Deville, aboard the Endurance
Typhon, captain of the Death Guard's First Company, stood in the corner, utterly stifled with frustration. When he had brought Mortarion back from the Eye of Terror, he had intended to use the opportunity to corrupt the Primarch.
But Horus's appearance had ruined his plans.
"Mortarion, how are you? Don't scare me. There aren't many people I can trust now—you can't let anything happen to you!"
Horus held the other man's hand. Already pale, it now looked even more shriveled.
Mortarion lay in the medicae bay and forced a grin. "Cough, cough~ Warmaster, I'm not going to make it."
"Fulgrim has completely become Chaos's lackey. Watch out for him stabbing you in the back."
At that, Horus's fist crackled continuously. He had not expected Fulgrim to be so ruthless, willing to do something like this just to embrace Chaos!
"Don't worry. You'll recover. Have you forgotten?"
"We are both Primarchs created by the power of the Warp! There must be a way to save you!"
Mortarion's eyes lit up at those words. He had always resisted the power of the Warp, but so long as it let him live, he swore he would master that power!
"As long as the Primarch is willing to submit to Grandfather, Grandfather will surely save him," Typhon muttered softly from his corner.
Yet what he was thinking was: would Grandfather even still want the Primarch, in his current state?
Horus shot him a sidelong glance, his gaze cold enough to kill any living thing.
Just then, Lorgar arrived with the Word Bearers. When he saw that the Warmaster was still grieving over the wounded Primarch, the last trace of guilt in his heart vanished completely.
Lorgar took a deep breath. "The all-knowing Lord told me that there is still a