Even though Khorne had forcibly blessed you, and your height in Terminator armor now approached three meters, you still felt something primal stir in your chest as the Primarch Mortarion drew closer. An instinctive sense of crisis tightened around your hearts, accompanied by an unfamiliar tremor of apprehension.
That terrifying aura radiating from him went far beyond mere physical strength. Something deeper pressed against you, a vague suppression emanating from the very depths of your bloodline, awakening ancestral recognition you couldn't fully understand. The weight of it threatened to crush your will entirely.
Instead, it ignited your rebellious spirit completely.
Your gauntleted hands tightened around the haft of the Bloodthirsty Manreaper, knuckles grinding against the weapon's grip. You took several heavy steps forward, each footfall deliberate and thunderous. The blood-red magnetic boots sank into the metal floor with each stride, leaving shallow impressions in the deck plating. The dull, rhythmic thuds echoed through the chamber like a war drum.
You needed this. Needed to feel the weight of your own movement, the resistance of the floor beneath you, anything to restore the fighting spirit that had begun to erode the moment you'd laid eyes on your gene-sire.
You should be fearless. Even if you were about to face a Primarch who had turned traitor.
Mortarion's voice cut through the stale air before you could take another step. It was dignified and deep, resonating with an authority that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. His face was partially obscured by a white breathing mask that covered his mouth and jaw, revealing only his pale forehead, the bridge of his nose, and a pair of cloudy yellow eyes that fixed upon you with unsettling intensity.
"My offspring. My Shroud of Death." Each word carried weight, deliberate and measured. "What have you done? Why do you also reek of the same disgusting stench as Horus and Typhus?"
The anger in his tone was palpable, but beneath it lurked something else. Despair, perhaps. Or disappointment so profound it bordered on grief.
You halted your advance, boots grinding to a stop against the deck. The distance between you and the massive Primarch seemed both vast and insufficient.
Through the visor of your metal helmet, you gazed up at him. Even at your enhanced height, Mortarion towered over you, a monument of pale flesh and corroded plate. You drew in a breath that tasted of recycled air and spoke slowly, choosing each word with care.
"The power from the Chaos God forcibly blessed my body and nearly altered the very nature of my soul."
You paused, letting the words settle. Around you, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with unspoken accusation and bitter truth.
"Lord Mortarion, this is the true reason why the Emperor forbids you Primarchs from spying on the Warp. The Imperial Truth may be a lie, but it's for your own good." Your voice grew harder, each syllable dropping like a hammer blow. "The seemingly invincible and terrifying power is ultimately just a crumbling castle in the air, an unattainable mirage. It will only reduce you to mere puppets of the Chaos Gods."
You told him part of the truth without hesitation, laying it bare between you like a challenge.
The massive Primarch simply slowed his advance until he stood motionless, a statue carved from pale stone and bitter memory. He gazed at you from across the distance, those dim yellow eyes unreadable behind the breathing apparatus.
His voice reached you again, deep and authoritative, carrying the absolute certainty of one who had never been proven wrong.
"My Death Shroud, I am different from you. I never allow myself to indulge in the power of psychic energy. I merely use it, control it, and make psychic energy my servant."
At that moment, Mortarion's massive form resembled a dormant volcano on the cusp of eruption. The air around him seemed to shimmer with barely contained fury. He slowly raised the terrifying giant scythe named Silence, the weapon's blade catching what little light remained in the chamber. The motion was deliberate, almost ritualistic, as though he were preparing to harvest your soul itself.
The threat hung between you, sharp as the scythe's edge.
"Lord Mortarion, wake up!" Your voice cracked like thunder through the hall. "And put away your disgusting arrogance! Even the Emperor himself wouldn't dare utter such boastful words!"
You drove the Khorne Terminator armor forward without fear, servos whining as the ancient plate obeyed your will. Each step brought you closer to the Primarch, defiance radiating from every fiber of your being.
"The chaotic forces of the Warp have never been something that humans or any carbon-based life form can fully control. The insidious erosion and corruption of the Chaos Gods will amplify your inner flaws, gradually change the essence of your soul, and ultimately reduce you to a lowly ant in their palm!"
You instinctively tightened your grip on the Bloodthirsty Manreaper until you felt the weapon's haft creak in protest. Mortarion stood silent before you, his massive frame utterly still, but something in his posture suggested he was listening. Perhaps.
"Let me tell you." Your voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "The soul of Horus, the Warmaster, has long been corrupted by the power of the Chaos Gods. This is the truth behind why he, in his fall, instigated this great rebellion. Without my intervention, you would have followed in his footsteps."
The words hung in the fetid air like an accusation.
"Lord Mortarion, even your First Company Commander Typhus is secretly a follower of Nurgle, one of the Chaos Gods. Think of any advice he's given you. Think of the Warp where the Death Guard fleet is trapped now. Look at your offspring around you, suffering endless torment."
Your voice rose to a tremendous roar that emanated from the depths of your chest, reverberating throughout the ancient auditorium. The sound rolled across the chamber like a physical force.
"The truth of everything is as dazzling as the Emperor's psychic power!"
Throughout the hall, countless Death Guards scattered among the corrupted architecture paused in their endless torment. Plague-riddled faces turned toward you and the Primarch, eyes that still held fragments of awareness focusing on the confrontation unfolding before them.
Mortarion, who had remained silent through your proclamation, finally spoke. His deep voice echoed slowly through the ancient hall, each word deliberate and cold.
"Not long ago, my scythe Silence plunged deep into Typhus's chest." A pause, heavy with grim satisfaction. "He has paid the price with his life."
The declaration drew the attention of even more Death Guards. Corrupted heads swiveled, watching their gene-sire with something that might have been hope, or perhaps merely the memory of what hope once felt like.
But Mortarion wasn't finished.
"Now it's time for you to pay the price." His cloudy yellow eyes narrowed behind the breathing mask. "Your bloodline and body may have once been my offspring, but your soul is definitely not my Death Shroud."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
"Pay for my offspring, you demon!"
Before the final word had fully left his lips, the massive Primarch launched a terrifying charge that shook the very air. The sound of his movement was like a landslide, an avalanche of ceramite and fury bearing down upon you. Almost in the blink of an eye, he had crossed hundreds of meters, his armor-clad form a blur of pale plate and ancient rage.
He arrived before you like a natural disaster given form.
In that same instant, the giant scythe Silence swung down from above, the massive blade descending upon you like a star falling from the heavens. The air screamed as it was split apart, the weapon's edge trailing corruption and death in its wake.
"Mortarion! The blessing of Chaos is never as simple as you think!" Your words came in a desperate rush, racing against the descending blade. "If the Chaos Gods so desire, their followers will be immortal! Typhus will rise from the dead! In fact, he has already risen from the dead!"
You roared and forcefully raised the Bloodthirsty Manreaper gripped tightly in both hands. There was no time to dodge, no space to evade. The Primarch's terrifying attack speed made evasion impossible.
You had no choice but to meet the blow head-on.
"I came to save the Death Guard! I am the Emperor's..."
A deafening clang of metal clashing against metal rang out like the tolling of some ancient, terrible bell. A series of invisible shockwaves erupted violently in all directions, washing over the Death Guards who stood witness. Several staggered, their corrupted forms unable to withstand even the aftershocks of the titans' collision.
Your words died mid-sentence, cut off by the sheer force of impact. Even your jaw, hidden inside the metal helmet, clenched tightly, teeth grinding together hard enough to produce an audible sound even through the armor's seal.
The Bloodthirsty Manreaper clashed violently with Mortarion's greatscythe, the two weapons locked together in a shrieking contest of strength and will.
In that instant, a series of violent buzzing vibrations emanated from inside your Khorne Terminator armor. Every servo screamed in protest, every joint and coupling pushed to its absolute limit. Warning runes flickered across your visor display, painting your vision in urgent crimson.
Both of your blood-red magnetic boots sank heavily into the metal floor, the deck plating buckling and deforming under the transferred force. Cracks spider-webbed out from where you stood, the ancient metal unable to fully absorb the impact.
The next second, Mortarion glanced down at you with those cloudy yellow eyes. If he had heard anything you'd said, he gave no sign of it. The Primarch seemed utterly oblivious to your words, or perhaps simply beyond caring.
The giant scythe gripped tightly in his pale hand suddenly swept horizontally, the blade slicing through the air with a sound like tearing silk.
You glared through gritted teeth at Mortarion, this Primarch who refused to listen to reason. Or rather, who was utterly impervious to persuasion, his mind already made up, his path already chosen.
You wrenched the magnetic boots free from the metal floor with a grinding screech. Servos whined as you slightly adjusted the orientation of the Khorne Terminator armor, pivoting to meet the incoming strike.
At the same time, the Bloodthirsty Manreaper gripped tightly in both hands suddenly fell, swinging heavily toward your opponent's weapon in a brutal arc.
The impact resounded like a thunderclap. Another fierce clash erupted between the two weapons, the force of it sending tremors through the deck. Your tall frame slid backward, boots carving furrows in the metal floor before you arrested your momentum. Two steps. That was all the ground you'd given.
You came to a complete stop, planting yourself like a fortress.
"You motherfucker!" You tilted back the metal helmet with its crimson metallic horn, baring your defiance like a weapon. Staring into Mortarion's murky, cold, and utterly indifferent eyes, you couldn't help but roar in pure anger. "Come on, again!"
Another thunderous impact. And another. And another.
Mortarion seemed to have sensed that your physical strength and reaction speed far surpassed those of a normal Astartes or Chaos demon. His thick, armor-clad arms raised once more, and the Primarch wielding his giant scythe became relentless, a tireless and terrifying machine.
He struck at your towering body from all sides. Overhead. From the left. Sweeping low. Each attack came faster than the last, each blow carrying enough force to pulverize stone or shatter ceramite.
You exerted your utmost strength and skill, repelling Mortarion's terrifying attacks time and time again. The chamber rang with the endless percussion of blade against blade, a rhythmic violence that drowned out all other sound.
However, just when you'd gradually adapted to your opponent's offensive rhythm, when you'd quickly absorbed the external power bestowed upon you by Khorne's blessing into your towering body, when you'd even begun to see openings and wanted to attempt a counterattack...
Mortarion's massive scythe, which had been attacking with tremendous force, suddenly ceased its next frenzied strike.
The silence was deafening.
"Oh?" The Primarch's dim, yellowish eyes blinked slowly behind his breathing mask. He spoke to you suddenly in that same deep, authoritative voice. "Silence, which is resisting the corruption of the Warp, tells me that Typhus, who was dead, has been resurrected."
A pause. Those yellow eyes studied you with new intensity, as though seeing you for the first time.
"Nameless demon, you didn't lie to me after all."