The Pale King

by Nurgling 14

A mortal woman finds herself waking up on the home planet of the Primarch Mortarion and develops an unlikely bond with him and his Death Guard. #warhammer #warhammer40k #erotica #romance #scifi #deathguard #mortarion

Chapter 1.

Uninvited.

She awoke slowly, lying on her front in some long grass. A strange smell invaded her consciousness and tried to drag her back to reality. Or if not reality, something close to it. Reluctantly, she opened one eye. Her vision blurred and she opened the other. The smell intensified and she knew it to be rotting foliage, plus something else she couldn't identify. It tickled at her as if trying to infiltrate her body, spores intent on breaching the fibres of her corporeal form. The thought would have been horrifying normally, but for some reason, it seemed... Right. She didn't fight it. All around her was a sickly green yellow glow, enhanced by a fog that had a somewhat permanent feel to it. She could make out shadows of gnarled trees and something seemed to move in the distance. Maybe lots of somethings, judging by the faraway chittering sounds. Focus on where you are. It was the most coherent thought she'd had for some time, although she didn't know how she knew that. She looked down at the grass she was laying on and pulled herself to sitting, expecting a headache that never came. She breathed in and was surprised by the pleasant warmth that spread throughout her lungs. She was on a grassy mound, surrounded by a large moat like puddle. The grass itself was moist the way it would be in the morning, covered in dew. But this was not dew. It wasn't quite slime, but similar. Another alien sensation that also somehow felt known to her. She frowned as a bloated little maggot crawled towards her across the shiny wet grass. It approached, stopped near her leg and to her surprise, turned around and crawled away, clearly looking for something less alive to nibble on. Then she realised she only wore a robe. It was threadbare and from the look of it, had once been a dark purple colour. It was much faded now and ragged, but fairly clean. Her long dark hair had some of the slimy substance in it, but that was of no concern right now. She had to find out where she was. And why. Had she been wearing something else? Yes. Armour. And a weapon. She would usually feel afraid without her armour, she remembered. But here? No. Not here. Here she was welcome. I shouldn't be. I should be dead by now. She should've been slain by monsters that were once men, flesh rendered useless by weapons and disease. But she felt more alive right now than she had in a long time. I was fighting, maybe...So why am I here? Why aren't I dead? A bizarre noise in the distance broke through her thoughts. A guttural singing, harsh as though the vocal chords were millennia old, but happy. She stood up on shaking legs and followed the sound, unable to resist the curiosity that pulled at her. Clouds of grossly oversized flies parted to let her advance through the foetid undergrowth and soupy air. It was hot and humid, but for once that didn't bother her too much. It was a good thing given how little she was wearing now. The land began to slope upwards and she found it harder to keep going, given the slippery and uneven nature of the land. But she persevered – she had never been one to give up easily, and she had to find out where she was. She had to find out a lot of things. She pulled herself up by rotting vines and gnarled branches, panting with effort as the hill got steeper. Her feet were filthy and mud seeped between her toes with every step, but she had to find what was making that sound. Hmmmm dee dah, dah dee dum, hmm dee dah dee dum. It carried on relentlessly but cheerfully. The closer she got, the more she could feel it in her chest. The noise of a twig snapping to her right caught her attention and she let out a gasp as a tiny, fat... Thing ran at her. It had two legs and two arms, but that's where the similarities to a human ended. Its skin was a yellowish green and in height it only reached her calf. It's face had an oversized, grinning mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth. It's bloodshot eyes were full of mischief as it chittered madly at her. She braced herself, believing it was going to launch its bloated body at her in an attack. But it stopped a few inches away from her leg and licked its lips as it looked up at her. Drool ran down its chin and it made that manic chittering noise again, before – much to her surprise – forcing out a single word. "Here!" It screeched and pointed up the tree covered hill, hopping from one foot to the other. "Here!" It repeated, and began to waddle quickly in the direction it had pointed. Perplexed, but somehow not as shocked as she should've been, she followed the skittish little... Daemon. She thought. Little daemon. Yes that seems correct. She smiled at it as it scampered ahead, chatting to itself. The vines nicked at her skin and spiked branches caught at her robe, tearing yet more holes as she stubbornly made her way up the never ending hill. The tiny daemon stopped to wait for her now and again, hissing in annoyance at her slow pace. She scowled at it, trying not to laugh. Spores in the air continued to tickle her nose, and she spotted a small scratch she had gotten on her arm had turned a strange colour. It didn't hurt or burn, so she ignored it. Breathing hard, she continued to pull herself up by twisted, moist branches and roots. Nearly there. The singing had stopped at some point, but started again as she neared the top. It was clearer now, and so deep she could feel it in her organs. Such a sound could send a person mad if they listened for too long, she suspected. But only a person who wasn't meant to be here. And she was meant to be here. She didn't know why, or how she knew that. But this place was clearly designed to be hostile and dangerous to intruders - yet she didn't feel like an intruder. She knew she wasn't supposed to, but she liked it here. And it likes me. The daemon waited for her, tapping it's foot impatiently.

"Alright, I'm coming!" She called to it, laughing. It had been the first time she'd spoken since waking up in this strange, virulent land. Her voice almost seemed too loud to her ears. She reached the creature and it put a hand up to halt her. She realised it had been trying to stop her from falling over an edge. She gasped and clung onto a branch, grimacing as she realised it was sticky with something she didn't want to identify. The land below stretched before her, a mostly yellow tinged green mass of foliage of all kinds, huge trees with twisted limbs and... Teeth? Yes, those looked like teeth. Creatures she couldn't make out moved around in the mist, rummaging around the undergrowth. Her eyes were drawn to a fissure in a stony area of the land, a bright and sickly green light streamed from it, piercing the miasma. She thought she could make out the faint sound of machinery humming. I wonder what's in there? Then through the clouds of... Whatever it was, she could just about make out what appeared to be a tower. No, not a tower. That was the top of it. More like a fortress. It was huge. "Who lives there?" She asked her diminutive companion. She looked down to see it scowling at her as if she were stupid. It gurgled at her and simply pointed down the hill. It wasn't as steep on the way down as it had been going up, but it was a long way down. She realised that the noise had stopped again, and the sensation of an untold number of eyes staring at her crept across her skin, making her hair stand on end and she shifted uncomfortably. The same deep voice that had been singing gave a sonorous, booming laugh and she jumped. Her tiny guide laughed at her and she resisted the urge to swear at it. Instead she focused her eyes down the hill, through the ochre tinged mist. Something massive shifted slightly, something so alike its surroundings in colour and topography that her untrained eyes had missed it despite its size. She gasped in horror as she took in the sight.

"What... What is that?" She asked the daemon who sat next to her foot contentedly. It picked its nose as it looked up at her with an air of nonchalance. She frowned at it and sighed.

"Fine. Be like that." She tried to sound annoyed rather than afraid. It chuckled and cleared mucus from its throat.

"Kul'roth." It croaked at her. It scratched its fat little belly and smiled, its razor sharp teeth glinting.

"Well. Alright. Thanks, I suppose. Is it... Like you?" She bent down to look at her demonic guide closely. It side eyed her suspiciously and shifted away slightly as if it were afraid that she would decide to kill it. Refusing to look at her, it nodded and stretched its arms wide.

"So like you, but bigger. I can work with that, I think." She stood up and brushed herself off, trying to look brave and proud. "Weirdest day of my life. I think." She shook her head. "Ugh, that's it, I need some answers. Are you coming, daemon?"

With that, she began making her way down the hill. She heard a plop behind her and knew that her pudgy little friend had followed. The singing resumed as she slipped and slid her way down, being careful not to cut herself on random thorns and spiked leaves. As she neared the bottom she could make out the enormous shape of the other daemon. It's size turned her guts to ice and she lost focus for a second, just long enough to slip on a moss covered rock. She fell backwards and let out a high pitched cry as she went down. A screech joined her voice and to her horror she realised she'd fallen onto the daemon. The singing had stopped as she'd fallen. The silence would have been disturbing if she hadn't been too busy digging the foul little creature out of the mud. It whimpered and hissed at her but didn't try to bite as she pulled him up.

"I'm so sorry little one. Are you alright? Are you hurt?" She was overwhelmed with sudden affection for it and gave no thought to the fact that it could've bitten her fingers off as she wiped mud from its skin and checked its scaly limbs for damage. It smiled and began to coo at her, clearly enjoying the attention. She smiled back, relieved.

"Oh, good. You're okay. Tough little thing aren't you?" It grinned at her and waddled up closer. She instinctively put her hands out and it happily wandered onto them. She tucked the grinning daemon in the crook of her arm and got up. It let out a wet sounding fart and grinned up at her. She wrinkled her nose and laughed.

"Let's go and meet this Kul'roth then." Her companion nuzzled into her and chittered something before seeming to doze off. She smiled to herself as she walked towards the huge daemon across the soft, wet grass. All manner of bugs and maggots writhed on the ground but it didn't bother her, and she knew that even if she stood on them, they would survive. Maybe everything here was unnaturally strong, or maybe it was because she had no ill intentions. The little being in her arms snored. The sky seemed to darken and she had to swat one handed at a great cloud of massive, bloated flies. The sound was deafening. Pretty sure flies aren't supposed to be this big. She grimaced, but kept walking. It seemed like they should've been trying to attack her – she sensed that they were being controlled by something or someone - but if anything all they did was look at her and skitter across her skin before turning away, flying off towards the fortress in a synchronised mass. Scouts. Who is behind your eyes, I wonder?

She stopped to look over the horizon at the enormous structure, then jumped as a tentacle like plant shot up out of the ground near her. It was sharp and thorny, however - not like a real tentacle, and made a jab at her leg. She moved quickly, only just getting away from a second one, then another, until she was running and zig zagging, panic threatening to pierce the solid walls of her mind. Nothing had attacked her until now, and she was horrified to realise that perhaps this place was not as friendly as she had thought. She was so busy trying not to lose a leg that she nearly screamed as the gigantic daemon appeared before her. It waved a huge, swollen hand dismissively and the cruel plants vanished with an audible pop! As they shot back underground.

"Sorry about that." It's voice was as deep and old as the land itself and clogged by phlegm, but she understood it. "They will not do that again." It smiled at her in a fatherly manner - it's mouth was big enough to swallow her head whole, which made its friendly demeanour somehow more disturbing. Its lips were fat, wet and cracked. What teeth it had left were massive and blunt and yellow with age. It's eyes were large rheumy spheres with strangely beautiful turquoise irises. It's skin was dark green with vivid red gashes and fissures, great holes through which bones and organs were visible. Pock marked and covered in boils, the gargantuan daemon looked as though every second of its lengthy existence was excruciating agony. And yet, it emanated contentment. What took her breath away the most was its size. Her head reached its knobbly knee only because it was sitting, and it was probably more than twice as wide as she was tall. She felt small and insignificant before this monstrous living mountain of rot and disease. This happy looking, affable creature that now looked down at her as if she were an old friend. The horns adorning its head were the size of small trees.

"Welcome to our humble planet. His planet. And congratulations." He grinned at her and scratched at a wound. To her surprise, a small daemon almost identical to the one that still slept in the crook of her arm appeared from inside a cavity that exposed the great daemons ribcage, , eyeing her as it chewed on... Something. She raised an eyebrow and craned her neck to look up at him.

"Congratulations on what?" She asked suspiciously. She was daunted by the creature, naturally, but her instinctive reaction to most situations was to be confident even when she didn't feel it.

The booming laugh made her jump and woke up the sleeping daemon. It screeched angrily and rubbed its eyes.

"For surviving, of course! And so unscathed too. Most curious." The ancient, phlegm filled voice mused cheerfully.

"Was I not supposed to?" She frowned. The rotting giant put its hands on its stomach and looked thoughtful.

"None but the inhabitants do. So you are an anomaly, even by our wonderfully grotesque standards. No mortal gets this far, or this high. No mortal has glimpsed the Black Manse of The Pale King and lived for long, my dear. And yet here you are! Not just alive, but perfectly well. As I said, curious. But how did you get here?" It studied her quizzically and rubbed it's flabby chin with a finger that was thicker than her leg.

"I... I don't remember. I woke up here. This little one found me –" She nodded to the small demonic creature, who stubbornly stayed where it was. "And now here I am. I heard you singing and came to see if I could find some answers. Like who is this Pale King? I'm not even sure who I am, to be honest. I know I had armour at one point... Maybe..." She trailed off unable to finish the thought. She was suddenly very afraid, and cold. Tears pricked her eyes.

"I might be able to help. I sense the warp around you, child. The same way I did when I met him. You have been in the warp and come out the other side. It tore from you your memories, but otherwise left you unharmed. There must be a reason. Come a little closer, if you please."

She did as it asked and tried not to recoil as it gently placed two enormous fingers atop her head. She knew it could crush her like a bug, but it's intentions towards her were benevolent. She closed her eyes without knowing why, and screamed in agony as her mind exploded into a thousand pieces.

Chapter 2.

Mortarian.

His concentration shattered with the sound. A sound he hadn't heard in thousands of years. Numbers and measurements vanished from his mind and he scowled as he spun around to walk out onto his balcony. He had the highest view of any building on the planet. The Black Manse overlooked six other buildings dotted around the toxin shrouded mountains, the places that housed his Plague Companies, his sons. His Death Guard. Of course, most of them were not currently here. They had their work to do, as he had his. He would call upon them when necessary and they would come. Only his Deathshroud remained on the Plague Planet with him, sworn as they were to be his bodyguard and the closest thing he had to confidants. Not counting the myriad Little Lords and other such warp born creatures, of course. There were also hundreds of thousands of human slaves, Beastmen and tribes people, but he was eternally indifferent to their existence. He was indifferent to a lot of things. But that sound... That had got his attention. A woman's scream. Close enough to echo up here. He had felt a new presence on his world, but had assumed it had been dealt with. Nothing that was not native or of the Death Guard survived for long. Knowing he'd been complacent and wrong irked him. Having to leave his work was even worse. The Reaper of Men grabbed his enormous skeletal looking scythe irritably, unfolded his moth like wings, jumped from his balcony and flew in the direction of the scream. Every daemon, man and beast in the land shivered and whispered in excitement to see their Lord taking flight. He expected his bodyguard would be annoyed at his unannounced departure, but would follow if he were gone for long. He was in no danger on his own planet and besides, he was the most powerful thing on it; but the Deathshroud took their role very seriously. He knew that was his doing - they were made in his image after all. The closest living beings to him, and he was immensely proud of them. But they reflected his own humourless behaviour and sometimes he had to admit, it annoyed him. He was a product of his upbringing and alongside the determined, powerful, pragmatic nature he was so proud of, there lived a bottomless well of hatred, bitterness and anger. A stubborn and petty creature he could be, and he nurtured his weaknesses every bit as much as his strengths. That's what happens when you raise your son to know only rejection and barbarism. The familiar bile rose up as his thoughts drifted to his two fathers and how much he still despised them. He shook his head, angry at himself for letting his mind wander to them. He surveyed the sick beauty of his planet as he glided along thermal winds that would eat through anything that didn't belong there, and felt oddly rejuvenated. It had been too long since he'd flown around just to look upon the world he'd turned into his own sanctuary. He sometimes forgot how much he loved it. His brothers no doubt believed him incapable of love, but this planet and his sons were proof that Mortarion, he who had been born in death, did indeed have the capacity to love – in his own way. He also still had a modicum of curiosity left in his soul which is why he worked in his tower; and why he was here now, searching for the source of that blood curdling scream. He opened his mind, something he still hated doing with a passion. But he let it open to his world, just for a few moments, in order to see if anything had reached out to him. Sure enough, he caught the faintest echo of his name. Mortarion. I shall call him. Stay with me, child. Lord Mortarion, a mortal needs your help.

"A mortal? Why would I help a mortal? And what is it doing here?" He growled to himself as he turned towards the thought stream without thinking. He shut his mind again, unwilling to use that part of himself any more than he had to. Lest I turn into something like my braggart brother, Magnus. The thought horrified and angered him in equal measure. Focus. A mortal... A woman. What is going on?

He flew lower and circled over an expanse of foetid field until he spotted one of the Great Unclean Ones that lived here. He smiled to himself as he remembered the Great Unclean One that had formed him into what he was now, had given him these wings. That had been in the Garden Of Nurgle, a long time ago now. As he got closer he saw that the Greater Daemon was holding something that did indeed look like a human. He braced himself and flew down towards them, pushing down the instinct that told him this could be interesting.

The huge daemon looked relieved to see the Primarch as he landed, but also obviously concerned for the woman in his arms. He cradled her with the ease of a father cradling a babe. Mortarion was still surprised by how... Loving these daemons were. A trait that seemed specific to the followers of Grandfather Nurgle, he had even felt his own heart swell with paternal pride in his legion of sons over the years. He still struggled to show it, but they knew.

The Great Unclean One looked down at Mortarion as he approached.

"You heard me, good." He smiled but continued to look worried.

"I heard the scream first. What is the meaning of this?" The Lord of Death gestured to the woman with his scythe, known as Silence. Kul'Roth explained what had happened and continued to hold the mortal, who breathed steadily but remained unconscious.

Mortarion rubbed at his face with a gloved hand, frustrated by this unforeseen complication in his realm.

"What did you see before she passed out? Surely there must have been something, some clue as to why she ended up here of all places. Other than to irritate me, of course." He frowned at her and instantly felt foolish for such a statement. He doubted she had caused this by herself – no mortal would ever want to travel through the warp and have their mind broken. Kul'Roth laughed. The sound was disturbing.

"I highly doubt she did this to inconvenience you, Mortarion. You are a Primarch, but not the centre of the universe, after all. However... She is interesting, is she not? She should not be alive, King. No mortal has ever survived this long up here. She is not even sick. I've never seen resilience like this in a human in all my years. And those, as you know, are endless. It is nice to know I can still be surprised!" The Great Unclean One laughed again, and Mortarion watched as a Nurgling popped it's head from between its ribs to see what all the fuss was about. It screeched when it saw Mortarion and shot him a grin full of teeth. The Reaper of Men raised an eyebrow in greeting. Another Nurgling sat on Kul'Roths shoulder, looking down at the woman with concern etched on its scaly little face.

"So. I suppose it would be a bad idea to just dispose of her. I was going to suggest she go and live with the tribes... But if she's as resilient as you say... Well. She could be useful, I suppose. For experiments. This is a disruption I do not welcome, though. What else did you learn before you nearly killed her?"

Mortarion was the only being who was able to admonish a Great Unclean One, other than their God himself. Great leaders and wickedly intelligent, they were favoured by Nurgle and made very much in his image, so it was said. They were as close to the God as you could get. But Mortarion was annoyed, and Kul'Roth was the only target nearby. Luckily, the daemon knew him well enough to not be offended and simply smiled.

"She is very much alive, but her mind is warp touched and did not take kindly to my probing of memories. She needs time to recover. And if you have any, she will require clean water for drinking and bathing. She is not one of us. Yet."

Mortarion didn't know what to say about that, so stayed silent. He liked having time to process things before speaking on them. And this would need time. This was a problem he could see no immediate solution to. Which with his sharp intellect, was rare and perplexing. The daemon took his silence for acquiescence and continued.

"As for what I saw, well. It seems that she hates the imperium almost as much as you do. Although I could not glean why. She was a fighter, I think, but also a kind of scientist, possibly. Or a scholar. That could go some way to explaining... This situation. Much like you she has some latent psychic abilities, although may not be aware of that. It was enough to shield her mind from the warp as much she did, which is no small feat."

"I am no psycher. Why here, why my planet?" Mortarions voice was dark, the way it always was when the daemons took to reminding him of his own psychic prowess.

"You will come to terms with it one day. It will serve you well. Grandfather will smile and bestow such wonderful gifts upon you, boy. Anyway. I don't know." The Great Unclean One smiled beatifically and slowly put the woman on the ground and stroked her dark hair from her face. Mortarian knew he'd tried the old ones large amount of patience today, and took it as his way of saying this is your problem now, child.

"Throne be damned. What am I supposed to do with her? I should just kill her. Mortals mean little to me." The Pale King paced, slowly. The daemon made him bristle with another laugh.

"Yet, you will not. She intrigues you as she does me. She is a puzzle. And she came to you. I believe either she needs your help, or you need hers. Perhaps both. Think of this as one of your experiments, rather than just a human. She is either a problem, or a solution. I rather feel that it is up to you what she becomes. Tread carefully, Mortarion. Do not repeat the mistakes of your fathers before you." The daemon smiled sadly and it made Mortarian feel like the youth he had been on Barbarus all those millennia ago. He hoisted Silence onto his back and scooped the woman up in his arms, somewhat reluctantly but not knowing what else to do. The daemon was right, about some things.

"I am not my fucking father. Either of them. But I will not. If this fails I will be merciful in the way they never were."

Grim faced, he left the Great Unclean One to ruminate on the strange event and took off, his giant moth wings lifting him and the woman into the sky with ease towards the Black Manse. He heard a muffled screech and realised they had a stow away, as the Nurgling from the Greater Daemons shoulder peeked out from the woman's robe. Mortarion raised an eyebrow. Making friends already, I see. Well don't get too comfortable here, woman.

When was the last time he'd seen a human woman? Mortarion couldn't remember. He'd lived amongst them on Barbarus, but that had been a hundred lifetimes ago. He barely noticed servitors and slaves, so apart from them... Well, it had been so many hundreds, if not thousands of years, that he'd forgotten. She felt strange in his arms. Physically light, to him. But her presence weighed on him heavily. He didn't enjoy surprises. He arrived back at the Manse and chose to go through the front so his Praetorians would see him instantly. The Deathshroud guarding the door hesitated before shoving the door open (slowly, as the doors to the Manse were incapable of opening quickly. The Death Guard were not in the habit of hurrying for anything.) Mortarion made a gesture that told him to follow his master inside and he did so unquestioningly. The Reaper of Men was not the sort of leader to appear flustered, ever, if he could help it. Being caught off guard was not an option. So he did his best to seem as though his carrying an unconscious human woman was a deliberate act and as a result, totally normal. His Deathshroud were not under quite so much pressure to be devoid of a normal reaction to an abnormal situation. When they were alone with their master they could talk openly - but at all other times they were silent as death, and stood at a distance of seven paces minimum, forty-nine paces maximum. Mortarion would've been more surprised at protocol being dropped so easily if he'd been thinking about it; but right now he had bigger, more mortal problems to solve. Shadans helmed visage looked from his Primarch to the woman and back again a few times before speaking.

"My Lord, may I ask..?" He trailed off and gestured at the woman. His ancient terminator armour whirred and creaked in the brief quiet that hung awkwardly in the air between them. Mortarion sighed.

"I will explain what I can, when I can. I will call a meeting. But right now, Shadan, I need water and food that she can ingest. And someone with medical knowledge suited to... This." He shrugged his arms, jostling the woman. She didn't even flinch. "Are any of our surgeons here? Or Tallymen?" He tried to make his voice commanding and deliberate, not talking too fast. He must not appear weak in front of his sons. Mortarion did not do weakness.

"I believe we currently have at least one Plague Company present, Lord. They have not long arrived. I am surprised you didn't know." Shadan was usually respectful to a fault, and never spoke out of turn. Mortarion scowled at his words and the Deathshroud shrunk back a little, realising his mistake.

"Do I look like a Tallyman to you, Shadan? Do you think I sit there checking you all in and out? Or perhaps, your Primarch is busy with other more important tasks than tracing the movements of thousands of people! I know I have been absent, but it is for good reason, as well you know." The Primarch made his voice lower as his bodyguard shifted uncomfortably. "Now make yourself useful - go and find me a surgeon and a Tallyman." His eyes, the colour of coagulated blood, were fiery with anger and the Deathshroud nodded, muttering apologies and left the Manse in something approaching a hurry. Mortarion chastised himself for losing his temper so quickly, but anger was his usual go to emotion. Anger and bitterness had become his armour since childhood, and these things were hard to shake – not that he'd tried. He would make it up to Shadan another time.

There were no human sized beds in the Manse. In fact, he realised belatedly, there was only one bed in the whole place that she could use. He was not about to tell the Deathshroud to sleep elsewhere, even if they didn't sleep much. Mortarion didn't do overnight guests in his Manse. He very rarely did guests at all. So he reluctantly took the woman up to his own chambers and lay her down on the Primarch sized bed. He glanced at her briefly. She looked child like and fragile - he shook his head at himself for even thinking it. Just a mortal. He told himself. But I built an army from mortals, once. The thought came with a certain amount of pride... And melancholy. He took Silence off his back and propped it in the corner of the huge room, far away from the bed. He turned to look at her properly, perhaps for the first time since he'd been lumbered with her presence. She was dark haired and pale skinned. Tall, for a mortal woman – possibly, he wasn't entirely sure. She reminded him of someone he had known. Someone he had saved, only to lose. The memory hit him like an electric shock and he recoiled away from her. He was filled with a sense of awkward wrongness, as if he shouldn't be looking at her at all and as if she shouldn't exist. She was so unmarked by her time in a world that should have ravaged her, should've sloughed the skin from her bones by now. Is she anathema to my world? The antithesis of all I am? A curse sent by witchery? Or is she... As strong as us? He moved quickly towards the bed and pulled the covers over her. What will I do when she wakes? His thoughts were disrupted by a sudden chittering noise, and the Nurgling that had smuggled itself along with the woman appeared from under the covers, grinning at him.

"Yes, very clever, Little Lord. You may stay with her." Mortarion gave the daemon a wan smile.

"Come and find me when she wakes." He instructed the fat little creature, and it seemed to salute him as he left the room and left the door ajar behind him. He never could tell whether the lesser daemons were sincere or not. But he had grown to love and respect them, he supposed. And they were exceptionally useful at times – if you wanted a path cleared, a swarm of Nurglings could kill and decimate several people in minutes. All Greater Daemons had once been Little Lords, so Mortarion kept them on side even though they could be exceptionally irritating.

He was disturbed. He wasn't used to his mind racing. The last time he'd truly felt this amount of disquiet was when he'd watched his son fall to a chimeric plague on the Terminus Est. When he'd faced the fact that his most trusted man, Callus Typhon, had been leading a cadre of psychers and left them vulnerable to the warp. Everything he'd known, everything he'd been, was thrown into question in those moments. And it lead to the second biggest change in his long life. The first being that terrifying, glorious decision to defy his foster father and lead the people of Barbarus in a war against the Overlords. He frowned to himself, striding down the long corridor as he thought upon it. Typhon. It was you who was the catalyst for both of those events. Are you behind this, too? Is she some kind of weapon? Why is every pivotal moment tied to us both? There were two places he went when a mood like this came upon him. One was his tower, where he occupied himself with his work. The other was his sanctuary. The whole planet was essentially Barbarus mk. 2, although much better in Mortarions opinion. But his inner sanctuary, the private glory of his Black Manse, was made in the image of the Garden of Nurgle. It was a huge room, a biodome of fecundity. He had tended it over the years, making sure it was as virulent and abundant as he possibly could... With one small exception. Warm, bubbling springs steamed and provided a constant source of heat. They were a sludgy, green brown colour that to most people would be wildly off putting, but to Mortarion they were a source of a rare chance for relaxation. That was something he had to talk himself into, but he knew that today it was needed. He couldn't risk thinking himself into a frenzy.

He nodded to the Deathshroud that guarded the door to his sanctuary.

"Emergencies only. And if a Little Lord comes to find me, let it in." He made the order sound serious, and almost felt the jolt of confusion from his son. But in true Death Guard style, the Deathshroud remained silent and hid any emotion. He simply nodded to Mortarion and stepped aside. As Mortarion went to enter his sanctum, the Deathshroud cleared his throat.

"My Lord?" His deep voice enquired.

"Yes?" Mortarion raised an eyebrow.

"Is everything alright?" The Deathshroud sounded concerned to the Reaper of Men, although to anyone else his guttural, phlegmy words would have been difficult to make out.

"Nothing to worry yourself over, Drezzin. We have an unexpected guest, but she is not hostile. That we know of. I will figure something out if I can get some solitude for a while." He thought his words were enough of a hint, but the Deathshroud pressed on.

"Did you say "she"my Lord?" Drezzin couldn't hide the shock in his voice, nor the wave of it that buffeted against his Kings senses. Mortarion sighed, vowing not to get annoyed.

"Yes. Like I said, nothing to worry over." With that, Mortarion left his perplexed son to stand guard outside the now closed door.

Many of the Death Guard couldn't remove their armour - it was fixed to their bodies by the distended skin and foul discharges that leaked from pores and wounds that never healed, nor harmed. Many lifetimes of swelling, decay and transformation had left them with armour that was as much a part of them as their skin. But Mortarion could remove his when he wished to. His wings made it difficult, but he was a stubborn being. And after a while he was sat in a spring, wings splayed out and relaxed behind him. He couldn't shake the slight unease of being unarmoured, and cursed himself for leaving Silence in the room with the woman. But at least he had the Lantern, his unique mastercrafted plasma gun, next to him. As long as he had a physical weapon to reach for, he was comforted. He forced himself to relax, one muscle at a time. It was something he'd practiced whilst making himself fall asleep in his prison tower as a youth. He had never really needed sleep, but it was good for his physical form to do so sometimes. He didn't intend to sleep now, but he needed to clear his mind. The warm soup like spring embraced him up to his chest, myriad phages and bacteria probing to see if he would be a suitable host, and finding him immune. Creatures and insects skittered in the moist grass, fat bloated flies buzzed lazily in great clouds and trees creaked with benevolent disease. This, he thought, is where I feel most at home. He listened to the sound of running watercoming from the back of the room and sighed in something like contentment. He let his thoughts wander, forcing them to do so slowly. For once, they did not focus on bitterness or hatred. He ignored the voice that constantly reminded him of everything he'd lost or been denied. Instead, he remembered the freedom he'd won. His numerous victories and the zealous worship he'd inspired despite his lack of charisma. He reminded himself that he'd overcome things that would've broken lesser men a hundred times over. He was Mortarion, Lord of Death. Maybe she has been sent to me by the Grandfather. A strange gift by all accounts, but I have used every one of his gifts so far, and I'm not about to stop now. So be it.

Chapter 3.

Curiosity.

She gasped for breath, the scream dying in her throat as she realised she was in a bed, inside... Somewhere. A bed so big that it made her feel tiny. The last thing she remembered was the huge fingers of a daemon on her head, and then pain. But not physical, no. That pain had been felt in the deepest recesses of her mind, and she wondered how she was still sane. Maybe she wasn't, maybe this was all a hallucination conjured by a tormented psyche after her journey in the warp. She sat up, startling the sleeping daemon on her chest. It yelped and fell off then ran out of the room, but she barely noticed.

The warp. I remember now. We were attacked, and I escaped. Where are they? How did this happen? Tears ran down her cheeks as faces she'd known and loved flashed through her mind. She put her head in her hands and sobbed, feeling heartbroken and lost all over again.

Again?

Yes. It wasn't long ago. They killed them all. Destroyed your home. Burnt everything you'd all worked for. Millions of lives...just, gone. Snuffed out in the name of...

Say it.

A snarl made its way up her throat and forced its way from her lips. She spat the words with strangled fury.

"The Emperor."

Her eyes darkened with a hatred she didn't fully understand.

The Reaper of Men had been dozing, his ghostly pale and scarred skin soaking in the virulent pool happily. Nurglings, maggots and flies gathered around him from time to time, making sure the King did not drown in his sleep – not that he would, but they were duty bound on some level. He was the leader of every pack, every being on this plague ridden planet.

He dreamed for the first time in years. Haunted, painful dreams of his childhood, angry and spite fuelled dreams of his gene father. Proud and hopeful dreams of his brother Horus. But mostly, dreams of something he couldn't grasp. A womans pale eyes and a promise he couldn't remember.

He woke to the sound of the heavy, ancient door being opened and rapid footsteps. He groaned and turned around to see Drezzins hooded face leaning through the doorway and a Nurgling racing towards him. The one he'd left with the woman.

"Apologies, Lord. You said to let it in. It seems... Excited." Drezzin said, a wary tone in his deep voice.

"Very good. Thank you Drezzin." Mortarion nodded and Drezzin closed the door. He knew better than to ask questions. The Little Lord hopped madly from one foot to the other, ranting in squawks and screeches and pointing to the door. Mortarion watched it with amusement before pulling himself from the pool and finding a cloth with which to dry his naked body. Marked by a chaos God he might be, but he had always possessed a lean and muscular whip cord strength along with his incredible height. He was not as malformed as his sons, retaining more of his human seeming form even after his transformation into a Daemon Prince. To mortal eyes he would be an abnormally tall, winged and scarred pale mockery of a man. Strong enough to tear a person in half without a weapon, resilient enough to survive almost anything. But to the eyes of the Death Guard, he was the best of them all. Blessed by the Grandfather but made from the genes of The Emperor - he was of both worlds, and neither.

He pulled on his armour, not hurrying despite the protestations of the Little Lord, which jumped up and down in frustration. It had once been unpainted and unadorned, a bone white colour without ceremony. Just like the Death Guard it had been made with only practicality and purpose in mind. Mortarion still had no love of pomp and ceremony but since their irrevocable change, the Death Guards armour boasted different colours (depending on which vectorium they belonged to) but Mortarions, the Deathshrouds and one plague company all wore dark green plate with copper metallic trim. The Death Guard were now adorned with the trilobe of Nurgle, skulls, and the sacred fly. The God of Decay enjoyed the display of loyalty and it was a part of them now. Most of his sons had tentacles and buboes, horns or claws. Some appeared as an unholy mixture of human and fly. But all advanced under Mortarion, and all were accepted and loved by their paternal God, as long as they continued to spread his gifts across the universe. It was as close to fatherly love as Mortarion had ever known, and although he had resisted at first; loathe to be beholden to a thing of the warp, he had capitulated. It was after all, he who had cried out for a saviour rather than watch his unbroken legion perish from disease. He who had handed himself and his legion over to the ruinous power rather than see them all die. Some would say he should've done "the right thing" and chosen death instead. He didn't have the inclination to agree or disagree with the notion. Pivotal indeed. The Primarch mused sourly as he pulled his tattered hood over his head. He spared a look back at the black rock face jutting above the trees at the back of his sanctuary before holstering the lantern and made for the door. The Little Lord scampered through and waddled ahead of him down the rot slick corridor, muttering to itself. Drezzin wisely stayed quiet and closed the door behind his King, continuing his vigil as if nothing had happened. Mortarion would remember to reward him for his diligence, and his silence.

He strode ahead of the Nurgling and it shrieked at him, so he bent down to pick it up and it ran to sit on his shoulder, gripped his hood and giggled to itself. He ignored the strange feeling in his stomach, knowing it could only be nerves but refusing to believe he could ever feel nervous. She's just a human. I could snap her neck with one hand if I so wished. He debated whether he should knock but told himself it was his room, his property. And so as he approached the massive dark wood door, he forced himself to open it and stride over the threshold as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

She'd thought about leaving the room. The door having been left unlocked meant she was free to do so – but that somehow made the idea of wandering around seem less appealing than if she had been locked in so she'd stayed put and chosen to pace instead. Her feet slapped on the dirty floor until it began to annoy her and she stopped to stare at the impossibly large weapon propped in the corner of the room. She'd been so focused on her anger and confusion that she hadn't really noticed it. The scythe was so tall she would have to reach up to touch the pitted and rusted metal of the cruel, curved blade. It's handle was wrapped in leather that looked like bandages. It added to the overall feeling of disease and quiet violence that emanated from it – a feeling she should've been repulsed by, but it mesmerised her. She reached out to trace her fingers on the wrappings. There were dents made by enormous hands, probably big enough to crush her head. She stood on her tip toes and reached up. How sharp is this blade? It looks so old and well used, but the blade itself looks so new. How is that possible? Her fingers almost reached –

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you, mortal." The deep voice shattered her reverie and she cried out in shock, lost her balance and fell over with a painful thud. The man, if you could call him that, stood on the other side of the room and watched passively as she got back onto her feet. She had seen daemons, had run from sentient killer plants and been assailed by various contagions since she'd arrived here. But this giant, winged humanoid put a fear into her that she hadn't felt for a long time. It wasn't just his appearance. The huge moth like wings, his tortured skin and dark red eyes. Or the fact that he was easily around eight to nine feet tall. It wasn't his strangely adorned but neglected armour that spoke of battles beyond count. It was that he seemed familiar somehow, despite having never seen him before. And the way he spoke to her, as if she were an annoying child he'd found rifling through his belongings. I suppose I am, to him. This ancient warrior had an aura of indifferent hostility, but he looked at her curiously. He did not view her the way men often did, but his studious gaze made her acutely aware of her own skin. She shifted awkwardly and folded her arms across her chest, wishing she could muster the anger she'd felt before. But it had fled at the sight of the daemon. Man. King?

"I... I'm sorry. It's a magnificent weapon. I don't know what came over me." She hated the nervous sound of her voice and stared down at the floor as her cheeks burned.

He said nothing but strode across the room in huge steps and ignored her as he picked up the enormous scythe in one hand with little effort. She scuttled out of his way and sat on the bed, not knowing what else to do.

"I trust you slept well. Which means you will be able to answer some questions. But first I will have some of my sons tend to you. They will be here shortly. Do not leave this room." His deep emotionless voice and dark stare held her in place as if she were spellbound and she nodded dumbly. He went to leave but she found her voice just before he shut the door.

"What is your name? Where am I? Please, I'm..." Tears cut her pleading short. Fuck.

Silence. Then she heard a smile in his voice as he replied – "My name, mortal, is death. The Reaper of Men. Mortarion. And this, is my world." She had no time to answer, his footsteps already crashing down the hallway, leaving her alone and more lost than she'd ever been.

Once in a long while, something would cause Mortarion to move swiftly. This was one of those times. His heavily armoured feet carried him like a pestilent tornado as he raced back to his tower, knocking things over with his wings, nearly crushing several Nurglings and hordes of maggots that he barely saw. His mind raced with half formed thoughts and emotions that he kept buried frothed inside his gut, bile filled and painful. He was pleased he had not reacted in her presence, but he was ever the master of his own emotions. Never show your weakness. Never be caught off guard.

He reached his work tower, threw open the door and slammed it behind him. He leant against the door, breathing heavily for a few seconds, before his eyes fell on a grime covered crate. In it were dozens of old leather bound books. He went over to it and opened it for the first time in hundreds of years. The crate had kept them in fair condition from what he could tell. He stood over it, telling himself to just pick one up. His hand didn't want to obey him. After what felt like a long time he picked one up and checked the pages. Still legible. His handwriting. His education. Then, his inner most thoughts. He slammed it shut and rifled through the box until he found the one he was looking for. Records of all the people he'd lost on Barbarus. It had been so long, but his hearts still hurt at seeing all those names. His face didn't change until he found it. Her name.

Serahna.

He hadn't thought about her for a lifetime, and although her name was no longer a blade at his throat, he frowned and one hand clenched into a fist. There was an undeniable ache. She had been one of his failures and one of his greatest losses even now – and he had known many losses.

I'm still sorry, Serahna. Her face came to mind, the memory buried and yet still clear. Dark hair, pink cheeks, green eyes set in typically pale Barbaran skin. Tall and with a smile that lit up the darkness despite the sadness in her eyes. He had been the cause of that smile more than once, and every time he had felt unworthy of it. Another memory threatened to surface and he squashed it down with a snarl as he slammed the ancient book shut, not caring if it broke.

What was the point of this, Mortarion? You know she's dead. She vanished. She would have died long, long ago.

He couldn't shake it.This stranger had a face that was unmistakably similar, and she happened to end up here? It was too coincidental for his liking. Or maybe he was seeing something that wasn't really there. He had called for the Tallyman, that was good. This particular Tallyman, Philemon, was a Barbaran. I will ask him he resolved. If anyone will remember details, it's him. He closed the crate and decided to go straight back to where she was being cared for. This time, he was prepared. Her eyes would not catch him unaware.

He made his way back to the room, knowing she would hear his footsteps outside the door. The Nurgling had been following him around, but he'd ignored it until now. It sat by the door impatiently and frowned up at him. The Pale King rolled his eyes at being ordered around by a lesser daemon but he couldn't help indulging them, just a little bit. He took a deep breath and opened the door to find her asleep again. One long, pale leg poked out of the covers, her robe hiked up to a bare hip. A long forgotten feeling crept up inside him and he realised it was embarrassment, or something like it. Behind that embarrassment hid something else, but he ignored it. The Little Lord ran up onto the bed and snuggled in the crook of her arm. It shot him a smug look before closing it's beady eyes. She moaned and shifted slightly. Mortarion felt his breath catch and he decided he would wait for his men to arrive outside the room. He wasn't waiting for long and was relieved to see a Plague Surgeon and Philemon the Tallyman striding along the corridor. Philemon had been here before, but the Surgeon couldn't hide his pride at being invited to his Lords personal Manse. Mortarion didn't believe he'd met this surgeon before, but no matter.

"Philemon. Thank you for coming, it is good to see you." Mortarian reached out and clasped hands with the ancient Tallyman. As usual, at least two Nurglings hung from his various tools. One of them clutched scrolls and eyed Mortarion suspiciously, the other played with the Tallymans abacus and ignored everyone.

"My Lord. It has been such a long time. It is good to see you as well. But I must admit I hadn't seen this coming. Your summons was a surprise, and I am unused to surprises." The Tallyman raised a boil ridden eyebrow at Mortarion and humour warred with concern in his voice.

"Believe me, Philemon. I know the feeling. The surprise has yet to be revealed." He ignored the curiosity in his sons eyes and nodded to the surgeon. "I don't believe I've met your surgeon before. What happened to Kledo?" The Tallyman looked embarrassed and cleared his phlegm filled throat.

"Vorx had to... Deal with him. He betrayed us. Long time ago now, and it ended there, Lord. We didn't want to trouble you with the news. Hulgar has proven more than capable in the role, and is much better liked than Kledo ever was." The Tallyman smiled a toothless smile, and Mortarion knew he had seen to it that Hulgar had replaced the previous surgeon. If Philemon trusted him, then so did he. The Pale King turned towards the surgeon. Not a Barabaran for sure, and relatively young. Maybe two thousand years old. But his form had been blessed many times, and that was always a good sign. A cluster of three large buboes covered one cheek, just visible under his hood. Mortarion smiled and held out his enormous hand.

"Welcome to my home, Hulgar. I hope you're not easily confounded." Hulgar shook his hand enthusiastically.

"No Lord. Thank you. You do me a great honour. I will not let you down." His voice would've sounded ancient to a mortal, but to Mortarion he sounded like a child. It was nice to be reminded that they weren't all the same age.

"Ah the passion of youth." The Tallyman laughed. "So, Mortarion, what awaits us here? Your man would not say a word of it."

"Good. It is best that I just show you." The Primarch sighed and the two Death Guard looked worried. He slowly opened the door and gestured for them to enter, staying close behind them as they did so.

The surgeon gasped audibly. Philemon walked to the foot of the bed to get a closer look, then looked over to Mortarion, confusion and a hint of fear etched across his pox riddled, time worn face.

"You understand now, why I needed some discretion." Mortarion said quietly. The Tallyman nodded in silence and held out a gnarled hand. A chubby pink hued Little Lord with a single eye appeared with a grunt, handed him a scrap of parchment and a quill made from what appeared to be human bone. He began to scrawl and The Reaper of Men knew he would be lost for a while. He had often been accused of acting like a Tallyman himself. He looked to the young surgeon. His rheumy eyes were wide as he locked gazes with his Primarch. He kept his voice low.

"Is she... Mortal? Human?" He chewed at his lip and it split, oozing something resembling blood. He didn't notice. Mortarion folded his arms and gave a small shrug.

"A Great Unclean One seemed to think so, yes. As to how she got here, and why, I do not know. But the most troubling thing... The most frankly, amazing thing about this – she appears to be entirely immune to everything on this world. Apart from sleeping a lot, she seems to be in perfect health. So, surgeon. I need to know. Is it physical? Witchery? Or something else? And that's where you come in. Before I can do anything, I need to know what I'm dealing with. Find out for me."

The surgeon frowned.

"It has been a long while since I worked with anything not of the Death Guard, Lord. And before I was chosen for Grandfather's blessing I was an apothecary in the corpse emperors imperium..." His bleeding lips curled up in a snarl at the vague memory. "I have never worked on anything mortal." He looked once again at the woman. "But. I will do my best."

"Thank you, Hulgar. I expect you will. And I expect some kind of result. Preferably one that doesn't end in pieces. I'd like her alive and well." Mortarion realised he meant it. He smiled at Hulgar, but he could tell it did little to instil confidence in the Surgeon.

The Tallyman wandered over to Mortarion and cleared his throat.

"There was an irregularity in some recent calculations, I just didn't see it until now. Like a puzzle piece I didn't know was missing. I can only guess that this irregularity was the mystery woman's arrival. Unforeseen... and yet not. But otherwise, things seem normal. It would appear, Lord, that she was meant to be here. Although I do not know why, or how. But I do not believe her existence is harmful to you. Perhaps the Grandfather blesses you? It would not be the first time he has gifted us a mortal, after all. We all remember the boy from the village and what he became..." Philemon trailed off, no doubt lost in thoughts of mortals becoming something so much more than they had been born. It was a subject that fascinated and repelled most transhumans.

"Yes, Tallyman, I remember. But she's female. That has never happened. At least not to my knowledge. Not in the Death Guard and most certainly not among the corpse-spawn. I have never heard of a mortal woman becoming anything more than a ships crew member. And even then..." Mortarion frowned deeply and turned to look at her. Was her slightly familiar face beautiful? He wasn't entirely sure what beauty was any more, but he thought maybe so.

"Even then, they don't survive for long. She's a mystery, and I do not enjoy mysteries. Help me figure this out, both of you, and you will be rewarded. Get what you need, bring it here and take a room. And say nothing to the others. Understood?" He glared at the men, making sure they took in his authority and iron will. The surgeon nodded emphatically. Philemon inclined his head slowly, making his armour creak.

"Our pleasure, Lord. It's been a while since I had such a conundrum to work out!" The Tallyman chuckled to himself and Mortarion opened the door to show them out. Before he left Philemon turned to Mortarion, a serious look upon his face. "I ask this, not as a son. Not as a subordinate. Not even really as Death Guard." His voice was low and cautious, as if he were scared of something. "But as a Barbaran. Is there something else you need to tell me?" He put weight on the word. Barbaran. Mortarions eyes widened.

"You still know me well, Philemon." He paused, unable to force the words out for a few seconds.

"She is familiar to me. And it cannot be possible." He realised his voice betrayed his uncertainty and he loathed himself for it intensely. Philemons ancient ruined face remained serious.

"I knew there was something. We will figure this out. We always do eventually, don't we?" The Tallymans voice was reassuring and he smiled at his Primarch like a kindly father before walking away. Frustrated and ashamed, Mortarion slammed the door shut and turned around to see his guest finally wake up with a fright.

"About time. Are you able to stay awake this time?" Mortarion asked flatly. Her pale eyes were dazed and she pulled the cover over her exposed skin then looked up at him.

"Hopefully. Do you have... Facilities I could use?" She sounded embarrassed but he didn't know why. He supposed humans found such matters awkward. He got up to pull a screen aside to reveal a rudimentary toilet and gestured to it. All waste from the Manse and other buildings went directly down to the pits where slaves worked and lived. They made use of all sorts down there. She didn't seem bothered by it, but stayed where she was. There was a long silence between them.

"So, could I use it? Alone please?" Her indignant tone made Mortarion snort.

"Two minutes." He replied, and left the room.

Chapter 4.

Lucky Cat

She sighed, frustrated.

"I told you, I don't remember. I just woke up here. And I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't just a dream. The deamons are one thing, but you..." Her courage had returned to her during Mortarions questioning. He finally seemed to believe that she had no idea how she'd arrived on his world – but she could tell he didn't trust her. She got the feeling that he didn't truly trust anyone, and for some reason that made her a little sad for him. How lonely a life he must have had. She thought as she watched his huge winged form pacing the room. He stopped and his regard fell upon her again. She wondered how long he could look at her this time – he'd never made it more than a few seconds before turning away.

"What about me?" He asked with an edge of dry amusement to his voice. It was the closest he'd come to showing any emotion beyond intense irritation. His eyes were the colour of rust, or drying blood. His skin was the pallor of death and he was so tall she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. He emanated a kind of fever, but whether that was an illness or just his hyper focus on figuring her out, she couldn't say. Every time he swung around, his giant wings flapped behind him and caused a dusty breeze to hit her in the face. Wings. She kept reminding herself. A man with wings. They were beautiful, in a way. If a moth had grown to insane proportions, she imagined its wings would be very like these. They were taller than a human and mottled with many different hues. She found them mesmerising.

"Well, I've never seen anything like you. You're a man, but you're not. You seem fixated on figuring out why I'm here, which is understandable. But have you stopped to consider that I might find you fascinating in return?" She attempted a smile and pulled the covers around herself tighter. Some unreadable expression flickered across his face but died before it could become something as he made his stare hard again. He frowned.

"Well. As I have no idea where you came from, I cannot say whether you would've seen anything like me before... But that is unlikely. The closest thing would be..." His face darkened and his voice grew icy cold. She should've been scared, but his anger wasn't directed at her. Suddenly her vision swam and began to dim. Her stomach clenched and she fought the urge to scream as her ears filled with the sound of gunfire. She tried to find her weapon, but she'd lost it somewhere in a fight. The flashing lumens showed her surroundings in brief sickening glimpses as she ran towards the sump, believing she could hide there until she knew what to do. No one ever went there unless they had to, but the noxious fumes had never bothered her the way it did them. The smell of blood was bothering her, though. No. Don't think about it. Her mind had shut down in its panic, allowing her clarity and a near lack of emotion. She crept down the corridor, trying not to look at the damage done to their ship. Trying not to think about what she'd seen. Her captains rage filled screams as he'd told her to get away. That was just before he'd given up his life to save her. To save her from the giant that had come for her, moving inhumanly fast in armour heavier than she could fathom. Her would be killer was eerily silent other than the noises coming from that armour, and it raised a gun that no human could ever wield. A strange thought had crossed her mind in the face of certain death. Do you ever feel remorse, Astartes? Or are you so convinced of your righteousness that it never touches you? Don't you ever take the time to think on the utter destruction you carry out in his name? Countless civilisations gone on the whim of one fucking man... Comply. Or die. Fine, Space Marine. Then I will die. But I will take you with me if I can. She'd pulled her knife from its sheath and readied herself to dodge the Astartes fire. It wouldn't be the first time she'd taken a Marine down. I was lucky the first time, if nearly dying can be called fortunate. They called me Lucky Cat, after so many brushes with death. After so many kills just before my own demise. Then just Cat. Cat the Astartes killer. Cat, the one who claimed her prize then slunk away when she grew bored. Lucky Cat. Former Dream Eater, pirate, corsair. Enemy of the Imperium. She'd watched her Captain leap from the ships console onto the shoulders of her assailant, screaming at her to run, to keep being lucky for him. She didn't want to but she obeyed and heard his strangled cry as the life was crushed from him by a huge hand clad in blue. The memory snapped abruptly as she felt a different huge hand on her face. NO! Her mind screamed. You killed us, you bastards. We'll join Horus, and we'll be there to see your beloved emperor die in return! Hatred raged through her consciousness with the heat of a sun and her eyes flew open. She screamed and kicked, surprising Mortarion and the other men who were not men. She slipped away from them and threw herself off the bed, trying desperately to get away from these creatures who so reminded her of the ones who had taken everything from her. She crashed into the wall and realising she was cornered she suddenly slunk to floor like a puppet with its strings cut, defeated and broken. Tears came, and she hated herself for it. But they would not stop and she sobbed and wailed so hard that it hurt.

If the seizure that had taken her had surprised him, then her reaction upon coming round had shocked him. Mortarion stayed calm outwardly, but his mind raced. Hulgar approached her softly, whispering to her. She seemed to respond to him and her sobbing eased, but she didn't look at him. Mortarion stayed back for now, not knowing how to handle the situation. That alone caused him a great deal of unease. Philemon scratched at his parchment as Little Lords squawked quietly in his ears. He was no doubt recording her words.

"My ears did not deceive me, did they, Tallyman?" He said in a low, wary voice. Philemon raised an eyebrow and looked up.

"No, Lord. My guess is she is a lot older than she looks. And..." He paused, watching Hulgar reach out to the woman who eyed him suspiciously. "And I would say she has no love of the imperium. Like I said, Lord. She is meant to be here." He smiled wanly.

"Surgeon, let me talk to her." Mortarion put a hand on Hulgars shoulder and pulled him away gently but firmly. The surgeon almost seemed to resist for a second.

"Very well, Lord. But please be kind with her, if you can. She is suffering from a wound to the mind caused by trauma. The kind seen in the Astra Millitarum sometimes. She has lived through much, and needs time." His voice was solemn and Mortarion knew then that he had seen this before. He got up and went to join the Tallyman, sparing the woman a compassionate glance.

Mortarion sat down in front of her. She was naked but he didn't particularly notice, other than to realise she could be cold and pulled the blanket off the bed. He held it out to her slowly, saying nothing. Her crying had ceased for now and she wiped her nose with her hand, breathing heavily. Slowly she reached out for the blanket and covered herself. She didn't look at his face, but her eyes fixed on his hand. She looked scared.

Be kind with her.

"I will not hurt you. I don't know who did, but we are not them." He tried to make his voice soft. It felt alien. Promising not to hurt someone felt even stranger.

She sniffed and looked up.

"You remind me of them. The Astartes." She whispered the word as if it would summon them. His blood turned to ice.

"We are, and we are not. Heretic Astartes, they call us. I turned from the light of the emperor long ago. You said the name Horus. What do you know of him?"

Her eyes seemed clearer now and she examined his face with a strange look in her eyes.

"We were going to join his fleet. But my ship never made it that far. They slaughtered everyone. As if having destroyed our empire wasn't enough." She spat the words with hatred and Mortarion couldn't help but smile a little.

"They wore blue. Different to the other ones that came before. The blue ones I couldn't kill. I was the only one of my ship to count an Astartes bastard on my kill tally, but not a blue one. Lucky Cat, that's me. Lucky Cat got away and everyone I knew was crushed." She sank into the corner sadly and Mortarion was struck by something he wasn't used to - empathy. He reached his enormous arms out to her.

"Let me help you. You need food and rest. Your luck still holds. We are on the same side, though I think I should fill you in on some details. I was there when Horus attacked. I was there... when Horus fell." He said the words quietly but firmly.

Her eyes widened. Then she nodded at his hands, and didn't fight as he scooped her up in his arms and put her back on the bed. He turned to his men.

"Can you get some food and water? Shadan did it last time but she slept the whole time." It was a request and an order. They looked at each other, not used to doing servo work, but nodded and left the room with bemused expressions.

Mortarion and Cat talked for some time, filling gaps in her memories. He surmised that she'd been in stasis this whole time. It was a wonder she'd survived. She was angry to hear of Horus' failure and death but pleased that the Emperor was little more than a corpse. He told her of the Ultramarines and watched with pleasure as her eyes burned with hatred. He told her of his benevolent God, and how the Death Guard became what they are. How he became what he is. He even found himself admitting to her his shame, how it still stung so many of them to have been laid low by disease, and how hard it had been to beg for their lives. He left out how he'd felt about his old friend.

During their talk she had eaten some food and Hulgar had found some clothing. A simple loose shirt and some military grade trousers. They looked like an imperial soldiers uniform but she didn't dwell on that. Mortarion had averted his gaze whilst she dressed, which struck her as amusing, but she appreciated it. He had talked far more than she suspected he was used to, and now they had paused he looked a little awkward. He stood up, his armour creaking. She was reminded again how massive he was, but he didn't scare her as much now that she was rational. Now she knew who and what he was. Fear had been replaced by fascination. Curiosity had always emboldened her and she sat down on the bed and looked up at him, no longer avoiding eye contact.

"Mortarion?" She asked.

"Yes?" He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her, caution creeping back into his voice. The spell had been broken now, and she was disappointed. Still, she couldn't resist.

"When was the last time you sat and just talked with someone? Especially, well, a woman?" She smiled and tried to look casual. His eyes widened a tiny bit, barely perceptible. He cleared his throat.

"Why? Are you asking if you're the first?" His question was a little blunt, but she'd realised he was a blunt man. She laughed quietly.

"I don't expect I'm the first, no. But it strikes me that you must have spent thousands of years being a Lord, a father, a military leader. With no one to just...be with. I think that seems a very lonely life. That's all. It must be hard." She lay down on the bed and yawned.

The Lord of Death was silent. Thinking or annoyed, she couldn't tell.

"It would be hard if I were human, I suspect. But I am far from it, and I am used to solitude. When you've lived through what I have...lonely is better." His voice was quiet, and he suddenly seemed quite young to her. She felt guilty for the sorrow she could sense from him. It was a hard sorrow, with jagged edges. The kind that had been honed over millennia, designed to keep people at bay. She hurt for him and wondered if he could ever be convinced to let anyone in. But she could tell he'd opened up more than he had to anyone for a long time today, and he was at his limit. She let it drop.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I have a problem with curiosity. I should let you go, your sons must be wondering where you are." She resigned herself to him leaving, and settled into the bed.

"I rarely see them when I'm here. They know better than to disturb me, and my Deathshroud know where I am. But you should sleep. I will ask my men to tend to you tomorrow." He straightened his hood and turned to leave.

"Will you come back tomorrow as well?" She asked, annoyed at the needy tone to her voice. He turned to face her.

"If you would like me to. If you are able, I would like to go for a walk. I believe you've left something out there and I'd like to find it." He turned once more and put a hand on the door handle. Without looking at her he spoke again.

"Thank you for trusting me. For talking, and listening. And by the way... the last time was when I was young, back on the planet that molded me. So very, very long ago that I had forgotten her face. But I remember now." Before she could reply, he had gone.

Chapter 5

Revelations.

She awoke early in the morning, feeling rested and eager to explore her new temporary home.

Home.

A curious word now. She realised dumbly that she had no idea where home was. It had been in the... The Singhul Sector. That was its name. But she hadn't been there in a very long time indeed. Then it had been the ship, but that had been emptied of life by the Ultramarines. She prodded at the memory gently, it was still a raw wound but the sudden shock of remembering had worn down to a dull ache. Her Captains last words... If she could remember them, she'd know how she'd escaped.

GO, CAT! STAY LUCKY, FIND THE PODS!

That was it, the pods. She'd somehow got to the stasis chamber before they could find her. She must have activated it on a timer before climbing inside and being put to sleep for... Well, too long. But she'd made it. She'd turned up here of all places – a planet that should've killed her but didn't.

Your luck still holds.

She smiled to herself as she remembered the way he'd talked to her. The way he'd picked her up as if she weighed nothing. He could've snapped her in two there and then, ridding himself of her inconvenient existence. But instead he coaxed her out of her hysteria and talked to her for hours. Why? I don't understand any of this.

She got up and refreshed herself as much as she could. She knew she could leave the room and wander if she chose to, but the thought was too much right now. She would wait a while and hope that he came to her.

Mortarion had decided to sleep but his dreams had tormented him enough that he woke feeling like he'd been in battle with Psykers. His mood was sour as a result and he barked at Philemon and Hulgar over the vox to see to their guest as soon as they were able. He wanted tests run on her, much to Hulgars delight. He would go to her when they were done – he would not do so whilst he felt like this. Even after all this time, he still hated using his psychic abilities and avoided it as much as possible. His Deamonhood, however, had made them stronger and easier to use. Even when he didn't mean to, he would pick up on things that he could only know as a psyker. That was how he'd realised that she also had psychic abilities – but she was unaware. It explained her "luck" and knack of not dying. It didn't, however, explain why she hadn't died here. The planet should've killed her. The Deamons should've killed her. But she'd been accepted almost as a native, and that was the thing that itched at his mind the most. Well, that... And the fact that she felt so painfully familiar.

Nurglings scuttled around his scriptorium, chittering and arguing over some fleshy scraps they'd scavenged from somewhere. Strange plants grew in the cracks of the damp walls, bugs squirmed and spores drifted through the thick air. Mortarion pulled his hood over his now bald head and set about recording events and calculations in his ledger. A Little Lord ran up his leg to sit on his lap, cooing at him until he scratched it under the chin. This one had evolved to look as much like him as it could, even finding a purple bit of cloth to use as a hood. He shook his head at the tiny Deamon in wry amusement.

"Trust me little one. You do not want to be me." It frowned at him and tried to bite his finger to no avail, the dark green armour stopping it's razor sharp teeth. It burped and began to fall asleep.

He tried to concentrate but failed repeatedly until he grew so frustrated that he growled and almost threw the enormous book at the wall. All he could think about was Cat and the mystery around her. He was not used to being unable to control his thoughts – he didn't get his reputation for strength and determination for nothing. But something in him had shifted inexplicably. He was restless and anxious, and found himself wanting to be in her company again. Everything else felt like an irritation, an inconvenience. It's simply because I have yet to figure it all out. I have never enjoyed the unknown. Solve the mystery, and get back to normal. That's all. I have a war to plan, after all.

He decided he needed to get out. He would fly, or walk, to clear his mind. Perhaps he could find what he assumed must be out there, then take her straight to it. He smiled, then caught himself and scowled. He mag locked the Lantern to his leg, took Silence from its hook on his wall and climbed from his window, avoiding any discussion with the Deathshroud that was undoubtedly stationed outside his room.

He descended slowly, heading towards the field where he'd found her with the Great Unclean one just a couple of days before. His super human eyes could see a lot of things from his vantage point in the air, but a stasis pod was not one of them. He realised he actually had no idea what direction she'd come from when the Deamon had found her.

I'll have to contact him. The thought made him frown and grit his teeth. The Great Unclean Ones were huge but hard to find if they didn't want to be found, and could often only be reached via psychic means. Not only did Mortarion dislike that, but he found conversation with them often aggravating. They were on an equal footing with him in their patron God's view, so he could not truly command them - and they delighted in being cryptic to annoy him. They were jovial and humorous when not in battle, which he supposed was a good thing, or they could cause him no end of problems on his planet. But Mortarion had very little humour if any, and his usually infinite patience was sorely tested every time he had to deal with them. Despite this, he did like Kul'roth. It was fortunate that he'd been the one to find Cat. Some of the others may have just killed her on the spot. He landed in the expansive field, his boots squelching in the bog like ground as he did so. Sentient vines made their way over to him, thought better of it and turned away. Slimy things wriggled in the foetid mud and he could hear other creatures fussing around in trees, no doubt excited to see the Pale King. He scanned the area with his icy gaze and could see nothing of the Greater Deamon. He sat down on a nearby rock and closed his eyes.

Kul'roth. Where are you? I require your assistance.

Nothing.

Kul'roth. Don't fuck with me, Deamon. I know you can hear me. It's regarding the woman.

Then came the familiar feeling of vertigo that only happened when a Greater Deamon entered his mind. He hissed and forced himself to focus as the words formed alongside an image of Kul'roth. The nausea hit him in a wave then faded as quickly as it had come. The Deamons voice held its usual lilt of amusement.

To what do I owe this honour, my winged liege? It is rare that you seek me out.

Mortarion sighed.

In one of those moods, are we? Very funny. Anyway. The woman you found, from which direction did she appear? I'm in the field now.

The Deamon chuckled.

You sound anxious, Lord. Most unlike you. She lives, then?

Yes. Her mind is wounded, but she is otherwise fine. Which is surprising given her age.

How old? She seemed but a babe to me. But then, you all do.

Mortarion ignored it.

Pre Heresy.

Kul'roth fell silent for a few moments.

Well, well. That is interesting. And my assertion was correct? She was on your side?

Yes. The only answer can be a stasis pod, and I want to find it.

Why? What will it achieve?

Can you just tell me where she came from?

I enjoy talking with you, Mortarion. We should do this more often. From down the hill. To your left.

Thank you. And only if its not like this. Face to face next time.

So, again. Why?

The Reaper of Men rubbed at his face and sighed again. This form of communication grated on him.

I'm hoping it will help her. She remembers little, and what she did remember caused her great pain. I don't know, I just need this solved.

Come now, Mortarion. You should know I can see more than you want me to. This is an excuse to spend time with her as much as it is your desire to solve a mystery. You're drawn to her...she seems familiar, hmm?

Kul'roth... Don't make me find you. You will regret it.

Oh my King, Lord of Death. Please I beg for my life! Kul'roth laughed heartily before coughing, his chest rattling with phlegm. Mortarion gritted his teeth.

She reminds me of someone I knew. It is of no matter, I have my men running tests. We will find out where she comes from. I simply thought finding the pod might help.

I know what you're thinking, Pale King. I hope you are correct... I sense it will make you happy.

I worry it will raise more questions than it answers, but I have to know.

Kul'roth laughed to himself. Ever the scientist. You could've just used your skills to probe her, you know.

No. It would've caused her too much distress. And she is unaware.

Ah. Well, Lord, I wish you luck. Let me know if you have need of me.

I shall.

There was a rushing sensation, making him feel nauseous again, and the connection was severed.

He wasn't as glib or cryptic as usual. Mortarion thought, rubbing at his eyes to ease the slight headache. It vanished within seconds, his body never let anything trouble him for long. Strange, but appreciated.

He made his way up the hill, using the haft of Silence as a staff against the soft ground that threatened to slip under foot with every step. Spores fell from twisted trees and tickled at his face in an act of futility. Once he reached the top he decided it would be best to fly down, and pondered the tenacity of the woman he now knew as Cat. Most mortals would not have got far here. He beat his wings to take him up higher in order to look around, having not seen anything resembling a stasis pod. Hopefully the creatures haven't destroyed it already. Grandfathers balls, I hadn't thought of that. He grunted in annoyance at himself, but followed a gut feeling to look to the North. She can't have walked too far from here, surely.

"Careful!" She cried, scowling at Hulgar. He scowled back and tightened his grip on her arm as he drew blood into a vial.

"Maybe if you didn't fight it, mortal. It would not hurt so much." The surgeon was losing patience with her after having a lot of trouble finding a vein and putting up with relentless questions. He had felt so sorry for her yesterday, and been so intrigued, but right now he never wanted to deal with a mortal again. Philemon laughed from his seat in the corner of the room.

"Patience, Hulgar. Remember they feel pain far more keenly than we do. Maybe you're being too heavy handed."

"Mind your scrawling, Philemon. Wouldn't want to cause a worm hole with a miscalculation, would you? I do not need your direction." The surgeon said with more than a little irritation.

She shot Philemon a tense smile but he wasn't looking at her. Always with the paper. She mused. What has you so absorbed, I wonder? The Tallyman raised his hooded head suddenly and locked his rheumy eyes on her. The ghost of something like shock rolled over his pox marked face but he hid it quickly. They held each others gazes for a couple of seconds before he looked back down at his notes. He pulled a fresh piece from a satchel and scrawled something with a sense of urgency. She looked away, confused, and watched the Surgeon finish his ministrations.

"So. You won't tell me what you're testing for. You won't tell me why he asked you to do it, and you can't tell me if he's coming. What will you tell me? I'm perfectly well, and getting bored." She pouted at him, knowing she seemed petulant.

"May I remind you that you're several thousand years old? Acting like a child isn't going to work on me. But I can tell you, that as a Death Guard Plague Surgeon, one of my many duties is to study medical anomalies. And you, mortal –"

"- I told you, my name is Cat." She interrupted him, knowing it would irritate him, but she'd had enough of being called "mortal".

"Apologies. You, Cat. Are an anomaly. So here I am, whether we like it or not. When Mortarion himself asks you to do something, you do it, and I am not going to fail my Lord the first time I get personally tasked with something. So you can cooperate and make this less stressful for both of us, or you can be difficult, and only one of us will enjoy it. Understood?" He smiled a dark smile, and the compassionate young man he'd been the day before vanished. His eyes burned with something that scared her into compliance. She nodded and his grip lessened. He finished drawing blood in silence. Philemon got up from his chair and a Nurgling, she now knew, followed him. It stuffed a piece of paper into his bag, then climbed up onto the bed. She recognised it as her tour guide and smiled. It grinned back at her and squawked before nuzzling her leg and settling down for a nap.

"All Plague Surgeons have a mean streak. They have to, in order to do what they do on battlefields. Don't take it personally. Hulgar is anxious because he wants to please Mortarion, and he has never dealt with a mortal beyond the occasional kill. His bedside manner is normally a little less... Harsh. Isn't that right, Hulgar?" The Tallymans voice had that paternal tone to it again. She liked him.

The surgeon was slotting vials into a case. He finished and looked at them both.

"Erm. Yes. I am sorry, I am unused to dealing with someone who is... Like yourself." The surgeon had reverted back to being awkward and soft spoken. The change was unsettling.

"I'm sorry I haven't been a very good patient. Anything else you need?" She offered, forcing herself to sound friendly.

"Skin and hair samples. And, well. If you don't mind, I need to check you for anything... Foreign. Modifications, that kind of thing. Philemon will supervise." He didn't look at her.

"I'm guessing that means no clothes? Wonderful." She rolled her eyes but started to undress, refusing to feel any shame after everything she'd been through. He was just doing his job, and she wanted it over with. They didn't have chance to look away but they did try, to their credit.

I really want to shave. She mused, as Hulgar ran a device over her whole body. It made no noise and he nodded, satisfied.

"All clear. You can dress now." He muttered, pressing some buttons. Then he yanked a couple of hairs from her head, much to her silent annoyance, and took some swabs from her arm and the inside of her cheek.

"Hope you're not planning on cloning me." She joked. He smiled weakly as he packed his things. "Most certainly not. One of you is quite enough even for the Death Guard." Said the harassed looking Surgeon. Philemon laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. She couldn't help but laugh too. Hulgar looked at them as though they'd gone mad.

"I'm going to run the tests now. Please inform Lord Mortarion that it will take a while." And with that he left the room, leaving them to exchange bemused expressions.

"I'll go fetch us a meal and some tea. Hopefully I can find you something suitable." Philemon declared, and he too left the room.

"Just you and me, little buddy." She said to the snoring deamon.

Mortarion, I hope you're coming back soon. She thought, and flopped back onto the bed, huffing to herself.

He was on his way back to the Manse when he heard her. The thought had swept across his mind like an electric shock. A pleasant one that made his hair stand on end. He frowned, not entirely happy that she had targeted him so easily. Still, he decided to try something. His home came into view and he pictured her face as he flew in her direction.

I am on my way to you now. Try to control your thoughts, lucky Cat.

He smirked, knowing what a shock she would have if it worked. Then he frowned at himself.

What am I doing? He shook his head and landed with some force as he resolved to compose himself.

She sat up, scaring the Little Lord and making it shriek at her, but she barely noticed. She'd heard him as if he'd been stood in front of her, but she was alone. He replied, but in my head. That's... I'm not... Am I? Fuck. Then she remembered how the Tallyman had looked at her when she'd thought about him.

Fuck.

Philemon came back with a tray of various bits of food and two steaming cups. He set it down and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you well, Cat? You've gone quite pale. Did the boy take too much blood?" She could've hugged him for his concern, but she just nodded slowly.

"I'm okay. But. Um. Philemon, is it? Sorry. Hmm. Strange question incoming." She fiddled with her hair and got up to pace the room.

"I'm sure I've heard worse in my time, but go ahead." He chuckled.

"Earlier, did you hear me? Like, in your head?" She scratched at her arms a little the way she did when she was nervous. He smiled.

"You mean when you were wondering what keeps me so absorbed in my work? Yes, but I didn't want to say anything. I thought you didn't know. Clearly I underestimated you." He sipped his tea and began to write.

"Huh. Well no, you didn't really. I had no idea. But I've just spoken to Mortarion. So... Wow. Okay. That's new. He'll be here very soon, by the way." She sat down opposite Philemon, eyes glazed with the shock of finding out she was a psyker. He pushed some food towards her gently.

"Mortarion? Oh my dear, you are full of surprises. To think I haven't been astounded by anything in hundreds of years, and then you show up. I always said women were special." He laughed, finding himself most amusing. She drank some tea and looked mildly offended.

"You see, my Lord has always had a particular distaste for psykers. Anything to do with magic, really." He nibbled some rotting bread. Her heart sank at his words.

"But he's one too, isn't he? I heard him in my head, he replied to me!" She knew she sounded indignant but she couldn't help herself.

"Ah yes. He's actually a very strong one. I myself am moderately talented, enough to do my job anyway. But our Lord can turn the tide of battle with a single spell. It just takes a lot for him to use it. Either he let you in or you're freakishly strong. Or... Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Put it this way. No one just randomly talks to the Lord of Death via psychic means."

"Why is he called the Lord of Death?" She asked, getting distracted. "I've heard that a few times now, and it seems... Odd. This place is so alive. I haven't seen a single dead thing yet. One would expect a lot more well, death, in a place ruled by someone with a name like that." She rested her chin in her hand and looked at the Tallyman directly. He smiled.

"Special indeed." Philemon mused with a twinkle in his cloudy eyes and continued to eat. She sighed, realising she wouldn't get an answer.

The large door swung open and Mortarian stepped into the room. The atmosphere changed with his arrival. She realised he looked... Pleased.

"Ah, Mortarion. Hulgar is off running his tests, he said it could take some time." The Tallyman paused. "I'll take my leave now, if that's alright?" He looked up at his Primarch.

"Of course. And, um, thank you, Philemon. I'm glad you are here." Mortarion had to force the words out, but he felt it necessary. The Tallyman looked surprised, then smiled.

"Not a problem, Lord. I haven't enjoyed myself this much for an age!" He beamed at both of them and a boil near his mouth burst. "Good day, lady Cat. I'm sure we will talk again soon." He gave a small bow, and she laughed.

"I'm sure we will. Bye, Philemon." She smiled at him as he left, closing the door behind him. Mortarion turned to her and eyed the table.

"I see our Tallyman has been a good host. I assume he knows about your ability as well?" He sat down opposite her and propped Silence against the window. It towered over them menacingly.

She nodded. "He was here when you... Replied. Turns out he already knew because I accidentally did it to him too. He also told me something that I don't understand. About you." She chewed at her lip and looked up at him. His eyes bore into her but showed no emotion.

"Oh really? And what would that be?" He asked.

"You hate psykers. But you are one. It doesn't make sense." She fiddled with her teacup, not wanting to see if she'd annoyed him. She was relieved to hear no sign of it in his voice.

"Have you never loathed a part of yourself?" His cold stare locked onto her and a chill ran down her spine. He obviously knew she wasn't going to reply. "My psychic abilities come from my true father. The corpse Emperor. I resent them. They are to blame for so much, you cannot comprehend it. Only the most arrogant of us believe we can bend the warp to our will, and nothing good ever comes from it. I have learnt to adapt, and use these abilities of mine and of my sons. Particularly since I was forced to give us over to... A God, many of our number have developed certain talents. But I will never be at ease with it." He sighed and settled back on his chair, looking uncomfortable despite his relaxed posture.

"I'm not exactly happy about it myself. It scares me. I've always had... Feelings. Hunches. Like I could see a potential outcome of something a split second before it happened. But I've never heard anyone in my head before. Not that I remember, anyway." She ran a hand through her hair and tugged at a knot.

Mortarion snorted. "A brother of mine had a similar ability. But he only ever chose the darkest and most fatalistic path. A shame – he and I were allies in another life. But he eventually chose a path that held only failure and madness." The Pale King seemed to be musing to himself.

"What happened to him?" She asked, nervously.

"My brothers saw fit to imprison him in a stasis chamber and shoot him into space. He was insane, this is true. But they have a knack of inserting themselves into others business. Judge, jury and executioner. They're no better than him, but they will never see it that way." His expression had darkened and he looked at his hands, frowning.

She didn't know how to respond.

"I... I'm sorry. Sounds complicated." She said quietly, then jumped as Mortarion barked a bitter laugh.

"Hah! That's one way of describing it. And don't be. Curze is dead. The Angel is dead. Horus, Manus. Possibly several others. I don't intend to join any of them. Leave them to their squabbles. Guilleman, however... Him, I will deal with. Eventually." His voice held violent promise and grim determination, and he smiled to himself. She cleared her throat to remind him she was there and he looked at her.

"Sorry. You don't need to hear about all that. Although, speaking of stasis chambers. I found yours. Would you care to see it?" He stood up, not really waiting for an answer. She raised an eyebrow and stood up too.

"Lead the way." She smiled and watched him pick his scythe up one handed again, still awed by his strength.

The corridor outside the room was long and dark but she could make out damp running down the walls and various kinds of mould growing on it in patches of colour. Black, green, red, white. If it had a smell she couldn't detect it. She jumped as Mortarion turned to a man she hadn't noticed stood outside the door. He was the image of his Lord, just a bit smaller. She couldn't see his face but his armour and hood were the same colour as Mortarions. His face was covered by a helm that had chainmail hanging from it. Such an ancient adornment that it struck her as oddly endearing. He held a scythe that looked very much like the one wielded by Mortarion.

"Drezzin. I'm glad you're here. Would you come by the tower around sundown? Ask the other Deathshroud, surgeon and Tallyman to do the same." He put a hand on the marines shoulder and the faceless hood swung around, perhaps in surprise.

"Yes, Lord. Is everything well?" His voice croaked like a man who wasn't used to speaking. She wished she could see his expression.

"As well as can be. I'm going for a walk but I'll be back later. See you then."

"Very well, Lord." His voice held a hint of confusion but she could tell he would not question Mortarion. At least, not in front of her.

Mortarion strode down the corridor and she had to run to catch up. They came out into a large lobby, which was much the same as what she had seen so far but with more foliage – some with beautiful, brightly coloured flowers in hues of pinks and oranges, and small creatures skittering about the place. The windows were enormous, easily twice the height of the Primarch. That strange yellow green light poured in, casting a sickly glow on everything it touched. She thought it beautiful.

They left the manse and ventured out into the vast expanse of wild, virulent landscape. She breathed in deeply, feeling invigorated.

"Ah, I do like the air here." She smiled. Mortarion raised an eyebrow and looked down at her.

"It should have begun to putrefy your lungs the moment you arrived." He said flatly.

"Oh. Well I feel fine. Great, even." She stretched her arms above her head as if to prove it. The Lord of Death shook his head a little and began to walk. She followed.

They were silent as they trudged up the hill, until she slipped and let out a squeal. Before she fell, Mortarions massive hand shot out and grabbed hers, then pulled her up. They stood looking at each other for a second. "Thanks." She muttered breathlessly, a little embarrassed. He nodded, and looked down at their joined hands before pulling his away and continuing upwards. She frowned to herself.

Who else can say they held the hand of a Primarch? She wondered, still a little surprised he hadn't broken her fingers by accident, and marvelling at how small her hand had been in his. She found herself wondering what his skin felt like under the armour, and shook her head. Stop that right now. He might hear you. That thought was enough to make her cheeks burn and focus on something else. Oh, look. Aren't the trees just wonderful here. She stifled a giggle.

He felt her thoughts bounce against his mind without penetrating it, then flee. Good. He thought, not directing at her. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what she'd been thinking.

After some time, and some idle chatter on her end, they made it down the other side of the hill.

"I remember this field. I thought I'd lost my mind when I saw him." She mused. "Funny how these things become so normal so quickly." She sighed. "But I'm nothing if not adaptable."

"Kul'roth? Be careful not to think of him too much. If he appears, we'll be here all day." Mortarions voice was serious but she couldn't help laughing. "Up there." He pointed with Silence.

They eventually came to a mound of plant covered soil, half covering what was clearly a stasis chamber, nestled at the foot of a tall, gnarled tree. It had been white once, but age and being on a planet like this one had corroded most of the paint. Bugs squirmed in the control panel and the glass had turned cloudy with various fungi.

"Well, that proves it then." She crossed her arms and frowned at it.

"Yes. I was hoping it would help you remember. You'll have to open your mind." He looked at her pointedly.

"Not sure I want to. I remember making my way to the sump, figured no one would go there. Then I used the vents to reach the stasis chamber, set the timer and... Well, ended up here. Somehow."

"The warp." He scratched a cheek. "Our Daemon friend said you reeked of warp energy. And I feel it on that." He gestured to the pod. "Something kept you safe and saw that you made your way here. It's the only explanation. The question is, why?"

"Does it matter?" She asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I don't know. Which is even worse, somehow." He grumbled, looking genuinely perturbed. His dark red eyes flicked from her to the pod and back again.

"I feel like I should apologise, but I can assure you I didn't choose this. I didn't even know this place existed. I knew of the inexorable Death Guard. But I'd never laid eyes on any of you until now. I just knew your legion would be there, when the time came to rally under the Warmaster Horus." She looked at the pod, eyes glazing with memories recalled. Her voice took on the far away tone of someone lost in recall.

"I was determined, you know. As I climbed into that pod, I swore I would endure whatever I had to in order to see the Imperium fall. I had already lived through so much, I no longer cared what I had to do. Maybe it was sheer stubbornness that lead me here." She had a hand on the stasis pod, her fingers stroking the chipped paint.

Mortarion stared at her, a realisation hitting him as she spoke. Her words echoed around in his mind.

"I swore I would endure."

She was chosen, by him. In that moment, she unknowingly sought the favour of the Grandfather, and he not only heard her, but granted her a boon. My God saw you safe, Cat. My God entrusted you to the Death Guard. You are one of us now, in some form.

It seemed preposterous, but he knew it to be true. No illness would truly kill her and only the most severe injury would lay her low. Inured to pain and invigorated by toxins, she had the protection of Nurgle, and Nurgles children were all but impossible to kill. Right now he had no idea why she had been blessed, only that it was true. He sat down abruptly, eyes wide as he watched her. Her head spun around and she met his gaze.

"What?" She asked suspiciously, taking her hand away from the stasis pod.

"I know why you're here. Well, that is to say I know who guided you here. For what purpose I don't know, but it is quite... Remarkable." His voice sounded distracted, but his eyes burned as he looked at her. She felt her cheeks flush as questions raced through her mind.

"What are you talking about? Who? And what's remarkable? Please, talk to me, Mortarion." She pleaded, but he wasn't listening.

"Come now, Cat. We have much to discuss, but not yet." He stood up and grabbed Silence, readying himself to leave. For some reason that made her angry.

"No." She replied in a clipped voice. He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised.

"No?" He almost laughed. "I need to get back. Stay here if you must." He shrugged, which she couldn't help but think seemed a strange gesture on him, and started walking away. That made her furious.

"I said no because I want you to talk to me! I have a right to know what the fuck is going on, Mortarion. Maybe being a Primarch has made you forget that people have feelings, but this is my life and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you know!" Her breathing was heavy, and she shook slightly.

He moved faster than a being of his size had any right to, rounding on her in a blur of wings and heavy armour. She stumbled and leaned against the tree for support. His eyes burned brightly, as if he were in the grip of a fever. He bent down and came face to face with her, his pallid skin only a couple of inches away. She knew he smelled of death, but she breathed him in gratefully.

"You talk to me of feelings as if I have never experienced them." He growled. "But I have lived a thousand lives, and seen even more deaths. I have felt more anger, more grief, more bitterness and hatred than you can conceive. So do not talk to me of feelings." His voice was thick with restrained anger, and one hand dug into the tree above her head, making it creak and drip toxic sap. She begged her heart to stop racing so that she could talk.

"Have you only ever felt that? What about excitement, happiness? Fear? It seems you react to everything with a sullen anger. Has anything ever made you happy, Mortarion? Have those lips ever smiled with joy? Has anything ever scared or excited you so much you thought your heart would burst?" Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. She cursed herself for it and held them back.

He didn't move.

"You don't know me. Why do you care?" He softened his voice a little, and she heard a strange sorrow there which deflated her anger completely, leaving her feeling vulnerable. He didn't move, leaving her no escape route. She shuddered as a chill went down her spine. Being in such close proximity to one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy was unnerving and exhilarating. But she forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to be cowed. His question had surprised her, though.

"I... I don't know. But I do care, I suppose. Maybe because you didn't just kill me, maybe because..." She trailed off, not wanting to say it. If I say it, he'll think I'm insane. If I say it, that makes it real.

"Say it." He commanded. He said it out loud, but she also felt his words in her mind. Her resolve broke in an instant and she inhaled.

"Because I do know you." She all but whispered. "But I don't know how."

For the first time since she'd been here, she searched his eyes and saw something other than anger, irritation or resigned sorrow. He looked like she'd punched him in the gut. If there had been any colour in his face, it surely would've drained as he looked in her eyes.

"And that... That is something that does scare me." His voice was low and strained, and she knew it pained him to admit it. "You are familiar to me. But you cannot be. She is dead." His voice turned flat again and she knew he'd choked his emotion down until he could no longer feel it. She got the impression it was second nature to him. "I was going to discuss it with you properly later, with the others, but I've realised it was my patron God who made sure you reached me. You are quite literally, a Godsend. Your willingness to endure is something Nurgle holds dear. He heard you and deemed you worthy. That is why you are here, why you are still alive. For what purpose I do not know." He breathed the words heavily and broke eye contact to look down, shaking his head a little.

The revelation about his God didn't shock her, it barely registered. She'd latched onto something else.

"Who's dead? Who is she?" She asked quietly. She dared to lift a hand to his face, tilting it up to look at her. He let her touch him, but she felt him wince a little. How long since you were touched? She wondered. His skin was cool and clammy under her fingers, but smoother than she thought it would be.

"Serahna. From my original home, Barbarus. She and I grew close, before I knew what I was, before I became what I am. Another life that I will tell you about one day. Maybe. I sent her away from Barbarus, for both our sakes, and she hated me for it. She will be long dead, and truth be told I feel little about it, it was so long ago. But you so reminded me of that time, that at first I couldn't look at you. I see the differences now, of course. But the only surviving Barbarans are us, the Death Guard. So your existence is both familiar and unsettling. You remind me that I am capable of... Weakness."

They both fell quiet and she stroked her thumb very gently against his cheek. He leant against her hand briefly and closed his eyes. She heard his fingers dig further into the rotting bark above her head, the tree groaning as he fought against himself.

"It isn't weak..." She began, but he abruptly pulled away and stood up straight. His eyes had changed somehow and she sensed that he had slammed his walls up again. Disappointment and hurt washed over her, so strong that it was almost a physical sensation. He glanced at her dispassionately, a different man to the one that he'd been a moment ago. She understood, but that didn't stop it from feeling like rejection. He picked up Silence again and started walking. This time she followed, nursing her pain and not saying a word.

Chapter 6

Blessed poison

Back at the Manse, he lead her up some stairs. The Nurgling that had grown attached to her had appeared and followed them all the way to the top, scrabbling to get up the steps until she had picked it up.

"Where exactly are we going?" She asked, panting. It was the first time she'd spoken for a while.

"My sons call it the Tower. I don't usually have people there, but there is a suitable room." He said as he strode upwards, his breathing not at all effected by the incline and steps.

A suitable room for what? She wanted to ask, but knew a straight answer wasn't likely.

They came to a short hallway. There were three large doors, and he opened the one in the middle. She frowned at him as he gestured for her to step inside. He followed and flicked some lights on to reveal what looked like a study with a comfortable looking sofa and several decent chairs. There were a few books on shelves, maps on the walls. There was even a fireplace, although she doubted it was ever cold enough to be needed. There was an antique table with bottles of something on it and some glasses were piled up next to them. It seemed strange for Mortarion to have what seemed to be an entertaining room, but she was unsurprised to see it looked rarely used. The usual damp and foliage had taken hold, but not as much all the way up here.

"Sit down if you like. I will be back shortly with the others. Might as well do this sooner rather than later." He put both his weapons in the corner of the room and left before she began asking questions. Not that she was going to bother. She sat on the sofa, and the Nurgling crawled into her lap happily. She scratched it behind its tiny horns.

"What am doing, huh? What am I expecting to happen here?" She asked the little daemon sadly. It squawked and wriggled.

"Good talk, thanks." She muttered, and waited.

Mortarion gathered the three Deathshroud that he knew were in the Manse, and knocked on the doors of Philemon and Hulgar. The Plague Surgeon took some convincing that he wasn't in trouble, but Philemon remarked that it wasn't surprising given he'd been greeted by the Primarch and his personal guard at his door. Mortarion stiffly apologised, which made Hulgar even more awkward. However, eventually they made their way to the room in which Cat waited. Mortarion noted with some pride that she barely reacted to the fact that he'd gathered everyone. She simply looked at them all, counting how many there were. He himself had noted that including her, they numbered seven. Fortuitous.

"So." She started, shifting to cross her legs and trying not to annoy the Little Lord too much. "Are you going to tell me what this is about now?" She sounded petulant, and didn't look at him. She petted the Nurgling instead.

"You didn't ask." He stated. She looked up and frowned at him.

"I knew better than to expect a straight answer for a while." She shot back. It was his turn to frown. She is angry with me. I am not sure why, but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.

His men shifted uncomfortably around him and he suddenly remembered they were there.

"Seats, everyone. Make yourselves comfortable." He gestured around the room and they all found a seat. No one sat next to Cat. The Deathshroud remained silent and took chairs at the back of the room out of habit.

"In answer to your question, we are going to all take part in the cups." Mortarion stated, matter of factly.

Philemon looked up in surprise. "My Lord, you have never given it to a group before. And never when there was no battle beforehand. What brings this about? "

"What is it?" Cat asked. Philemon answered as Mortarion began pouring seven drinks.

"It's a long standing tradition that started back on Barbarus. Our Lord here will offer a cup of the strongest, most virulent poisoned wine he can find to a son of his choosing. If you survive, you are proven to be as strong and enduring as Mortarion himself, worthy of the Death Guard, and bonded to him." Philemon looked at his Primarch with love in his rheumy eyes. Mortarion nodded to him.

"But for the first time, not only do I offer this to all of you, but I offer this to someone not of the Death Guard. As a thank you to you all for handling our unique... Situation so well, and to ask that for now, we do not speak of it beyond these walls. Also... To prove a theory. I have good reason to believe that Cat here has been blessed by the Grandfather." He began handing out the toxic looking liquid to each member of their strange little cadre.

He saw Cat visibly bristle. She pushed her dark hair from her face, sat straight and fixed him with an icy green glare.

"So I'm to be kept a secret? My existence boiled down to a "situation"? You'll forgive me, Lord, if I'm not exactly thrilled by that declaration." She sniffed her drink and pulled a face. "This smells vile, by the way."

The Deathshroud had reacted to her anger, but only he could detect it. He'd flicked a finger in their direction. At ease.

"It is not designed to be pleasant. It is designed to prove that you can endure. If you have indeed been chosen by Nurgle, it shouldn't be too much of a problem for you." He looked at her coldly, knowing she hated it. He'd picked up on her desire to be considered special, worthy. She grew prickly when he regarded her the same way he would say, a plant, or a piece of furniture. He was used to his sons vying for glory and recognition, but this was different. Still, he believed he knew how to deal with it. He just had to stay in control. He'd slipped earlier, and had felt her pleading with him for more. And didn't I want to give it? I did. She is already a weakness, if word should get out. But –

"Erm. If I can just say something, before we drink. Just in case..." The surgeon looked miserably at his drink. "I have made a discovery that I believe is of great interest to you, Mortarion. To you both, I would imagine. I ran a DNA scan, which came back very quickly - it's just a standard test. But this one had some unexpected results."

Mortarion and Cat both looked at him, forgetting the tension between them. He sat a little straighter under their regard.

"Out with it, then." Mortarion ordered tersely, gesturing at him with a huge hand.

"Hm, yes. Very well. Cat, do you know where your family come from, originally I mean?" The plague surgeon asked somewhat nervously.

"Not a clue. My mother died shortly after having me, my father wasn't around. The Dream Eaters were my family for as long as I remember." She said rather dismissively. A knot was forming in her stomach. She noticed Mortarions eyes flick to her and she sensed a wave of apprehension from him.

"Well then you might be interested to know that your genetics show your families origin to be... Barbaran. You are descended from Barbarus. The odds of that are frankly, astronomical. But the science doesn't lie." Hulgar looked down at the vibrant green liquid in his glass again, maybe pondering his imminent demise, or maybe the bombshell he'd just dropped on his Primarch. He wasn't Barbaran, but he knew this information would carry an emotional weight.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Cat wondered if the liquid in her glass could get her drunk or high if it didn't kill her.

"Fuck it." She whispered. I will endure. She thought before lifting it to her lips and taking a big mouthful. It tasted like burning toxins, if that was a thing, and she fought against the urge to spit it out. She swallowed and instantly felt her body react. Her stomach screamed and bunched into knots, her throat began to close and she gasped as she fell to the floor. She heard voices, all deep and guttural, and all with the taint of panic. Even... Him. Mortarion. I will endure. I'm not finished with you. We're not finished. Her blood was no longer blood, it was pure poisonous fire. Every attempt to move was rewarded with agony, every breath a victory over the death that tried to claim her. Each organ was tortured, clamped in a vice and begging for release. She had enough consciousness to think I might not survive this. I'm sorry, Mortarion. I didn't want to waste your time. I still have so much to prove. It can't end this way. I won't let it.

The Death Guard were not used to feeling anything like horror, but in that moment when Cats breathing stopped, Mortarions hearts seemed to stop for longer than they should and he grabbed her, pulling her off the floor and into his lap. She let out a a moan of pain, gasped... And seemingly stopped breathing. His blood ran icy cold and he found himself instinctively trying to pull her back with his mind. He searched desperately but could find nothing. The surgeon tried to help but was powerless to do much. He could not find a pulse.

Every time. Every time I form the tiniest bond. I will not do it again. If you leave me too... No. I will not let you. Endure, Cat. Come back to me. Come back to me so I can –

She realised as she drifted, that the pain had ceased. That's either a good sign, or a really bad one. She ventured out to poke around and felt to her surprise, her body was absorbing the poison and beginning to function again, but stronger somehow. A surge of power ran through her...soul? She supposed, and she willedherself to wake up. Beat! She ordered her heart.

Come back to me.

She heard him, felt him reaching for her in the abyss of her psyche. She felt his hope and his despair. It spurred her on in her efforts to find her way back into a working body. She could feel vitality creeping back but it was agonisingly slow.

I'm coming. Wait for me, please. I'm coming.

"There's no pulse, Lord." Philemon said sadly. The Deathshroud watched from the shadows, silently worried to see Mortarion visibly upset.

I'm coming.

He heard her, as clear as if it were his own thought.

"She's alive, damn you!" The Reaper of Men roared, and pulled her tighter to him, his hand on her neck, waiting for any sign of a pulse. He didn't like how blue her lips were but he knew she wasn't dead.

"My Lord -" Started Hulgar anxiously, but Philemon put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Hulgar stood down, but Mortarion hadn't even noticed him.

A voice came from the back of the room.

"He sought her with his mind, surgeon. As I'm sure your Tallyman can attest. And it would seem that he found her. Some things cannot be done with science alone, much as our Lord would usually hate to admit it."

"That's enough, Drezzin. I am still here you know." Mortarion spoke through gritted teeth as he waited. The room fell eerily quiet and time seemed to dilate. A second lasted more than was tolerable, a minute an eternity.

Something fluttered under his unarmoured fingertips.

"A pulse. Thank the Grandfather." Mortarion exhaled. "You have endured." Her eyes flicked open. They had the appearance of green fire.

"That has quite the kick to it." She croaked and looked up at him, smiling. He shook his head and a few of them laughed. He grabbed his own glass and raised it.

"To Cat. Your luck holds." With that he drank all of it, and closed his eyes as he waited for his body to accept it. When he opened them, they shone with vigour.

Philemon drank his, wincing at the strength of it as it took hold, but not succumbing in the slightest. Hulgar followed, but needed some recovery time. He sweated with a fever for a good few minutes. The Deathshroud had already consumed theirs at some point without a sound.

Mortarion sat with her on the sofa, keeping an eye on her as they all talked for a while. She almost fell asleep, and Mortarion declared the evening over and thanked them all. She apologised for making a scene and bid them goodnight as they left. Philemon gave her a particularly warm smile as he left, his eyes darting to his gene father and back to her with a knowing look. Mortarion stood and holstered his daemonic scythe.

"I am not comfortable leaving you alone tonight. I will stand watch, if you don't mind." He said quietly. She went to crack a joke, but forced herself to be quiet.

"I would like that." She simply said, and they left for the large bedroom she'd spent so much time in.

It was late, and it had been a taxing day. She could still feel the poison coursing through her, but it felt... Good. She kicked off her boots. Mortarion stood looking out of the window, very obviously not watching her.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get naked." She said from behind him with a smirk that she knew he could hear. She pulled her trousers off but kept her long, loose shirt on. It was quite dirty by now but she didn't want to freak him out so it stayed on. She was surprised to hear something like a smirk in his voice, too.

"You forget I have already seen you naked. Although I did my best to keep your dignity. It matters not to me, but I know humans have strange notions about nudity. It's just a body, I do not understand the shame that you attach to it."

She blushed and despite her tiredness, was a bit annoyed.

"Fine. I will get naked then. This body has been through too much for me to be ashamed of it. And I'm too tired to care. Are you just going to stand by the window all night?"

She climbed into the bed and despite herself, sat with the covers over her chest. He turned around.

"If you're asking if I will sleep, then probably not. I don't usually sleep much." His eyes stayed on hers, completely unphased by her lack of clothing. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't alone tonight. You might have Barbaran DNA, but you've been through a lot today."

"I can't even think about that right now." She muttered and scratched an annoying itch on her shoulder blade, then winced as her fingers caught on something. "Erm, what the hell is that? Can you check this for me?" She scrunched up her face in annoyance at whatever her fingers had touched. Mortarion sat on the bed next to her. His hands were still uncovered and his fingers were pleasantly cool against her fevered skin. He smoothed her hair away from her shoulder and made an approving noise.

He traced the outline of the mark with his fingertips, and smiled. Her skin had, at some point after taking the cup he suspected, come up in three moderately sized buboes clustered together. These had burst and then scabbed over abnormally fast, leaving a perfect trilobe pattern on her shoulder. It was the sigil his legion had taken for their own.

"The Mark of Nurgle." He whispered, and ran his fingers over it carefully. He raised an eyebrow as she inhaled and he watched her skin prickle as her hair stood on end. It was a fascinating thing to see, to know it was his touch that had caused it. He had to force himself to pull his hand away, lest he start wanting to touch her more. It was an alien sensation; he hadn't wanted to touch anyone since he was young and starved of affection. But he felt like he could touch her, and it wouldn't hurt either of them. He found himself enchanted by the fever heat of her skin, and how perfect it was even though she should be ravaged by disease. The shape of her, the folds of soft skin that he could just make out on her side. Even her tangled dark hair suddenly interested him. Is this lust? Or am I viewing her as a scientist with a new subject? No... When I thought I'd lost her... He shut the thought down.

"So?" She enquired.

"You are marked by Nurgle, as all who follow him are. You are one of his, like me. It must have formed when your body was fighting the poison. I am sorry, by the way. Yet also not. I know that must have been a bad experience, but it did prove you to be one of us. With witnesses." His eyes were still drawn to her bare skin but he forced himself to move away. "I have not felt that sort of worry for a very long time." He admitted.

"Honestly, it scared me, but I get why you did it. And I know you didn't want me to die. I felt how you searched for me." She said softly, watching him as he stood. "I didn't want to leave you. I fought my way back. So please, just come and lay with me, at least until I fall asleep. You don't have to stay. No pressure." She smiled at him and he couldn't say no, he wanted to be next to her. To guard her.

"That sounds good." He replied quietly, and began taking off his armour. She blushed a little and lay down, trying not to watch. His skin was pallid and scarred, but taut over visible muscle. He was lean and strong looking, despite the odd sign of his patron God. His Mark of Nurgle was on his chest. She turned onto her side and stared at the wall instead as he started to undo his leg armour. Please be wearing some underwear. She thought, making sure not to direct it at him. She felt him get into the bed next to her and turned over to face him. His wings splayed out over the edge of the bed, and she realised she'd become so used to them that she just remembered he had them.

"Is this too weird?" She asked, a little worried at how he would answer.

"If it were, I would not be here. It is strange, but not in a way that makes me uncomfortable. How does it make you feel?" His eyes still had that vigour to them, but looked at her earnestly.

Exhilarated. Terrified. Like I have to stay on this side or I'll make a fool of myself.

"Safe. But like you say... Strange. I suppose neither of us have shared a bed with anyone in a very long time." She smiled weakly.

"True. I've been alone almost all my life. Well. Never alone really, but... Alone in that way. Those kind of relationships held no interest for me. I had neither the time nor the inclination. Not since her, anyway. I told myself it could only lead to more pain, or betrayal, or both. But mostly it's not safe for the other person. Being close to me puts them at risk. It is the kind of thing that makes you weak and allows your enemies to exploit it. So I never allowed it to happen again..." He paused and looked at her, keeping his eyes locked firmly on hers.

She moved a little closer, drawn in by his sudden openness.

"So... Is that what you meant when you said I reminded you of weakness?" She had to ask, whilst she had chance. He may never answer her again, they were both on a sort of relaxed high from the poison - the need for connection, for honesty, was overwhelming. She so wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was scared to push him too much too quickly.

He inhaled and let out the breath slowly, deliberately.

"Yes. I should not have said it." He frowned.

"No, I'm glad you did. But now you know that I'm not so easy to kill. So you don't need to worry about that." She flashed him a smile. He looked serious, but also moved a little closer.

"I keep telling myself this isn't like me. That its a bad idea to let myself get close to you... But then this keeps happening. I find myself saying too much, looking at you too much. I've said more to you in a handful of days than I've said in hundreds of years. Cat. I have no idea what we're doing." He rubbed at his face and she caught a glimpse of his body again. It took some willpower not to touch him and she bit her lip.

"You've helped me get things clearer in my head the last few days. So now let me help you. I believe this is what we're doing." She ignored the scared voice in her head that told her he would reject her, that he could kill her, and moved closer. The blanket fell away and left her breasts exposed but she didn't care. Mortarions eyes flicked down and widened in mild surprise as she pressed herself against his hard chest and brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss, as gentle and fleeting as an insect wing. She felt him tense up, frozen briefly in disbelieving fear. Probably the closest he's felt to fear in a long time. She stroked his arm - her hand seemed so small against it, and felt him relax a little. She kissed him again, still soft and tender. This time he responded and she felt his lips open to her then press back against hers. His arm found its way around her and he ran his hand down her back, then up to her face. She moaned gently at his touch and pulled at the blanket between them. It gave way and she pressed against his chest more, relishing the feel of him against her. He let out a noise and kissed her harder, responding to her how she'd hoped he would. She put a hand on his side and was both relieved and disappointed to find the waistband of some shorts. Don't rush. She was surprised at what a wonderful kisser he was, and the surge of raw desire he caused to rampage through her threatened to overwhelm any rational thought she had left. His huge hand plunged into her hair and she whimpered a little at the sensation of him firmly grabbing a handful. He didn't pull so much as hold her in his grasp as if he couldn't bear to let her move away for a second. It only made her want him more and she opened her mouth a little, inviting him in. He licked her lip, teasing her, and she moaned. Then they were locked together again, tongues almost battling for power. His grip on her hair tightened and he did pull a little. She gasped and smiled darkly at him, breathing hard. He smirked and let his eyes take in the sight of her, this time he looked at her bared breasts. He didn't touch, just looked at her.

"So. That clears that up, I guess. " He said, cracking a joke for the first time since she'd known him. She sniggered and he let go of her hair. She nestled into his chest. He rolled onto his back and put an arm around her.

"I mean... If that's what you want us to be doing." She murmured. He stroked her head as though he'd done it a hundred times as she listened to what seemed to be two hearts beating in his chest. She wasn't surprised, somehow.

"I probably shouldn't, but I do. I could've been my usual stubborn self and fought this connection between us forever. But that seems foolish. I have no immediate plans that my sons cannot handle without me, so we have time to figure this out. There's a lot of... Considerations. But right now, I don't particularly care." He sighed to himself, realising he meant it.

"One day at a time. Sounds good. I still need to figure out my place here anyway. I would like to make something of my life, now I have it back again. But like you said, we have time." She had calmed down a little, and sleepiness was overcoming her lust. Her mind would've been racing if she hadn't been so tired.

"Sleep now, Cat. I might sleep too." He whispered. She rolled onto her side and he curled his huge body around her like a shield against the universe. She couldn't remember ever feeling so safe and drifted off quickly.

Chapter 7

Mortarians day off

He woke to find her lying on her front, snoring softly. It was the longest he'd slept in years and he felt oddly refreshed. He pulled the cover over her, trying not to look for too long and ignoring the ache below his waist the way he had so many times before. That is more difficult now... Hmm. This is new. Concentrate, Mortarion.

He pulled on his long coat and the trousers he wore under his armour and crept out of the room. Drezzin was already outside the door, as he had been since Cat had been found.

"Take the day off, Drezzin. Go and enjoy yourself." Mortarion chuckled to himself to hear the Deathshroud gasp audibly.

"My Lord?" He said, not bothering to hide his shock.

"There's no need to be on guard. Tell the others to do the same. Leave the manse and go and do something you want to do. Read a book, fight some tribesmen, whatever. I'm declaring today a day off for everyone, whether they like it or not." His voice almost sounded cheerful and it surprised even him. Drezzins posture suggested he was completely at a loss.

"Very well, Lord. I will see you tomorrow, then." He said in a disbelieving tone, and walked away stiffly. Mortarion went off to do something else that was out of character.

She stirred, opened one eye and was disappointed to find herself alone. Still, it allowed her to relieve herself. She realised she was filthy all over, which was apparently normal around here, although Mortarion always looked cleaner than his sons, as if his being a primarch somehow stopped the grime from taking over. Still, normal or not, she really wanted a bath. Curling back into the bed she made a mental note to ask him about that.

It really did happen, didn't it? It wasn't a dream. I hope. No, it's definitely real. Please don't let it be awkward today.

She ran a finger between her legs and found herself still wet. Definitely real. Gods, but I want him so much. Yet I'm scared to show it in case he freaks out on me again. Do I wait for him to show me he's ready? Or will I be waiting forever? She sighed and wondered whether to get up or not, but her decision was made for her as Mortarion strode through the door with a tray full of food and drink. She laughed and clapped her hands joyfully.

"I didn't have you down as a maid." She grinned at him. He smiled, to her surprise. It filled her heart with joy.

"I ordered everyone to have the day off and to leave the manse. The whole place is ours for the day. So, we'll eat and then you can decide what you'd like to do." He leaned over and kissed her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn't let him pull away, holding his face with one hand and kissing him back hard. Everything inside her clenched, reminding her of her need. But her stomach also rumbled. She sat back down and admired the food. He had an eyebrow raised and a shine to his eyes as he looked at her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so... Special.

"Well. I would like some kind of bath. I'm assuming there's no actual fresh water, but I can make do." She bit into some kind of pastry and almost moaned at the taste. Mortarian drank some tea and she almost laughed at how absurd the cup looked in his hand.

"I have the perfect place for that. I was going to show you today anyway." He ate, looking thoughtful.

"Ooh really?" She said around a mouthful of food. Table manners weren't much of a thing in her old life as a pirate, and it had stayed with her. She put a hand over her mouth self consciously.

He nodded. "My personal sanctuary, as it happens. You'll like it, I think." He looked at her over his cup.

"I'm sure I'll love it. Quite a big deal letting me in there by the sounds of it. You sure about it?" She was giving him a chance to back out, just to be certain.

"Of course I'm sure. It is a big deal, truth be told, but I want you to see it. No one ever does, and as you've been chosen by Nurgle it seems fitting. I'll explain when we get there." He smiled.

"I like it when you smile." She said in a faux mocking voice. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Well it's your fault. But don't get too used to it. This smile is for your eyes only." He smirked. She half crawled over to him, still naked, and shot him her best fuck-me-now eyes. She kissed him briefly then purred "What about the rest of you?" He made a low growling noise in his throat and one large hand suddenly grabbed her hair. She gasped and whimpered, powerless in his grip as he reminded her how easily he could take full control. How simple it would be for him to do whatever he wanted with her. The thought made her ache and wetness began to gather between her legs again.

"That too." He said, and kissed her deeply with a hint of maddening hunger.

We'll give in to this sooner than I had anticipated. She thought, and her stomach clenched nervously. He let her go and she sat back down to finish her drink. To think I was worried we'd be awkward with each other. His eyes burned into her and she returned the look in silence. He put his cup down and sat back, although she noticed that he covered his lap with his coat.

"Let me just sling these dirty old clothes on and then you can show me this mysterious sanctuary of yours." She got up and pulled the trousers and shirt on quickly. She felt his eyes on her but pretended not to.

"I'll find you some more soon." Mortarion said as he got up and went to the door.

She tried to keep up with him through hallway after hallway, and found herself unable to take her eyes off him. How did this happen? She smiled to herself and almost bumped into him when he stopped and pointed down yet another hallway to the left.

"Here it is." He said with a hint of pride in his voice. At the end of the hall were double doors, with a faint green light creeping between the gaps as if someone had lit a lantern in the room. She raised an eyebrow.

"Intriguing." She said, and he took her hand in his, leading her towards the doors. He put his hand on a panel and she heard a machine hum and a click, then the doors swung open to admit them.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. The huge room was full of life, like an overgrown garden, but one exclusive to all kinds of poisonous, venomous and diseased plants and bugs. She knew instinctively that it was host to the perpetual cycle of decay, death and rebirth. Trees, grasses, bushes, entangling vines, it was all there. Floor to ceiling it was stuffed full of virulent life. Flowers of every colour and shape. Some plants with sharp and dangerous thorns, some fluffy. Giant snails, maggots and beetles roamed the undergrowth and fat flies buzzed lazily in the air. She thought she could hear running water somewhere, and spotted a couple of what she assumed were hot springs. The walls were covered in moss and other vegetation – if this room had once been bare stone and metal, there was not a sign of it to be seen.

She turned around in a circle and walked around a little, being careful where she put her feet. Mortarion locked the door behind them.

"It's beautiful!" She cried to him. He nodded. "I thought you would like it. Welcome to my version of the Garden of Nurgle. Much smaller and missing a God, but this is my tribute, and probably the only place I've ever really felt I could relax and attempt to find some semblance of peace. In here, I'm not a Primarch. I'm not the Lord of the Death Guard. I'm just Mortarion. Which is why this is usually the only place where I take off my armour – both literal and figurative."

"It's wonderful. I don't have the words. How long did it take?" She asked as she wandered, gently moving some vines out of her way. They licked at her hands but didn't attack. She was following the sound of running water.

"Many lifetimes." His voice was close but she couldn't see him. She was about to push her way through some long, thick grass that was taller than her when he crept up behind her and put an arm around her waist. She jumped and let out a squeal as he spun her around to kiss her. She pressed herself against him and felt him growing hard underneath his clothes. She couldn't help but worry a little. He's so much bigger than me... But it only served to heighten her excitement and she whimpered against him. He pulled away, and smirked at her. She bit her lip.

"The change in you is astounding, you know." She said, teasing him a little.

"Yes, well. I decided to let myself have some happiness for once. And I'm considering today a... What's the word?" He scratched a cheek.

"A break? A day off? A holiday, even?" She chuckled.

"That's it. A holiday. Today, the only thing occupying me... Is you. Now let's get you that bath." He lead her towards the back of the room. She was grinning and her stomach was clenching with nerves and adrenaline.

The thick foliage gave way to something that took her breath away. An obsidian coloured rock jutted out from the back wall like a naturally occurring cliff face, and a small waterfall fell from it into a lagoon that could probably fit two or three Mortarion sized people before it got cramped. She gasped at the beauty of it. Everything she'd seen here was lovely in its own putrid way, but this was different. The lagoon was circular and its edges covered in a soft, light green moss that appeared to be free of the rot and disease that infiltrated every inch of the planet. The water was clear and she could see sand and rounded pebbles at the bottom. She'd never seen anything like it.

"Mortarion... This is... Well it's magical. But it's so different to everything I've seen here. It's so... So –"

"- pure?" He suggested, smiling at her awe. "It was accidental, to be honest. For some reason I have yet to uncover, the Grandfather's gifts cannot take hold in this water. But I have grown fond of it. It's the one thing in my life that has stayed pure. Maybe I should hate it, but I don't. I do, however, keep it secret. No one must know about this. It could undermine me, and that cannot be allowed to happen. So I hope you understand how much trust I'm putting in you." His voice was serious as he looked at his secret. His other secret she thought. So afraid of his own vulnerabilities. But I get it. This is a harsh universe indeed.

"I do, I promise. No wonder this place is such a big deal to you. I won't breath a word. If you'll promise to let me have my baths here." She turned and winked at him. He let out an almost laugh.

"Of course. But you need to be naked to bathe." He smirked and she gasped as he ripped her shirt off. It was ruined and he flung a piece of it to the side without taking his eyes off her. She removed her trousers before he got chance to tear them to pieces, letting them drop to the floor. She stepped out of them and just stood in front of him, looking up into his eyes. He sighed.

"You are the most beautiful, vital thing in here." He ran a hand down her cheek but no further. "Getting in?" He nodded to the pool.

"Aren't you getting in too?" She asked, aware of the uncertainty in her voice.

"I will. But I will watch you first. It would be a shame not to." He smiled and sat on a rock. She frowned lightly and turned around to get in. She sat on the edge and dangled her feet in.

"It's warm! I wasn't expecting it to be warm!" She said with a child like delight.

He grinned and watched as she waded out into the pool and over to the waterfall. She squealed as she realised it was deep enough for someone of his size, and found a moss covered rock to sit on. He gazed at her intently, watching the drops of crystal clear water run down onto her breasts and drip from her nipples. He didn't think he'd ever been so entranced by anything in his long life.

She cupped her hands to gather some water from the waterfall and cleaned her face. When she opened her eyes she saw he was removing his clothes. Her heart beat a little faster as he got into the pool and waded towards her. Her eyes flicked down to below his waist and her eyes widened involuntarily. That is terrifying... And I want it. She bit her lip and ran her hands through her hair. Mortarion stopped to grab a handful of some lichen then came up to her and stood just in front of the rock. He held up the lush green lichen.

"Good for washing with." He smiled. She reached out for it but he shook his head.

"Let me." He dipped it in the water and began to wash her neck and shoulders. She looked up at him, knowing her eyes must betray her want, but stayed quiet and enjoyed the sensation of him touching her, but wishing it was his bare hands. With some trepidation he moved down slowly, washing in gentle circles until he reached her breasts. She sensed a slight pause, but she stuck out her chest a little and he smiled as he continued his task. His huge hands and long slender fingers were gentle but firm and she let out a moan as he rubbed her nipples with the soft lichen. She wanted him to kiss her so badly, but she didn't want to interrupt him. He seemed very focused on his work, and she was happy to be his subject. He finally moved away from her breasts and down to her stomach. She tried not to flinch - having someone touch her belly was strange. He didn't linger there long, mercifully. He began to wash her thighs, and she started to slowly open her legs. He shocked her a little by forcing them closed.

"Not yet." He commanded, and she pursed her lips in a slight pout as he moved down her legs. She giggled as he washed her feet.

"That tickles!" She cried out, almost kicking him.

"I'll stop before I lose an eye." He chuckled and moved back up her legs. He reached her thighs and slid his hand between them. She looked up at him and bit her lip but didn't move, daring him to make her open to him. He raised an eyebrow and forced her legs apart easily, making her gasp a little in surprise. He looked down and admired her with a barely restrained desire in his eyes, but he stayed in control and simply washed between her legs with the lichen. She whimpered a little in frustration and pleasure, but he pulled away before she could get too excited.

"Turn over." He said in a low voice that left no room for argument. It was easier said than done but she found a way to lie on the rock on her front. Her heart thundered in her chest as she wondered what he was going to do, but he only washed her, from head to foot then back up to her ass. He slid his hand between her legs and she instinctively shifted back a little and moaned softly as he pressed his hand against her. She was losing patience and willpower, his gentle and deliberate washing of her had wound her up to the point of aching and dripping wet. I have to have him soon or I'll lose my mind.

Mortarion watched almost in disbelief as she writhed and whimpered, rubbing herself on his hand. He pressed back, hoping it was the right thing to do. She cried out a little and he knew it had been. Her pink swollen lips were slick with desire, and something about the feel of it against his skin drove him wild. He longed to plunge himself into her but he was aware that if he weren't careful, he could really hurt her. Still, the urge to test the limits of their endurance was almost too much to bear. He gritted his teeth against the voice in his head that encouraged him.

Just take her. She wants you. Claim her, make her yours. Do it. Take her right now.

He knew that he wouldn't just do that without warning, he couldn't. He didn't know if she would welcome that. But he did want to stay in control, so he came up with another idea. He pulled his hand away, and she moaned in disappointment.

"How badly do you want me?" He said in a low voice. He let his fingers trace the outline of her lips, and she made desperate little noises.

"So badly it hurts. I can't take much more teasing, I need you inside me." Her voice was higher than usual and she squirmed on the rock in front of him. Pleased with her answer, he let a finger slip inside her briefly, just enough for her to gasp and moan. She felt incredible – soft, wet and tight, and his resolve nearly broke entirely there and then. But not like this. He thought.

"I want you too Cat. I want you so much that it somehow outweighs everything else right now." He made his voice serious and she turned around to look at him. He couldn't help but smile at the look on her face as she looked down to find him hard and aching, swollen as he was at his full size.

"You look a little scared." He remarked. He'd never had any particular pride in his body other than its strength and resilience, but the way she looked at him made him rethink that.

She snorted a little. "Yes. But in the best way. I don't know if I can handle you, but I'm dying to try." Her voice and eyes were full of want and she turned to face him then reached out to touch him. Her hand looked small against his cock and he closed his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of being touched – it was strange, but so welcome. She gripped him firmly, as much as she could, and stroked up and down, moaning to herself a little as she did so. His hips instinctively bucked a little and he tried not to think too much. It was best, he knew, to let his body take over. It somehow still knew what to do despite that small part of his mind that panicked and told him it's been too long, this isn't something you do. What if you disappoint her? He ignored it, knowing she probably had similar thoughts. His desire outweighed his doubts and as he watched her it roared to the surface, unable to be contained any longer.

He felt wonderful in her hand. Bigger and harder than any human could ever be, and smoother than she'd expected. You're beautiful, my Lord. She smiled as he reacted to her touch, unable to deny the primal needs he'd kept buried for so long. She moaned to herself and felt how wet she getting. All she could think of was how badly she wanted him and how happy she was that it was happening. He stepped back, pulling away from her and walked over to the other side of the pool and sat down in a moss covered crevice that looked made for him. He beckoned her over with a gesture of his hand, and stroked himself with the other. He shot her a dark smile and she slipped from the rock and over to him in the blink of an eye. He grabbed her and pulled her onto him. They both resisted giving in completely whilst they kissed furiously. She pressed herself against him, crying out at the feeling, and rubbed against him. He suddenly grabbed her by the waist and raised her up. She went with it and felt his huge cock pressing into her. She pushed back a little and cried out as she began to open to him. He groaned and his eyes were full of dark fire. She knew he was stopping himself from just forcing himself inside her, and although she knew it would hurt, she wanted him to. She pushed down and felt herself stretch painfully to accommodate his girth. She buried her face in his neck and cried out loudly, swearing and gasping. He began to move underneath her and she responded, her hips undulating as she took more of him inside her. He filled her completely, touching every part of her. She let out a scream as he pulled out and thrust back inside. She clung to his neck and whimpered, unable to form words. Her whole world shrunk down to how he felt inside her, how she desperately sought more of him until she could take no more but tried anyway. Her screams of pain and pleasure, his heavy breathing in her ear and his strong fingers digging into her hips, bruising her skin and encouraging her to ride him faster until everything inside her tensed deliciously. She leant back a little and opened her eyes to see him watching himself inside her. Suddenly his hand shot to her neck and held her there. She tried to cry out as he sped up his thrusts underneath her. She wanted to scream and swear as he fucked her violently but all she could do was whimper as she felt her orgasm creep closer. He let go of her throat and she fell against him, wrapping an arm around him to hold the back of his head as she fucked him harder and rubbed herself against him. He responded with harder thrusts and moans of pleasure, his fingers digging into her ass. She was stretched as wide as she thought she could go and it hurt, but it was the best pain she'd ever felt and it made her want to cum even more than she already did. She couldn't take any more and she whimpered uncontrollably as she tensed around him. He let out a growl and squeezed her nipple hard. She began to swear and beg, she told him she was close and cried out as loud as she wanted to. She felt like her entire being swelled and opened to him – mind, body and soul.

Scream for me, Cat. Give me your everything. He commanded her, mind to mind. Yes, oh gods I want to so badly she responded without giving any thought to the enormity of the moment. Her breath stopped in her throat as she tensed again, painfully aware of how she clenched around him... But somehow also aware of how that felt for him. She sensed his amazement, and the restraint he held onto as he kept his furious, primal need in check. She knew what he wanted, could read his mind as clearly as her own. He longed to just take her, mercilessly and without control. She tried to convey to him without words how much she wanted that too, how she yearned to know what it would be like. She pushed the idea at him just before the thought of it tipped her over the edge and she dug her nails into his shoulder and screamed for him as her entire being was engulfed in white hot euphoria. She didn't know where she ended and he began and her pleasure was heightened by his, her shock at the strength of her first orgasm in countless years compounded by the awe Mortarion felt in that moment, and the furious need that was so close to overwhelming him. Slowly, she came back to herself a little and realised she had gone limp in his arms, his huge cock was still rock hard inside her but he was still as he let her have a moment. She didn't want to speak, now wasn't the time for talk. She couldn't look him in his eyes just yet either, in case it broke the spell. She knew he'd understood when she gave him permission to do as he wished, to let go. To take out his need on her. And she knew how badly he wanted to, but she'd also sensed his reluctance. Still, she wanted to see how far he would go. How far he would push her, and be pushed. Breathing heavily, she sat up and kissed him hard. He reacted instantly, pushing into her slowly. She moaned and lifted herself off him, smirking as she moved away.

The look on her face as she pulled away from him was a challenge, he knew. A test to see if he dared to let himself go with her. He'd sensed her desires when they'd locked minds. He knew he scared her still, but that fear was a turn on rather than a genuine belief in danger. She wanted him to scare her. She wanted to know what happens when the Pale King takes you forcefully. He rose to her challenge and lunged towards her. She expected him to kiss her but he left her off balance by slipping behind her and grabbing her by the throat. She gasped and writhed in his arms, instinctively fighting him but without much intent behind it. The way she rubbed herself against him told him she was pleased. He smiled and pushed her forwards towards the edge of the pool with a small amount of force so that she was bent over it. Her knees were cushioned by lichen and the water came up to her thighs as she was on a step similar to the one he'd been sat on whilst she rode him. His hand had made its way to her hair and he held her firmly by a fistful. She whimpered and wriggled until he tightened his grip, enough to hurt but nowhere hear his full strength, lest he rip her head off. He needed to know how she would react, and to his delight she cried out in such a way that he knew she liked it, but stopped wriggling so much. He sensed her readying herself for him and it sent a thrill of anticipation through him – he didn't know whether it was his or hers but he didn't care. He stroked her ass with his free hand then grabbed it roughly. She squealed and tried to rock backwards but he still held her by her hair. He did enjoy watching her hips though, knowing she wanted him inside her so much that she could barely control it even after her own release... He could hardly believe it was happening, but he intended to make the most of it. He ran his hand up to her hip and smiled at the way it fit in the curve, and squeezed her soft flesh. She moaned and pushed back, her body begging him to end the wait. He let go of her hair and stroked himself as he moved to between her legs. She whimpered as he forced them further apart and rubbed himself against her. He let out a low growl at the feel of her, silky and soaking wet. His patience came to an end. Without warning he forced himself inside her mercilessly. She screamed and dug her fingers into the foetid soil and grass, bracing herself as he slammed into her. He held her by the hips and watched as her ass bounced against him, watched himself slide out of her, covered in her wetness, and watched still as he forced his way back inside her. He felt her stretch and clench around him, felt the fresh waves of need pouring from her both physically and otherwise. She screamed with every thrust, unable to form words and almost sounding like she might cry, but she gave no sign of wanting to stop, nor did he feel anything negative from her. His enormous wings unfurled, extending to their full size as he fucked her, and he had a rare moment of feeling like the King they all called him. A King with a Queen that was his for the taking. He felt his own orgasm finally creeping closer, and was surprised for a moment to feel her getting close with him – then he realised that it was their shared consciousness at work. He suspected neither of them knew who exactly was feeling what, and that was fine by him. He drove into her faster, harder, and was rewarded with her screaming and begging.

You're mine.

Yes, I belong to you.

She cried out, face buried in the soft ground. He felt her clench around him hard and he responded violently until she screamed louder than ever and he roared triumphantly, wings outstretched, as he truly let go of himself for the first time in uncountable years.

Chapter 8

Afterglow

Cat woke up and winced as she turned from her side onto her back. She ached almost everywhere. The soft, leathery cover she'd been sleeping under twitched, making her jump a little, and she realised it was one of Mortarians wings. She stroked it lovingly. He groaned as he woke, and opened one eye to look at her.

"Wakey wakey." She whispered, and smiled at him. To her delight, he smiled back.

"I did not expect to sleep. Nor so soundly." He said as he rubbed his bald head. He sounded perplexed. "It is very rare for me and yet I've slept quite a lot recently."

She chuckled and moved to lay her head on his chest. She supposed most people would be repulsed by his pallor, size and scars. He was otherworldly, and not in the dreamy way described by poets. He was more like a tale told by parents to keep unruly children in line. But she liked that about him. She was drawn to his darkness like she'd never been drawn to anything - as far as she could remember. And now she'd lain with him... Well that was that, really. I'm yours, Mortarion. Do with that what you will. She kept the thought contained as best she could.

"Sex does that. We clearly need to do it more often." She grinned at him and laughed at his expression.

"Duly noted. Are you not hurting?" He seemed genuinely concerned, and for a moment she couldn't reconcile him with the feared Primarch of the Death Guard. The Imperium would have everyone believe them to be evil. You don't know your son at all, corpse Emperor.

"I'm not sure how much yet. I'll take all the bruises I can get for that. Totally worth it." She winked and sat up. It made her aware of the ache between her legs and she smirked to herself. He gave a soft laugh and ran a huge hand down her back. His long fingers danced around her marked shoulder and she knew he felt pride in her. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"So, what do you want to do now?" She asked, trying to sound innocent.

"I don't know how long we slept. But maybe we should get some food. You must be hungry. And you need more clothes." He sat up and let his hand slip around to her chest. She inhaled at his touch and leaned back to give him better access. He took advantage and his fingers found their way to between her legs. He teased gently and kissed her neck as if he'd been doing it forever, all uncertainty forgotten.

"Although I'll admit, I'd rather you could just be naked all the time." She felt him smile against her and she turned to kiss him.

"So...kitchen?" She asked. He sighed.

"Yes, yes. Fine. Kitchen." He got up and retrieved her ruined clothing like a hen pecked husband. A thought she kept very much to herself.

"And clothes." She said, laughing. They were both so different here in this sanctuary, so comfortable and at ease with one another that it felt like they'd known each other for years. He wasn't the Lord of Death here – he was almost just a man. Almost just her lover. But she knew it couldn't last. Despite her happiness and excitement at her new situation and the glorious pain of bruises given to her by their passion, she felt the apprehension of the next time he would pull away - whether through duty or an inability to deal with whatever this was between them. If they could just stay here, she could delay it. But she knew that wasn't possible.

She looked back at the garden regretfully as they left and the massive black door swung shut behind them. Mechanical locks hummed and slammed themselves into place, waiting for the next time the King would open them. She felt Mortarian look down upon her and she craned to meet his dark, ponderous gaze.

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and looked over at a window.

"I don't think we slept too long. There's no real daylight here, but I can tell." He gave her a wan smile and she knew he felt it too – a strange sadness beneath everything else. Is it me, or him? Or both? I can no longer tell.

He directed her in silence to the kitchen. It was, as she'd expected, massive. A low fire burned in the enormous oven, keeping a bowl of something warm. Despite being told to take the day off, the servants had seen fit to make sure there was fresh food. The long room was surprisingly homely. Wooden beams ran across the ceiling, sprouting patches of a vibrant yellow lichen and slick with a green patina. The walls had been white once, but were now the colour of rotting bone. Still, it felt cosy and inviting to her. Even more so when she realised that Mortarion had begun making tea. She stared at him in disbelief and laughed.

"The Lord of Death makes tea?" She asked almost incredulously. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her whilst putting a pan of water on the stove.

"I do not expect to be waited on every hour of the day. When I'm working I drink a lot of tea." He said simply. Then she heard a wry smile enter his voice. "Also, how can I expect a legion to follow me into battle if I can't even make a hot drink?"

She sat down at a long stone bench and table that she suspected was only normally used by servants. It was oddly pristine. She studied him with her chin in her hand, watching him tending to their cups with care.

"Good point. I would follow you gladly." She smiled, then chastised herself for the words. Too much, probably.

He turned around and looked at her seriously, a frown on his face.

"I would not risk you in such a way, Cat. Not now." He spun back to the tea before she could argue and she stayed quiet. Eventually he gave her some tea, and sat down opposite her.

"I said I would tell you of my time on Barbarus at some point. And I will, all of it, eventually. But there's something I feel compelled to tell you now. Something you've reminded me of, which I hope will go some way to conveying my...well. My feelings." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, staring at his tea. She reached over to him and stroked his hand.

"You don't have to." She reassured him, but he shook his head.

"No, I want to. See once I'd made the decision to defy my foster father, I ended up going with Callas Typhon - he who would become my first Captain Typhus, to one of the villages where Lessers – humans – lived. I had helped a group of them escape the culling, and so they returned home. Now the people there didn't expect to ever see them again, and the reaction when they came back was the most alien thing to me at the time. They were overjoyed. There was singing, which I'd never heard before, and laughter, which I'd only heard during killing, torture and mockery. People embraced, kissed and uttered words of love to each other. They celebrated being alive, together. I sat apart from it all and watched, fascinated." He looked up at her, and she thought she could see a glimpse of the lonely youth still in his eyes. It broke her heart. He sipped his tea and carried on.

"I knew then how badly I wanted that. It was painful, to see other people falling so easily into what had always been denied me. I was so horribly stunted by my upbringing at the hands of a tyrant that I wouldn't have known what to do with it anyway, but I wanted it. More than anything. It is one of the things that made me so bitter." He had a faraway look and didn't meet her eyes. She squeezed his hand but stayed quiet.

"Since then I have known a fraction of what it is to love and be loved, though it has never come easily and I do not claim to understand it. I have come to relish the affection and approval of the Grandfather, and whatever passes for respect and... love, between my sons and I. But that has been a long and complicated road. I had convinced myself over many lifetimes that I am not capable of what I saw that night, and that no one would ever wish to feel that for me. I convinced myself that I no longer wanted or needed it. I still don't know if I am able to." He drained his tea and she noted that his hands shook, just a tiny bit. He finally looked up at her, his sour blood eyes searching hers – for what she wasn't sure. She could hardly bare to hold his gaze, it was so earnest that it hurt. She knew she was seeing him as no one ever had, and it was almost too much. She wanted to hold him and tell him everything's going to be alright.

"I think you are, Mortarion. I know you are." She said softly. He smiled weakly.

"This is my point, lucky Cat. You make me want to try." He all but whispered the words, hard as they were for him to say.

She had two reactions to his honest revelation. One was to cry, for she felt his pain and his bone deep certainty that he would be rejected. The link between them thrummed with hope, fear and yearning. She felt how he saw her, how he wanted her. How he hoped she could be what he'd been missing for all his long lonely life. And she knew he could feel the same from her. How she hoped that he would want to keep her, her fear that he would get bored of her or decide she wasn't worth the risk. How she ached for him and how having him once had made her want him all the more. They didn't speak, they didn't need to. Her other reaction was to go to him, full of desire and the need for connection. He turned around on his seat and she sat on his lap and kissed him furiously. He pulled her clothes off before she knew what was happening and lifted her up to lay her on the table. She pulled him on top of her and they kissed as he fought to pull his clothes off. His wings flapped in desperation, creating a wonderful breeze around them. Cups fell and smashed on the floor but they barely noticed. She cried out and grabbed at him as he forced himself inside her. The psychic link exploded between them, filled with every emotion and every sensation until they no longer knew who was who. I finally found you, they said to each other without speaking a word.

He stroked her hair from her face as they lay on the table. She was catching her breath and smiling at him. She is beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He thought, letting himself embrace the happiness. Grandfather's balls, I think I'm in love. He laughed to himself.

"What's so amusing?" She asked, giving him a small frown. He shook his head.

"Nothing, I promise." He kissed her forehead. Do I dare say the words?

"That was intense, huh?" She said, touching his face. "This psychic stuff is a hell of a drug." She nudged him jokingly, then hated herself for the look on his face. She felt that hum of fear and instantly tried to correct herself. "I didn't mean... I know it's not just that. I'm sorry, I'm kind of shit at serious emotional stuff, okay? Please stop looking at me like that."

"Then what did you mean, Cat?" Mortarion scowled at her. The hurt in his eyes had been swiftly replaced by the familiar irritation.

"Let me show you." She reached for his hands but he pulled away and shook his head. He fixed her with a stare that made her feel cold to the bone.

"Speak plainly. No witchery, just words. Please. Say what you mean or say nothing at all." His voice had turned low and gruff, almost like he was giving an order to one of his legion. She knew he wouldn't budge, and she knew she could tell him anything, but she was choking on her own words.

Just be honest, Cat. That's all he wants.

"I'm scared." She said quietly as she pulled on her ruined shirt. She was exposed enough without being literally naked, too.

"Scared of what?" He asked quietly. They didn't meet each others eyes and she felt like a chasm suddenly yawned between them. She had to close it.

"I'm scared that if I say what I want to say, if I vocalise what I know we both felt and saw... It becomes real, and I'm scared that maybe you'll be even more scared than I am and you'll pull away, or decide I'm not worth the risk... It's so soon, we barely know each other – " She realised she was crying a little, and rambling. He turned towards her, put a hand on her cheek and wiped away a tear with a long slender finger. He frowned slightly.

"You know me better than almost anyone else right now. I realise it hasn't been long... although time does work strangely on this planet. It's probably closer to a Terran month. But that is of no matter. I may have given you cause to believe that I will pull away – and I can't guarantee that I won't, at times. Are you a risk? Yes. There is no denying it. If my enemies were to find out that the Reaper of Men is harbouring a human woman... And that he is close to her. Well, they would try to use that against me and my sons." He rubbed at his face and sighed. She watched him, ready to pull walls around herself, to stop a killing blow that might break her heart. It almost sounded like he was trying to talk himself out of wanting her. She chewed her lip and stayed silent, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. He inhaled sharply and fixed her with a serious look.

"But you are worth that risk, Cat. I can hardly believe I'm saying it, but you are. The way I feel when I'm with you... I won't lose that. I can't. It's still alien to me, however..." He lifted her chin up to look her in the eyes. "I think you are meant to be here. And I think I love you."

He said the words more confidently than he believed himself to be capable of. The grin that broke her solemn expression made his hearts beat faster and she threw her arms around him in a firm embrace. Her breath was heavy and hot on his neck. She kissed him with a passion he'd been yearning for his whole life, and when she pulled away her eyes were burning emeralds. She probably had no idea but they were brighter since the Cups. He wondered how she would change as she spent more time on the Plague Planet.

"I love you too, Mortarion. I know I shouldn't, and it's so fast... But I can't control it. I don't want to." She breathed the words out quickly, and her pale face flushed a hue of dark pink. She looked shocked at her own words.

He pulled her onto his lap and they held each other quietly, their breathing the only sound for a little while. He was calm, but his hearts thumped loudly in his ears, betraying his inner worry.

"So." She said as she pulled back to look at him. Her eyes were glazed as if she'd been fighting back tears. "What happens now?" She asked.

"I honestly don't know. And for once I think I'm alright with that." Mortarion smiled. "At least for now."

Chapter 9

The Tallymans past time.

Philemon walked slowly, eyes down and nodding to himself as Little Lords skittered and climbed on him. He suddenly extended a hand and cleared his throat. The fat, pink Daemon hurriedly shoved some skin parchment into his hand and screeched at him excitedly before running back to sit in his pocket. He kept trudging down the seeping corridor; his strange half hoof, half boot feet splashing through puddles of some unidentified, shimmering liquid. The Tallyman pulled out his bone quill, sparing it a glance and not for the first time remembering where it came from. A gift from Kledo, the femur of some unfortunate Astartes. It has served its purpose well... Unlike Kledo, who is also long dead. How ironic.

He smiled as he came back to why he'd been compelled to scrawl a new work. He'd already recorded the events of the night of the seven cups, as he'd affectionately called it. The Death Guard weren't usually given to sentimentality and the recording of moments in time – all things are subject to change and entropy, and they had no interest in stagnation. However, it was silently accepted that Tallymen would sometimes record events as well as everything else they did, because it could help to cross reference things whilst making calculations. And, brothers, because we secretly enjoy it. Especially during times such as these. He grinned to himself as he felt another shift in the air, popping another small boil as he did so. All but the most sensitive of them wouldn't have noticed this new sensation, and Philemon suspected that only he knew of its source. His calculations had shown that he would be assisting with battle soon enough – for now, he was enjoying this rare whimsy. And he would not tell a soul.

You'll have to come up for air soon, my Lord. But for now... Enjoy it. Of all the creatures I have met in these thousands of years, none deserve a shred of joy more than my gene father.

Philemon remembered. Philemon was still scarred as Mortarion was from their time on Barbarus. And Philemon was still grateful for all the Pale King had done to free them. He was still proud to be an Unbroken blade of the Death Guard - no matter the cost. And so, he paid tribute to the Lord of Death by recording every time he felt the very air itself shift with the love he had found at last.He scratched a new mark, making fourteen. He laughed to himself and had to cough up a lump of something stringy and blood tinged. A passing maggot leapt on the prize gratefully, and Philemon mused on the constant cycle of life, death, decay and rebirth. Is not love an integral part of that cycle? A shame then, that so few of us know anything about it. He smiled sadly, tucked the parchment away and kept walking.