72: Extinction's End (IV)

Mortarion has never been good at small talk. (Search and read ▲)

This lack of skill is not like Sanguinius's "inability"—saying he doesn't know how to communicate with others, yet always managing to say the most appropriate thing at the best time. Nor is it like Jaghatai Khan's deliberate silence, only having good and sufficient communication with a few people.

Mortarion's weakness is genuine weakness.

He didn't know how to express himself or how to get along with others. Sometimes he envied his brothers, but he never voiced that envy—wouldn't that be too weak?

At this very moment, he stood on the bridge of the Endurance, listening to the analysis coming from Perturabo's side, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words.

The Lord of Iron recounted in detail all the intelligence he currently possessed, from the walkers to the enhanced self-healing abilities of the terrifying Death Guard traitors, and the creep...

The more Mortarion listened, the angrier he became. Wasn't this the very witchcraft used by the rulers of Barbarus back then?

That disregard and distortion of life gave Mortarion a familiar sense of horror—Karas Typhon, like him, hailed from Barbarus and harbored immense hatred for the sorcerer tyrants.

The Death Guard's absolute prohibition of psionic power largely stems from Primarch the Primarch witnessed in Barbarus. Therefore, he couldn't understand why Typhon would pick up this terrible sorcery and use it as a weapon.

Moreover, judging from Perturabo's description, he has probably been doing this for quite some time. That level of sorcery cannot be mastered overnight, proving that Typhon's rebellious intentions were not a spur-of-the-moment decision.

All sorts of speculations were like needles pricking Mortarion mind, creating many tiny holes. The pain of doubt and betrayal seeped into them like poison, distorting his face.

The Deathshroud stood silently seven paces behind him, each seven paces apart from the others. A few seconds later, Mortarion took a deep breath, the aroma of spices filling his lungs and bringing a cool sensation that invigorated him.

"Typhus came prepared." He finally spoke over the communication channel, his voice hoarse but not somber.

"He was prepared to betray me long ago; he even had the ability to plant a traitor within my guard. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, Perturabo; I believe he had been in contact with Horus for quite some time."

"Your guess is very likely true," said the Lord of Iron. "But it's a terrible guess; it reminds me of something else. Since your company commander—"

"--Former company commander."

"The former company commander," Perturabo paused, "Could be turned by Horus, so what about the others?"

Mortarion chose to remain silent, his breathing extremely noticeable, which could be considered an unusual response. Perturabo, however, continued, his voice very serious.

"I don't know if you've noticed, brother, but Horus's fleet is unbelievably huge. We can assume he captured part of Fulgrim's fleet, and the ship signals transmitted back by Vulkan also prove this."

"But there are other ships that have no insignia and cannot be identified by radar systems. They are new ships or Black Ship, brother, do you know what that means?"

Mortarion certainly knew.

"That means he has an entire Forge World, or perhaps even worse," the Lord of Death whispered, a chill running down his spine.

The Imperium's Aquila represents the alliance between Terra and Mars. The Mechanicum is an indispensable part of the Imperium. If Horus can manage to turn this eagle's head against the Empire, then...

Perturabo agreed, "Yes, just as you said, if we prepare for the worst—that the Mechanicum can also be turned by Horus —then what about the Imperial Army? What about other Primarch or Legions?"

Mortarion gripped the steel armrests of his command post with both hands, his brows furrowed, and an unprecedented storm of silence raged in his eyes beneath his short, gray hair, while Perturabo continued.

Steel has always been straightforward and expressive.

"This war might not be the three-on-one we think it is," he said seriously. "In fact, I even suspect that this war is just a tiny part of Horus's plan. He doesn't hate war, never has, and you could even say he likes war."

Mortarion knew he was right.

Horus Lupercal was known to view war as a means of gaining merit, even though he never sought bloodshed. Moreover, he preferred to wage war on multiple fronts and to achieve a series of victories in a single, large-scale conflict.

That's what makes it spectacular. Horus always said that.

"The galaxy is vast, Mortarion. I believe his army may already be waging war against the Imperium elsewhere."

Perturabo's voice had never sounded so worried as it did now, and the Lord of Death realized that he could no longer remain silent.

He pondered for a moment, then offered a suggestion.

"Do you remember what Horus said earlier? He mentioned Angron, Fulgrim, and Corax. He also said they killed his offspring and destroyed his ships. This means they have already fought against Horus, and some of their ships are in his fleet."

"They have most likely been defeated and are trying to return to Terra to warn Father. Horus even specifically asked if we had encountered them. Considering this, I think we can send a portion of our scouting fleet to search for them."

"If they still have the strength to fight, then they can come back and fight alongside us. If they already are, at least they can bring this intelligence back to Terra."

"Good suggestion," Perturabo said. "But your belief that they were defeated sends chills down my spine, Mortarion."

"If they hadn't been defeated, how could they have let Horus go?" Mortarion frowned again.

"I wasn't questioning you, brother," the Lord of Iron seemed to sigh. "I was admiring your keen insight. My words just now meant no harm, though they might have sounded malicious, but actually..."

"Fine, whatever, try to get used to it. I'll move your two destroyers from the rear of the fleet to search for our brothers. What do you think?"

"You are now the head coach," Mortarion said.

Perturabo seemed to chuckle, or perhaps not. "That's settled then. Keep in touch with me."

After a soft beep, he temporarily left the communication channel.

Mortarion began to think again, and as soon as he detached himself from the conversation, the poison of doubt surged up once more.

He had always been very tolerant of Typhon. This tolerance manifested in every aspect of his life, even to the point of being controversial, at least before he became Typhus. This tolerance stemmed from both the affection of a close friend and his recognition of Typhon's abilities.

But he has already betrayed us.

So the words and memories of the past lost their warmth at this moment, turning into a thin, bony claw that gripped his heart tightly, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

Why?

Mortarion closed his eyes in anguish, trying to avoid thinking about such questions again. He had told himself countless times that now was not the time to think about these things, but he couldn't shake the urge.

He opened his eyes in a daze, wanting to observe the current battle situation, but unexpectedly heard a strange vomiting sound.

The Primarch looked closely and saw one of his crew members kneeling on the ground, vomiting a thick, black, strange liquid that splattered onto the ground with a hissing sound.

He screamed, clutching his abdomen, and collapsed to the ground, convulsing, screaming, and vomiting incessantly. With his extraordinary vision, Mortarion clearly saw tiny, maggot-like creatures wriggling in the crewman's vomit.

"Get away from him!" the Lord of Death roared, immediately silencing the other crew members who tried to help him up.

But it was too late. The three crew members closest to the man suddenly screamed, their most horrific screams of life setting the stage for the disaster.

Blisters appeared on their exposed skin, and they began to vomit repeatedly, producing that same black, viscous substance. This time, however, they also vomited up their internal organs.

The crew was stunned by the horrific scene, as were the Death Guard —who could witness such horror and remain unmoved?

Meanwhile, the maggots began to metamorphose, transforming in the blink of an eye from wriggling worms into flies, buzzing and feasting on the entrails and vomit.

Mortarion drew his pistol and, without hesitation, ended the suffering of the three men, but it was all in vain.

An invisible plague began to spread among the people, and in an instant, dozens of people began to scream. Even some of the Death Guard knelt on the ground, convulsing and growling.

Mortarion felt a deep chill, a chill that had gripped him when he was young, when he faced the twisted creations of the Witch-King Barbarus —a chill of anger and fear. Back then, he would have nightmares about the cruelty of witchcraft, and now, those nightmares had become reality.

"Warning to the entire ship!" he roared desperately, issuing the order. "Witchcraft is spreading! Seal the bridge! No one is to approach!"

His orders were carried out smoothly. The Deathshroud, weapons in hand, stood solemnly behind him, watching this hell on earth. The Lord of Death himself, however, trembled violently, his Silence seeming ready to strike at any moment.

He had intended to inform Perturabo of this, but a voice began to echo within the bridge of the main ship—a voice he knew all too well.

Callas Typhon.

Or rather, Typhus.

"This is the end, Mortarion." His voice echoed across the bridge. "Surrender quickly, submit. Death Guard should not suffer such a fate, should not be ridiculed for your weakness."

Anger, coldness, and sudden realization.

"You weren't even on the Terminus Est," Mortarion said. "You've been here the whole time."

Behind him, the main bridge gate slowly opened, and Typhus walked in, a pale smile on his face, his armor covered in blood.

"Yes," he said. "I'm surprised you only thought of this now. How could I possibly side with Perturabo? He's of no use to our plans, a piece of steel that rusts and becomes useless. You are different, Mortarion."

He paused.

"Your loving father loves you deeply," Typhus said in a jealous tone.

"You and your loving father, go to hell," Mortarion spat out the words through gritted teeth.

The next second, gunfire erupted.

Update complete.