Heller's Pass.
Even though this small village had been reduced to ruins, it still held special significance for Mortarion.
It was here that he spent the most carefree days with Caelan.
It was here that he first raised the banner of resistance and led the people to rise up.
It was here that the people of Barbarus began their rebellion against the Overlords.
When they left years ago, ninety percent of the villagers departed with them. Many of those people fell before dawn, but even more lived to see the coming of the light.
Those who remained behind had long since become flesh puppets of the Overlords.
Even though the Supreme Overlord had been dead for years, the lesser Overlords would never spare this village.
Now, the xenos Overlords of Barbarus had been completely exterminated. Only a few lesser Overlords fled and still putting up a desperate last stand on the mountain peaks.
The Death Guard were carrying out the final purge. The destruction of these homeless strays was only a matter of time.
"I want to build a city here!"
When Mortarion and Caelan returned from the peak and set foot on the scorched earth of Heller's Pass, his voice pierced the ruins' silence.
The warriors of the Death Guard immediately threw themselves into the reconstruction of Heller's Pass with near-fanatic fervor.
Whatever Mortarion's reasons might be, he was the leader who had guided them in overthrowing the Overlords' brutal rule. Moreover, this was the first time Mortarion had ever made a request of them, so no matter what he asked, the people of Barbarus would support him!
Yet when it came to naming the city, the Death Guard could never reach an agreement.
Skorval slammed his palm on the table and shouted, his rough voice booming, "Dawn City! It symbolizes Barbarus stepping out from the Overlords' shadow and into the dawn. What's wrong with that name?"
Typhon sneered and shot back, "Then why not just call it Sun City? Isn't the sun's radiance more dazzling than the dawn?"
Skorval gave a cold snort, unwilling to engage with Typhon.
"Quell, what do you think?" Skorval turned his gaze to the woman beside Typhon.
Quell thought for a moment. "How about Salvation City? Lord Mortarion saved this world. This is his city, naming it after his deeds would be fitting."
At that moment, Debbie timidly spoke up from the corner, "Then… why don't we just let Lord Mortarion name it himself?"
The moment her words fell, every eye in the resistance turned toward the young girl who dared to speak.
Startled by the sudden attention, Debbie shrank back, nearly burying her face in her collar. But the Death Guard fell into silence instead.
She had a point!
If Mortarion was going to name it in the end anyway, what were they even arguing about?
"Where's Mortarion?" Typhon asked.
Skorval shot him a glance. In the entire Death Guard, only Typhon dared to call Mortarion by name so casually.
Though they were friends, Skorval still disliked Typhon, his mouth was filthy, and he had no respect for leadership at all.
Even if you've shared life-and-death experiences, don't you understand the principle of hierarchy?
If Typhon were to become the Death Guard's First Captain, Skorval always felt Typhon would conspire against Mortarion.
Debbie lowered her voice and said, "The leader and the teacher went up the mountain again."
Typhon felt blood rush to his head, his temples throbbing, teeth grinding.
'Damn it, Mortarion, you went without me again?'
...
Mortarion had returned to the castle.
Since the Supreme Overlord died relatively early, this place was almost unchanged from several years ago; even the corpses from back then hadn't been cleared away.
Fortunately, he hadn't closed the door when he left years ago. Although poison mist permeated the air, the corpses had long since dried up and weathered, so there wasn't much stench of decay.
The first thing Mortarion did upon returning to the castle was to set his old room ablaze, reducing the books inside to ashes.
Then, he silently left.
He felt no attachment to this place. Even though it was where he first met his father, his father was right beside him now. What need did he have for this castle?
Coming back was only to ensure his old diary was still there.
He had left in too much of a hurry back then and forgotten to burn them. Now, he was simply finishing what he should have done.
They continued climbing upwards. On the rugged mountain path, Mortarion spotted several Death Guard warriors in the distance, struggling to follow their trail.
He had long expected others to follow them; that was precisely why he insisted on climbing even higher.
The wind howled at the summit, carrying lethal clouds of poison.
That was a height even the most tenacious Death Guard could scarcely reach, a domain belonging only to him and Caelan.
Seeing the black castle once more, Mortarion stopped and gazed at it, his cloak snapping violently in the wind.
After a moment, he walked to the cliff's edge and sat down with a dull thud, his back against the rock.
He stared at the poisonous clouds in the sky, quietly waiting for his biological father to descend.
As early as several weeks ago, the people of Barbarus had witnessed strange lights in the sky multiple times. Some had even seen enormous, eagle-like metal craft cutting through the clouds on the churning horizon of poison mist.
On Barbarus, shrouded in dense, sky-blotting poison clouds, such lights and ancient craft were unusual. Even the Overlords only possessed airships.
Those lights could only belong to a void fleet, and the only ones who could arrive on Barbarus now were the Imperium.
The Emperor had already arrived, though for some reason, he had simply not come to see him yet.
So Mortarion climbed the mountain himself, extending an invitation.
Mortarion believed the Emperor was watching, and indeed he came.
Beneath the churning toxic sky, a golden ship descended like divine judgment.
Its arrow-shaped prow tore through the clouds. The open hatch at the bow was the only way aboard, while a strange, shimmering light, like heat haze, enveloped the entire vessel.
At the bow, Mortarion saw a golden giant. The giant was also looking down at them.
"Father." Mortarion suddenly spoke.
Caelan looked up. Since they began the climb, Mortarion had remained silent.
"I love you." Mortarion said softly.
He feared he might never have another chance to say it.
A gentle smile appeared on Caelan's face. "Yes, I love you too, little Mo."
Mortarion asked, "Have my other brothers ever been as honest as I am?"
Caelan replied, "Only Russ."
"I'm starting to like him."
"And the Khan?"
"He's tied with the Khan."
Caelan laughed. "Years of friendship with the Khan, and that still doesn't compare to a single sentence from Russ?"
"If he changes how he addresses you and calls you father, I'll raise my opinion of him."
"Then your opinion of him is already pretty high."
Mortarion said calmly, "If my brother is always aloof standing above mortals, I dislike him. But under your guidance, he's learned how to be human."
The ship slowly descended before them. The golden giant stood upon the ramp to receive them, clad in magnificent golden armor. Brass lightning motifs and the unmistakable double-headed eagle gleamed even in the dim light.
A massive broadsword rested in a scabbard at his waist. Though its surface was adorned with gems and precious metals, Mortarion judged from its weight and fine balance that it wasn't merely a ceremonial weapon.
Mortarion had some understanding of his gene-father to a degree. He might be an inadequate father, but he was no lover of vanity.
For the sake of humanity as a species, he had sacrificed more than anyone. That was a fact no one should ever forget or erase.
Mortarion and the giant gazed at each other. He found it difficult to describe the giant's features, bronze skin like hardened leather, long jet black hair falling over his shoulders.
And his face… it was a face of undeniable nobility and greatness.
Why did you delay so long before coming to see me, Father?" Mortarion asked.
"What did you call me?" A strange, conflicted expression appeared on the giant's face.
It held sorrow and warmth, anticipation and resistance.
"Father." Mortarion's gaze was calm as still water. "No matter what, you are my genetic father. That fact cannot be changed."
"I am honored."
"It seems my brothers are not the same as me."
"So it would appear."
The Emperor turned and led them into the ship's circular hall.
"Where are the pilots?" Mortarion asked.
"There are only us here."
"You haven't answered me."
"Because I was waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you to need me to come find you, rather than me actively seeking you out. This can avoid many misunderstandings."
"It seems you have a deep misunderstanding of me."
"In the past, yes. Caelan has taught you well."
"Because he is also my father."
Mortarion raised his chin slightly, a barely perceptible hint of pride flashing between his brows. It seemed the Emperor praising Caelan pleased him far more than the Emperor praising him.
Mortarions voice was steady and clear. "Father, did you bring my legion?"
"I have gathered all your sons. Twenty thousand warriors, the Dusk Raiders, are on standby in orbit."
"Then please have them come to see me."
"They are already on their way."
Mortarion didn't see the Emperor use any communication device, but somehow the message was delivered.
"How much time do we have before my Legion arrives?"
"Ten minutes."
"Then let's be brief." Mortarion's gaze sharpened. "Father, my brother Lorgar. Has he held to his original convictions?"
"Even if you don't trust your brother, you should trust your father."
Mortarion spoke slowly, "I trust them, but I still need to ensure their loyalty."
The Emperor's gaze was piercing, as if seeing through everything. "Loyalty to what?"
"To the material universe."
"I thought you would say the Imperium or humanity."
"They are equally important, but they must be built on reality."
The Emperor asked, "My son, tell me what you need."
Mortarion's voice rang out like the clash of steel. "My brother commands the Circle of Ash; he will burn religious texts. I like his style. But he is too conservative. Avoidance is not the way. We must strike back!"
"And how do we strike back?"
Mortarion's voice lowered. "You must tell me, how can we kill the Neverborn?"
"This sword." The Emperor drew his sword; golden light flowed along the blade.
Mortarion cut him off decisively. "I need power that can be replicated!"
The Emperor's gaze darkened slightly. A trace of disappointment flickered in his deep eyes. "Is that why you call me 'father'?"
Mortarion fearlessly met the Emperor's eyes, "I call you father because you are my genetic father. And I stand here now as a son asking his father for help."
Because you are my father, that's why I ask you.
Not because I want to ask you, that I call you father.
The two are different logics.
The Emperor's gaze was as unfathomable as ancient stars, yet Mortarion did not look away.
After a long silence, the Emperor spoke. "Blanks."
Blanks, also known as Pariahs.
Psykers and the Blanks stand at opposite ends of humanity's evolutionary path.
Psykers are the favored children of the Warp, able to draw upon its power to twist the laws of reality.
The Blacks are the exact opposite, born as natural counters to psychic power. Like black holes in the Warp, they generate innate anti-psychic fields.
When psykers face Blanks, they not only endure the agony of having their souls torn apart bit by bit, but the spells they pride themselves on become difficult to cast in the presence of a Blank, or even if cast, are ineffective against them.
But psykers can still kill Blanks by indirect means, such as hurling massive stones with psychic force. But for Warp-born daemons, the Blanks are a true mortal threat.
These Neverborn from the Sea of Souls not only have their powers weakened near Blanks, worse still, if killed by a Blank, they face true, eternal annihilation, never to be reborn in the Warp.
Yet both paths have their flaws.
The psyker's fatal weakness lies in the very nature of their power. Whenever they pry open the Warp, their soul blazes within it like an open flame.
Daemons drifting through the Warp are drawn to that light like moths, hurling themselves toward it.
Once touched, the psyker's body becomes a bridge for daemonic invasion to real space, while the original consciousness is forever extinguished in that horrific convergence.
Blanks bear a different, and equally cruel curse. Their innate anti-psychic aura is as natural as breathing, and they cannot hold their breath.
This power not only nullifies psyker spells but also indiscriminately tears at the souls of all living beings around them.
Their presence instinctively repels others. Some keep their distance. Some bully them. Some even try to kill them.
Thus, Blanks rarely live to adulthood; many are abandoned by their parents at birth.
So even though the probability of a Blank being born is as high as one in a hundred thousand, the number of truly effective Blanks is extremely small.
If not for the Emperor overruling opposition, even the Sisters of Silence as an organization could not have been retained.
Mortarion's eyes burned as he asked, "Father, tell me, do you have a Legion of Blanks?"
The Emperor's gaze was as deep and still as a pond. "If you insist on pursuing this path, you can forge your own Legion of Blanks with your own hands."
Caelan thought that Neoth was being quite stingy. Even if you are my son, you can't come after collectibles!
Caelan asked for Custodes and he wouldn't give them. If he gave Mortarion the Sisters of Silence, Caelan would have to suspect him of favoritism.
"Can Blanks be modified into Space Marines?" Caelan asked.
This was something he had always been curious about.
"Mortality rate is very high." The Emperor replied.
Mortarion wasn't surprised. Space Marine gene-seed came from the Primarchs, whose nature and very essence was entwined with the Warp.
Combining Blanks with Space Marines, it would be strange if the mortality rate wasn't high.
But the possibility isn't entirely absent. There are even Blanks who have been hybridized with daemons. Having a few Blank Space Marines wouldn't be strange.
High mortality didn't matter. The galaxy had no shortage of Blanks willing to sacrifice themselves for the Imperium.
If they died on the operating table, at least they'd die as nameless heroes.
If they died in the alleyways of a hive city, their lives would truly be worthless.
The Emperor seemed to see straight through Mortarion's thoughts. He solemnly warned his son, "Mortarion, do not treat Blanks as the solution. And never attempt to place large numbers of them on the same ship! The consequences would be catastrophic."
Mortarion hummed in acknowledgment. "Your warning is noted, Father. I'm not that foolish."
The nature of the Blanks made large-scale, organized deployment extremely difficult.
The Imperium relied on Warp travel. If a ship carried too many Blanks, the Navigator would be the first to explode, literally.
Beyond Navigators, Warp drives and Gellar fields also depended on psychic principles.
A concentration of Blanks could trigger a chain reaction: crew members growing ill, cogitators and servitors malfunctioning, even Warp drives or Gellar fields failing entirely.
If any of those failed during Warp transit, the entire ship and crew would vanish.
Even dispersing the Blanks across multiple ships and deploying them in waves had problems.
Their anti-psychic fields would harm friendly forces before ever reaching the enemy.
And like psykers, the Blanks varied greatly in strength.
Low-grade psykers might never manifest their abilities, while low-grade Blanks were little more than walking nausea machines, useless for killing anything. They were more useful dead, their ashes scattered, than alive. Only powerful Blanks posed a real threat to psykers and daemons.
If forced to choose between psykers and the Blanks, powerful psykers were usually more effective against most enemies, except daemons and other powerful psykers, compared to powerful Blanks.
But powerful psykers carried immense risk of losing control. Powerful blanks were far more stable.
Each had its strengths and weaknesses.
Combined properly, they could become the Imperium's trump card.
But their natures were fundamentally incompatible. A Blank's field doesn't care whether the psyker whose head they're breaking belongs to a friend or foe.
Thus, the perfect partners for the Blanks were those utterly devoid of psychic potential, yet immensely powerful in their own right: the Custodes.
"They're here," the Emperor said.
The poisonous clouds were violently torn apart, and a deafening roar like rolling thunder swept across the sky.
Mortarion slowly rose to his feet.
His legion had arrived.