What on earth... is this power?
Mortarion gripped his scythe tightly, staring coldly at the enemy before him. He could feel that with each clash, with each strike, the blessing bestowed by his benevolent father within him was being eroded. Under the immense divine power of his benevolent father, his body was steadfast and robust, fearing no attack. Even when facing his brothers, who were also genetic prototypes, they could not dream of slaying him.
However...
Mortarion shook his head forcefully, not knowing when it began, but whispers started to emerge around his ears. At first, Mortarion thought it was the sound of the fly swarm, but soon he realized that this voice did not come from the outside world, but echoed in his own mind. It was as if an invisible hand was tickling his brain with a feather, making him feel unbearably irritated, even tempting him to crack open his skull and scratch his itchy brain out.
"What's wrong? Is that all you've got, Mortarion?"