Chapter 286: Awakening, and Greatly Shocked
Pain.
A vague unease. Darkness. Pain.
A faint rustling sound. In his hazy consciousness, Hades realized it was the sound of pages turning—the same kind of paper Saejanus had once used.
He opened his eyes.
The dim, familiar ceiling stared back at him. The sharp stench of disinfectant hung in the air, mixed with the faint, sour odor unique to medical gel.
…Why was he here again?
Hades parted his lips, letting out a pained, resigned groan.
"Water."
The instant the word left his mouth, he realized his mistake. He had spoken in Barbarus-tongue out of habit, but the apothecaries tending to him were usually Terran-born.
Yet, a cup of water drifted into view above him. Hades accepted it and murmured thanks.
Propping himself up with the cup in hand, he took a sip. The cool liquid slid down his throat, easing him a little—
—only for him to catch sight of Mortarion swaddled like a mummy in bandages, Vorx with a splint holding his shattered leg, and Garro missing an arm entirely.
And as they noticed Hades had awakened, the three of them looked up from their documents and fixed their eyes on him.
…Huh?
Hades froze. For a brief moment his mind completely blanked. Then, memories trickled back—how before collapsing he had been ready to rip Konrad Curze apart with his bare hands, and had exchanged a few words with Mortarion…
…He could only hope things were still under control.
With trembling fingers, Hades pointed at Mortarion—wrapped like a mummy. Even Apothecaries could only do so much for a Primarch's external wounds.
"Curze did that?"
The joy in Mortarion's eyes instantly drained away. Yet, surprisingly, the Lord of Death did not lash out. He only nodded in silence.
Hades shifted his gaze toward Vorx and Garro. He pointed at Vorx, who was in the next bed over.
"Konrad Curze… did he do that?"
They really went raiding another Legion?
Faced with Hades' shock, Vorx turned his eyes away, clearly guilty.
"…No."
"Then… a Night Lord? Who?"
Vorx wasn't just crippled in the leg—his entire body was covered in wounds, some cut nearly to the bone. Hades knew well the man's strength. Could there really be someone hidden among the Night Lords this fierce?
Or worse… did the Luna Wolves intervene?!
Vorx muttered something under his breath.
Hades didn't catch it.
"What was that, Vorx? Who did this?"
"…Senior Garro."
Hades.exe has stopped responding.
He slowly turned his dazed eyes toward Garro. But before Hades could even ask, Garro spoke first:
"Vorx did this."
For a moment, Garro almost laughed. He had never once seen Hades make that kind of face. Watching him silently set aside the Primarch's cup, then lie back down as though surrendering to death—it was oddly entertaining.
At last, Hades closed his eyes with the serenity of a man at peace, as though he had passed away on the spot.
What amused Garro even more was that seeing Hades react like this left both Mortarion and Vorx unusually quiet.
Of course, Garro would never dare call it "guilt," not for a Primarch.
As the most relaxed one in the entire medical room, he savored the strange sight of the others brooding. The wound beneath his ribs, torn open by Vorx's scythe, still throbbed, but it didn't stop him from feeling a certain dark amusement.
Finally, Hades reopened his eyes, despair written across his face. The commander turned his head with an ashen expression—
—and still saw before him: Mortarion the mummy, Vorx the cripple, and Garro the one-armed.
Hades shot upright from his bed in a panic—only to hiss through clenched teeth as the sudden movement made every wound scream in protest.
"Alright then—"
Hades asked with a face full of despair,
"What happened? Tell me. I can handle it."
Garro noticed Mortarion visibly relaxed at those words, as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Thank the fates… I thought you'd lost your mind, Hades."
The Primarch muttered under his breath, casually patting Hades with the stack of papers in his hand, gesturing for him to lie back down.
"First, focus on recovering. It's already been taken care of."
But then Mortarion saw the dreamy, almost vacant look in Hades' eyes as he stared at him. Hades couldn't wrap his head around it. If things were resolved… then why were Garro and Vorx lying in the medical room with him?
What kind of insane series of events had led to this scene before his eyes?
Hades finally gave up thinking about it for the moment. His head throbbed too much, and he needed more information anyway…
So instead, he asked the question that mattered most to him. He fixed Mortarion with a serious gaze.
"…Did you win?"
And to his growing horror, he watched Mortarion break into what could only be described as the brightest—and most unnerving—smile imaginable.
"I won," the Primarch said, calm and smug.
"GOOD!!!"
The shout thundered through the medical room. Out in the hallway, Apothecary Io tilted his head at the explosive cheer, unsure of what to make of it. After a moment of hesitation, he decided it was safest to go wake his mentor, Apothecary Leo.
It sounded like Lord Hades was awake—and Io did not trust himself to handle a Primarch, a Legion Commander, and two company captains all at once.
Especially not the Primarch.
Meanwhile, back in the medical room, things had already spiraled into chaos. Hades was laughing loudly, slapping palms with an equally boisterous Mortarion, and the two of them were tossing Barbarus-tongue curses at the Night Lords—leaving Vorx and Garro staring at them in stunned silence.
Hades had no idea why it felt so good to laugh. Even though every chuckle tugged painfully at the wound in his chest, he couldn't stop himself.
Sure, he'd have to face the endless fallout from Mortarion's little stunt sooner or later… but for now, he wanted to savor the fact that his friend had beaten Konrad Curze into the dirt.
Honestly, when it came to settling scores and returning every insult tenfold, Mortarion was the pettiest man Hades had ever met.
Back on Barbarus, the Lord of Death had already mastered the art of mockery all on his own. And if some overlord ever managed to score even a temporary victory over the Death Guard, Mortarion would always make sure the final kill was his.
Hades could only imagine how brutal this fight must have been.
The two of them laughed themselves breathless for a while, until Hades finally calmed down, though the corners of his mouth still twitched upward no matter how hard he tried.
"Mortarion, tell me straight. What's the situation right now? We're not about to face retaliation from the Night Lords, are we? And the Luna Wolves—did we give them some kind of explanation?"
Mortarion waved dismissively.
"All handled. Nothing you need to worry about."
Hades arched a brow.
"…Why don't I believe that?"
The Primarch puffed out his chest, jabbing a finger toward Vorx and Garro behind him.
"If you don't believe me, you can ask them."
That was the worst thing he could have said. Vorx instantly broke into a cold sweat. But clearly, both Mortarion and Hades had no issue throwing that kind of line around.
Hades' gaze shifted toward him. Vorx swallowed hard, preparing to answer—
—only for Hades' eyes to slide right past him.
"Garro. There aren't any emergencies in the Legion right now, are there?"
"None," Garro replied without hesitation.
Vorx felt like he'd just taken another scythe-blow to the leg. Why… why did Commander Hades always trust Garro more than him?! He was Barbarus-born! Didn't that mean anything?! Sure, he understood the political logic—something about winning over the Terrans and whatnot—but still!
"Anyway," Hades said, finally turning his attention back to him, "why the hell did you two start fighting in the first place?"
Vorx's train of thought derailed instantly.
Vorx felt a pang of guilt gnawing at him… though what he had done had been the right choice. The results proved as much. And yet, he still felt guilty—unreasonably so.
He was loyal to Lord Mortarion. To follow the Primarch's will was only natural. That was the right path. He knew it.
So why did he still feel guilty?
…Alright. He knew exactly why Hades trusted Garro more.
But knowing didn't make it any easier to swallow. Vorx clenched his fists. He couldn't accept it.
Still, if he had to choose again, he would. He would always choose Mortarion without hesitation. Without the Primarch, there would be no him. That truth was carved into his very bones.
Perhaps his silence dragged on too long, because Garro's calm, steady voice cut through the tension.
"Nothing much. After you collapsed, our opinions didn't align. I exchanged a few heated words with Vorx. He cares about you, Hades—his emotions got the better of him. Things escalated… and we ended up fighting."
Vorx jumped to echo him, latching onto the explanation.
"Yes. I… I was too angry. I misinterpreted Senior Garro's advice, and that's why the conflict broke out."
Hades blinked at them, suspicion clouding his face.
Conflict? Since when did 'a few words' leave one man with a broken leg and another missing an arm?
No, this wasn't just some quarrel—they must have gone at each other with killing intent.
And yet, faced with their just-recovered commander, the three of them seemed to have silently agreed on one thing: the details would stay buried.
Everyone knew Hades hated nothing more than seeing division within the Legion.
For once, they spoke with one voice. The atmosphere was strangely… harmonious.
So Hades made the choice to feign ignorance.
If Garro said it was nothing, then that was enough for now. Whatever ugliness lay beneath had already passed.
—Though, deep down, Hades still burned with curiosity. No matter how he tried to picture it, he couldn't imagine the two of them clashing this fiercely. Unless… Mortarion had tried something too extreme, and Garro had raised his hand in protest?
Looking at their faces, he was fairly certain he was close to the truth. Which only meant it was all the harder to press the matter.
His eyes drifted to Vorx, who bore the heavier wounds by far.
Garro must have hit him hard.
"Garro… maybe next time, don't go quite so far," Hades sighed.
He couldn't help staring at Garro's twitching smile—and at Vorx, who looked like a man ready to reset his entire life.
Since when had Garro started acting like this?
Mortarion gave a pointed cough.
Hades ignored it. He pressed on instead:
"Garro. Vorx. Are you two seriously processing paperwork in here?"
"Yes," Garro replied evenly. "The Primarch insisted on working while being treated."
Hades waved his hand.
"Leave the rest to me. Go back and get some proper rest."
They both understood what that meant. After saluting, they left without protest. The Apothecaries waiting outside swept them up immediately for further treatment, bandages rustling as the doors closed.
As their footsteps faded away, Hades let out a chuckle, his eyes sparkling as he turned back toward Mortarion.
"Come on, come on—Mortarion! Tell me how you fought him. I want every detail!"
A dry chuckle rumbled out of the Primarch. Tossing his stack of files aside without hesitation, the Lord of Death began recounting his triumph with rare animation—painting vivid pictures with words, a talent he seldom used in life.
And Hades listened, eyes wide with wonder, hanging on every word.
Mortarion told him how he had penned the letter to the Night Haunter, crafting every line with careful pressure and calculated insult, forcing him into an "internal duel" that would satisfy his fury.
He told him how he had dissected Konrad Curze's mind, predicting his reactions, anticipating his paranoia. And with smug satisfaction, he credited Horus: if not for that heated argument with the Lupercal, Mortarion would never have gained such insight into Curze's ideals.
Hades could only click his tongue in amazement.
Relying on the fragments of visions he had once glimpsed, along with Konrad Curze's sudden, frenzied outburst, Mortarion was able to deduce that the Night Haunter had been under no small degree of psychic prophecy's influence.
Mortarion recounted to Hades how he had grabbed hold of Curze, how he crushed that White Round right in front of his face, and how he swung his scythe with deliberate cruelty, savoring the torment he inflicted.
And there were words as well. Mortarion wielded language like a weapon, driving verbal barbs into Curze's mind. He even selected several lines he felt were particularly sharp—some of them rhymed, no less—and shared them with Hades.
At first, Hades listened with genuine fascination. But gradually, a sense of unease gnawed at him… Wait. A one-on-one duel? What? He didn't even bother to seek Horus's support?
Mortarion had intentionally skipped over the part where he last reached out to Horus. He knew all too well that Hades would immediately discern what his true intent had been if he heard those words.
Even though Mortarion had already described much of what he had done, he believed… that particular piece of the tale didn't need to be heard.
Hades's fascination turned into dread.
Yes, Mortarion had fought in countless battles before, but a clash with Curze was anything but simple. One wrong step, one single mistake, and Mortarion could have—
—-Hades stared at the Primarch before him, smiling as he reminisced, and in that moment it struck him: Mortarion was truly angry at that moment.
No—furious.
Hades swallowed hard. He also realized that, for now at least, the Night Lords posed no real threat. The two individuals within their Legion capable of leading a large-scale strike were most likely lying in bloody heaps at this very moment.
At last, Mortarion finished his tale. The Lord of Death, still unsated, decided it was time to show Hades the recording.
But before that—
"How was it?"
Hades gave a stiff nod.
"…It's far beyond what I expected… quite the spectacle."
After a pause, he added,
"More than that, actually, it's brilliant."
Mortarion's methods left him speechless. He studied the Lord of Death's expression carefully, then asked, almost cautiously:
"…So, you meant to let Sevatar live?"
"No," Mortarion replied flatly.
"I don't even know if that bat-whelp survived."
Hades's eyes widened.
"You didn't give him the antidote?"
"I did. But only because he pulled you back from the brink."
The realization struck Hades like a blade to the chest.
"Wait… then what you gave Curze—it was a White Round, wasn't it?"
"No," Mortarion shrugged dismissively as he activated the projector.
"It's just a regular frag."
Hades's pupils dilated.
"…Why?"
"The White Rounds are nearly gone. I need to conserve the rest—for the road back."
Satisfied as the projector came to life, Mortarion settled in, eager to once again savor his "brother's" suffering.
Hades turned his head slowly toward the projection… and there it was: that tortured, bloodied, half-destroyed face.
A part of him was glad—Curze deserved punishment. But the other part… what was wrong with Mortarion?
Once again, Mortarion shattered Hades's perception of who he truly was.
Mortarion was terrifying.
Utterly terrifying.
The recording ended with a final chorus of agonized screams. Mortarion crossed his arms, replaying the scene in his mind, even wondering if it deserved another viewing.
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