White light illuminated everything, casting a harsh glare across the room. The polished surface of the table, cleaned to a sheen by servitors, reflected the light blindingly.
Through the respirator, Mortarion’s raspy breathing echoed slowly.
The floor seemed to tremble slightly—or perhaps it was just Hades’ imagination.
At least, for now, Mortarion's soul still remained a sanctified white.
Words—those marvelous vibrations of sound crafted by the vocal cords—carried with them their primal power.
At certain moments, under specific circumstances, and uttered by particular individuals, words could tap into the psychic currents flowing through the Warp.
The Warp’s influence over the physical universe had its limitations. Outside places where the boundary between the Warp and reality was thin—such as the Eye of Terror—its forces required active cooperation from beings in the material world to bridge the gap.
For example, a deranged psyker could open a gateway by using their connection between soul and body to allow Warp entities entry into the physical universe.
Or rituals and mass gatherings infused with intense, specific emotions, accompanied by incantations imbued with meaning, could summon the power of the Warp.
What had just occurred was the result of Hades speaking a particular name—a word laden with concept and significance, spoken in the presence of one of that being’s favored toys.
The Warp’s power surged momentarily, but because it was still constrained by the physical universe, the result was limited to mental hallucinations. These visions, however, were quickly severed by Hades.
Still, if Mortarion allowed himself to spiral into an emotional maelstrom…
Hades swallowed hard and mentally rehearsed his next words. He had no desire to relive the earlier scene.
“So… it is a type of powerful Warp entity, formed from specific concepts and ideas.”
This time, Hades avoided using the word god.
“You can get a glimpse of the concepts that make up such entities from the Daemon we fought earlier,” Hades continued.
“Decay, death, despair, entropy…”
Mortarion was silent for a moment, then, after processing the recent events, he finally spoke.
“So what you’re saying is that in addition to this type, there are other kinds of entities as well.”
Hades nodded.
“Yes, there are indeed other types of Warp entities, though I haven’t encountered any of them myself yet.”
Speak another name? No chance.
If he did, Mortarion might just become the chosen champion of all four Chaos Gods by the end of this conversation.
“Furthermore,” Hades added quickly, seizing the moment, “I can’t confirm the exact relationships between different types of Warp entities.”
Mortarion hesitated before speaking.
“So… I’m being watched by a powerful Warp entity?”
What?!
Hades nodded repeatedly, like a pounding drum, while keeping a close eye on Mortarion’s condition. Thankfully, nothing seemed amiss for now.
Though pondering the nature of the gods might invite their gaze, as a Primarch, Mortarion was likely under constant observation already.
Once again, Mortarion fell silent.
He… was being watched?
The Garden whispered, its murmurs barely audible.
Could this truly be anything but some form of sorcery?
Sorcery—insidious, deceiving sorcery. Mortarion had always believed his foster father, Necare, represented the vilest depths of corruption.
Foul psyker powers, Warp-born energies that repelled anyone who so much as looked upon them—he thought he had understood such malevolence.
But now, Hades was telling him there existed entities in the Warp far more defiled, thousands of times worse.
How could that be possible?
The flies began to sing, their droning chorus swelling in his mind.
He instinctively wanted to deny it, to reject the idea outright—but in that moment… that single moment, he saw. He saw the “Daemon” Hades had spoken of.
He saw the beings that could only be described as gods.
And he saw himself—a version of himself struggling against their influence.
That was just an illusion… wasn’t it?
Mortarion silently reassured himself. This was merely the result of sorcery. Necare, his foster father, had subjected him to tormenting visions every night; he was all too familiar with the tricks of the Warp.
But… could illusions ever feel this real?
The overwhelming stench of decay, the festering, oozing flesh, the alien sensation weighing on his shoulders—
Was… that him?
Was that his future?
Despair and visions crept insidiously into Mortarion’s heart, taking root inch by inch.