Nimrod, I am the ultimate state you have pursued all your life
Mortarion strode out the door, the passageway leading to the Apothecary Deck already crowded with Death Guard.
The metal of the Gloriana-class Battleship grew like wild grass, and through the portholes, one could see another warship in the fleet hovering beside it.
The eerie green light emanating from the ship's hull folded and overlapped endlessly, but one constant remained constant.
He looked down at the back of his left hand, where three piercing eyes formed a stern and imposing triangle.
Mortarion could sense that the outline depicted the Grandfather Ignatius Grulgor spoke of, Nurgle, whom Lorgar Aurelian called Nurgle.
"Father, the God of Corruption has waited a long time for this moment," the Nurgle Daemon Prince muttered, his sticky voice making the deck even wetter.
"He gave life to my brothers."
Mortarion will be loyal to his Grandfather, leaving his son, who is above himself, behind as he looks around.
Each Death Guard undergoes a gruesome metamorphosis, their bodies becoming vibrant carriers of plague.
The skeletons of the Deathshroud fused with the rusted Cataphractii Terminator Armour, filthy welts seeping from the gaps.
A swollen face sprouts buds resembling insect compound eyes, and fingers mutate into pseudopodia, enveloping a sickle.
The Death Guard staggered along, streams of pus overflowing from their shattered armor.
A highly toxic smog shrouded the gray armor, and the stench from the sprayed leaves was more nauseating than that of a sewer.
What was particularly striking were the few who moved freely; they seemed, as Grulgor had said, to be anticipating this moment.
The echoes of Mortarion's boots stomping reverberated for a long time, and the paralyzed Death Guard opened their eyes.
Their dazed minds took a long time to recognize their father, as well as the swollen Second Company Captain and the Apothecary Cori Bulku.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you." The folded medical tools behind Bulku drooped down, and the chainsaw that had helped his fighting brother Peace was covered with dense fungal spores.
Filled with remorse and a craving for Mortarion, he looked toward Fabius Bile, the "Emperor's Children" Chief Apothecary.
Do you have a solution?
"Of course, Lord Mortarion."
Despite the unexpected turn of events, Bile still believes that there is nothing that science cannot Analysis.
"I need enough research subjects----"
"And enough time, until most of the resisters are dead." Grulgor's wet voice carried a sly laugh.
"Their instinct for victory fights against the grace of their Grandfather."
"Their transformation requires the guidance of the Primarch."
Mortarion stared at the Death Guard, known for his tenacity rather than Nimrod's keenness or Russ's wild instincts.
But the Primarch and his offspring are interdependent, and he can sense with exceptional sensitivity that an unusually intense conflict is erupting within his own bloodline.
The plague that spread from the Apothecary Deck surged like a tide against the immune system of the Death Guard, even encircling his own physical Fortress.
I have failed my sons.
Not only them, but even he, the Primarch gene, would have his defenses breached by the toxins if he wavered even slightly.
The moment he expresses any intention to accept it, the Veil between reality and the Warp will be shattered.
He had crossed the point of no return, perhaps when Barbarus continued his research into biochemistry and the use of toxins, or perhaps when he began to study witchcraft like Nimrod and Magnus.
He was left with only one choice: he could embrace despair or fight tenaciously.
But who will he fight?
Mortarion could see was an endless battle, a war with no winners, only victims.
He looked out the porthole, at the lifeless rocks gleaming with a grayish-green light.
What exactly do you want from me?
"My prince, I am not a taker, but a giver." The humming voice emanated from the planet beneath their feet, yet also seemed to rise from beyond the Veil.
The answer that descended, with its delicate touch, brushed against the pale body.
"To conquer death, you must become death."
"If you want to endure unimaginable suffering, you must first yield."
"If you wish to escape the Affliction of this world and attain salvation, you must offer your soul."
Mortarion's mind was torn apart, the two parts locked in fierce conflict.
Past and future, resilience and surrender, resistance and decay ------
The vast and terrifying form slowly descended, catching Mortarion's eye.
Its appearance is ever-changing, like a gregarious organism evolved from viruses.
The singularity wriggles ceaselessly, weaving into a majestic figure dwelling in the Abyss dimension.
He stretched out magnificent tentacles, like those of a leper, and three scattered claws enveloped Mortarion's entire field of vision.
I will grant you all your wishes.
You will grasp all the Mystery of life and death.
"You will have your own territory, which you can shape as you please. You will become the most ideal version of yourself that you have always longed for."
Mortarion's pale body trembled violently, and the trefoil-shaped mark on the back of his hand kept replicating in a colorful and complex fractal pattern.
All you need to do is accept my gift.
"Accept my mark, swear allegiance."
The gaze of the majestic deity halted the passage of time; He looked through Mortarion's eyes and peered into the dark corners of the soul, even those corners that had long been lost and forgotten.
Mortarion knelt on one knee, looking down at the deck.
The metal transformed and collapsed into the dark, desolate swamp of Barbarus.
Nurgle's words manipulated the strings of reality, producing a series of buzzing echoes.
Fresh, deadly spores flooded Mortarion's lungs, shattering his mental defenses from the inside out, peeling back his closed, resilient heart, and stirring his invisible fears and hidden hopes.
In a decaying corner of the black Aether, a powerful aura of energy, like a colorful mist, swirled around Mortarion, crackling and popping.
"You are my prince, you are my champion."
"I have waited too long for this, and today the dawn has finally broken."
The past Barbarus intertwines with the present Dark Morlo.
The clash between repetitive, pale memories and the lifeless present.
A tug-of-war exists between the vow to uphold the Imperial Truth and the irresistible offer of generous terms.
The eternal King of Decay and the fleeting the Emperor of Mankind vie for supremacy.
The disintegration and fragmentation of the structure, the fusion and the splitting, suffocated him like grains of sand.
"What is the value of my oath?" Mortarion whispered, then roared beyond the Veil.
"What do you desire, my prince?" the Grandfather whispered.
"What do you desire, my champion?" the Plague God inquired.
The sounds merged into a thunderous echo, penetrating the bones of the genetic Primarch and reaching his turbulent soul.
"I want----"
"Resilience!"
You will become the most resilient person.
Mortarion held the Silence Scythe before him, "I offer myself to Your banner."
"I offer my blood, my bones, my unbreakable will and spirit."
"We beseech You to grant us release from the Death Guard; we submit to Your command."
He reached for the poisoned sickle with his left hand, gripped it tightly, and drops of blood dripped down.
"With blood as our witness, we swear to never waver, even unto death."
The first drop of blood hit the ground.
"Rise, Mortarion."
"Horus awaits you in Morlo; beyond the stars, there are other brothers."
"With your combined efforts, you will be able to restore the entire Galaxy, and your achievements will be forever recorded in the annals of the expedition."
A second drop of blood fell.
"The mortal realm awaits your revenge; you will achieve the darkest and most terrifying goals."
"Your name will inspire fear, until the last human soul decays into the chaos of entropy."
The third drop of blood fell.
"You are my prince, rising from the ashes."
An immeasurable mutated force tore at Mortarion's body, instantly ripping the Primarch's form apart.
The energy of decay permeated his soul; he died instantly, only to New Life just as quickly.
He leaped into the air, and a pair of deadly insect-like membranous wings grew from his spine, trembling with each New Life.
His pale, bony face was taut, and the corners of his mouth were pulled up in a deathly smile.
Beneath the unfathomable hood, shadows shrouded Mortarion.
He gave a satisfied smile. "I can handle it."
"Nimrod and Magnus, you have dedicated your lives to exploring the Mystery of the Warp."
"Now, I am one with the Warp; I am the ultimate goal you have sought your entire lives."