Darkness roared.
The Underking seemed unable to understand why this sudden attack had come, yet He still writhed and roared in fury and pain, vast black C'tan energy swelling and contracting with the god's turbulent emotions—
Pale voids stood out starkly within that blackness, patches of white appearing one after another like thick wood riddled with wormholes.
Yet they could not compare to the pallor on the Primarch's face.
Mortarion held his head high. The rage that had abruptly flared within him had suddenly become an even paler, more helpless despair. An expression more distressing than that of the dead appeared on the gaunt, inhuman face of the Primarch.
The inhuman, insect-like Primarch raised his head and stared high into the stars. The black Nether Sea reflected in his already pale eyes, as did those worm-eaten white holes.
Beside the Primarch, Guilliman frowned deeply as well. The Emperor watched the sky, though not with Mortarion's concentration. The little mountains between the golden-haired Primarch's brows twitched from time to time before he discreetly glanced sideways, studying Mortarion with a secretive look.
Guilliman admitted that he was worried about everything now—the Imperium, humanity, his warriors, and the current situation. Those concerns and responsibilities outweighed his personal feelings for the Emperor and Hades. Of course, he regretted the Underking's current plight, but far too many things required the golden-haired king's attention. He could not afford to lavish his energy and thoughts upon it.
Mortarion, however, did not care about any of that.
Once again, he displayed the flawed side of himself as a Primarch, an Imperium general, and a Legion commander. Ten thousand years of experience had made Mortarion competent, but he still could not earn full marks.
Mortarion merely watched the white specks at the edge of the heavens, his murky eyes