Huh? You want me to catch a Primarch!

What Mortarion was going through now was simple, no different from what Mordred had once faced. Yet precisely because of that, it was rather troublesome.

The Lord of Gloom was Mortarion's natural counter. Every casual strike carried dense death energy; it looked like physical damage, but was actually true damage. He had no conventional fatal weakness at all. Especially that layer of gray gloom—even Mordred needed vast reserves of Fel Energy to contaminate it in reverse.

Emerald Fel flames spread across the entire land while the sky turned gray. Mortals could no longer make out the two figures, seeing only the ground exploding out of thin air and Tau skyscrapers smashed into powder.

This was not a battlefield mortals could take part in at all, but a complete and utter war of gods. The entire planet had been set ablaze, and along the way, countless hundreds of millions of burning lights illuminated the sky.

Scorching heat, death, and energy pollution everywhere—Damocles had become a wasteland.

But Mortarion was not a true god, after all. So long as they remained in the Physical World, Mordred's stats were absolute. Unless the C'tan returned, the Emperor rose, a Chaos God descended, or The Great Devourer arrived in person—otherwise, to kill him, one would first have to tire oneself to death.

In truth, Mordred's attack power was not particularly high. He only had a few moves that he used over and over.

But like a powerhouse of the same magnetic field, his health bar pierced the heavens. Against noobs, he cut through them like chopping melons and vegetables. Against powerhouses, he fought them to the death by trading health. Given enough time, he could always wear them down—and he could even turn them into idiots, drag them onto the same stage as himself, and