I will be entirely honest. I really, and I mean really, should have chosen something different. At the time, I had just thought 'hey, cool necromancer Primarch, lets see about a few tweaks' and went from there. As it stands, there were a number of issues I did not think entirely through. Such as my foster father being one of the chief reasons why my canon counterpart had so many issues with psykers and those who tapped into the warp. Because he was a right bastard, even if he cared for me in his own fashion.

By which I mean he was effectively an Asian tiger parent, except he was also literally a toxic and necromantic demon in addition to being a metaphorical one. I was valued only as much as I would be able to provide him a son and heir, a tool by which he could increase his prestige among his fellows, for no other would have one such as I. Which meant tests and lessons that bordered more on experiments, to see just how far I could be pushed, just how far things could go. The annoying thing was, I had taken Vulkan for added potential, to try and get that regeneration and self-resurrection.

I had plenty of practice in those early years, even as I learned, even as I worked to take in all the lore and training opportunities I could. Much of it was sickening, even with the defenses in place, rotten and wrong as I learned the necromancers art. A part of me had wanted to grab the necromancer from Diablo, or perhaps Nagash. But, no, instead I opted for something that would be far more useful. Talent Sharing.

Because yes, even if template stacking or added potential would have unlocked more shiny and cool new powers to play with, I was in 40K. Even with the full range of defenses and some talents, well, Big Daddy E was more than capable of spanking or killing his kids, even without touching some of the other big threats out there. However, I was a primarch. Better known as a leader of a legion, and hence, I would have minions. Minions I could then capture and enhance fairly easily, particularly if I phrased it in the correct fashion.

As it was however, that was in the future. For now, I needed to survive and learn to actually fight and use my abilities, to strengthen them in preparation for the trials ahead, greater than whatever Necare had in mind for me. Things would be different, and hopefully... I would be able to change things by the time the Emperor, my new gene-father, or creator, arrived. The only downside would be the fact that I would have a great many brothers. That would be annoying to deal with.

Big E

Everything about Barbarus rubbed him the wrong way as he approached it. There was something, as he descended on it, a sort of quiet to it all, a whisper in the silence, and the scars of something that had occurred. A diffuse psychic presence, though more akin to a shadow, even if he did not think this was the son he made to wield the inverse current. Though, as he inwardly sighed, the cancers had already changed several things about his plans, to the fact that he could not simple assume that the child here would be a son.

Not longer after planetfall the elders directed him towards one of the mountain peaks. They had been aware of his coming, told by their lord. So, it was likely that in their own way, even if the presence did not react to him, as it interacted strangely with the warp, that his son had use of his psychic gifts to some degree. That was good, even if he pondered at the fact that he was walking up to... a part of him wanted to call it a temple, though that could have just been the gothic nature of it. The feeling of meaning and silence, of contemplation and age that was more than moral, and yet did not care.

It was the utter indifference, as he was met by the door wardens, as they seemed to see past his aura, past the guise he wore, as if he was but another man, even as they inclined their heads and silently opened the doors. There was no sound, aside from his footfalls, aside from his breath, as he walked into the hall. Smaller doors were on the sides of the hall, and there were pillars, names etched onto them as they rose upwards. And yet, as he walked forward, there was none in the chamber save a tall and gaunt man clad in simple robes.

And yet, as he looked at the man, there was a connection, a sense of knowing who this was. When the man spoke, his tone surprisingly deep and strong, it was also solemn. "Father. Or creator if that is your wish." There was no surprise in his sons gaze, no judgement or emotion, no awe or spark of warmth. "You have arrived." There was a pause, as he waved a hand, a small table close by, two chairs. "I offer bread, salt and wine, as you enjoy my hospitality."

Now that was curious, as he raised an eyebrow. "That is an old rite, and not one practiced by the people of this world." Or at least, not one that had appeared in the minds of the elders as he interacted with them, as they directed him here quietly and swiftly. But... he could not sense his son. Could not sense the door wardens, or any other of the Death Guard the elite of those his son had commanded in the battles that liberated his world. Curious, and concerning, even as he moved to sit. "And yet, you have already acknowledged me as your father."

Though his son had mentioned that he would call him creator instead if that was what he desired, and was cold. "A sire, even a genetic one, is different from a father by virtue of involvement in the child's life. I acknowledge that you created me, and yet beside that, through no fault or design of your own, there is no existing deeper relationship between us." Many would have seen the cold tone and the words as dismissive, and yet... he thought he was beginning to understand. His son was one of those dispassionately calm types, wasn't he? "However, despite the fact that I am in many ways a mature man, we have, baring unfortunate circumstances, time to build a relationship."

And that in and of itself was actually heartening. Still, as he took a sip of the wine (that somehow tasted of regrets and days gone by), there was that little thing. For if he had awakened gifts like Magnus and was using some degree of divination, combined with the potentially fatalistic attitude from the atmosphere and the smaller and his smaller than expected stature, well, best steer him away from visions of doom. "Unfortunate circumstances such as?"

Which is why he nearly spat out the wine. "The necrons awakening in force, the blind idiot gods of the warp taking umbrage at your attempts to starve them of faith."

He looked at his son. "There are no gods."

His son rose a hand, and there was the faintest sense of amusement on his lips. "By which definition of divinity? And, before you take umbrage or claim me corrupted?" His son rose an eyebrow. "Would you rather have me refer to them as self perpetuating emotional maelstroms in a alternate dimension of thought and emotion linked to our own by tethers of mental and spiritual nature?" The tone was dry as bone dust as he spoke. "And in any case, merely identifying their taxidermic classification does not indicate that they are worthy of worship."

His mind skipped a beat, as he looked at his son, his son who was simple taking a sip of wine and a bite of bread, and there was a twinkle, like that of a dark star in his eyes. "In fact father, given recent history, should you not take comfort in the fact that your plan has already proven to be viable, as gods can in fact, die?"

He left, several hours later, with a pledge that his son, Mortarion, would not be sharing any of the more esoteric lore he had discovered on the true enemy without his permission. Along with said son and his warriors clad in shrouds.