Chapter 82: It Finally Became Foul
He swung Silence again, cleaving Typhon's body in half.
A moment later, Typhon's body regenerated completely, and he stood unharmed.
"Do you believe you can fight against the power of immortality?" Typhon sneered.
"Every time you kill me, I resurrect stronger than before. You can never defeat me."
As Typhon spoke, his body underwent complete transformation. His armor became a living nest of countless flies, and his body radiated a destructive plague aura that enveloped the entire battlefield in corrupting power.
"Typhus, Herald of the Lord of Corruption and Master of the Destroyer Hive."
Typhon—now Typhus—laughed continuously as he proclaimed his new name. "This is my true name, and my new identity."
Mortarion gazed upon Typhus, his heart laden with fury and despair. He realized Chaos had long manipulated him, and everything he cherished had been utterly destroyed.
Mortarion attempted another assault, but the power of the Destroyer Plague overwhelmed him completely. Typhus easily deflected every strike, and his body was gradually corroded by the contagion, growing weaker with each passing moment.
"It is finished, Mortarion," Typhus said coldly. "Your era has passed. I shall lead the Death Guard to fulfill Nurgle's great purpose."
Mortarion collapsed to his knees, Silence slipping from his grasp. His body was entirely covered by plague corruption, unable even to stand.
Nevertheless, a faint light still burned in his eyes, his final resistance against the Ruinous Powers.
"You are ultimately just Chaos's instrument," Mortarion said weakly. "You will, like me, become their puppet."
Typhus did not respond. He turned and departed, trailing a torrent of pestilence that completely engulfed the entire battleship.
Mortarion knelt alone upon the corrupted deck, watching helplessly as his Legion succumbed entirely to corruption, powerless to prevent it.
Everything before him blurred. He vaguely perceived the Death Guard, now resembling mounds of rotting matter, crying out in anguish.
Gradually, the putrid masses began emitting green toxic miasma, engulfing the entire space.
At this moment, Mortarion felt as though he stood once more beneath the gloom of Barbarus. His breathing grew labored, every inhalation filled with corrosive vapors. Rolling thick fog seemed poised to devour his body entirely. Biting cold and searing pain alternated in waves, every step like climbing the peak of despair itself.
"Where is this?" Mortarion whispered.
He knew this was Barbarus, the toxic world he had never imagined he would miss. Yet now it appeared more desolate, more hostile than in his memory.
In the distance, the majestic fortress still stood atop the mountain, as if mocking his futility.
He gazed up at the fortress he had challenged countless times, his heart filled with both rage and faint dread. His hands trembled. Silence seemed too heavy to lift. But he had no choice. He had to climb. He had to find answers.
"Mortarion."
A deep, chilling voice echoed in his hearing, as if rising from the toxic mist, yet also emerging from within his own mind.
"Why do you struggle? Do you not see that this is your destiny?"
Mortarion furiously swung Silence at the emptiness, but the voice merely chuckled coldly.
His steps were leaden. His armor had long been corroded and stained by toxic vapors. Every step of the ascent felt like bearing a thousand pounds. His vision blurred. The poisonous gas seemed alive, eroding his muscles and will alike.
Memories began flooding back.
He remembered his first challenge against his adoptive father's fortress. Back then, he had been merely a young warrior, a rebel attempting to change his own fate. He remembered countless failures, the suffocating sensation of toxic gas filling his lungs, the humiliation of his body collapsing to the ground.
"Why..." Mortarion murmured. "Why here again? Have I not already surpassed all of this?"
The fortress gates remained beyond reach. Whenever he believed himself a step closer, the toxic gas grew thicker, as if deliberately mocking his powerlessness.
"Surrender," the voice echoed again. "You know all of this is meaningless. Climbing? Resisting? Your destiny is already sealed."
Mortarion halted abruptly, glaring furiously at his surroundings.
"Who are you?" he roared. "Who whispers thus? Show yourself! Tell me what manner of trick this is!"
The voice did not answer, only continued its insidious whisper.
"You are here because you have never truly escaped your past, your pain, your failures, your humiliation... they are always with you."
In the mist, permeated by toxic vapors, Mortarion's consciousness began to fragment.
Visions surged like a tide. He witnessed himself standing alone before the Emperor, the humiliation and failure of that moment piercing his soul like a blade.
"You depend upon Him, yet you hate Him," the voice mocked.
"He is merely another tyrant, another being perched upon a distant mountain. You simply leaped from one cage into another."
The scene shifted. He saw himself standing before his adoptive father, the malevolent overlord, releasing a low, cruel chuckle. Mortarion swung Silence, attempting to cut down this monster, but every attack was effortlessly deflected. His body gradually weakened, and his adoptive father's laughter grew louder.
"Failure," his adoptive father said coldly. "You will never defeat me. You were never strong enough."
The scene shifted again. He saw himself lying upon the ground, gazing up at the ascended Fulgrim, who released a mocking laugh.
"I originally intended to find Perturabo, but I simply couldn't resist."
"Sigh, so satisfying! Truly pleasurable Hahaha~"
Mortarion attempted to rise, but his body refused to obey.
"Enough!"
Crack~
The scene shattered. Khan rode forth upon his bike, regarding him with cold disdain.
"Mortarion, is this your power? Too weak! Far too weak!"
Swift as wind, blades continuously carved into his flesh, yet he remained powerless to resist. Accompanying this was the anguished wailing of his sons.
"Enough!"
"Enough!"
Mortarion roared, repeatedly striking his own head, attempting to banish these visions. Yet his roars seemed pathetically weak, and the profound sense of helplessness nearly shattered him entirely.
He curled into a corner, as if the entire galaxy had abandoned him. Mortarion simply wished to remain there. He could do nothing.
The whisper returned, laden with temptation.
"You need not endure this any longer. You can end this pain. With but one word, you can gain power, gain liberation."
A hazy figure manifested within the toxic mist, a form composed of plague and decaying flesh, exuding an indescribable stench yet possessing a chilling intimacy.
"Child, return to me," the figure intoned, its voice deep and gentle.
"I don't need your charity!" Mortarion screamed, though hesitation already crept into his voice.
The figure showed no disappointment. It merely waited in patient silence, as if it already knew Mortarion's answer.
The toxic vapors thickened. The visions grew clearer.
Mortarion witnessed himself repeatedly falling before his adoptive father, heard the Emperor's stern reprimands, and saw his Death Guard brothers wailing in agony.
"No! Don't!"
He howled hysterically, yet remained utterly powerless, kneeling upon the ground like a broken thing, repeatedly pounding the earth.
"You cannot save them," the figure stated. "You cannot even save yourself. Your only choice is to accept my blessing."
"Blessing?" Mortarion asked through gritted teeth. "What manner of poison is it?"
"Resilience," the figure's voice deepened, growing more seductive.
"Unparalleled resilience. You will no longer feel pain. You will transcend death. Your enemies will be unable to harm you. And your Legion will gain eternal life."
Mortarion collapsed fully to his knees, his body trembling violently from the toxic gas's corrosion. Silence fell weakly to the ground beside him. His eyes brimmed with pain, rage, and despair.
"I..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "What else can I do?"
"Drink," the figure whispered softly, scooping a ladle of virulent green broth and offering it to Mortarion.
"All pain will end."
Mortarion closed his eyes. He saw the scene of his failed patricide, heard the Emperor's indifferent voice, and felt the wails of his Legion brothers echoing through his soul.
Finally, his will was shattered.
"I... dedicate myself to you," Mortarion whispered, like a dying breath.
"I'll drink it."
With Mortarion's acceptance, his armor began fracturing.
Instead of blood, foul-smelling, putrid fluid, like sludge, oozed from the cracks. Those fissures did not break the armor entirely; instead, they were filled by flowing ichor that solidified into new forms, granting the armor a malevolent vitality.
His flesh began turning a putrid green, with bluish-black veins appearing across the surface like withered branches. The armor around his ribs split open, revealing festering sores and writhing parasites beneath.
Mortarion's shoulders began bulging, flesh and bone struggling between tearing and reformation. Two massive wounds erupted across his back, and thick, putrid fluid gushed forth, accompanied by the screams and gnawing of countless parasites.
Moments later, two pairs of massive daemonic wings unfurled from the gashes.
These wings were no longer natural. Their bones resembled dead branches, and their membranes were covered in festering wounds and writhing pustules.
[End of Chapter]