Aboard the *Emperor's Dream*, in a luxurious single-occupancy recovery room.
Three months before the transformation surgery.
The once-lavish and fragrant recovery room was now filled with the unique toxic fumes of Barbarus. These gases were specially collected by servitors from Barbarus, then mixed with the air aboard the *Emperor's Dream* in precise proportions before being released into the vast recovery room.
Mortarion, the room's occupant, sat by the bed, silently flipping through a thick tome. He wasn't wearing his gas mask; the concentration of these gases would be considered refreshing on Barbarus.
Dressed in simple white casual attire, the loose and comfortable fabric hung loosely on him, revealing the bandages and medical gel underneath.
The room contained only a bed, a workbench, and a massive bookshelf filled with books. Nothing else.
Mortarion had requested all the ostentatious items be removed. He couldn't appreciate the glittering, intricately carved decorations, nor the carpets made from thousands of silks praising the achievements of warriors.
Such waste. A self-congratulatory display of taste.
Mortarion couldn't understand these Imperial customs, but he had accepted the mission given to him by the Emperor.
After he beheaded Necare and passed out, it was the Emperor, his supposed biological father, who saved him and Hades.
When Mortarion awoke, the golden figure approached him.
The Emperor showed Mortarion the scale of the Imperium, how many human worlds were struggling under alien rule.
He invited Mortarion to liberate those humans suffering under alien oppression.
He promised Mortarion a vast and powerful space fleet and the chance to transform the people of Barbarus.
"Mortarion, my son, join us."
Without a doubt, Mortarion agreed to the Emperor's proposal.
The terms were too tempting, the displayed might too overwhelming. Mortarion had no other choice.
Before the Emperor, there's no choice but to submit.
No one can choose otherwise.
Perhaps this being called the Emperor is a good person?
Such naive and absurd thoughts filled Mortarion's mind.
Over the past few months, Mortarion had been recuperating in the recovery room.
The massive ringworld under construction orbited Barbarus.
His Death Guard were taken to these ringworlds. There, they would undergo the Imperium's transformation, becoming Astartes, Mortarion's true blades.
Mortarion had seen these Astartes, the Emperor's forces. They were... incredible.
Bodies beyond human capability, reflexes surpassing any man, exceptional memory, combat experience passed down through generations, and power armor built for war.
Such mighty warriors. If Mortarion had just seven of them back on Barbarus, he could've subdued all the aliens on the planet within a month.
The thought of leading such an army excited Mortarion.
He would lead these powerful warriors and rescue humanity from alien hands.
A soft "thud" from the recovery room door interrupted Mortarion's thoughts.
Someone was here.
Probably another researcher checking on his injuries, Mortarion thought impatiently. He was already healed. These injuries didn't warrant such a long recovery. He didn't want to spend any more time recuperating. He wanted to see his troops.
But when the door slid open, revealing a hint of golden light—
The visitor wore simple attire: a minimalist brown linen shirt, loose pants that accentuated slender legs, gold threads delicately embroidered along the edges, and a golden laurel resting on black hair. Every movement exuded grace and nobility.
It was the Emperor.
Mortarion remained still, stubbornly pretending the visitor was just another medic, continuing his reading.
He didn't want to salute.
The Emperor entered, a slight frown marring his face at the room's stark appearance. The luxurious golden sculptures were gone, the carpets praising the warriors' achievements were gone, and even the common furniture that many enjoyed for relaxation was missing.
The room was even filled with toxic gas!
The Emperor frowned again, clearly displeased with Mortarion's arrangements.
But he quickly resumed his calm, even benevolent expression. He walked over, ignoring Mortarion's little tantrum, and sat beside him.
Only then did Mortarion reluctantly look up.
"Good afternoon, Father."
"Good afternoon, Mortarion."
The Emperor looked around. "This air... is it to your personal taste?"
"Yes, Father. I don't particularly like the original air here."
Mortarion replied calmly and confidently.
The Emperor nodded slightly, continuing in a serene tone, "My son, I hope you can be mindful of your public image."
Mortarion had ignored all the Custodes saluting him during his first walk outside the recovery room.
Mortarion didn't respond.
"As a future leader of a legion, you need to set a good example for the Imperium."
"Understood, Father."
The Emperor seemed to run out of patience for the topic. He gestured, and a Custodian bearing a tray approached.
From the tray, the Emperor took a specially designed syringe.
His golden eyes met Mortarion's, "Your friend, Hades, is still under treatment due to severe injuries."
"For his transformation surgery, we need some of your blood."
Hades, his closest friend, his right-hand man. Mortarion was deeply concerned for him. In his last memory, Hades was on the brink of death, looking unlikely to survive.
Without hesitation, Mortarion extended his right arm, rolling up his sleeve.
The Emperor, still wearing that perfect expression of serenity mixed with divinity and kindness, expertly inserted the needle into Mortarion's sturdy skin, drawing blood.
Watching his blood flow out, Mortarion asked, "Is this to cultivate a set of transformation organs?"
Having read many Imperial books, Mortarion knew that during the Astartes' transformation, organs with the Primarch's genes would be implanted.
"Yes, you're very astute, my son."
The Emperor's indifferent voice responded, his gaze fixed on the syringe.
Once enough blood was drawn, Mortarion quickly retracted his arm. The puncture wound healed rapidly due to his enhanced regenerative abilities.
"Will he be alright?"
Mortarion still remembered the power Hades had unleashed at the brink of death. Without Hades, he wouldn't have succeeded.
But that power, what was it? It didn't align with what Mortarion had read about the Untouchables.
The Emperor looked up, his golden eyes emotionlessly fixed on Mortarion's amber ones—
For a moment, Mortarion's expression became vacant.
In an instant, the Emperor's gaze shifted, and it was as if nothing had happened.
Mortarion silently watched the Emperor leave, then lowered his head to resume reading.
"Thud."
The door closed.
**Mini Theater:**
The Emperor's face bore a kind smile.
Internally: Fist clenched.
It's not amnesia, don't worry.
Actually, the Emperor quite dotes on Mortarion. I think it's because Mortarion's stance aligns perfectly with the Emperor's tastes.
Mortarion: Extreme human supremacist + Extreme xenophobe + Materialistic war god.
Speaking of which, after ascending to daemonhood, Mortarion tried to explain science to a Greater Unclean One of Nurgle, leaving the creature speechless.