In the southern swamps of Barbarus, a desolate wilderness stretched out.
It was the third year since Hades arrived in the south.
A thick, swirling mist enveloped the land, with the damp, dark soil stretching endlessly below. Between heaven and earth, there seemed to be nothing but the white mist above and the black soil below.
Emerging from a clearing in the mist was a towering figure—Mortarion. He sat nonchalantly on the wet ground, a young man unconscious against his left knee. His right knee propped up his arm, which held his massive scythe.
His amber eyes pierced through the dense fog, locking onto a familiar silhouette.
Hades emerged slowly from the mist, his downward-facing scythe gliding through the fog like the oar of a boat, causing ripples in the air.
Stopping about four meters from Mortarion, Hades, with an apologetic smile hidden beneath his mask, took a seat.
"It's been a while, Hades."
Hades looked up with a chuckle, patting his knee in a gesture familiar to Mortarion, which made the latter slightly more at ease.
"Indeed, it has been, Reaper."
Mortarion disliked his given name, a fact well-known to Hades. Not just dislike, he loathed the name given by his foster father.
Thus, the Death Guard referred to Mortarion as the "Reaper" - both a harbinger of death and a harvester of souls. Just like Mortarion himself.
"How goes the liberation of the south? I've been watching from afar. The barrage from our artillery stripped those petty lords of their first layer of defenses in an instant—"
"Whizz-whizz—BANG!"
Hades animatedly mimicked the trajectory of the artillery shells, leaning on his scythe for support.
Mortarion chuckled. He had witnessed the might of the artillery himself. However, these powerful weapons were ill-suited for mountain warfare. They were relegated to supporting roles in the plains. For the peaks of the high mountains, they were powerless.
Still, Hades always had a penchant for praising others. The Death Guard, they were indeed Mortarion's pride.
Those brave souls, those who took up arms against their oppressors, they fought for a future free from fear.
Mortarion's gaze drifted to the young man beside him, recalling his struggles against fate.
Weren't they all warriors fighting for themselves?
Yet, as he looked at Hades, who seemed to be boasting about his prowess, Mortarion asked, "Hades, can you still not get close to others?"
Mortarion reached out, seemingly trying to touch the invisible barrier surrounding Hades.
"Hey! No! Stop!"
Hades quickly retreated, almost toppling over in the process.
Hades knew that while others might feel a mere discomfort upon touching his 'Black Field', for Mortarion, it might attract other, more sinister entities.
Seeing Hades's exaggerated reaction, Mortarion withdrew his hand, a hint of reproach in his eyes. Had they grown so distant?
Mortarion remembered their younger days, when they, drunk on dreams, spoke of liberating humanity in a broken-down shack. He had vowed to fight for humanity's rebellion till the end. Typhon had cheered him on, while a drunk Hades crawled on the floor, clapping.
Mortarion hadn't been drunk, but Hades and Typhon clearly had been.
"Mortarion! Big bro! I'm with you! I don't have grand ambitions! Just want a place to doodle and play!"
Mortarion still wondered what Hades meant by "doodle."
But now, those happy, innocent memories were distant. Typhon was fine, having found comrades who understood him.
Only Hades, due to his unique condition, remained isolated.
Once the oppressor, Nakre, was defeated, and the planet freed, Mortarion vowed to help his friend break free from his cursed condition.
Seeing Mortarion lost in thought again, Hades grew anxious.
"Don't hold a grudge, big bro!"
Clearing his throat, Hades said, "My condition can harm others. I'm not used to that feeling. And I don't want to hurt my friends. Right, Reaper? It would be unbearable to hurt someone because of me."
Hades nodded, hoping he had convinced Mortarion.
Mortarion nodded, adjusting the young man beside him into a more comfortable position.
"I understand, Hades. If you ever need to talk, come to me. I can withstand your ability."
After a pause, he added, "I'm not that easily hurt."
Hades looked at the frail young man beside Mortarion, probably Vorkos. The future formidable Death Guard was so thin now.
"Haha, Reaper, you still have to lead the Death Guard against the xenos. I wouldn't dare bother you."
As another mist rolled in, Hades playfully tried to catch it.
"You're already bothering me," Mortarion deadpanned.
Damn, that was cold.
Hades exaggeratedly bowed to Mortarion, "Ah, I shouldn't disturb Lord Mortarion. I deserve punishment. I'll take my leave—"
"Hades."
Mortarion's stern voice halted Hades's antics.
Alright, no more fooling around.
Hades straightened up. He had a serious reason for seeking Mortarion. Compared to Hades, Mortarion had much more on his plate.
Mortarion might be planning a slow and steady approach to finally confront and kill his foster father, Nakre.
But time was running out, like a beached fish gasping for breath.
Could Mortarion defeat Nakre before the Emperor's arrival? If not, would Mortarion's psyche twist and turn, leading him to corruption?
Hades knew that the events on Barbarus would become a thorn in Mortarion's side, silently corroding the heart of the "Wall Lord" throughout his long service in the legions.
Could Hades do something before it all happened?
He knew his time was limited. He hoped to suppress his 'Black Field' entirely, but that seemed unlikely in the short term.
He had to distance himself from others.
But, he wondered, could he, before his complete isolation, persuade Mortarion?
While their bond was still intact.
Before everything happened.
If Typhon could betray an entire legion based on his trust in Mortarion, could Hades save an entire legion based on that same trust?
He wanted to try.
At the very least, he had to give Mortarion a cryptic warning about the future.
Today, Hades was also fighting hard to avoid becoming a rotten can.
*Author's Note:* I confess, I started writing humorously. I can't help it. The "Wall Lord" refers to Mortarion. In a short story where the Emperor plays chess with Horus, pre-heresy Mortarion is represented as a wall, and post-heresy as a heart eaten by maggots.