Chapter 165: Chapter 156: Perturabo, You Motherf...
There were hurried footsteps ringing out on the Iron Blood.
Toxic gas was spreading recklessly throughout the corridor, covering the originally gray metal hallway with a faint yellow-green layer.
The Lord of Death strode forward, his dim, ragged cloak fluttering behind him, brushing past the Iron Warriors standing along the edges of the corridor.
A hissing breath came from behind the mask, like the gasps of a dying man. Beneath the cloak, a layer of sinister white film covered the eyes of the Pale King.
The entire corridor was shrouded in a deathly oppression, the fury of the Lord of Death strangling the throats of all present. They held their breath as much as possible, terrified to make a single sound, lest they invoke calamity.
Mortarion moved in a strange gait, like a zombie shambling along.
The door at the end of the corridor was tightly shut, the adamantium hindering his entry, silently expressing its rejection of Mortarion.
The Lord of Iron had not extended an invitation to his "brother."
Even boarding this ship was only achieved by Mortarion forcibly "docking" his vessel at the pier of the Iron Blood―
Now, there was a cruiser-sized crater in the Iron Warriors' pier on the Iron Blood.
Yellow and black stripes stood erect on the door, as if mocking Mortarion's powerlessness.
"Sorry, my lord. The Legion Master has ordered that no one is to disturb him," two Iron Warriors crossed their war pikes before Mortarion at the sides of the door.
The Primarch tilted his head to one side, as if a skull had fallen off a skeletal frame.
From the shadows of the hood, that pair of eyes stared at these two pathetic souls with indiscernible emotion.
Mortarion extended his scythe Silence, easily flicking aside the pikes. With two clangs, the useless weapons fell to the ground.
Then Mortarion grabbed one of his censers in his other hand, seeming casual as he tore it from its copper chain. With the hand holding the censer, he selected a glass bottle from the array of flasks strapped to his armor.
Black solids of unspecified nature filled the entire bottle. Mortarion squeezed it strongly in his hand, crushing the bottle outright so that shards of glass and black solids squeezed through the censer's exhaust vents.
Few were aware that Mortarion was a master of pharmacology.
Mortarion's unwavering gaze shifted back to the large door.
Mortarion's mouth moved slightly beneath his rebreather mask.
Then the Primarch raised his arm and fiercely hurled the censer directly forward!
The censer cut through the air with a loud bang, smashing straight through what had seemed an impenetrable door!
Mortarion gripped his scythe and stared fixedly at the large hole blown through the door.
Through that hole, white phosphorus flames burned fiercely, toxic fumes spewing forth with a hiss.
"Bang!"
Perturabo angrily threw open the door, far more concentrated toxic fumes than those typically emitted by Mortarion's censer suddenly bursting from the room!
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
The shrill voice of the Lord of Iron exploded throughout the corridor.
Before him, Mortarion revealed a smile uglier than weeping, but since he wore a rebreather mask, Perturabo could only see Mortarion squeeze his eyes.
"So what are you doing, Perturabo?"
Mortarion rasped, the Reaper questioning:
"Is that reasonable and calculated outcome? Why do you keep clinging to a necessary death?"
Perturabo yelled, the two having already engaged in numerous arguments over communications channels beforehand. Originally silent and distracted, Mortarion suddenly erupted in fury upon learning of the casualties suffered by Ground Assault Unit 106 in their return.
"You call indiscriminate bombing on the region where the Deathshroud was an act of reason and calculation?"
Mortarion bowed his head, staring fixedly at Perturabo without blinking.
"Based on the data, there was only one Deathshroud there! And the sensors on his body showed that he was already dead!"
Perhaps the Deathshroud named "Hades" had left Perturabo with some profound and unique impressions beforehand, but what business was that of Perturabo's?
He was metal, he was steel.
And now, facing his "brother," Perturabo retorted:
"It was a corpse!"
"Don't tell me you still care about this stuff! Mortarion, it was a corpse!"
Perturabo stared back unyieldingly at Mortarion. Look, how fragile and pathetic this so-called delirious "brother" was.
Perturabo, who touted himself as iron, knew that he would never devote excessive concern over those foolish mortals like Mortarion did.
Perturabo suddenly revealed a taunting smile. He recalled Mortarion's past mockery of him, but now, he had grasped the other's weakness:
"Lord of Death, is your title meant as self-deprecation?"
"If a single casualty upsets you this much, can you really command battles?"
Hearing Perturabo's words, Mortarion was taken aback, but even greater fury surged from his soul, blazing within his gaunt, sickly body.
"I promise death."
Mortarion grit his teeth and enunciated word for word:
"But not this kind of death."
"Not this kind of death!"
Mortarion swung his scythe to chop directly at Perturabo, who had already anticipated this and raised his thunder hammer, seeking to block this heavy blow!
The grating sound of metal on metal rang out as bright sparks erupted from where the two Primarchs crossed weapons.
"Mind your behavior," Perturabo continued. He looked at Mortarion with a half-smile:
"To suddenly launch an attack in non-dueling areas, I'm sure you know what that means."
Between Legions, if intended as such, this kind of hostile act was quite "politically charged."
Mortarion ignored him, pressing down directly so that the side blade of his enormous scythe swept past Perturabo, leaving a deep gash on Perturabo's yellow and black pauldron.
Perturabo's eyes darkened, but he refused to engage in a meaningless battle with this barbarian from the rural world.
He was right. Even if his brothers came to adjudicate, he would still emerge the ultimate winner.
A thorough annihilation bombing of enemy forces without cost―
Don't tell Perturabo about defiling corpses. In war, life was the cheapest data.
In past wars, "suicide squads" or "bait squads" were more or less common occurrences.
Even if all the members of that bombing squad had stood within the bombing zone, Perturabo would only have informed them to beware while continuing the bombardment.
Perturabo stared at Mortarion. The Lord of Death now resembled a furious beast, trapped and pacing in circles.
"He's not dead," Mortarion threatened in a low voice, seemingly arguing with Perturabo or stating what he believed to be reality.
But Mortarion did halt his attack, although Perturabo noticed Mortarion's hand still shook slightly as it gripped the scythe, as if ready to scythe him at any moment.
Perturabo blinked contemptuously. Look, his supposedly delirious "brother" was so fragile and pitiful.
The self-proclaimed "Iron" Perturabo knew that he would never devote excessive concern over those foolish mortals like Mortarion.
Perturabo called up his data at the time, projecting it in the air:
"See it? Before I issued the order, this Deathshroud's life signs had already gone to zero."
A flat straight line, devoid of any fluctuations indicating life.
In that instant, Mortarion felt as if he was standing in the deepest, darkest Barbarus wasteland.
Other than himself, no one else remained.
Hades and Calas were both gone.
He alone was left, abandoned in the cold cosmos, calling a group of tyrants and kings his brothers, forced to face war and his sons' deaths.
After he was compelled to don the thorn-cloak called "Primarch," no more mortals sought to understand him.
Each Primarch was a lonely existence. Before being found, their exceptional qualities beyond humankind made it difficult for them to find soulmates or people who understood them in life.
After they were found, the so-called father promised them "brothers."
"Brothers" implied like-minded individuals, implied similar beings, implied kin.
Sanguinius and Horus, Magnus and Khan, Fulgrim and Ferrus, Guilliman and Dorn...
But clearly, not every Primarch found what they had previously lacked in these so-called "brothers." Perhaps some lucky ones had found mortal friends beforehand, perhaps Guilliman's adoptive parents, or Leman Russ's tutor Luther.
Mortarion stared at his "brother," his promised "brother" who had now destroyed Mortarion's friend.
He should not have expected anything from these "brothers." On the contrary, he should be on guard against them.
Dead, never to return, on a remote, frigid, distant little planet...
His rage was punctured, powerlessness enveloped him, immense grief and despair flooded forth.
Mortarion stood here in despair. He contemplated whether to scythe Perturabo again―all was futile, everything had become pale and ridiculous:
A brief message displayed amidst Perturabo's projected image:
[My lord, Dantioch of the Raiding Party has awoken with stable life signs. The rest remain unconscious but without mortal danger.]
Mortarion blinked. Aboard the Deathshroud's ship, those warriors who participated in the raid were still unconscious, but the Deathshroud's apothecary told Mortarion these people faced no threat to their lives.
This meant they no longer had direct witnesses to the campaign―
"Call him over."
Mortarion directly ordered. This was not a request; it was a command.
Perturabo coldly regarded Mortarion but also issued the order for Dantioch to come over. However, Perturabo did not do this out of goodwill, but rather to prove his command bore no issues.
He wanted Dantioch to stand before Mortarion and clearly articulate the objective fact of Hades' death.
As for Perturabo himself, he would block the scythe swinging down from Mortarion as a reward to Dantioch for this Trident.
But Dantioch's reply exceeded everyone's expectations.
Dantioch stood straight before the two Primarchs. Having just emerged from the medical bay, he wore only simple fatigues.
Dantioch tried his utmost to keep his face expressionless, but before him raged pale fires and spewing toxic fumes—yet the two Primarchs remained utterly indifferent, staring fixedly at Dantioch as if ready to grind him to dust for a single misspoken word.
Such a situation made it rather difficult for Dantioch not to feel perplexed.
His Legion Master, Perturabo, slowly opened his mouth as he gazed at Dantioch:
"During this operation, did you take note of a Deathshroud named 'Hades'?"
Dantioch's heart shook. Hades' words still seemed to echo by his ear:
"Yes, my lord. I noticed him."
Dantioch felt the atmosphere between the two Primarchs grow even tenser because of his words.
"Now, report to me the course of events throughout the entire campaign, the process..."
"As well as everything that Deathshroud did."
Dantioch swallowed. He organized things in his mind, but his later memories seemed blurred?
Yet Dantioch knew Perturabo was no kindly Primarch patiently awaiting his account. So he spoke, deciding to recount things while sorting through his recollections at the same time:
The stern, utterly emotionless voice echoed through the corridor.
Dantioch felt the Fourteenth Legion's Legion Master was rather impatient, but still had Dantioch continue his account:
"After analyzing and comparing, Hades then chose to attack and discussed plans with me..."
Before Dantioch could even finish speaking, an enormous burst of raspy breathing sounded from Mortarion, as if a consumptive patient was violently gasping their dying breaths for air.
Perturabo glanced at Mortarion. On the surface, Perturabo remained an unmoving figure of steel:
"Continue."
Dantioch swallowed again and kept talking.
But compared to before, Perturabo now held a shred of regret for this Deathshroud who had already perished. He was so astute that he could even grasp Perturabo's tactics—such men had grown rare.
At the same time, Perturabo reveled in Mortarion's breathing, which resembled a man on the verge of death. But in Perturabo's heart, he truly hoped that Mortarion matched his outward manifestations—nearly dead.
"Then..."
Dantioch uncharacteristically paused, a puzzled look on his face.
Perturabo's annoyed voice sounded. Clearly Dantioch was just about to describe that crucial part which would determine Perturabo's victory.
"Continue."
Dantioch hesitated. His memories were like distorted, fuzzy fragments with large swathes of white and black covering them.
Roaring, pure fuzzy black blocks...
"I I can't remember?"
Dantioch muttered softly in disbelief, but he promptly issued a standard orderly report:
"My memories are damaged, my lord."
"Other than some scenes suppressed into pure black, my memories end there."
The two Legion Masters before Dantioch were taken aback.
"What do you mean by this?"
Perturabo roared.
While Mortarion, who had nearly resigned himself to death just moments ago, now widened his eyes—that, that was symptomatic of extensive exposure to Hades' Null Field!
He...But...Why would Hades use his Null Field against allies? And where was he now?
But this opened up an absurd possibility in Mortarion's mind.
Could the Null Field have saved Hades from the Iron Warriors' bombing? But if possible...During their searches on the ground...Other than suspected remnants of Hades' helmet, why had they found nothing?
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Read_and_Chill
Read_and_Chill Just barely made it on time haha.
Sorry for the delay, I was dealing with my One Piece Fanfic translations being frozen and removed from Webnovel. Apparently someone reported it and claimed copywrite infringement haha.
Such B.S. but I move forward. I ended up publishing chapters 1-20 on my patreon for all to read for free. I think that actually puts it ahead of schedule of where I wanted it this week but I figured it could still give people time to migrate over to my patreon and read it for free if they want to.
patreon.com/GPT_And_Chill
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