Chapter 115: The Emperor Disciplines His Son

Cloias Rengal watched Mortarion charge toward him, his body flickering with the radiance of psychic energy. He channeled his powers to accelerate, lunging toward the Primarch. Raising his plasma pistol, he fired a shot point-blank at Mortarion’s head.

Mortarion didn't even flinch, taking the plasma blast square in the face. He reached Cloias, raised his scythe, and swung it down. However, Cloias’s psychically enhanced reflexes were swift. He dodged the massive blade and put two more shots into Mortarion’s head. While they inflicted little damage, they were more than enough to draw the daemon primarch’s ire.

Cloias continued to evade Mortarion’s onslaught, though it was a desperate struggle for a psyker to face a daemon primarch. Mortarion released a cloud of green mist that instantly expanded, enveloping Cloias. The psyker’s coordination failed him; he tripped over his own feet and collapsed to the ground.

Mortarion stepped toward him, hoisted him up, and unleashed a myriad of viruses into his body. Cloias’s tissues and organs began to dissolve under the assault of the disease. His skin peeled away, his bones liquefied, and his bodily tissues sloughed off.

Yet, Cloias showed no signs of agony. He merely gritted his teeth and suddenly flashed a grin at Mortarion.

"Hey, I’d say, no need to be such a hothead, look at you..."

Cloias spoke to Mortarion, but before he could finish, his jaw fell from his face. Still, he displayed no pain, staring intently at Mortarion with eyes full of mirth. His smile left Mortarion utterly bewildered.

*Clink!*

Cloias’s arm, ravaged by corrosion, fell to the ground. As it hit, a crisp metallic sound rang out, followed by a thin wire trailing from the severed limb, connected to several pull-rings.

"Melta bombs? When did he strap those to himself?"

Mortarion looked down at Cloias’s body, which was indeed wrapped in a ring of melta charges. Mortarion quickly hurled the dying man away. But despite his reaction, the timer on the charges had already run out. A second after Cloias was thrown, the blinding light of the melta explosion erupted directly in Mortarion’s face.

"You’re still too young to be playing games with me."

The moment before losing consciousness, Cloias thought to himself as he watched the light of the explosion. He recalled his life—a process he went through every time he died, like a flicker of memories at the end of a long road.

He had served in the military during the "Human Federation" era—specifically, during the rebellion of the Iron Men. He had been very young then, at least by the standards of a Perpetual, only five hundred years old. He had witnessed the pinnacle of humanity, an era where science outweighed faith.

When the Iron Men rebelled, he had joined the Federation forces without hesitation, taking up arms to face the machines.

He had seen his comrades slaughtered by the varied weapons of the Iron Men. Often, after a battle, he was the only survivor of an entire combat unit. He had witnessed the human fleet clash with the machines, a blood-and-fire engagement in the void that left him drifting in space for months.

Because of his Perpetual nature and psychic abilities, he had once fancied himself the "protagonist" of some 3K-era digital fiction. When the rebellion broke out, he thought his moment had come. But that notion vanished the second he stepped onto the battlefield. He watched his comrades perish one by one; he saw fleets reduced to cosmic dust.

He wanted to change it all, but among the vast, indifferent stars, the power of one human was insignificant. He could change nothing. In the ages that followed, he was merely a small boat in the ocean of fate, drifting with the tides.

After the rebellion ended, he traveled to Terra. The years of confusion and self-denial drove him to seek out the birthplace of his species. He worked as a laborer, helping in the reconstruction of the planet.

He had believed that after the Iron Men, humanity would face no more crises. But as he stood looking at a rebuilt Terra, feeling pride in the resurgence of his kind, the Warp storms arrived. All worlds lost contact with the Federation, and humanity plunged into a dark age. He watched Terra devolve into barbarism, helpless to intervene.

He remained despondent for a long time, until one day, he heard that a man calling himself the Emperor was leading an army to unify Terra. He went to see the Emperor, and upon learning of the great ideal to revive humanity, he vowed to serve. He joined the ranks to contribute to the Emperor’s grand design, a wish the Emperor granted.

Throughout the Unification Wars, he served in the Emperor’s armies. His Perpetual constitution and psychic gifts made him an exemplary soldier. He had died countless times on the battlefields of Terra for that noble dream, yet every time, he rose again to charge the enemy lines for the cause he held dear.

After the Unification, when the Emperor purged the Thunder Warriors, he left the service. He was disappointed by the Emperor’s decision to slay his loyal servants, though he understood the necessity.

The mental instability of the Thunder Warriors was no secret to him. In one battle, a rogue Thunder Warrior had gone insane and charged his position; he had been forced to kill the man with his psychic powers.

Knowing the reason didn't make the end any easier. He felt this was no way for a Thunder Warrior to die—they deserved to perish on the field of honor, not at the hands of their own kin.

Uwoma Kandawire, Ushotan, and Amar Astarte had once approached him, hoping to recruit him into their plot to seek justice for the Thunder Warriors. Despite his disappointment, he did not join them.

He had seen the Custodians fight; he knew their plan was doomed. He also knew the Emperor was already aware of their schemes—just as the Emperor had known his name the first time they met. The Emperor knew everything.

The memory faded. This time, Cloias Rengal’s resurrection was swift. He pulled himself from his reverie, retrieved new weapons from his implants, and launched an attack on the melta-scorched Mortarion.

***

"Kill me! Hurry! Use that sword and end me!"

Wang Ming looked at the monster before him, who was speaking Chinese and offering no resistance. He guessed the creature’s identity: a Nurgle-corrupted transmigrator.

"Why?" Wang Ming asked, curious as he looked at his fellow countryman-turned-monster. Wasn't it better to be alive?

"I don't want to live in this damned monstrous form! That disgusting creature Nurgle blessed me—kill me! Quickly! For the sake of our shared Earth, I beg you!" Li Yongkang roared at Wang Ming. He looked at the flaming greatsword in Wang Ming’s hand, his urgency reaching a breaking point. He only wanted to end his suffering.

"You... alright." Wang Ming slowly raised his golden greatsword. Golden flames danced upon the blade, as if a legion of human warriors were swinging their blades against Chaos itself.

"Thank you..." Li Yongkang looked at Wang Ming and opened his body, ready to embrace his release.

Just as Wang Ming was about to bring the sword down, a figure flew toward his face. Wang Ming’s reflexes were lightning fast, and he caught the person.

He looked at the figure in his arms: it was Cloias Rengal. He was in a terrible state. His Perpetual nature was failing to mend his body, which was covered in festering sores and oozing ichor.

"Wang... Ming... I couldn't... stop him. He... injected me with something... I can't... recover. This is awful... Is this what real death feels like? I think I see... the Emperor beckoning to me?" Cloias whispered, his voice fading. His violet eyes were losing their luster, and every word was punctuated by the coughing up of dissolved internal organs.

After Cloias had resurrected twice, Mortarion realized the "mortal" was a Perpetual. He had grabbed Cloias and injected him with a virus Nurgle had prepared for Wang Ming.

Seeing Cloias on the brink of death, Wang Ming hurriedly pulled a panacea from the system store and shoved it into his mouth. He didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a shot. After administering the medicine, Wang Ming handed the dying Cloias to Edwei, telling her to get him off the battlefield.

"Let’s deal with Mortarion first, then I’ll grant you your release." Wang Ming turned to Li Yongkang, who nodded his grotesque head.

Li Yongkang charged at Mortarion, his tentacles lashing out to bind the Primarch’s limbs, intending to hold him still for Wang Ming.

As Wang Ming prepared to join the fray, the voice of the Emperor suddenly echoed in his mind.

"Wang Ming, a request. Lend me your body for five minutes."

"What the hell? It’s my body, how do I lend it to you?" Wang Ming felt an ominous premonition. He knew the Emperor was about to cause trouble.

"Just let me take control. Five minutes. I have some father-son issues to resolve."

"Can I refuse?" Wang Ming asked, though he already knew the answer.

"No. Five minutes, not a second more."

After the Emperor spoke, Wang Ming slowly lost consciousness.

"I knew it, Emperor, you..." Wang Ming’s final thought drifted away.

"Rest assured, I won't do anything reckless," the Emperor promised.

"Yeah, right," Wang Ming’s consciousness finally faded into sleep.

"Wang Ming" opened his eyes, golden light swirling within them. He looked at Mortarion and smiled.

"Now, let me teach a disobedient son a lesson. It feels good to have a physical form again, even if only for five minutes."

Golden flames engulfed "Wang Ming" as he strode toward Mortarion, who was currently entangled with Li Yongkang. Mortarion noticed him, swung his scythe to sever Li Yongkang’s tentacles, and then lashed out at "Wang Ming."

"Wang Ming" smiled, catching the massive blade with one hand with effortless ease. Golden flames erupted along the scythe, consuming the "Silence" blade and burning away its very structure.

Mortarion stared in shock; he seemed to see the shadow of his father in this brother.

"Mortarion, you really are disobedient."

"What?" Mortarion was baffled.

"Wang Ming" raised his hand and slapped Mortarion hard across his breathing mask, snapping several of the respirator tubes. Mortarion was stunned, utterly bewildered by the situation.

"Why are you hanging out with Horus? Just because I stole a kill from you? Is it really worth this? And that First Captain of yours—why do you trust him? You’re being sold out and you’re still counting the coins for him!"

"Father?" Mortarion asked tentatively.

"Recognized me?" "Wang Ming" looked at the terrified Mortarion and delivered another slap. Mortarion tried to resist with all his might, but his efforts were futile against "Wang Ming."

Slap after slap rained down on Mortarion’s face, nearly knocking his mask off entirely.

"You... if I hadn't lost my weapon, you wouldn't be able to..." Mortarion threw his fists, but "Wang Ming" parried every strike with superior speed, crushing his attacks before they could land.

Just as Mortarion tried to draw "Lantern," "Wang Ming" swatted it out of his hand.

Li Yongkang watched the scene, feeling like he was witnessing a father beating his son. It was bizarre, to say the least.