Mortarion stood outside, scythe in hand, gazing at the distant mountains obscured by the toxic mists.
Atop the highest peak, within the thickest of the poisons, stood the fortress of his foster father, Narke.
That bastard... his father... Mortarion had sworn countless times: either he would die, or I would.
Mortarion deeply feared his foster father, and he loathed him with equal intensity.
From his earliest memories, abuse and maltreatment were the norm. He was forced to undertake impossible tasks, only to be saved from the brink of death by his father's psychic powers.
When he was still weak, Mortarion had been ordered to climb cliffs in acid rain.
Or, before he could even stand, to fight against dozens of rock-corroding hounds.
Or to be thrown into a venomous swamp, grappling with sorcerous corpses riddled with disease and decay.
Without a doubt, he was too weak. He failed every time.
"Useless wretch."
"Only able to wallow in the mud, waiting for me to save you."
"How many more times must I rescue you, you waste?"
His father would say such things.
"One more failure, and I'll snap your neck."
Yet, Mortarion never succeeded.
"You are a failed weapon, a freak. You are unlike any creature here."
"You are the failed result of my sorcerous experiments. I should have destroyed you then."
"No matter, you useless thing. Your only purpose is to be paraded in wars against other lords."
"Be grateful for my mercy, my worthless son."
He wanted to kill him.
Mortarion wanted to kill his father.
He had sworn it countless times. He would kill him.
When every bone in his body was broken, his lungs torn out, struggling in the swamp, he swore; when his skin was corroded by acid rain, his chest pierced, he swore; when his limbs were torn off, left hanging on a cliff, he swore.
He swore, he swore, he swore. He would kill him.
Mortarion's world was simple: grow stronger, stronger, and even stronger, until he could stand atop the most toxic peak of Barbarus, until he could tear his foster father's head from his shoulders.
Beyond killing his father, he wanted nothing, desired nothing.
His world was made of battles, cages, rage, and fear.
Until those two peculiar underlings appeared.
Yes, his foster father forbade him from interacting with the humans of the valley. They were "underlings," mere living crops.
Before this, Mortarion had never encountered humans.
He didn't know what "kin" meant.
But when that peculiar boy looked straight at Mortarion through the mists, Mortarion's world was turned upside down.
He was human.
Mortarion was human.
Hades and Typhon shattered Mortarion's small world, showing him a completely different one, filled with his own kind.
Even if this world was imperfect, fragile, and rough.
People were deeply imprisoned by fear, treated as livestock by the lords atop the mountains. They were toys, expendables.
In them, Mortarion saw his weaker self.
The one struggling with fear and unease.
But after meeting his kin, he was no longer weak.
He was Mortarion, he was human, and he would lead humanity in rebellion.
Against all oppression and injustice.
They would kill all oppressors.
Even if it meant sacrifice, it was worth it.
If I had to choose a word to describe Mortarion seriously, I'd choose "rebel." Mortarion is the embodiment of rebellion, which inevitably led to his eternal conflict with his "father," the symbol of "power and rule."
Unless he himself became the ruler, he would never submit.
But to be honest, as a "father," old Mortarion was quite kind. He treated the Death Guard very well. Aside from Typhon, the "dutiful son," his relationship with the other Barbarus-born Death Guard was truly one of fatherly love and filial piety.
(Perhaps this is one of the reasons he caught the eye of the benevolent father...)