The body rotted in irreversible distortion, the pale skin festering and gradually becoming covered in a filthy green. Pus bloomed, and the stench filled the air—the former tyrant of Barbarus, the xenos overlord, had been fully transformed into a daemon of Nurgle.
A disposable pawn, created merely to complete Mortarion's destined battle. But Necare did not care. When Nurgle's will came, everything he had enslaved was destroyed. He dared not show his shortcomings to the loving father, so he poured all his hatred onto Mortarion.
"Remember... I am your nightmare!"
The rancid wind touched his face. The moment he spoke, the air filled with deadly plague.
"Hunger, oppression, beatings... It will all happen again, until you are domesticated and become my most obedient dog!"
Necare, swollen beyond recognition, raised a pus-dripping finger towards Mortarion. Dark green psychic lightning erupted forth.
"Repulsive monster!"
Mortarion placed his scythe before him and forcefully pushed through to resist the blast. The corrupting force contained within the lightning suddenly tarnished the adamantium scythe, as if it had rusted, as if it could break at any moment.
"You see? This is the power of Nurgle, yours and mine... A destiny that cannot be opposed."
Before Necare finished speaking, his massive body was already propelled forward by a repulsive cloud of corruption. He needed no subtle movements; he simply swung his enormous plague-ridden fist and smashed down with pure force and mass. Mortarion dodged sideways; his Primarch speed allowed him to evade the frontal blow, but the plague-tainted cloud carried by the fist's wake still made him dizzy.
"Neither of us has the right to choose, Mortarion. Are you still pinning your pathetic hopes on a brother?"
The daemonized Nurglite Necare wore a mocking, ugly smile on his face. The massive maw on his stomach suddenly opened, spewing viscous acid and buzzing flies. Mortarion spun his scythe to block; the acid hissed on the blade, and the swarms of flies tried to penetrate the gaps in his armor.
"His fate will only be worse than yours... Want to defy fate and protect a group of insects? How greedy..."
Necare took the opportunity to close in, the pustules on his body bursting one after another, spraying ichor with decaying power. Mortarion's scythe swung again, slicing through his bloated flesh, but the wound almost instantly filled with writhing carrion and nascent fly eggs—physical trauma had little effect on a Nurgle daemon.
"Greedy people never come to a good end, just like me—that's why I rushed into Nurgle's embrace."
Mortarion ignored Necare's internal monologue. He raised his scythe high again and charged forward, aiming for the thick neck.
"If those are your last words... they are far too verbose."
This swift strike tore through the air and successfully cut through Necare's daemon-elevated body. But Mortarion immediately sensed something was wrong—the other side had done it deliberately. The scythe was deeply embedded in the carrion mass propagated by the enemy, difficult to extract.
"It seems my 'teaching' of you is far from enough, Mortarion!"
Plague slime gushed from the abscesses on his arm, and Necare hurled it with pure malice at the trapped Primarch. At the same time, the ground writhed beneath his pus-oozing feet, and several small, laughing Nurglings crawled out, trying to seize Mortarion's legs.
"Hmph!"
Mortarion's muscles suddenly tensed, and he applied force instantaneously, brazenly yanking the scythe free just before the slime touched him, sweeping away most of the filth and crushing the Nurglings at his feet.
But one or two drops still splashed onto his power armor. Suddenly, a sharp corrosive hiss sounded, and in mere moments, those few drops ate away a massive hole in the armor.
This terrifying force forced Mortarion to retreat quickly. He could feel his physical functions deteriorating; the plague that Necare had been invisibly spreading since becoming a Great Unclean One was eroding him.
"What a pity, Mortarion... I initially wanted to try and defy fate, to use this power to kill you with my own hands..."
Necare approached leisurely, savoring the game of cat and mouse. His massive body was both a powerful fortress and a source of plague, each step intensifying the corruption of the ground.
"But now I fully appreciate the kindness of my loving father. So surrender! Seek refuge with the Grandfather!"
Necare had gone completely mad. In other words, the moment he transformed into a Great Unclean One of Nurgle, his past 'self' was destroyed. He spread his arms wide, as if about to embrace, full of plague, and the stench and decaying force emanating from his body reached its peak.
"Like you... Be a dog?!"
Mortarion's physical discomfort transformed the pain of the plague into boiling rage. He launched another desperate assault, no longer trying for a killing blow, but swinging his scythe into a whirlwind of death, continuously cutting and weakening the stinking shell, vowing to use the scythe in his hand to sever the coward's head.
"It is useless, Mortarion. It is time to return to... the despair etched deep within your soul."
The moment Necare's words fell, Mortarion felt his vision suddenly consumed by thick darkness. He immediately understood that the true horror of the plague virus unleashed by Necare was not the erosion of flesh and blood, but the erosion of sanity.
A feeling of weightlessness enveloped him, as if he were falling endlessly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the rough wooden bars of a cage, and a cold, familiar constriction around his neck—the iron chain that had bound him for countless years. He had become weak, powerless, regarded as a slave and a pet.
"Do not waste your strength."
Necare's ugly, familiar figure crouched by the cage, his gaze as if appraising an object.
"This time, you will not have another chance to escape. Not until you learn to be obedient and become my faithful dog."
Torture reigned like a cyclic nightmare. Necare systematically broke down Mortarion's body and spirit with a barbed leather whip, poison-tipped spikes, and the coldest of words. Time lost all meaning in the pain.
"Give up. Swear allegiance to me!"
Not knowing how much time had passed, Necare looked at the young body curled up on the ground, dying in the cage, and issued an ultimatum.
Mortarion did not answer. He no longer had the strength to make a sound, but those eyes, despite being deeply caked with filth and bruises, still burned with an unquenchable fire.
"Why do you still persist?! What are you waiting for? No one is coming to save you here!"
Necare, enraged by that gaze, let out a roar. But immediately, a twisted understanding appeared on his face.
"Ah... I see. You are still counting on your 'brother,' aren't you?"
He spread his palms, and a cluster of green psychic flame blazed forth, revealing a figure of Nix—struggling to maintain a power field, trying to hold on within the surging toxic mist.
"Look clearly! He cannot even protect himself, how can he save you?"
Necare's voice was full of malicious comfort: "Abandon this useless hope... There is only despair."
Mortarion remained silent, simply watching the brother struggling within the flames.
The unwavering gaze caused all expression on Necare's face to suddenly freeze, then shift into a deeper mockery.
"Placing all your hopes on a dying man? How ridiculous!"
He sat down, determined to crush this fragile hope in absolute solitude. He wanted Mortarion to silently taste the flavor of hope disintegrating into despair, finally taking the initiative to rush into the loving father's embrace.
Just as he was about to leave—
"But I haven't allowed you to leave yet!"