Chapter 322: What Would You Do?
Mortarion strode at the front, the Techmarine and the Blank clearing a path for him. Ferrus Manus followed behind, confused, but he didn't interrupt Mortarion's movements.
As before, the Death Guard blew open the first door. Mortarion stepped through it directly—then raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Not an illusion?
The thick stench of blood filled the air, and a thin layer of it coated the ground, clinging stubbornly to his pale boots as he walked.
Human corpses lay scattered across the floor.
At the center of the room stood the Lord of the Salamanders, his warhammer resting at his side in silent sorrow. At his feet lay an Eldar witch, her neck brutally snapped.
The moment the Lord of Death entered, Vulkan's Salamanders immediately saluted him. From their reaction, Mortarion judged that Vulkan wasn't yet at the point of wanting to punch him in the face.
And yet… Mortarion glanced down at the Eldar corpse. He could understand Ferrus' behavior—but this?
"Are you mourning the Eldar, Vulkan? There's no need to grieve over one corpse. There are plenty more outside."
Ferrus let out a dissatisfied sigh behind Mortarion, but the Lord of Death ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on Vulkan.
Vulkan turned around. The good news was that the Lord of the Salamanders hadn't lost the fundamental traits that Mortarion despised—his face still bore that blend of pity and guilt.
A single dried tear streaked down his dark face.
From behind his gas mask, Mortarion made a muffled sound of disgust.
"I knew this Eldar, Mortarion."
"Oh? Did it whisper some vague prophecy to you as well, or did you… value it somehow?"
Mortarion sensed Ferrus shifting irritably behind him, but the Gorgon said nothing.
"No…" Vulkan said softly.
"She was one of the Dark Eldar who attacked Nocturne. She killed a smith I knew."
"Then you've avenged your fallen, haven't you? Why the tears?"
Mortarion's cutting tone caught Vulkan off guard. He unconsciously rubbed at his face; aside from the sticky layer of sweat, he felt no tears.
"I… I'm not mourning this Eldar's death, brother. When I found these humans, they were torturing her—using the same methods as the Dark Eldar."
Vulkan took a deep, trembling breath.
"This human civilization has been corrupted beyond belief… beyond forgiveness. The Eldar here saved these humans from the Dark Eldar, yet the humans absorbed the darkness instead."
He drew another breath, fury burning quietly in his chest. His resolve hardened.
"This world… needs an Exterminatus."
He had hoped to save the humans of this planet, but now he realized he could not.
Vulkan waited for his brothers' reactions—would they refute him, mock him?
But when he looked up, he found Mortarion regarding him with a complex expression.
The Lord of Death spoke:
"…Vulkan, you mean to say that you believe the human civilization here is beyond redemption, and so you wish to invoke Exterminatus?"
Vulkan nodded slowly, heavily. He had slaughtered unarmed people; he would bear that burden himself.
Ferrus Manus, who had been following Mortarion silently, finally spoke. Having escaped the serpent's illusion, the Lord of Medusa seemed to have recovered quickly—or perhaps he had simply chosen not to think about it anymore.
"…Vulkan, you've invested too much emotion in these humans. That's not a good thing. Your empathy will destroy you—and your Legion."
Vulkan turned back to look at Ferrus, and said softly, "No—it shaped us. I understand now. This is what He wanted us to do."
Yet while Ferrus and Vulkan spoke, Mortarion remained silent.
The Lord of Death breathed laboriously beneath his rebreather, as though wondering why he was even there.
At last, Mortarion spoke in a low voice, interrupting the conversation between the two Primarchs.
"Let's just get out of here first, and then drop that damned Exterminatus—no, Vulkan, don't look at me like that. I'm not agreeing to your Exterminatus because of the savages down here."
The Death Lord was the first to leave.
Just before stepping through the door, Vulkan distinctly heard Mortarion mutter something under his breath.
He didn't understand what the Death Lord said—it was in Barbarus tongue.
. . .
The Flamewrought was less a starship and more a colossal forge.
Blazing furnaces burned everywhere, the heat and fire treated almost like decorations—the Salamanders seemed to see steel and flame as ornaments that could be pasted anywhere.
Mortarion lounged lazily on a massive sofa, his scythe casually propped against the armrest.
Before him crackled a small ornamental hearth, its fire snapping and hissing softly.
His own fleet, the Death Guard, drifted nearby.
If necessary, Mortarion could order them to attack at once—which was precisely why he could sit here on Vulkan's ship so at ease.
Or perhaps there was another reason: that Mortarion simply didn't believe a man as empathetic as Vulkan could ever lose his mind—or fall.
He was too kind.
So kind it bordered on stupidity.
Mortarion reclined, satisfied yet faintly exasperated, waiting.
He could almost feel through the deck plating the tremors of cyclonic torpedoes being loaded.
Ferrus paced restlessly nearby.
Even his restrained movements couldn't fully hide his unease.
Mortarion glanced at him—between Vulkan and Ferrus, he found Ferrus easier to understand.
Even after five standard Terran hours, Mortarion still couldn't fathom Vulkan's reasoning.
"Sit. Let's talk."
Ferrus halted, meeting Mortarion's eyes.
Vulkan had gone to oversee the Exterminatus himself, insisting that he must personally take part in and bear witness to this necessary sin.
"Here?"
Mortarion's tone was indifferent, his gaze hidden beneath his hood.
"There's no one else here—and no listening devices. I asked Vulkan for a private room, and our benevolent brother actually gave us one. He doesn't even care about this."
Ferrus looked around the room.
Mortarion knew he would come to the same conclusion he had—and Ferrus, after all, understood metalwork better than he did.
After a moment of silence, Ferrus finally sat opposite him.
His chiseled features were half-hidden in shadow.
"You don't seem surprised."
Mortarion looked at him.
"It was only an illusion. Its purpose was to draw out the emotions buried deep within you, to make you lose control."
Ferrus's mouth tightened into a hard line.
He recalled the two Eldar… they hadn't seemed malicious.
"I'll keep my own opinion, brother. Then tell me—what did you see in your illusion?"
Mortarion turned his gaze away, his reply muffled and vague.
"The usual. A friend's death. My sons' corruption. Nothing new—they couldn't imagine anything more original."
Ferrus pressed on.
"And you felt nothing from that, Mortarion?"
Mortarion gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Better to ask yourself, Ferrus—why did you react so strongly?"
Ferrus's lips twitched twice.
"I don't think this is a mere illusion. It's too real—so real that my senses tell me I haven't been deceived."
Those words made the Lord of Death, who had been lounging against the couch, sit upright. Mortarion leaned forward, his gloved hands gripping the armrests. Beneath his hood, his eyes glimmered with a strange curiosity.
"Ferrus, if you insist on that… let's suppose, for the sake of argument, that everything you've seen is real. Then—what would you do?"
"I mean, my brother, what if… your dearest friend Fulgrim truly has fallen?"
Clang!
The sharp sound of metal striking metal rang out. Mortarion's scythe locked against Ferrus's arm, sparks bursting between haft and flesh. Ferrus had risen from his seat—he clearly hadn't given up the thought of punching Mortarion.
"Reason, my brother," Mortarion said in his usual mocking tone, though his voice trembled slightly. Facing Ferrus took more effort than he cared to admit.
Ferrus stared straight at him, iron-gray eyes burning with fury—like a beast from his homeworld, furious and unrestrained.
"Mortarion, I'll warn you one last time—do not speak of this again. Not before me, not before anyone."
He glared at Mortarion, but to his surprise, the Lord of Death let out a low chuckle. Mortarion actually seemed pleased by Ferrus's aggression—though the laughter made his grip on the scythe's haft shake faintly.
"You want to silence me? Then what are you willing to pay for it?"
Ferrus suddenly withdrew his hand, which caused Mortarion to lurch forward slightly, though the Lord of Death quickly regained his composure. He remained slouched in his seat, watching Ferrus with an expression of faint amusement. Ferrus, for his part, stood awkwardly, frustrated by his own outburst.
The Lord of Medusa spoke coldly:
"Is this what you wanted, Mortarion? To mock me first, then try to take something from me?"
To his surprise, Mortarion's smirk faded. The Lord of Death stared at him with somber eyes.
"No… I just find your situation… familiar, Ferrus. Sadly familiar."
He spoke softly now.
"What I want…" Mortarion murmured, "is to hear what you think. If this truly were real, what would you do?"
Mortarion fixed his gaze on Ferrus, seeing in him something that reflected his own past.
Ferrus stared back, wary and furious. Mortarion's calm, still eyes met his without a ripple—assuring him, somehow, that he was being sincere.
So Ferrus slowly sat down again, his movements cautious but heavy. He bowed his head, irritated, though not ashamed of his earlier anger.
"If things truly unfold the way I've seen them… if the future is really that absurd…"
He drew a ragged breath. In his mind's eye, the serpent's face appeared again—the face that mirrored his closest friend's, yet now tainted with blasphemy and corruption. Desire clung to the creature like a silken veil as it toyed with him, whispering stories that only the two of them could know.
—Fulgrim was supposed to be pure. Fulgrim himself could never abide blasphemy or frivolity.
If that day truly were to come, Fulgrim himself would be the first to feel that life was worse than death.
And as his dearest friend, Ferrus would choose to end his suffering with his own hands—even if doing so damned him to hell.
"Then I would do what I once did before—nothing more, nothing less."
Silence fell between them.
After a long pause, Mortarion finally spoke, slowly.
"A fine resolve."
Ferrus gave a derisive snort.
"If you hadn't stumbled upon the truth by accident, what right would you have to judge me?"
Mortarion stared at him, then pulled back his hood. His eyes, cold and unblinking, gleamed like those of a machine.
"Of course I have the right, my brother—because I made the same choice as you."
Ferrus froze mid-breath.
"What have you seen, Mortarion?"
Mortarion regarded him evenly.
"The illusion itself is meaningless."
"Do you truly believe it was an illusion?"
"Who can say?"
Mortarion's tone softened into indifference. He leaned back into his seat again, resuming his earlier, lazy posture, and gave Ferrus a deliberate wink.
"Whether it was real or not doesn't matter. What matters is that it broadened the limits of our imagination—showed us that such possibilities might exist in this universe."
Ferrus leaned forward, about to press him further, when the door suddenly burst open.
Vulkan stood in the doorway.
He looked between the two Primarchs—Ferrus staring at him with a mixture of surprise and irritation, while Mortarion merely appeared indifferent, as though none of it concerned him.
"Apologies, brothers… Should I have knocked first?"
Ferrus let out a growl of annoyance, while Mortarion replied flatly:
"Suit yourself."
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 351: The Onlooker Sees More Clearly Than the Player[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed