This Is an Elder's Admonition
"Please, help me, Guilliman... help me..."
His voice was so low that it was almost inaudible, and every word seemed to be forced out of his lungs, "Kill them, let them rest in peace...
Please, please, you must have a way, you must have a way, right?
You have the power of your father, you have the golden Psionic Energy flame, you can definitely make their souls no longer confused by Nurgle.
You can definitely get them back to Sea of Souls.
So please, please.
Please, brother..."
The moment those two words - "brother" - came out of Mortarion's mouth, Guilliman's pupils shrank slightly.
He looked down at Primarch who was kneeling on the ground, clutching his arm, his face covered in pus and blood, and the finger on his armplate was trembling slightly.
Not fear, nor any angry roars or pre-war declarations.
At this moment, all the proud Death Guard Primarch can express is begging.
In ten thousand years, Mortarion has never called him that.
In this group of Primarch, no one would call each other "brother" or "younger brother".
Even in the face of the real blind Primarch, the first birthplace Primarch, the brother of all of them Lion Al Jonson.
At best, everyone just calls him eldest son politely and once and for all.
He won't call him brother.
Emperor didn't teach them this.
When they wake up from the culture tank, they are warriors, generals, and Gene-Father of their respective legions.
There is more competition and vigilance between them than family affection.
But at this moment, Mortarion called.
Not respect, not intimacy, but helplessness...
He has no way out and no one to turn to.
He could only lower his head to the brother he had once fought against, and use a title he had never used before to knock on a door he had closed with his own hands.
Guilliman lowered his head and looked at the figure kneeling at his feet.
His face was expressionless, and there was no emotion in his blue-gold eyes, like a pool of stagnant water.
He slowly raised his hand, and the five blue-gold fingers covered the back of Mortarion's hand that was tightly grasping his arm, and gently opened those fingers bit by bit.
Mortarion's knuckles crackled, but he did not resist and allowed Guilliman to peel his hands off his arm armor.
Guilliman let go of his hand and took a step back.
"We are so close.
I am No. 13 Primarch, and you are No. 14 Primarch.
You should really call me brother, but we have never called me that.
Because Emperor has not taught us this, and we do not have this concept.
We are just tools of war thrown into the battlefield, nothing more.
Even if you are begging at this moment, I have never regarded you as my brother."
Mortarion was kneeling there with his head lowered and his shoulders shaking violently.
His dignity, all his pride as Daemon Primarch, as the Lord of Death Guard, as Barbarus Conquest, as Emperor's Children.
At this moment, it was as if a layer of skin had been peeled off and exposed nakedly to the gaze of Guilliman.
He had no rebuttal, no anger, or even shame.
He just felt cold.
Very cold.
Colder than those poisonous fog-filled nights on Barbarus.
He heard Guilliman's footsteps moving away.
The footsteps were neither urgent nor slow, each step was steady and powerful, like some kind of countdown drum beat.
Mortarion Close your eyes.
He thought that Guilliman was leaving, leaving him alone in the burning ruins, letting him deal with the mess by himself, and letting him face the heirs who wanted to die.
Then he heard those words.
"But those who betray Imperium deserve to die, but they should die under the flames of Emperor!"
The sound was not loud, but in Mortarion's ears, every word was amplified countless times.
Like thunder, like bells ringing, like the trumpet of doomsday judgment!
He opened his eyes suddenly and raised his head.
Guilliman stands in the golden flame.
The hem of the black tuxedo was lifted up by the heat wave, flying behind him like a flag.
The golden fire burned behind him, coating his outline with a layer of fiery gold and blurring his face.
It makes his figure look extra wide and majestic.
Mortarion can't see Guilliman's face.
The fire was so bright that he couldn't even look straight in that direction.
But he felt something.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling that he had not experienced for a long, long time.
The feeling was not warmth, comfort, or pity, but - being protected.
Like an umbrella, it was held above his head in the pouring rain.
It was like a wall, standing in front of him amid the flurry of swords and swords.
Like a mountain, it gave him a fulcrum to cling to in the torrent that was about to drown him.
He couldn't tell what it was.
He just felt that the light and the person standing in the light were not like a judge at the moment, but more like a brother.
Mortarion knelt on the ground, looking at the figure wrapped in flames.
His lips trembled, wanting to say something.
But in the end, he didn't say anything.
He just lowered his head in silence, resting his forehead on the charred and hot ground, letting the ashes stain his forehead and cheeks.
"Stop what you are doing, the hope of mankind, the son of hope by Cursed One."
"As long as you stop moving at this moment, you and your army can leave Nurgle's Garden safely. If you are unwilling to listen to the elder's advice, then I will keep you here forever."
"I know that your purity is higher than other Primarch. Maybe I can't corrupt you in a short time."
"But before Cursed One comes over and knocks me down, I am qualified to kill you."
Even though he was confronting Emperor, Nurgle still had enough energy to issue an ultimatum to Guilliman. After all, this was his domain.
"At least in this respect, you can trust the authority of me as an elder. I am fully capable of killing you."
"You will not be corrupted, and you will no longer have any memory. You will turn into pure Warp energy and become part of my Garden of Nurgle."
"It is even possible that in an unknown number of years, a Great Unclean One with war power will be born in my Garden of Nurgle."
"This is not a situation either of us wants to see."