed it.
Out of Mortarion's love for numerology, the current Death Guard was divided into seven Plague Companies.
The 1st Plague Company - The Harbingers.
Ruled by Typhus, composed of the notorious Plague Fleet.
Except for the part that went to the Obscurus Segmentum, the remaining members bore the harassment of the Scythes of the Emperor Chapter in the west of Greater Ultramar.
The 2nd Plague Company - The Inexorable.
A mechanized assault force with a huge tank formation. The company's plague is the Ferric Blight, which leaves crawling rust on their armor and vehicles, infecting enemies through contact or firing. Engaging the joint forces of the Silver Skulls and Iron Snakes Chapters around Talassar, pinning down a large number of Ultramar forces.
The 3rd Plague Company - Mortarion's Anvil.
Good at elastic defense operations. The plague they carry makes their armor smooth, endowing it with strong defensive and regenerative capabilities. Responsible for guarding the ritual planets captured by the Death Guard, fighting multiple fleets patrolling various parts of Greater Ultramar as mobile forces.
The 4th Plague Company - The Wretched.
Gathering place for sorcerers within the Death Guard, disliked by Mortarion, now assisting the 3rd Company in Warp rituals.
The 5th Plague Company - The Poxmongers.
Equipped with a large number of Daemon Engines, possessing extremely strong contact combat capabilities, extremely good at tactical boarding, acting in concert with Mortarion who became unusually powerful due to Chaos blessings.
The 6th Plague Company - The Ferrymen.
Leaders of the Death Guard fleet, bearing the responsibility of allocating and forging warships for each company, now cruising between the territories of Greater Ultramar, looking for breakthrough opportunities.
The 7th Plague Company - Mortarion's Chosen Sons.
Led by Morarg, engaging the Ultramarines Chapter in the Calth region.
From the beginning of the war, Mortarion bore heavy pressure. Ultramar's defense didn't collapse at the first touch as the Death Lord took for granted. Instead, before the Dawnbreakers intervened, it was linked into a whole under some bond.
The reaction was unusually fast. Calgar acted as if he had fought the Plague Fleet countless times, quickly evacuating residents, then designating specialized support systems in various sectors for personnel flow, restricting personnel return.
This led to troops engaging the Plague Fleet and suffering infection often being concentrated on the same planet for treatment and recuperation. either continuing to the battlefield to engage the enemy after recovery, or directly turning that planet into a battlefield against Nurgle. The Death Guard's plague couldn't spread in a chain reaction, only gnaw through one by one.
Other planets just stubbornly and continuously poured in combat supplies, without even the intention of recovery.
Mortarion also knew about this part of their defects, but in the past, he often wouldn't care.
Knowing didn't mean you could defend against it. Even if you came up with a plan, it might not necessarily be executed.
Especially for the bloated Imperium, such refined and rapid mobilization tested the administrative center's control over various planets extremely, and the Imperium often lacked such things.
It was different now.
Mortarion felt like he was trying to drill through a door, only to find a solid iron wall behind it after finally drilling through.
And the feeble Hive Fleets were even blocked at the fortress world Tyran on the galactic edge.
Highly popularized detection equipment on various planets restricted the spread of Nurgle's plague while also restricting Genestealers relying on genetic infection for spread. These scouts of the Tyranid swarm were often concentrated and executed, or used to achieve tactical goals by utilizing their characteristic of transmitting to the Hive Mind in real-time through synaptic links.
Those Tyranid fleets that starved and detoured, entering the galactic interior sporadically, were attracted to planets occupied by Orks under the tactical deception of the Deathwatch, fighting each other, and finally wiped out when both sides were exhausted.
An invisible bond reconnected the entire Ultramar before the Lord of Ultramar awakened.
Such a bond made the Chapters entrenched within react unusually fast. Except for lacking a Primarch like Guilliman, it looked not much different from ten thousand years ago.
How can Ultramar be so hard to fight?
This made Mortarion doubt his own Legion. Perhaps because he hadn't intervened in his Legion for too long, these warriors couldn't be commanded as easily as ten thousand years ago.
Especially the 1st Company, those sons loyal to Typhus and not to him. Most of them left with Typhus.
And the 2nd Company, they were the same, ideologically wavering, hard to command.
At the same time, Mortarion thought of Lorgar.
Before, he mocked Lorgar and Angron for being chased by Guilliman in panic. Now he just wanted to ask how Lorgar achieved such great results from Guilliman's hands back then.
But his relationship with Lorgar was really bad.
Mortarion couldn't help but laugh at himself for this thought.
Lorgar wouldn't help him; instead, he would mock him, just like that deserter Magnus, mocking his compromise with the Warp and his attempt to continue using mathematics he believed in to explain Warp phenomena.
They were like this, despising each other.
"My Lord, our attack failed. We cannot break through the route to Macragge."
Morarg's subsequent plea for forgiveness called back Mortarion's thoughts.
"Brothers among us, many people, suddenly died. Their souls are gone. Our sorcerers can't find them either. There are many rumors within the Legion..."
And now this personal guard abandoned the warriors around Calth, rushing back. His gaze hidden under the armor revealed panic and confusion.
Obviously, no matter how normal he acted, this warrior showed panic at the changes happening in the Legion again.
Mortarion opened his mouth.
Could he say this was Nurgle's doing?
Dissatisfied with their progress, Nurgle chose the most extreme method, which was to use the death of His own children to achieve the goal.
Mortarion could feel the despair of his sons' deaths echoing in his mind now, endowing him with unprecedented power.
Then what was the promise he made back then?
How could he face these sons who had dedicated everything to Nurgle?
"I don't want to bring everyone out of one living hell, only to plunge headfirst into another. No matter what happens, we must remain whole."
He pointed around, saying: "Look, this is why I lead you away from hell. It was the Emperor, that rotting corpse on the Golden Throne, who caused all this."
He would absolutely not admit it was his fault.
"I understand."
Morarg said.
In fact, he had always trusted his master deeply. Such openness itself was something he hadn't dared to hope for.
Mortarion squeezed out a smile.
"But you still have thoughts. You still have thoughts, doubts, or fear? You can tell me."
Morarg thought to himself.
Those Iron Warriors corrupted by Tzeentch and driven mad by Perturabo's death weren't quite normal. Their words should never have been believed, but such doubts became uncontrollable as familiar faces passed away one by one.
"I indeed felt panic, because of death, and—"
He said honestly, then hesitated.
He looked up at his master, seeing the master shrouded in despair, afraid he said too much.
"Go on."
Mortarion said.
Morarg swallowed.
"There are some voices in the Legion, especially those Iron Warriors who turned to Tzeentch. They left slander in the Legion, saying... saying..."
He was timid.
Some things were really hard to say from a Death Guard's mouth.
But gratifyingly, Mortarion didn't get angry at him.
"Let me finish for you, Caipha."
Mortarion said, his voice very low.
"Rumors have appeared in the Legion now, saying that I caused all this. Precisely because I pushed us to transform into the current form, yet the Grandfather deceived me, deceived us, making us mistakenly think we were still whole, and then controlled everything about us as He pleased. Now you start to question my decision, right!"
That voice was furious, full of real emotions.
The billowing mist dispersed, setting off Mortarion like a living God of Death.
"More or less, my Lord."
Morarg swallowed. The Primarch's anger was so terrifying. He forced himself to spit out the truth, then emphasized.
"But these are just rumors. I have executed the spreaders of rumors."
"I understand. After all, these are those noisy conspirators. It's normal for them to say so."
Mortarion took another deep breath. The withered body wrapped under the armor made creaking sounds. Under the shadows around Mortarion, those daemons emerging with massive sacrifices whispered something, appearing restless.
"I won't excuse myself. The fleet transition back then was my mistake. I trusted Typhus too much, exposing the fleet completely to the Warp tides, causing such catastrophic consequences. It's a painful memory for anyone, unbearable to look back on."
A trace of bitterness flashed briefly in the Primarch's eyes at the edge of the rebreather, revealing true feelings.
"I will only say this: I love all of you deeply. If there is anything to admit, not protecting you well is the only mistake I am willing to admit. Does saying this put you at ease?"
Morarg remained silent.
He wasn't sure if this was truth or lies.
Or maybe it didn't matter at all. He, they, the entire Death Guard facing such anomalies, now only needed a response to convince themselves.
Like a straw he hoped to grab after the painful guess of "there was never a paradise, they just moved from one hell to another" surfaced in his mind.
Just like Mortarion himself.
They needed validation, needed to grab onto something that could deceive themselves.
"I am satisfied, my Lord."
Morarg relaxed his tense face. A few strands of lifeless rotten flesh fell from his face. He said rather feebly:
"I understand."
"That couldn't be better."
Mortarion nodded.
"Now, let's do everything for the last time. Concentrate forces, complete the Grandfather's goal, end the Corpse Emperor's conspiracy, storm into Macragge. Then let us play freely, do as we please. The God will complete the rest, and we will return to that paradise far from hell."
"I understand."
Morarg nodded, expressing obedience.
Now, he would march under the banner of lies once again.
This wouldn't be the last time, because they had become a Legion of lies.
Speaking the truth would only embarrass them. Could they really betray their master?
Lying was much simpler.
Such things were just like this.
Mortarion watched Morarg's retreating figure.
The first time speaking up was hard; the next time would be easy.
He looked at his pale palm. The deception wrapped in lies had dispersed.
Resentment gradually surfaced.
Anger at his own choice wouldn't disappear; it would only transfer, transfer to those existences he thought he should hate.
Falling on the mortals still resisting in the stars, falling on the Dawnbreakers who caused all these changes, falling on the Emperor who didn't show him the truth of the world...
If Lorgar were here, he would definitely mock Mortarion for being self-taught, having learned the essence.
The essence was deception.
Deceiving those who cared about you to die, deceiving yourself that you were carrying out a great cause, making yourself forget the lies you told, forget the mistakes you made, making yourself think you were still doing the right thing, living in your own world, changing nothing in the end.
This was Mortarion's weakness and drifting with the tide.
"This is the general situation of Greater Ultramar."
Arthur waited for everyone to finish reading the star map of Ultramar and various contingency plans against Nurgle's sore loser behavior.
Seeing everyone thoughtful over the detailed information in their hands, he further expanded the image projected in the center of the star map.
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