Twenty thousand warriors stood as silent as steel sculptures, but their hearts burned with a rage hot enough to incinerate the galaxy.
Armored fingers twitched involuntarily; the harsh screech of metal erupted from their knuckles as they clenched their fists.
Their teeth had long since shattered under the pressure of their own jaws, leaking blood inside their helmets and blurring their vision.
"This is not a boast, nor is it a plea for mercy."
Mortarion yanked his arm violently. The phantom sound of colliding chains penetrated the minds of his sons like a venomous snake, as if real chains were tightening around their own neck.
Someone reached out unconsciously to scratch his neck, ceramite knuckles scraped against the armor, sending out a shower of dazzling sparks.
The breathing valves under their visors made a hissing sound, as if twenty thousand ferocious beasts imprisoned in chains were suppressing their roars.
They were conquerors of the stars, yet in this moment, they were merely violent beast dominated by anger.
As they watched their gene-father shed his robes, every scar revealed was seared into their eyes like a branding iron. The sight stirred their very souls, forcing their secondary hearts to pump boiling, toxic blood through their veins.
"This is reality," Mortarion's voice returned to calm, but every syllable was drenched in icy weight.
"Hundreds of years ago, before humanity was unified, your ancestors supported my father's cause. The blood of the Albians soaks every inch of the Imperium. Every expanded territory on the star charts bears the memory of your glory."
The Dusk Raiders remained silent, but the shame surging in their chests threatened to incinerate their spirits. Every word of praise was a dagger piercing their pride.
They were Albians!
Their father knew their history perfectly, but what did they know of him?
They had cheered for the return of a Primarch while remaining ignorant of the man. Behind every scar on that majestic frame lay the story of inhuman torture at the hands of xenos.
What were they happy about?
What right did they have to celebrate?
While they feasted on their battleships, had they given a single thought to the agony their father endured alone?
'We deserve to die!'
The thought echoed through every warrior's mind like the most vicious curse.
The honor they once prized felt pathetic in the face of their father's suffering.
They would rather wash away this humiliation with their own blood.
Even if the Primarch's suffering was not caused by them, as his sons, do they have no responsibility at all?
It was never the Primarch who needed the Legion, it was the Legion that needed the Primarch.
"I was born into the poison clouds of Barbarus, adopted by the foul xeno Overlord. To this day, the chains remain in the hands of the Dark Gods."
A hint of sarcasm curved the corners of Mortarion's mouth. "He loves me so much, he can't wait to enslave me."
"But I swear to you!"
Mortarion gazed upon his sons and slowly bent his knees. "I will never yield!"
His voice was not loud, yet it thundered in the ears of every warrior.
"Father," Huron-Fal's voice was so broken that even he couldn't recognize it. "Please... stand up!"
This plea burst out from between the legion master's gritted teeth, mixed with the tang of blood.
"My brother once told me that resilience is often as silent as gold," Mortarion said. "Fortitude is not a formality, nor is bending the knee an act of servility. I kneel before you out of a warrior's respect, and as a father's request."
"Men of Albia, Dusk Raiders, the Imperium will never forget your glory. But I ask you now to forsake your past. Lend me your strength, pledge your allegiance, and help me complete my unfinished vengeance!"
"Father," Nathaniel Garro's voice was firm. "We are your blood. We dedicate our lives and our loyalty to you!"
"Get up."
Twenty thousand legionnaires straightened their bodies at the same time, and the friction and collision of the power armor joints merged into a murderous roar.
They remained silent, but anger still burned in their hearts.
Mortarion's tugged at the invisible chain around his neck, his eyes flashing with scorn. "That Dark God strangled me with the chain, but he seemed to have forgotten that he was holding the other end in his own hand!"
"He has placed a yoke upon me, but I will never yield, and he will not give up."
"Is it he who has really tied me up? Or I, the one who has tied him?"
"I will never bend my knees to the shackles, and neither shall you! We will use this chain to strangle and drag him from his throne!"
Mortarion's voice rang out in the silence like cold iron. "We must drag them all down crying and screaming, from their homes!"
"That's what we call tenacity!"
"I am Mortarion of Barbarus, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion!"
"You are my indestructible blade, you are my Death Guard!"
The warriors struck their breastplates with their fists. The collision of twenty thousand power-armor joints produced a roar that shook the mountain. Every vibration of the metal was a battle cry declaring war on the gods!
From this moment on, the Death Guard will never have honor. The meaning of their lives has
been tempered into pure belief. They will kill gods!
.....
Neoth suddenly sighed, a dark light flickering in his golden eyes. "You've taught him very well."
"Because of his beliefs, or because he called you father?"
Neoth stared at Caelan, "There are other Primarchs who call me father!"
"For example?"
Neoth stared at him.
Caelan shrugged slightly, "Okay, I won't ask anymore."
'He is the Master of Mankind after all. Even though he is shameless, he still has to have some
dignity. I'll spare him this once.'
Caelan gazed at Mortarion's tall back, a ripple of relief in his eyes.
He had indeed taught Mortarion very well.
He was even more radical than Lorgar, but Nurgle had brought it upon himself.
While the chances of Mortarion truly killing a Chaos God were slim, if he ascended as a "lesser god" of humanity's defiance, he would become a perpetual thorn in Nurgle's side. And that alone was worth it.
"Will you help him?" Caelan asked.
"I will," Neoth replied flatly. "Our interests are the same."
"Can we not talk about 'interests' for once? He is our son!"
Neoth remained silent, his sharp gaze fixed on Caelan. It was a strange truth: they were indeed two fathers.
"If necessary," Neoth finally added, "I will have the Sisters of Silence assist him."
Even the Emperor didn't believe Mortarion could slay Nurgle. Mortarion's power was not yet of that magnitude.
.....
CRACK!
Huron-Fal suddenly raised his hand and slapped himself hard, the kind in power armor.
"I am so damned useless!" he growled hoarsely, blood and shards of teeth spraying from his lips.
"We all deserve to die!" Garro hissed through gritted teeth, though he forced his anger back down. "But now is not the time."
They were innocent of the crimes committed against their father, yet they were drowning in shame.
Mortarion, a man of cold distance, had shared the secrets of his scars only because they were his trusted sons.
This was the Death Guard's burden now, a secret that must never leave the Fourteenth Legion.
Huron-Fal's face was bitter. He felt he deserved death more than Garro. While the Legion debated their loyalty, Fal had hesitated between the Primarch and the Emperor, ultimately leaning toward the latter.
Crack!
Fal slapped himself again, ensuring the swelling on both sides of his face was symmetrical.
'How could I have hesitated?' he wondered.
If the Emperor and the Primarch clashed, the answer was obvious: the Primarch was their father. Conflict was not betrayal.
The Emperor was the Primarch's father, so how could he betray him? Would the Death
Guard betray their father?
No, they would never betray the Primarch, and the Primarch would never betray the Emperor!
'Those crazy speculations were completely caused by the Dark Gods; it's all their fault.'
"You seem to be in distress?" Calas Typhon noticed the erratic behavior of the two and approached.
Behind them, the Legion worked like an ant colony, winding from the Heller Pass to the top of the mountain, where they would build a legion fortress.
It used to be the throne where the High Overlord ruled, but now it will become the middle finger aimed at the Dark Gods!
However, due to the terrifying efficiency of the Mechanicum and the Legion, the native resistance fighters of Barbarus had found themselves unemployed.
Although the Legion did not interfere with the mortal works out of courtesy, when they witnessed the Imperium's almost miraculous construction efficiency with their own eyes, they voluntarily tore down the newly built walls with their own hands.
They were silently clearing the ruins to prevent these shoddy works from slowing down the
overall progress.
Garro's gaze fell on the young man. "I remember you. Your name is... Typhon?"
"Calas Typhon," he said, extending a hand.
"Nathaniel Garro." Garro shook the mortal's hand, barely touching it with his fingertips to avoid hurting Typhon. Huron-Fal followed suit.
"Huron-Fal."
What were you talking about?" Typhon asked without restraint.
Garro and Fal remained silent.
This was the Legion's secret.
Even if Typhon was their father's friend, he wasn't officially one of them yet.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," Typhon said casually. "But you look like you're suffering from what my teacher calls 'Internal Friction'."
"Internal friction?" Fal asked hoarsely.
"Mental exhaustion," Typhon explained with a grin. "My teacher taught me that it's when you spend too much time over-analyzing negative causes or consequences. Excessive thinking consumes your energy, leading to anxiety, depression, and self-deprecation. The biggest problem is thinking too much and doing too little."
Garro asked from between broken teeth: "How do you solve it?"
Typhon looked confident. "Simple. Instead of reflecting on yourself, blame others. No matter what's causing your exhaustion, you solve it by killing the source."
"What if I can't kill them yet?"
"Then curse them to death! You have to vent!"
"How do you vent?" Fal asked.
"Just like this-" Typhon took a deep breath, "Father of Decay, fuck your mother!"
Garro was stunned. "Who is this Father of Decay?"
"A god. The culprit who poisoned this world," Typhon said. "I shout it a thousand times every morning. You should try it. It makes you feel better."
Garro and Fal exchanged a long look, then roared in unison: "Father of Decay, FUCK YOUR MOTHER!"
.....
"You taught this?"
Neoth's eyes were like ice, staring coldly at Caelan.
Caelan put on a mask of mock pain.
He wanted to argue, but the truth was undeniable.
He was indeed the source of Typhon's "therapy."
But can you blame him?
He really didn't teach Typhon to use swear words to solve everything!
Caelan took a long time to say, "It's better to have a dirty mouth than a dirty soul, right?"
'Typhon has a foul mouth, but his heart is clean.'
'Better to have a Legion of foul-mouthed kings than a bunch of depressed bags of filth.'
Caelan gained confidence as he spoke. "Dirty words are the sewage outlet of the soul! You can't feel relieved until you vent the poison."
'A dirty mouth is better than a dirty body, and a dirty body is infinitely better than a dirty heart.'
'Those who drape themselves in righteous words often hide the most rot within.'
'Like Neoth shiny on the outside, but his heart is a labyrinth of schemes. Now look at Typhon. That is what I call a pure heart speaking frankly!'
Neoth did not argue. He simply watched the burgeoning chaos of his XIV Legion and asked a single, quiet question.
"What will become of my warriors?"
Mortarion stood in a trance. He watched Garro and Huron-Fal, stalwarts of the old Dusk Raiders, and wondered how they had fallen under Typhon's influence so quickly.
'What the hell happened? Is this still those proud warriors?'
'Would the other legion laugh when we fight alongside them?'
'What would his brothers think?'
'Would they blame my education?'
'No. We're all fathers' students in our own way.'
Mortarion realized he really didn't care about being misunderstood.
If his brothers were shallow enough to judge him by the vulgarity of his sons, they weren't worth being friends with.
Aside from Leman Russ and Jaghatai Khan, he found the other Primarchs... exhausting. They were impressive, yes, but so naive.
Just like a child.
Although in terms of age, they were indeed children.
But they were Primarchs, they should be more mature instead of pestering their parent for hugs.
Especially Angron.
"Father of Decay, fuck your mother!"
The roar began with Garro and Fal, but it spread like a contagion through the ranks.
At first, the other Death Guard frowned. They were Terrans of Old Albia; they valued stoicism and manners.
To curse in the presence of their gene-father and the Emperor was unthinkable.
But Typhon cursed him a thousand times every day, and it had become a spectacle, known to every member. As they spent time with the Barbarus resistance. They knew what the Father of Decay had done to this world.
Soon, twenty thousand voices were screaming the same obscenity into the toxic sky.
"Father of Decay, fuck your mother!"
Mortarion remained silent.
Why stop them?
They felt better after venting, and truth be told, he enjoyed the sound of it.
Mainly because he had done it himself.
In his eyes, Nurgle was a walking cesspool; calling him such was practically a compliment to his hygiene.
Besides, Nurgle was a creature of the Warp, born of stagnation. He had no mother. To curse a mother that didn't exist wasn't even a real insult; it was a blessing. The Death Guard were effectively wishing a family upon a motherless monster.
"Neoth, you should leave. Jaghatai Khan is waiting for you."
"What about you?"
Caelan thought for a moment and said, "It seems I don't need to leave just yet. I think I'll stay on Barbarus for a while."
.....
15 chapter ahead in [email protected]/DaoistJinzu