Capítulo 91: Chapter 91, Side Story 4.2: You Call Yourself Mortarion?
The darkness clung to the corridor like a malignant fungus, its breath corroding the tunnel.
A pungent fog, thick and nauseating, filled the air. The sound of a bell, which shouldn't exist on the *Endurance*, echoed through the narrow, dimly lit hallway.
Warm, damp fungi and viruses spread, growing with a soft rustling sound.
Bright beetles and fat, black-haired flies swarmed, crashing erratically against the corridor's crevices.
Every so often, a chilling scream would pierce the silence, only to be quickly swallowed by the darkness.
Muffled explosions sounded intermittently, the result of pre-placed tunnel bombs.
Mortarion tightened his grip on the scythe, Silence.
The first to arrive on the battlefield was a corroded crew member. He was either alive or already dead.
His pale green skin sagged, detaching from the reddish-yellow muscle beneath, dripping like a liquid to the floor with a splat.
His eyes, resembling plump, soft worms, protruded from their sockets. The front was clear, the back murky.
A strange tri-circular mark was branded on his forehead, a gift from the Plague Father.
Seeing the fully armed Mortarion and the Deathshroud, the crew member drooled with a grotesque gurgle.
Fluid poured from his eyes, wetting the worm-like protrusions.
The pistol, Lantern, hissed, and the scent of burning air filled the space. With a single explosive flash, the battlefield returned to silence.
But *they* had already detected them.
Mortarion's sigh-like breath sounded, either mourning the crew member's death or signaling his men to be on guard.
When the first Plague Marine arrived, the war began.
A fierce hail of bullets immediately tore apart the first wave of enemies, their flesh exploding in pus and spreading across the deck.
Down the narrow corridor leading to the main hall, countless Plague Marines surged forward, seemingly tireless and fearless.
They were just there to reach this point.
The rotting flesh of the fallen Plague Marines provided excellent cover. The enemy forces continued to advance, and the stench and fog soon enveloped the areas they occupied.
Soon, the bodies of the Plague Marines piled up at the entrance to the hall. A pale mist enveloped the area, obscuring the view.
But no Plague Marine emerged from the mist this time.
Mortarion took a deep breath.
They were waiting.
The bell tolled again.
A dim, pale light emerged from the mist, revealing a towering figure—
"Boom!"
Mortarion immediately pressed the detonator for the explosives hidden in the corridor wall!
The massive explosion severed the corridor!
This was a one-way path. Its destruction meant that enemies from the rear of the ship couldn't immediately come to aid. The bait was set!
However, as the smoke from the explosion cleared, that figure slowly emerged from the mist.
*Did you really think that would stop me?*
*Mortarion* stepped out of the mist, seven Deathshroud hovering by his side.
Mortarion's pupils contracted rapidly.
It was him.
Himself.
His bloated body, resembling a waterlogged corpse, was hidden within seemingly fragile armor.
Pus oozed from the gaps in the armor, and pallid, tumorous flesh bulged between, like mucus-filled balloons.
Toxic fumes surrounded *him*, breathing tubes inserted directly into his mouth and nose, pulsating as they melded with his flesh.
Yellowish saliva, mixed with tiny chunks of flesh, hung between *his* tangled breathing tubes, resembling a spider's web.
*His* eyes were cloudy, mist swirling within.
Moth-like wings folded behind *him*.
The pungent odor bypassed Mortarion's respirator, assaulting his very soul. Mortarion felt his stomach churn.
This was him.
This was what he would become.
Mortarion felt a momentary dizziness. Hades, sensing his discomfort, nudged him with his scythe.
Not just Mortarion, Hades felt that ever since *Mortarion* appeared, the entire Deathshroud seemed off.
A deathly silence enveloped them.
This won't do!
Hades blinked, activating the Requiem. The chainsaw roared to life, seemingly pulling some back to consciousness.
*Mortarion's* contemplation was interrupted.
He shifted his gaze from this weaker version of himself.
*Interesting,* he mused.
*Mortarion* squinted mischievously.
*I don't recall ever having such a Deathshroud.*
Just another traitor, then.
"Because I am not you."
"And I will never become you!"
Mortarion charged, scythe raised. In a battle between Primarchs, the experience of even the most seasoned Astartes was meaningless.
If *he* lost, Mortarion could slowly cleanse his ship.
If he lost, *Mortarion* would corrupt everything that remained.
*You, my weaker self, must accept the truth,* *Mortarion* taunted. *Why do you still resist?*
"This strength, I'd rather not have!" Mortarion shouted, his roar echoing through the void.
Flames erupted. Scythes danced.
The two scythe-wielding Primarchs showcased a myriad of techniques, displaying moves the Deathshroud had never seen.
*Mortarion* didn't use the gifts of the Plague Father. He wanted to conquer through sheer might.
The duel between the two Mortarions was destined to be a protracted one.
Near the dueling Primarchs, *Mortarion's* *Deathshroud* also engaged in combat. These warriors, cursed by Nurgle, were far more powerful than others. Silently, they charged the veteran Deathshroud.
A single scratch from their scythes would unleash a torrent of viruses and bacteria, rendering the Deathshroud incapacitated!
Hades shot one *Deathshroud* in the head, while Blanca trapped his scythe with a blade. Hades rushed forward, using the Requiem to tear open the Deathshroud's skull.
One *Deathshroud* was incapacitated.
*Mortarion* blinked in annoyance.
An Untouchable? No, not quite.
*He* thought.
*He* dodged a bullet from Hades, who had already pulled Mortarion back, placing the Requiem on Mortarion's armor.
The plague on Mortarion receded.
*Mortarion's* eyes widened in shock.
*An Untouchable? I've never seen one who can dispel blessings.*
But he quickly smiled.
*Swear loyalty to me, my child,* he coaxed. *Even as an Untouchable, I can grant you power and glory. The might of the Deathshroud will be yours.*
Just another Karlas. Once he realized the grand scheme was lost and was promised benefits, he'd abandon his old master.
Supporting Mortarion, Hades took a deep breath.
"Sorry, *Mortarion*, but I'd rather die than become a plague pig."
Mortarion's mocking laughter, mixed with coughs,
filled the air.
Even as his body ached, his soul burned, and the screams of his progeny echoed in his ears, Hades always had a way with words. Right now, the term was apt.
He didn't mind.
"Do you see? This is why I said, I am not you."
Mortarion said with a smile.
"Plague pig."
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