Typhon never forgot the first day he met Mortarion.
He and several villagers had climbed toward the high toxic ridges to rescue captives taken by an Overlord's raiding force. Their escape had almost succeeded — until the chimeric constructs of the mountain tyrants descended upon them.
The air burned their lungs.
The ground dissolved beneath their boots.
The dead rose again.
They were moments from annihilation.
Then Typhon saw him.
A pale giant stood motionless beyond the fog, watching.
Human…?
"Hey!" Typhon shouted hoarsely. "If you're human, help us!"
The words snapped something awake.
Mortarion moved.
His scythe fell like a sliver of moonlight. The constructs collapsed in heaps of rotting flesh and bone. Poison fog parted around him as if unwilling to touch his skin.
They escaped together to the lowlands.
That was the first time Mortarion felt something he had never known in Necare's fortress:
Belonging.
From that day forward, Typhon followed him.
He witnessed the pale giant earn trust through labor, not fear. He saw Mortarion harvest fields through toxic drizzle, construct breathing masks, and stand unflinching between villagers and death.
He saw a leader being forged.
For a time, they were inseparable.
Brothers in purpose.
(…not literally.)
The First Fracture
By the time most of the Overlords had fallen, only Necare's poison-shrouded citadel remained unconquered.
No respirator could endure the densest vapors.
Typhon proposed a solution.
He captured a weakened Overlord and dragged the creature before Mortarion.
"We can learn from them," Typhon said. "Alter humanity. Make us immune to the poison."
Mortarion's fury was immediate.
He denounced the suggestion, condemned the act, and ordered the creature destroyed. Without another word, he turned and left.
Typhon stood in silence.
Behind him, the dying Overlord rasped:
"He is already within you…
A gift from your grandfather…
You will be a herald…"
Typhon did not understand.
But the words remained.
And something in Mortarion's trust began to erode.
The Silent Watcher
Now a robed figure remained constantly near Mortarion — silent, unseen by most, never speaking, never interfering.
Typhon asked.
Mortarion refused to answer.
Why?
Was I not his closest confidant?
Typhon had never sworn loyalty to Mortarion. His ambition had always been to unite Barbarus — and Mortarion was the instrument that made that possible.
But instruments could be replaced.
And now something new had entered the equation.
Worse still…
When that figure's gaze brushed him, Typhon felt a primal instinct screaming:
RUN.
FLEE.
HIDE.
Even Mortarion had never inspired such terror.
Stay away from her.
The voice in his mind — the one that had guided him since childhood — spoke with rare urgency.
Typhon obeyed.
He looked back once toward Mortarion… and the silent watcher beside him.
Then he left.
I will prove I am greater, he swore.
Just wait.
Life on Barbarus
Yuki did not enjoy Barbarus.
The toxic air.
The endless damp rot.
The distant, patient gaze of Nurglesque corruption lurking beyond perception.
But she enjoyed Mortarion.
Of all the Primarchs, he was the least guarded beneath the armor of stubbornness.
Still arrogant.
Still blunt.
Still immovable.
But unmistakably… young.
"Little Mo, I'm starving."
Mortarion glared.
"You're going to eat our winter stores."
He shoved a ration tin toward her.
"Eat. And stop distracting me."
She took two bites.
Mortarion scowled and finished the rest.
Afterward he snapped, "Why did you waste food?"
She blinked.
"Didn't you finish it?"
He froze.
That was logically correct.
Yet deeply wrong.
He could not argue.
She tapped his arm.
"Well? Was it good?"
"…adequate."
A Promise Half Spent
Six months had passed.
Mortarion still lacked a safe method to breach Necare's toxic barrier.
Time was running out.
Yuki stretched lazily and reached into the immaterium.
Who said only the Ruinous Powers could meddle?
Yuki: Hello, Tzeentch.
Tzeentch: Seen.
Yuki: Hello again.
Tzeentch: …
Yuki: Pick up.
Tzeentch: STOP CALLING.
Yuki: Fine.
Tzeentch: WAIT.
The Architect of Fate faced a dilemma.
Allow Nurgle's slow corruption to mature?
Or interfere — disrupt decay — and reshape futures?
Interference risked retaliation.
But disruption meant change.
And change was irresistible.
"What do I get?" Tzeentch asked.
"When Magnus seeks approval to expand psychic study," Yuki replied, "I will support him."
Suspicion flickered.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Then never mind."
"…You win."
Even if she twisted words, even if the future remained obscured, the opportunity for disruption was too exquisite to ignore.
Besides, someday the Emperor would pay his debts.
And perhaps his daughter would too.
The Fog Thins
Typhon noticed it first.
The upper fog layers weakened.
The suffocating pressure lifted slightly.
At the same time, the guiding voice in his mind grew silent.
Mortarion noticed as well.
Whether trap or miracle, this was the chance he had waited for.
He assembled his warriors.
They moved at dawn.
Silent. Disciplined. Unyielding.
They carried respirators Mortarion had forged with obsessive precision. Poison vapor hissed against their armor and skin, but none faltered.
They advanced like an omen.
Mortarion led them.
Lord of Death.
The Final Ascent
At Necare's palace gates, Mortarion ordered his warriors to halt.
He would face his tormentor alone.
Necare awaited him, corpse-flesh sagging, toxic vapors seeping from cracked lips.
"Mortarion…"
The scythe answered.
Moonlight flashed.
Necare recoiled, chest split open, dark fluid spilling across corroded stone.
The Overlord laughed, exhaling a dense cloud of virulent mist.
Mortarion lunged.
The fog thickened.
His respirator corroded.
Strength bled from his limbs.
Necare's voice echoed:
"Resistance is not enough."
Another voice seemed layered beneath it — older, deeper, patient.
"To conquer death… one must become death."
Mortarion ignored it.
If he faltered now, everything would be lost.
Then—
A faint white spark flickered ahead.
It drifted.
Paused.
Moved again.
Mortarion followed.
The fog parted just enough.
Necare's silhouette emerged.
This time Mortarion did not hesitate.
The scythe fell.
Necare's head tumbled across the stone.
Silence followed.
Liberation
Mortarion emerged from the mountain bearing the severed head.
The people fell to their knees, sobbing, laughing, shouting.
Their nightmare was over.
Mortarion raised the head high.
"Stand up!" he roared. "No kneeling!"
Freedom did not require submission.
It required endurance.
It required defiance.
It required standing.
In the distance, Yuki clapped with the crowd.
Mortarion glanced toward her, then lifted the head even higher.
Everyone was happy.
Almost everyone.
Elsewhere
In the Warp, before the Crystal Labyrinth:
"Tzeentch! Open the door!"
Inside, the Changer of Ways sipped tea.
"Entertainment is important."
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