Chapter 353: Angron, Hades, Mortarion
Human beings are creatures with subjective initiative.
And so, Hades chose to spend the voyage to Nikaea aboard the World Eaters' Conqueror rather than the Cocytus. Hades claimed he was "allergic to that kind of interior décor."
To further exercise his subjective initiative, Hades brought the Macragge wool blanket from his cabin on the Cocytus and placed it in his quarters on the Conqueror.
Angron had once asked him what it was. Hades, very honestly, told the Lord of the Red Sands that it was from the homeworld of his brother, Roboute Guilliman. Angron expressed sincere confusion at the explanation.
"Brother, aren't you… aren't you one of the Sisters of Silence?"
Hades blinked. Why did it feel like the edges of this blanket were pilling? He didn't remember mistreating it…
"The Sisters aren't a full Legion, Angron. Uh… to be honest, I'm from the Fourteenth Legion—the Death Guard."
Angron suddenly understood.
"Ah, so you're the Primarch of the Death Guard?"
Hades immediately choked and started coughing violently.
"No! No, I'm not! I mean I'm a commander of the Death Guard—and in terms of bloodline…"
He paused, as if trying to work through something complicated, some kind of genealogical chaos even the Omnissiah's brain might not comprehend.
"Hmm… anyway, you and I probably don't count as brothers. I mean in the blood-related sense."
Angron first burst out laughing and slapped Hades on the shoulder, telling him that the bonds formed on the battlefield were far more reliable than blood. Then he paused, suddenly cautious.
"Brother, so… does the Fourteenth Legion have another Primarch?"
Hades nodded vigorously.
"Mortarion, the Lord of Death. When we get to Nikaea, I think you'll meet him. He's very well-studied in pharmacology and anti-psyker methods…"
Hades halted for a moment, then added thoughtfully:
"Although every time I see Mortarion he's either brewing poison or on his way to brew poison, he should have some expertise in healing and recovery. We'll see if he can take a look at you."
He glanced at the nails embedded in Angron's head. They had become something like decorative dreadlocks, the bases encrusted with layers of dried blood—evidence of the Primarch's growing brain trying to push the nails out.
For once, Angron didn't reply immediately.
Hades didn't realize he had thoroughly confused him, and continued quickly laying out his plan:
"I'll introduce you to Mortarion when the time comes. He's a good guy, just not great at social interaction. But don't worry—he won't poison you."
He might draw some of your blood, though, Hades muttered internally.
"Wait, brother, so…"
Angron said hesitantly,
"You're the commander of the Fourteenth Legion, you're also the Head of the Silent Sisterhood—yet you hang a Thirteenth Legion blanket in your quarters?!"
Hades blinked innocently.
"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"
Angron thought deeply in that instant.
Finally, he decided to attribute the incomprehensible behavior to having been away from the heart of the Imperium for far too long. Surely this was something common—something he simply didn't know.
Angron grinned.
"Then I'll send you something from the World Eaters later. Whatever you want, Hades—take your pick."
Hades pondered. He couldn't very well hang two axes on the wall of his quarters… though, actually, that didn't sound too bad.
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Thanks, Angron. I'll just swipe two axes from your armory later."
A week later, Hades received a gladiatorial-arena-themed wool tapestry—slightly larger, heavier, and far more crudely stitched than the Macragge blanket.
Along with two axes.
Hades held up the blanket, staring speechlessly at the wild, bloody gladiator-pit scene sewn onto it. It looked like it had been stitched together in a rush.
He wondered which unlucky soul the Lord of the Red Sands had dragged over to do this kind of work.
. . .
"Enough! Enough already! You've said this a dozen times."
Angron slapped Hades' pauldron with one massive hand while digging at his ear with the other, impatient.
"Instead of worrying about my brothers and their relationships, why don't you learn a few more axe moves from Khârn?"
Hades yelped:
"You have to listen, Angron! You're going to the Nikaea Council!"
Angron frowned.
"It's just a meeting. It's not a battle. Why are you treating it like it's important?"
Hades squinted at him.
"Sometimes, a single sentence at a high-level decision-makers' meeting can start entire wars, Angron. You need to be a competent decision-maker—not just a general."
Angron shrugged indifferently.
"I can't fight right now anyway. I can't even call myself a general."
Hades burst out laughing. He began waving axes wildly in front of Angron in blatant mockery.
"You haven't fought in a while—your hands are itching, right? Right?"
One millisecond before Angron's expression shifted toward murderous anger, Hades decisively dropped the axe and raised his hands in surrender, speaking rapidly:
"Okay, fine! Angron, you still need to listen! Here's the thing: the Nikaea Council is basically a multiplayer Primarch summit hosted by the Emperor. You'll be attending as the Primarch of the World Eaters, giving your own unique views on whether the Librarius should be dissolved, while also uncovering the chaotic interpersonal drama of your fellow Primarchs."
"Where are you learning these weird phrases from?!"
Angron shouted, snatching up an axe and tossing it at Hades to shut him up.
"Didn't you say Mortarion and the Death Guard aren't good at talking?! Why do you talk so much?!"
Hades took a deep breath.
"That's exactly why I'm doing all the talking—so they don't have to! I'm just a miserable messenger!"
"Then you're our messenger now, brother!"
Hades suddenly stopped and looked at Angron with a strangely serious expression. Angron stared back, startled.
"What's wrong, brother?"
"Well," Hades said sincerely, "I actually have no idea what I'm supposed to do at Nikaea. I mean, I can at least deduce that the Legions are there to present their views and vote, but I have zero clue why I personally need to be there."
"The Emperor… my father didn't tell you what you were supposed to do?"
Angron paused.
"Hades, aren't you the Head of the Silent Sisterhood? If they're discussing psychic issues, of course there's a place for you."
"I… I'm not sure if the Emperor actually wants me to show up."
Hades rubbed his nose nervously.
"Angron, not everyone accepts my existence as gracefully as you do."
Angron once again looked deeply confused.
. . .
Vorx stood stiffly behind his Primarch, Mortarion.
The Lord of Death was working wearily at his alchemical bench, noxious fumes drifting into Vorx's nostrils.
"Captain… you will be the one to rendezvous with the Wolves."
Mortarion rasped.
"They are crude barbarians. I do not expect you to get along with them."
Mortarion watched the liquids drip slowly into the distillation flask.
"But they possess the evidence necessary to condemn Magnus. Vorx, we require a death sentence. Words cannot kill. We must obtain the proof."
Vorx hesitated for a moment, then asked carefully:
"My lord… what exactly have the Wolves found? Something severe enough to sentence the Thousand Sons to death?"
Mortarion set down the reagent vial he'd been swirling. He turned, looking directly at Vorx.
"A person."
"A person?"
Vorx froze for a moment. He watched Mortarion narrow his eyes in dissatisfaction before turning back around.
"The Wolf King claims he has found proof that the Thousand Sons have been toying with the fates of others to pry into the secrets of different Legions."
"But—" Mortarion paused, "—regrettably, although I very much wish Magnus and his Thousand Sons would all sink into a tar pit and die together, I do not believe the Wolf King's evidence is enough to send that liar to his death outright. Perhaps… we should consider life imprisonment."
Vorx contemplated this. He had not attended that banquet between the Death Lord and the Crimson King, but seeing Garro return from it with such a grim expression had already explained plenty.
Mortarion's opposition to Magnus was obvious and unmistakable. Vorx understood that well.
But—
"Father, what is your stance on the Librarius?"
Vorx asked cautiously. The main topic of the Nikaea Council remained the Librarius issue, yet it seemed Mortarion was unwilling to dismantle the Death Guard's Undertakers. It appeared somewhat contradictory to his opposition to Magnus.
Mortarion's calm voice sounded, "A Legion may keep their Librarians. They are the best early-warning sentinels against the Warp. But my brother Magnus has gone far too astray. He must be punished."
Vorx hesitated.
"Then what will you say at the Council, my lord?"
"Abolish the Librarius."
Mortarion said without changing expression.
"Vorx, the Death Guard has no Librarians. If someone asks about it, you say this: after one Death Guard Librarian lost control of his powers, the Death Guard abolished all Librarians."
Vorx fell silent, and the Death Lord kindly explained further to his dutiful company commander:
"Vorx, the Space Wolves have no Librarius either."
"But I believe that when you link up with them, you will discover something called Rune Priests—quite a few of them, I suspect."
Mortarion bottled the reagent, satisfied as he inspected the small vial. Then he turned, crouched down, and fastened the vial at Vorx's waist.
"Hold on to it," Mortarion said.
"It's a specially brewed agent made from the body of one of the Custodians near Hades—along with one tailored for the Sisters of Silence. Nikaea is the Emperor's domain; you will encounter many Custodians there."
Then Mortarion looked up, eyes bright beneath his hood.
"Listen carefully, Vorx. You will appear behind the scenes where no one else can reach—as the Death Guard's witness to the Thousand Sons' crimes. If the Wolf King produces his evidence, let him present it to his heart's content. But I do not believe Magnus will sit still."
"If Magnus acts, remember this, Vorx: your objective is not to stop him. Your objective is to escalate the matter—drag it to the forefront, let everyone see the sorcerer trying to cover up his crimes. Only in chaos will we gain the solid proof needed to condemn him."
Mortarion spoke lowly. He patted Vorx's shoulder and sighed.
"Go without worry. Do not concern yourself with the Wolves. A brief cooperation does not mean they are truly our allies."
Mortarion stood, turned back to his alchemical table, and resumed cleaning.
"Vorx, remember to take more white rounds and black rounds from the armory."
Hearing Vorx salute and depart, Mortarion reflected. Seventeen years had passed. At this Nikaea Council on the topic of psychic power… would he see Hades again?
But regardless, he would face Magnus earnestly, forcing that grotesque sorcerer to tear off his mask. It was his most heartfelt curse upon all psykers.
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