Mortarion Was Furious
Nurgle's Garden, Eternity is filled with turbid miasma and warm rotten fragrance.
This filthy pure land entrenched in the depths of Warp is the cradle of Grandfather Nurgle that breeds all things. The sky is filled with sticky mist, decaying vines are entangled with rotten giant trees, muddy pus is surging in the muddy swamp, and countless plague monsters are wandering lazily on this land, bathing in the unique gift of a loving father, leisurely and contented.
All the despairing illnesses, decaying disasters, and sinking sufferings in the world gather here and turn into Nurgle eternal Pleasure.
However, deep in this seemingly peaceful and lazy country, there is a thick layer of gloom.
Deep in the silent mist, under the dilapidated dead trees, Mortarion huddled alone on the muddy land, surrounded by an unconcealable sense of decadence and loneliness.
At this moment, he has long lost the fierce majesty of Death Guard Primarch in the past. He is wearing a dilapidated plague armor covered with mottled rust and festering sores. The broken bone wings hang weakly in the mud, like broken wings, lonely and lonely.
The Lord of Death, who once stood above thousands of legions and was famous throughout Milky Way for his silence and despair, is now only filled with depression and unrelieved resentment, and has completely fallen into endless self-isolation.
The surrounding miasma seemed to have sensed the depression of the fallen Primarch, and they all slowed down their floating rhythm, carefully avoiding the area around him, not daring to disturb this resentful wretch.
Some time has passed since he was defeated in the plague that swept through Ultramar, and then encountered the brutal crushing of Ultramarines's predecessor Chapter Master Calgar.
The continuous setbacks were like cold shackles, tightly entangled in the depths of Mortarion's soul, crushing all his pride and unwillingness, leaving only endless frustration and self-destruction.
Beside him, a huge and bloated figure stood quietly, covered with thick and bloated fat. The rough skin was covered with dense pustules and ulcerated lines. The thick pus slowly slid down the skin, mixed with a putrid smell, and filled the air.
It is the supreme Greater Daemon under Nurgle, and the famous plague master Ku'gath.
As the gentlest and most honest ancient monster under Nurgle, Ku'gath has always been thoughtful and well aware of the emotional ups and downs of his companions around him.
He knew very well that Primarch, who came from the mortal world, had suffered heavy losses one after another recently. He was filled with endless grievances and unwillingness, and the despair and loneliness lingering around him. Even the monsters under Grandfather Nurgle could clearly sense it.
Ku'gath's broad body leaned forward slightly, his honest face showed gentle compassion, and his huge palm carefully held an ancient earthenware bowl, which contained a bowl of thick and turbid plague soup.
The thick soup is turbid and dark yellow in color, with finely divided fungi, rotten herbs and turbid pus floating on the surface. Threads of miasma are entangled in the soup surface, exuding a strong smell of decay. This is the secret soup that Ku'gath spent a long time and countless Nurgle's unique spiritual plants and plague essences to carefully brew.
The thick soup sways slowly, exuding the healing power unique to Nurgle. It can heal all physical wounds and resolve the pain caused by the abyss. It is recognized as the healing treasure of Nurgle's Garden.
Ku'gath took heavy steps and walked slowly to Mortarion's side. His bloated body gently sat down and carefully handed the soup in his hand to Mortarion. His low and hoarse voice, wrapped in Nurgle's unique gentleness, slowly echoed in the quiet space.
"Mortarion, my dear brother, there is no need to wallow in loss and sorrow."
Ku'gath's tone was gentle and mellow, like a loving father tolerating the lonely Primarch in front of him, patiently soothing the depression in his heart.
"Now Imperium of Man's Space Marines is developing at a speed beyond imagination. Within the territory of Ultramar, Guilliman is in charge of the king's power, innovating laws and reshaping order. The power of the entire human territory is rising rapidly. This is indeed an indisputable fact."
"But please believe that the great Father of Plagues Nurgle has never given up on us."
"My loving father has devoted all his strength, day and night, to analyze the origin of Primarch Guilliman's bloodline, analyze the sacred power contained in his body, and use everything he has to develop a deadly plague that can completely disintegrate the source of his power."
"It's a pity that Guilliman's growth rate is too rapid. The sacred power around him is advancing all the time, surpassing his father's analysis speed time and time again, which has repeatedly hindered our plans."
Ku'gath sighed softly, with helplessness and regret in his huge eyes. His eyes always fell gently on Mortarion, comforting the injured brother wholeheartedly.
At this moment, in the depths of Nurgle's Garden, there was silence, only the miasma slowly floated, and the thick mist entangled among the dead trees, cutting off all the noise and disturbances from the outside world.
Not long ago, Guilliman quietly set foot in this secret land of Warp, sneaking quietly with the hidden power of Psionic Energy, traveling through the dark corners of Nurgle's Garden, spying on the secrets of this filthy country.
At that time, he restrained the majestic Psionic Energy pressure around him and suppressed the sacred brilliance deep in his soul. He was like a solitary shadow in the shadow, quietly passing through without being exposed at all.
If Guilliman at that time unleashed its majestic power of Psionic Energy unscrupulously, and displayed the majestic coercion derived from the blessing of Emperor and integrated with the divine order, Then, he would definitely be able to clearly capture Mortarion's suppressed sobs and sorrow deep in his soul in this dark corner, and he would be able to hear the resentment and despair in the heart of this fallen Primarch.
Unfortunately, all is lost.
Mortarion's eyes slowly lowered, and fell blankly on the bowl of turbid plague soup in front of him. The corners of his pale mouth twitched slightly uncontrollably, and there was a trace of resistance and disgust that was difficult to conceal in his eyes.
At this moment, his face was pale and haggard, his cold skin had lost its former color, his deep eyes were full of exhaustion and gloom, and his whole body exuded a strong sense of death.
The most dazzling thing was the ferocious scars running across his body on his broad shoulders. On the broken flesh, there were wisps of weak but extremely tough blue-gold flames burning.
The flame was sacred and fierce, intertwined with the original order of Material Universe and the unique sacred Psionic Energy of Guilliman. The flame swayed endlessly, burning his flesh and soul all the time.
This hideous scar was not an attack from an ordinary monster, but a blow from Guilliman himself.
That was a fatal blow that combined the origin of order, the sacred Psionic Energy and the laws of matter. It was an eternal wound that could be engraved on the soul only by the power of Primarch combined with the divine blessing.
Even though he was in Nurgle's Garden, with endless power of decay, this blue-gold holy fire still stubbornly persisted, eroding his body day after day, reminding him of the humiliation of the tragic defeat not long ago.
Mortarion slowly raised his hand and silently took off the plague mask he had worn all year round.
The cold mask slowly slipped off, revealing the pale and cold face under the mask, with thin and bloodless lips.
There is an inextricable gloom and unruliness lingering between the brows, and the innate aloofness is mixed with endless frustration and unwillingness.