Chapter 200: Multi-Unit, Idle, Tentacles
Horus swore that—even during those long years before the Imperium ever found him—he had never witnessed a scene so absurdly surreal, yet undeniably real.
The streets were jam-packed with bloody tentacles. Corpses—human and Xenos alike—were stacked in layers upon layers. A suffocating stench of rot filled the air. Viscous, muddied blood flowed across the ground, mixing with chunks of meat and stray eyeballs. If one wanted to move forward... they had to step on the dead.
The sky was dark. The world around them soaked in gore.
But this—this wasn't even the most ridiculous part to Horus.
The Primarch had seen worse carnage. He had witnessed battlefields so bloodied and full of corpses that friend and foe lay indistinguishable in death.
No—what truly made this moment insane was what he was seeing now.
Horus looked up at his brother—Mortarion.
And he had no idea what to say.
Words suddenly felt meaningless.
Mortarion... was digging.
He was on top of a hill-sized mound of flesh and corpses, personally tearing into it. Death Guard warriors helped him, of course—but Mortarion, a Primarch, could've easily left the task to them.
Apparently, he found their pace too slow.
So now, Mortarion had started digging with his own hands.
Horus remembered it vividly—just moments ago, Mortarion had strode with purpose into the mountain of corpses. Slime and tentacle gore slid down his armor, but not once did he hesitate.
"Apologies. Give me a moment."
That's what he had said to the Lupercal before beginning his excavation.
Digging in a heap of unstable, collapsing flesh-tentacles was clearly not a smart idea. But Mortarion didn't stop. Slippery, slimy strands were tossed everywhere as the Death Guard made space. Horus had no idea how deep they'd gone—but it was clear they wouldn't stop until they found what they were looking for.
Finally, they hit something.
Mortarion crouched down—utterly undignified—and shoved most of his body, along with his massive scythe Silence, deep into the hole.
The Lupercal was already overwhelmed, but this—this was beyond anything Horus had ever imagined.
He had thought he was past the point of being shocked.
He was wrong.
Because when Mortarion finally pulled out what he had found, Horus discovered that his definition of "shocking" had not been nearly broad enough.
Mortarion carefully pulled his scythe back up—something very heavy was hanging off the end. The Primarch had to adjust his stance several times just to avoid slipping on the slick gore pile.
Then, finally—he hoisted up…
A tangled mass of tentacles?
With a wet smack, Mortarion slammed the mass to the ground.
The Death Guard swarmed in, peeling back layers of flesh—until a hint of white armor was visible.
A hand.
Mortarion grabbed that hand and, like he was shaking off some stubborn barnacles, yanked upward.
What emerged was a battered and barely breathing Hades, completely cocooned in gore.
Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of it all—but Horus found himself unable to process the moment. The Lupercal tried to reason through what he'd just seen—but no matter how he thought about it, it made zero logical sense.
And yet Mortarion moved fluidly, methodically. Not the least bit embarrassed.
In the end, Horus gave up.
He watched silently, saying nothing.
Mortarion gently laid Hades flat on the ground. The Primarch crouched again and began inspecting the warrior's condition.
The Death Guard's armor was cracked from the immense pressure, and some fluids from the tentacles had clearly seeped inside.
Mortarion accessed the suit's internal systems.
Good—all limbs intact, though Hades' mental state seemed... hazy. Likely concussed.
Mortarion carefully read through the vitals displayed on Hades' armor.
Good—no emergency intervention needed. He was merely paralyzed by the toxins secreted by the tentacles.
Mortarion was confident that even if they hadn't come to rescue him, Hades would have eventually broken down the toxins and climbed out on his own.
He had thought Hades was dying.
That thought had lingered in Mortarion's mind for far too long earlier—and it had scared him.
Thankfully, it was a false alarm.
Expressionless, Mortarion quietly let out a breath of relief. Then, with complete nonchalance, he wiped his hands—stained with ooze from digging—on one of the cleaner parts of Hades' armor.
He had to talk to Horus in a moment, and he couldn't do that with dirty hands.
Of course, that motion also carried some very Mortarion-style pettiness.
It was his way of mocking Hades for sending out a flood of distress signals, making him abandon all decorum in front of Horus just to dig him out.
"He's fine. Take him back."
Mortarion gave the order to the Death Guard. Then, silently picking up his scythe, he walked over to Horus—who was now staring at him in complete shock.
Mortarion figured Horus should speak first.
Let him ask something—Mortarion would answer.
So he stood, completely unapologetic, right in front of Horus.
Three seconds passed.
Horus said nothing.
So Mortarion had to speak up instead.
"...It's exactly what you saw."
He said it flatly, without preamble.
Horus turned his head stiffly to look at him.
Exactly what he saw?
Did Mortarion mean the colossal Xenos corpse, or the insane scene of him personally digging out a subordinate from a mountain of gore?
Horus swallowed hard.
He was the Master of Diplomacy among the Primarchs.
He could reconcile the most heated sibling feuds, read between the lines of political maneuvering, and win battles with near-effortless precision.
He was the most socially adept among them.
He could handle anything.
But not this.
Not today.
For the first time, Horus realized how hard it could be to just... say words.
Especially with Mortarion looking at him like that—with an expression that screamed "I told you so."
Eventually, Horus managed to squeeze out the dumbest possible question:
"That was... your Death Guard Hades? The Techmarine?"
Mortarion nodded.
"...He killed the Xenos leader? Alone?"
Mortarion took a deep breath. A wheezing sound hissed from his respirator.
"Technically, he survived because of the Death Guard's orbital bombardment support."
Even with orbital support, wasn't that still utterly insane?
As if sensing Horus' unspoken doubts, Mortarion added:
"Hades is a Pariah, you know that, brother."
"We've both seen the Sisters of Silence. My Death Guard has a similar trait to them."
"He's immune to most psychic attacks. That's probably how he survived."
Horus glanced again at the grotesque Xenos corpse in the distance.
Mortarion very deliberately avoided saying that Hades killed the Xenos overlord on his own.
Could an individual really do something like that?
Or was this... some form of deliberate obfuscation?
Was Hades designed for this?
Horus didn't quite believe a single soldier could accomplish such a feat.
But what if the Death Guard had an entire unit like him...?
"So... The Sisters of Silence can be that powerful? Maybe I've underestimated them."
Mortarion shook his head.
"Hades is... stronger than them."
"He's a unique case."
"A complete outlier. Irreplicable. No one else in the Death Guard is like him."
"As for this success..."
Mortarion glanced at the massive hill of Xenos flesh.
"Even I didn't expect it. But I believe, with Hades' abilities—and a little luck—it was possible."
Mortarion understood where Horus' thoughts were going.
Horus was beginning to question too much.
Mortarion didn't want him thinking in that direction.
So he abruptly said:
"We can review the footage from his helmet post-battle."
Hades' exposure was inevitable. So it would be better to let the rest of the Death Guard's secrets remain hidden in the shadow of Hades' brilliance.
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