Lin En sighed as he watched the Death Guard warriors emerge from the green fog.
The Death Guard's legion number had been unlucky to begin with. Fourteen sounded like "doomed to die."
Little Morty's Death Guard, like Little Horse's Thousand Sons, had a certain brainless charm.
Now they had swollen bellies that made them waddle, mushrooms growing on their armor, and horns jutting out every which way. Well, that had ruined it.
Still, getting fat really did make anything look kinder, even a bloated giant that looked as if it had been soaking in a septic tank.
There were advantages to being stupid. They seemed rather guileless, too.
Before the Horus Heresy, the Death Guard had been a legion renowned for their resilience and endurance. They were experts in poison gas.
Unfortunately, that plague-ridden bastard had dragged them into a septic tank.
Damn it. Sooner or later, I'm killing Nurgle too.
Lin En really did like Little Morty.
Mortarion was stubborn to the bone. Once he made up his mind, he followed his chosen path into the dark, even if he hit a wall.
He had not actually done anything wrong, either. He had picked the wrong side during the Horus Heresy, but that had been entirely about opposing Yellow Pelt. The Warp had had nothing to do with it.
People often mocked Little Morty for being too weak to seem like a Primarch, but he was a decent man. Everything he had fought for was to free Barbarus and all its people.
He had been doing just fine until Yellow Pelt insisted on interfering. Could anyone blame Little Morty for hating him? Hardly.
He had only ever wanted to oppose Yellow Pelt.
Then Nurgle held his sons hostage and forced him to join Chaos.
"My blood and bones! My