One day later.
In the conceptual time of the Warp, there was never the clear continuity of the real universe, let alone a distinct division of past, present, and future. But Mortarion felt, for some reason, that approximately one day had passed.
At this moment, the Daemon Primarch finally received the Grandfather's permission to step out of the black mansion. Having fallen into a deep coma upon entering the manor, he naturally could not know the specific details of what had occurred in the interim. Despite being mentally prepared with the wisdom of a Primarch, the sight before him left Mortarion in a daze.
Where the hell am I? Is this still Nurgle's Garden?
The once-infinite forest of decay had completely vanished, leaving behind only isolated clusters of lonely shrubs. Those shrubs huddled in the sandy soil, their leaves withered and curled like the fingers of a dying old man. The rotting swamps that once nurtured countless bacterial colonies were now nothing but parched, cracked earth, with fissures extending in all directions like spiderwebs, seemingly bottomless.
A desert-like expanse of yellow sand had replaced everything—bare and devoid of life.
Mortarion raised a foot and slowly lowered it. His boot crunched against the sand with a slight rustle. The sound was exceptionally clear in the silence, yet it felt utterly alien to him. Nurgle's Garden never produced such a sound.
A breeze blew. Mortarion could no longer sense the vitality or the massive amount of spores that should have been carried within it. Now, this breeze even reminded him of the dry winds of a desert. It was heart-stoppingly clean.
And the Nurglings—those creatures that hopped about everywhere and usually irritated Mortarion—seemed to have disappeared entirely. Not a single lively figure could be seen within his field of vision.
There was only wind. Dry, refreshing, and lifeless wind.
"What exactly happened?"
Even Mortarion, who always prided himself on his resilience, could not help but feel a twinge of panic in his heart. He even began to let his thoughts wander wildly. Even as a Primarch, he could not explain what he was thinking at this moment.
Driven by an internal impulse, Mortarion leaned on his great scythe, Silence. His eyes, hidden beneath his hood, scanned the surroundings as he continued to trek through the vast desert. The tip of the scythe dragged a deep trench into the sand, which was quickly filled by wind-blown grains behind him.
Mortarion's figure looked exceptionally lonely in the endless wasteland. His massive, moth-like wings trembled slightly on his back, their bizarre patterns reflecting a dull luster under the pale light.
He did not know how long he had walked. In this wasteland, time seemed to have lost its meaning. There was no sunrise or sunset, no movement of stars—only the eternal, sickly white light overhead and the endless yellow sand beneath his feet.
The microbial colonies living on Mortarion's body were faintly voicing their protest. They too sensed that something was wrong—sensed the abnormality of this divine realm and that the decay they relied on for survival was receding.
Finally, after cresting a sand dune, Mortarion saw a familiar figure.
A Great Unclean One. Rotigus, the Rainfather.
That mountain-like, bloated figure stood in the sand, his flabby flesh gleaming with a sickly pallor under the white light. His massive, sore-covered body formed a sharp contrast with the dry desert around him, looking like an anomaly that should not exist there.
Strangely, however, this Great Unclean One was living up to his title. He was constantly waving his fat, giant hands, sending clusters of pus-like rain flying from his body, creating a drizzling rain within a certain area.
Where the rain fell, the sand emitted a slight hissing sound, as if the thirsty earth were greedily sucking up every drop of moisture. And in those places moistened by the rain, tiny saplings the size of thumbs struggled to poke through the ground. Those saplings were so fragile and small, appearing insignificant in the vast desert.
But they indeed existed. They were striving to grow, birthing new life from death.
Mortarion felt an involuntary sense of relief. As usual, a person as conflicted as him could not explain what he was celebrating at this moment. Flapping his massive moth-like wings, Mortarion arrived before the Rainfather.
Up close, he could see the state of the Great Unclean One more clearly. Rotigus was thinner than in memory—though "thin" was relative for a Great Unclean One. His layers of fat were still piled like a mountain, but his skin had lost its former luster. Those once-oozing sores were now deflated, like punctured water bags.
"What exactly happened in the Garden? And where is Ku'gath?"
Mortarion's voice rang out in the dry air, carrying an urgency he hadn't noticed himself.
The Rainfather stopped his movements. His murky eyes slowly turned toward Mortarion, his massive body shifting slightly and stirring up a faint cloud of dust. At this moment, the Rainfather's face simply watched him.
No, it wasn't calm. It was ashen. It was an expression Mortarion had never seen on the face of a Great Unclean One.
The children of Nurgle never showed such expressions—they were always optimistic, always satisfied, always believing that the Grandfather's grace would endure forever. But now, that eternal optimism had vanished from the Rainfather's face. In its place was a despair that Mortarion did not wish to look at directly.
"Ku'gath is completely dead. I saw it with my own eyes."
The Rainfather paused, his murky eyes looking into the distance as if recalling a terrible scene:
"Unfortunately, his reactions and speed were not as fast as mine. He was a step too slow when he should have fled. He was swallowed whole by an infinite screen of light and vanished on the spot."
What?
Mortarion was stunned. Death. Such a distant word.
Since he had become the Grandfather's favorite and ascended to Daemon Prince, such things that only happened to mortals should not have appeared within the Grandfather's domain, which controlled the Triple Cycle.
How could this be? Mortarion's thoughts were in a mess. Why did he not experience death and then rebirth within the Grandfather's Triple Cycle? Why was it a total, eternal, and true death?
"So, what exactly happened?" Mortarion asked hurriedly, disregarding everything else.
The Rainfather gave him a dull look.
"The daemon army under the Cursed One [Note: The Dark King/Emperor/Adam] invaded the Grandfather's Garden. They were infinite and could not be slain. They burned the Forest of Decay, drained the Rotting Swamps, and slaughtered countless children."
The Rainfather's voice was frighteningly calm, as if he were narrating something that had nothing to do with him.
"One of the leaders, the first invader to step into the Garden—you should have seen him too, though I don't actually know what he is—stood before the Grandfather's black mansion holding a golden longsword."
"And then?" Mortarion's voice trembled slightly.
"Then, borrowing the power of the Cursed One and amplifying it greatly through some force, he traded a blow with the Grandfather, who took initiative to strike."
The Rainfather paused. His murky eyes finally turned to Mortarion, staring straight at him as he spoke concisely: "He made the Grandfather suffer a great loss."
The Grandfather suffered a loss?
Mortarion felt a wave of dizziness. This simply did not fit with numerology!
The Grandfather was the Lord of Plagues, the master of decay and rebirth, the Chaos Great Power who controlled the Triple Cycle! His very existence was a symbol of eternity, an unshakeable truth!
If his father... no, if that existence known as the Dark King actually possessed power surpassing the Grandfather, then... then what did his betrayal and his acceptance of the Grandfather's grace even count for?
Mortarion's body began to tremble slightly.
"Are you afraid?" The Rainfather looked at him flatly.
That calm gaze pierced like a needle into Mortarion's most vulnerable spot.
"How is that possible? I am the Lord of the Death Guard, the master of Barbarus. I have always been resilient. How could such a small setback make me fear?"
As if triggered, Mortarion shouted. His voice echoed in the dry air, carrying a panic he didn't realize.
The Rainfather simply watched him in silence. That silence was more powerful than any words.
"Forget it. It's none of my business anyway."
A moment later, the Rainfather looked away, returning his gaze to the patch of sand where he had just cast his rain. Those tiny saplings were struggling to grow; several had already withered, falling onto the sand and turning to ash.
"Since the Grandfather took the initiative to protect your life, there must be a deep meaning behind it." The Rainfather's voice returned to its calm tone. "Our primary task as His children is to help the Grandfather recover. I will do everything possible to pull the Grandfather out of this heavy blow."
He paused, his murky eyes looking toward the direction of the black mansion.
"In the Great Game to come, the Grandfather, having fallen behind like this, will certainly become a target for everyone. Of course, the other Chaos Powers are very likely to turn their attention toward dealing with the Cursed One, but we cannot simply gamble on that possibility."
The Rainfather did not continue, but Mortarion understood his meaning.
"Furthermore, I once heard of something called the Ouroboros Shards. It has a certain connection with the Grandfather and might have some effect on His injuries." The Rainfather's voice rose again, this time with a trace of undetectable hope. "It comes from the power of the Old Ones. If it can be found, it might accelerate the Grandfather's recovery."
Mortarion fell silent. The Ouroboros Shards? He had never heard that name. But since the Rainfather mentioned it, there must be a reason.
"We must discuss how to find this shard before the other four Chaos Powers notice."