Interlude 101: Lantern Reaper, Crimson Fool

Mortarion still remembers the feeling of being "alive".

Frankly, he missed it, but he never regretted losing it. Admittedly, life is incredibly precious, but compared to certain things that people call "rules" or "bottom lines," it can be discarded.

There is no concept of time in the Empyrean, but Mortarion was still glad he hadn't broken his own rules. Although he lost his life, his spirit was reawakened by his father's power, allowing him to fight again in the golden flames.

His days as Primarch Mortarion are over. Now, he is merely an avatar, a concept, a grim reaper hovering over all of humanity's enemies.

It sounds serious, but at this moment, Death is actually playing chess with someone.

No, it would be somewhat biased to call his opponent a person.

The giant sitting opposite the stone round table was exceptionally tall, wearing a blood-stained robe, his skin a dark red, almost like dried blood. His eyes were closed, his eyelids shriveled, and the cruel marks left by the blade were still clearly visible.

His form was ethereal, and the edges seemed to be burning, distorting the laws of the place and blurring the halo.

"You're cheating again," Mortarion complained. "We've only played eleven games in ten thousand years, and you've cheated every single one of them."

The blind giant ignored his words and continued to advance his pieces. The pawn, wielding a long sword, shoved a general to the ground and hacked him to death.

Only after the general was removed from the chessboard did he speak, "I admit I cheated, brother, but I only cheated four times in total."

"Including this time?" Mortarion asked, crossing his arms, sounding rather distrustful.

"Including this time," Magnus nodded. "The only other times you can't beat me is because your chess skills are terrible."

"Death" gave a sinister smile, his eyes under the hood seemingly narrowing with amusement. Then, he snatched the chessboard away and threw it out of the room.

Magnus sighed, clasped his hands tightly, and placed them neatly on the table. The surrounding chess pieces slowly floated up and flew away along with the chessboard.

"You're a terrible opponent on the chessboard."

"It's better than you, you cheating bastard!" Mortarion roared. "If it weren't for Father's insistence, I would never have played this damned game with you!"

"Hmm, hmm." Magnus nodded perfunctorily. "Say what you will, brother. Father's demands. Ha, it's already a miracle that Father can continue to exist. Don't think I don't know about this."

"He has the energy to talk to you? Don't be ridiculous. Unless those three things end their alliance, he will never say a word to you."

Mortarion extended his right hand and tapped the stone tabletop with his index finger. "Believe it or not, he specifically asked me to tell you that he has never liked you."

Magnus sighed deeply. "Really, brother? We only see each other once in a long while outside of the battlefield, and you're going to make up this lie to try and provoke me?"

Mortarion crossed his arms and slowly shook his head. Compared to Magnus's current terrifying appearance, he seemed much more normal, though only to a limited extent.

His once withered, gray-white hair now radiates a faint golden Radiance, and his eyes always maintain a high-spirited golden gleam, like two golden flames, constantly flickering.

He still wore his signature hood, but the respirator was gone. His face, which should have been somber, now possessed a Radiance that he himself was very reluctant to accept, thanks to the religious aura emanating from him.

Magnus stared into his eyes with his withered gaze and gave him a slight smile. Mortarion took a deep breath, his right hand already resting on the edge of the stone table.

"No!" the fool pleaded immediately.

"What do you mean, 'don'?" Death asked coldly. "I'm not a child, how could I possibly overturn your table?"

"Whatever, bro, let's get down to business. Do you agree to start the evaluation now?"

Mortarion snorted coldly, withdrew his right hand, and slowly nodded.

Magnus's previously clasped hands opened, and a set of tarot cards with a metallic sheen appeared and floated around the two of them. Mortarion, seeing this, became displeased once again.

"Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. "Tarot cards again?"

"Yes, it's tarot cards again—do you have any opinions? I've improved them; they've become quite interesting now."

Magnus answered with unusual calm, then drew a card. The metal suddenly began to hiss, and the blank card facing Mortarion was quickly outlined in a dark red light.

A figure whose face was obscured appeared on it. He wore a crown of nothingness and a long black robe. He held scales in his left hand and a sword in his right, and sat on a crudely made Throne.

"Justice," Magnus said thoughtfully, placing the cards back on the table. "Hmm, an interesting start."

Mortarion's eye twitched, suppressing the urge to curse, and he retorted in a low voice, "What's so funny about this?! We all know who this card is referring to!"

The blind fool ignored his words and continued speaking in a serious tone. But to Mortarion, who had heard it eleven times before, it sounded somewhat like a rote recitation.

"Fair, reasonable, morally upright, friendly, and firmly stands by the weak. Blind, reckless, and overly harsh."

Before he could finish speaking, Mortarion swiftly drew his second card, the metal hissing once more. Magnus shook his head, took the card from his hand, and placed it on the table.

"Daemon." He uttered the word without further explanation, simply tapping it lightly with his finger. A bird-faced, human-bodied monster slowly appeared on it, holding a long staff and wearing a mocking expression.

Then, the card suddenly changed; in the blink of an eye, it transformed from Daemon into a bright moon hanging in the night, its light almost pale blue.

Magnus scoffed, "The moon."

Mortarion frowned and drew the fourth card. This time, the metal face of the card did not hiss again. He flipped it over and saw a pure white tower struck by lightning.

Magnus spoke at just the right moment, "The Tower—this is not a good omen, Mortarion."

He took the card meaningfully, covered it with the moon, and then sighed again.

"The devastation, the immense impact, the approaching darkness. This is probably inextricably linked to Roboute's Five Hundred Worlds; after all, our justice is right there, and this assessment begins with him."

He clasped his hands together, stood up, and slowly paced along the edge of the round table.

Mortarion ignored his brother, remaining silent as he looked at the remaining cards around him, intending to carefully select the last card.

To date, including this one, they have conducted twelve assessments. Magnus's little trick, which incorporates his numerology, may be somewhat unorthodox, but it is still a small speculation about the Realspace.

Moreover, based on past results, these predictions are not far off. That's why this is called an assessment, rather than a prophecy or some ridiculous tarot card game.

"Choose quickly," Magnus suddenly said, his tone tinged with sadness.

A loud bugle call came from afar, as resounding as thunder, accompanied by the beating of war drums. Death stood up solemnly, knowing in his heart that this brief encounter was drawing to a close.

The war in the Empyrean is eternal; their temporary departure does not mean it has ended. This war will continue until the galaxy is destroyed or the evil god falls.

Mortarion no longer hesitated and drew his last card. It depicted an angel clad in armor, with wings on his back, holding a sword in one hand and a horn in the other, about to blow it.

"Judgment!" Magnus laughed. "Looks like we don't need to worry anymore, brother!"

Mortarion let out a long breath and placed the cards on the table. Suddenly, a golden flame flashed, and a scythe appeared in his hand, while a Lantern radiating golden light hung at his waist.

Magnus nodded to him and walked alongside him. He was still unarmed and showed no signs of preparation.

The bugle call of war drew ever closer, until at a certain point, the world before them suddenly changed. As if a bubble had burst, or as they witnessed the sunrise, a bloody battlefield appeared before them.

Daemon, whether rotting, fanatical, or ecstatic; warriors clad in burning armor; the dead, forever driven mad by black flames. Everywhere one looks, there is this nightmarish scene.

Mortarion gripped his scythe, ready to step into the battlefield, but his brother reached out and stopped him.

"Father."

"Um?"

"Did your father really say anything to you?" the blind fool asked, seemingly unconcerned.

Mortarion nodded slightly.

"At first, it was just painful howls or sorrowful cries, but not anymore. He's getting better, I can feel it. His sanity is returning, brother."

Magnus closed his eyes, breaking the rule of only drawing five cards for the first time. He opened his right hand and placed it in front of Mortarion; the light flickered, but it was not a dark, angry flame, but a pure psionic light.

Mortarion glanced at him in surprise, but without hesitation, he drew the sixth, or rather, the first, tarot card from the light.

Unlike the previous cards, which had a solid structure and form, it was very ethereal, but the images on the cards were still clear.

It was an old man bound by thorns and hanging upside down. His hair was white, his eyes were tightly closed, his face was filled with grief, and tears as red as blood streamed down his face.

"The Hanged Man," Mortarion murmured.

Magnus laughed as he snatched the card, leaping into the war. Mortarion let out a feigned angry growl, followed closely by Lantern suddenly blazed at his waist.