Chapter 461: The Nightbringer: "Wait, Am I Not Fighting a Daemon?"
Blades clashed, the crisp sound of killing weapons colliding sending shockwaves through their senses.
This was not the first time Mortarion had crossed blades with his brothers.
Wind and fire raged, the world flickering between light and shadow. Twisted silhouettes cast by the flames danced all around.
Mortarion could hear the howls and battle cries fading into the distance.
Everyone knew the importance of this battle. The Plague God's reckless output meant daemons constituted ninety percent of the planet's battlefield forces. Led by the remaining elite of the Death Guard, they advanced, engaging in a horrific slaughter against the Blood Angels and the mortals they led.
These miseries—his sons, those daemons—the echoes of their deaths constantly stimulated Mortarion, causing him to bite his shriveled lips until ash fell. His wounds had stopped bleeding long ago, making him look like shattered porcelain.
At this moment, it was hard not to recall the scene from back then.
The Siege of Terra, before the Eternity Gate. That was the first time Mortarion truly fought to the death with a brother.
Either you die, or I die.
He still remembered, on that open battlefield strewn with broken wreckage on Terra, how unshakable Jaghatai Khan, his brother, was. dodging and weaving under his assault—tenacious, cold, every move lethal.
But clearly, indulging in memories was a mistake.
Because Mortarion discovered that the roles of then and now had reversed.
As the Death Lord who had received the favor of the Warp God, the Grandfather, he had long broken free from the shackles of the past, becoming increasingly bizarre and terrifying. Yet now, he wore a human skin, his withered body stuffed into rotten armor that was about to fall apart with his body. Under the baptism of the Burning Angel, his armor seemed fragile, as if it would collapse in the next moment.
The air around him was filled with a pungent vitality, nauseating, almost suffocating.
And the angel in front of him was even more terrifying.
Brute force surged within the Burning Angel's body. Warp energy coursed through his veins, beating under skin like jade, plating that chiseled face in sacred gold.
Wherever he went, reality was twisted by power that defied natural laws.
Everything was being burned, then swept in as substantive damage. The emotion directed at him was extremely simple, far less complex than the twisted feelings in Mortarion's heart at this moment.
It was pure hatred.
The spear in his hand reflected a scene that was hell for Mortarion: the roar of the Blood God, the brilliance of the cold sun, the vengeful claws of human souls.
And he, Mortarion, what did he have to counter all this?
Think about how the Khan dealt with you back then, how the weak overcame the strong? are you as indestructible and unshakable as the Khan back then?
Mortarion's thoughts wavered. Combined with the current situation, shame surged in his heart, slowing his parrying movement by a fraction.
Clang!
In this moment of hesitation, the Death Lord flew out like a struck baseball, scattering the thick fog of death.
Crash~
Mortarion could feel himself flying up in shame again, retreating in shame, then twisting and rolling in mid-air, armor fragments scattering with the force invading his body.
It took about three seconds for him to stabilize his figure again.
The power of death spread out. Once again, his power was trapped by the flames enveloping him.
A body of decaying power, a mind increasingly shaken by the death of his sons?
Enough?
Far from enough.
What he faced was hatred, hatred far greater than before.
Clang!
The handle of Silence was taut. Mortarion watched the Angel becoming increasingly silent as the battle progressed.
Replaced by soul-shaking roars, battle cries.
But for Mortarion, this was no different from before. The Angel's change only made him realize the status quo more intuitively.
From the beginning of the dialogue, the other party's words were spoken only to kill him more conveniently and quickly. Having witnessed Mortarion's actions, the Burning Angel had long been disappointed by these 'traitors' abandoning everything.
Now, his hatred was as boundless as the universe, because too many people died in Greater Ultramar—his Blood Angels warriors, soldiers responsible for planetary defense, workers busy in factories, farmers laboring in fields...
Powerful energy erupted from Karna's body, forming a rolling tornado. Karna clamped one side of Mortarion's skull with one hand, the Spear of the Crimson Dawn colliding with Silence.
In Mortarion's bulging eyes squeezed by pressure, oppression like a landslide and tsunami rushed towards him.
They were all devoured by this monster in front of me, turned into nutrients for his or his master's ambition.
The deaths of these people must be counted on his head.
The Angel before him was so terrifying to the enemy.
He had anger as deep as a sea of blood, poured into every slash and stab of the spear blade. He had the urgency of revenge, filling his limbs, enough for him to attack the Death Lord with the force of a mountain and tsunami, using surging power to make the impossible possible.
Boom!
The two crashed together, the rock beneath their feet shattering.
The Spear of the Crimson Dawn clashed with the giant scythe Silence. Entangled forces triggered violent explosions.
They wrestled and stalemated, competing in strength and balance, feeling the tremors of weapons, testing the limits the other could bear.
They exchanged blows, faster and fiercer. Rumbling sounds came from the lower battlefield around them. Screams and explosions mixed with the wails of daemons and the roars of Space Marines seemed boundless.
This scene was enough to be recorded in any myth or legend.
Solid firelight collided with fluffy dense fog, then the dense fog was dispersed.
Mortarion retreated first.
The offensive intensified, fast as a meteor or lightning. Every blow combined extreme power and precision. Mortarion's speed also became amazing. The sluggishness granted by the Grandfather in the past was replaced by a disturbing evil acuity, allowing him to perceive more clearly how to make himself more lethal.
The giant scythe swept across, making a weird hiss, tearing the air itself the moment the Angel barely parried the blade.
This was a collision of metal forged in the Warp. The impact was enough to destroy the body and shatter the soul. Even the Burning Angel's body showed countless scrape wounds, revealing the flesh beneath.
Obviously both sides were getting stronger, but Mortarion always felt he was missing something.
Like a system that should run smoothly missing a part, capable of undertaking higher-level computing power, but ultimately lacking something in the material universe.
"Mortarion!"
Before he could continue thinking, Karna charged again. He swung the spear, wheeling it into an arc, smashing his right arm down heavily.
"You should die."
"If you knew what I am now."
Seeing the wounds all over his body stopping bleeding and scarring quickly, Mortarion's brow jumped, shouting: "You would know the truth, brother. I will never die again."
Grey mist representing death spewed out. In the area of hundreds of kilometers around them, no creature could survive.
"I know."
Boom!
A heavy stab evaporated the pervading grey mist, thrusting quickly into Mortarion's face.
Karna murmured, revealing the greatest contempt of his life: "Hope so."
Mortarion persisted bitterly.
Past engagements had no reference value. At that time, many factors were contested. The brothers' cognition of their own power was in a confused stage. Victory or defeat was uncertain, and even if they failed, they could start over.
Now it was completely overturned.
He could truly feel this was not his home field. Karna controlled everything here, while he invaded here only as an extension of a greater existence.
This is the limitation of a Great Daemon.
Not complete enough, no domain of his own, power relying entirely on the master's charity, ecological niche naturally inferior, unable to act as a complete individual. The ability in the material universe was worlds apart from other existences with their own thrones.
This was why the Nightbringer was confident he could intercept the Lion.
The Nightbringer was moving at high speed in cosmic space, leaving the glow of stars behind.
C'tan could distort physical laws to a certain extent, allowing them to move at FTL speeds. Although this speed wasn't as fast as the Webway, it won in freedom.
As an ancient C'tan, its understanding of Warp creations was far greater than these young races still using psychic energy in a crude way and unable to distinguish the characteristics of Warp creatures.
Although the galactic situation was rotten now, and five unprecedented monsters appeared in the Warp, in the eyes of a C'tan who caused this rotten situation, all this was nothing.
The Nightbringer looked at the struggling Nurgle Great Daemon in his palm.
An extension of a Warp god, essentially shaped by pure and extreme Warp energy. Very different from a god; the biggest point was incompleteness, at most a cell. This made it powerless when facing an equally incomplete C'tan.
Only fit to be food.
The Nightbringer opened his mouth, his body constructed of necrodermis swallowing it directly.
That Nurgle Great Daemon howled as it entered the C'tan Shard, then fell apart amidst the C'tan Shard's feeling of pleasure.
Phew~
Having done all this, the Nightbringer exhaled a long breath. The stimulating feeling that fascinated C'tan immensely spread throughout his body as the daemon was digested.
It wasn't about enhancing any power. C'tan were essentially incarnations of physical laws. Apart from collecting shards to become complete as a strengthening means, there was only absorbing star energy as a means to increase combat power in a short time.
Sucking souls was purely for the high.
Although the Deceiver was a liar, causing C'tan to devour each other and fight internally, ultimately becoming the fuse for the end of C'tan rule, at least he found good food for his kin.
After a brief experience, the Nightbringer observed the stars, confirming his position again.
In his view, the current universe wasn't bad.
Although his own weakness, the existence of Necrons, and other factors increased the danger of his activities in the galaxy, the gradually blurred boundary between reality and the Warp also made delicious souls unusually abundant. Especially these Great Daemons; both in quantity and taste, they were top choices.
The Nightbringer's speed increased.
Without those annoying Old Ones, once he retrieved his scythe, this galaxy would be a hunting ground for him to roam freely.
To fight him, apart from those taboo means inherited from C'tan by Necrons—which might or might not be available now—these inferior creatures highly dependent on Warp power first had to prepare a complete set of Warp artifacts, highly bound material world lives, and enough sacrifices.
And the most critical thing—
A Warp god responsible for the main attack.
"These are the swords left by Khaine when he besieged the Nightbringer back then."
Forest, boundless forest. The Laughing God Cegorach came here to meet his colleagues.
Carrying a huge sack, travel-worn, he looked curiously at this domain. Seeing Ramesses and the Lion waiting, he quickly raised a hand to greet them, came forward, and threw the sack on the ground.
With his movement, these divine weapons forged by Vaul, the Eldar Smith God, existing in myths and legends, slid out of the sack, revealing a mesmerizing luster.
Several burning gazes immediately fell on the graceful blades.
These were weapons forged by gods; even warriors of different races would be attracted by them.
No wonder Fulgrim always carried that Laer Blade seized from the Laer xenos.
"These are the thirteen Companion Guards personally selected by the Lion."
Ramesses pointed to a squad of Dark Angels in the forest whose eyes were almost glued to the swords.
Just asked from the Golden Geezer; the Lion picked them himself.
"These are the sacrifices paid for by the Great Daemon."
Ramesses threw out a handful of spirit stones.
The surrounding Farseers and Harlequins immediately took them preciously, flipping through ancient tomes to prepare for the ritual.
He grabbed the Lion and introduced him to Cegorach.
"This is the Lion, the Emperor's eldest son."
The Lion still looked a bit disheveled after returning, with many bruises on his face, looking like he had fought a big battle with an evenly matched opponent, and he looked guilty.
Meeting eyes with the Lion, seeing the other party subconsciously look away with an unspeakable look, Ramesses shrugged.
'Got it! Human God of War.'
Looking at the Lion with a stinking face, Cegorach immediately sensed the element.
The monsters raised by the Emperor finally realized their essence.
Thinking that maybe they could form another Pantheon in the Warp to fight those four in the future, Cegorach was immediately cheerful and quickly leaned in.
"Brother Lion."
The Laughing God slapped the Lion's shoulder armor.
"Don't worry, brother, I have rich experience dealing with C'tan. This time I'll definitely tame the opponent obediently!"
"..."
The Lion looked at Ramesses.
Meaning: help.
He had seen the Laughing God's file and knew that everyone wanted to pull the Eldar to form a human empire for political reasons. But out of instinctive suspicion, he still hoped to get affirmation from his brothers.
Secondly, cooperating with alien gods was still too awkward.
Quickly shrugging, dodging the Laughing God's hand, the Lion looked around—
Harlequins, Eldar Farseers, Daemon Engines, Watchers in the Dark instructing Caliban natives to assemble Daemon Engines with daemons...
Looking at all this, the Lion's eyelids twitched, feeling his loyalty drifting further and further away.
"Really. And don't look at his self-introduction saying he's useless. The Eldar's biggest result against C'tan came from him."
Counting the information on the application of the God of Death's power that Cegorach dug out from the Black Library during this time, secretly thinking that resurrection was indeed not that simple, Ramesses waved his hand.
Compared to Khaine organizing a ritual, killing a bunch of Eldar, and finally only hacking the Nightbringer's material body once—the biggest result being making the Nightbringer lose his scythe—Cegorach, the best clown of the Eldar, took out four C'tan at once.
The Outsider, and three weak C'tan devoured by the Outsider.
Truly amazing. During the War in Heaven when Eldar gods were most useful, the most useful one was also the Laughing God.
Ramesses always felt that the existence of the Laughing God itself was the most successful setting of the Eldar, interpreted too successfully, too laughably.
"Of course, don't count on him for fighting. Cegorach is purely useless."
Noticing Cegorach's arrogant expression, Ramesses added a sentence.
After really knowing Cegorach, he was disenchanted. If this guy really set up a stance to fight, he might not be as good as Vashtorr. Previously, due to lack of action records and his mysterious style, everyone mistakenly thought this guy was strong. Now as partners, they found this guy was nothing except deception means.
Even deception wasn't really related to authority. This guy's authority leaned more towards performance; deception was purely personal ability.
Truly, as long as you don't act, no one will realize how weak you are.
"Useless is good!"
Cegorach didn't mind Ramesses' 'belittling' at all, still smiling.
When he became useful again, that would be the real disaster. This kind of rich battle where strong men were responsible for hacking down opponents and he was responsible for his own job of cheering was the life an art worker should live.
"Depending on you for this one, Boss!"
Then he approached again, grabbed the Lion, and shouted mimicking Ramesses.
"Let me tell you, this Nightbringer... oh, I have the combat recording from back then—"
Speaking halfway, Cegorach reached out and pointed to a unique Harlequin from the crowd he brought, ordering.
"You there, Sylandri, come here. Let the troupe arrange the play 'Khaine vs Nightbringer'. Hey, let's watch and talk..."
Seeing the boss stopped being abstract, many Harlequins obediently followed the organization to work.
The performance of the Harlequin troupe was different from the ordinary performance in human cognition. It could really perfectly replicate that influence in history through performance, even including the individual's emotions and power. It could be said that at that moment, the Harlequin became that individual in history. This was why the Solitaire playing Slaanesh was basically doomed.
With the troupe's replay, not only could one fully understand that history, but one could even analyze the opponent's characteristics and weaknesses from it, and practically apply them to future battles.
The Laughing God started these plays to make the Eldar vigilant about history. As a result, the Eldar at that time only cared about being entertained. Seeing this fresh performance, they even wanted to go on stage and have fun with those Harlequins turned into ancestors.
Chopping the offended Harlequins into mincemeat was entertaining.
Hopeless.
"Pity. My ability wasn't enough to save the souls of the Eldar who participated in the battle back then. Otherwise, I could have brought them for on-site guidance."
"..."
Fine.
Under Cegorach's enthusiastic invitation, the Lion finally accepted with an awkward face.
Whatever. Daemon Engines, Emperor's manifestation... seen them all. Nothing strange about Eldar xenos.
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