Antavus Barrazin

The simple truth was that their gene-father, their primarch did in fact care, despite looking like a walking corpse. And he was far, far stronger than he appeared to be despite that, and not just physically. Quiet as well, but more than willing to listen before taking action as he listened to him and the other captains and veterans. But after they were bound and brought into their fathers aura, they could see beyond the veil he wore to some degree, could understand him and what he planned. Perhaps the thousand sons had something similar with their primarch, given how both had trained with their psychic talents.

He would have to ask the next time they worked together. The thing was, at the very least his primarch was willing to elaborate on some of the special weapons. And the fact that yes, their new lord was in fact, a necromancer and lord of the dead. Something that raised more than a few concerns... but at the very least he was more than willing to listen to said complaints, and even explained himself. Which a part of him burned, that he had forced his father to do so... but on the other hand, his father was well aware of how it looked and so was willing to answer questions.

For as Mortarion cocked his head, he had stated the words that etched shamed and pride in his twin hearts. "Are you not my sons? True, I will have to be a somewhat distant father by necessity given the number of children I now possess and the simple truth that I have had little to do with your upbringing. At the same time, this gift I give to you all. If my methods and behavior bother you, you may ask for clarity. The answer may be delayed due to ongoing operations or orders from my own father," which indicated that the Emperor was at least aware in part, "but I will answer. For familial duty goes both ways."

Now, some fool had the gall to wonder, loudly, how Lady Victoria and Sangunius fit into that, even as their father raised an eyebrow at wondering how familial booty fit into things. Which is when their father pulled a toothbrush out of nowhere. "Why, by a son volunteering to polish the ship by hand in case they visit his father of course."

A moment of humor that one would not have expected, even as there were plenty of horrors. A part of him shivered. Thankfully, they had been explained and were closer to some of what the Mechanicum deployed than his initial horrified impressions. Because, they were in fact intended as terror weapons, to shatter the morale of the foe and to reduce the total projected fatalities. To say nothing of the wargear that was handed out to the elite. Weapons that seemed to carry some of the chill of the grave, focuses for the apothecaries that seemed to allow them to perform simple healing biomancies (they would have to hide them from the thousand sons)...

Frankly, as he looked at the spectral moose (which his father had promised him was capable of void travel and flight)... at the very least he was trying to keep some of their traditions intact. Even if some of the changes seemed more to be based on often morbid jokes only his father really understood.

Guilliman

Given how the few attached to his forces that were psychically attuned had been singing and muttering the same thing as he ventured to Galaspar, he did not expect it to remain in good condition. Not least because something about his new brother rubbed him the wrong way. It was not something logical or practical, and yet the coldness from him, the small size, the obsession with death... he did not need to have precognitive talents to realize that Mortarion and his Death Guard would not be something to deploy against those that you expected to integrate into the Imperium, but instead to utterly destroy.

Even the Navigators had reported a grey fog, a presence that spoke of a realm of the dead. And so, he had fully expected scenes of utter carnage and devastation to have greeted him. And to be sure, there were crucifixions of what appeared to be high nobility (something that offended him), but there was far less devastation than he had been expecting. To be sure, yes, there was a great deal more mist, and he thought he could see things in the corner of his vision, while Dorn seemed to be stiffer than normal, his eyes clearly tracking something. It was, to use words of an elder age that should have been banished, as if the world had somehow became haunted.

They found their brother in a healing hall. He was not, to their eyes, wearing armor, but instead those simple grey and black robes that seemed to be his hallmark, a staff in hand in place of his scythe. There was mist in the hall, wrapping around those seated on the beds, their wounds slowly healing before their eyes as he simply walked up and down the hall, a silent figure. For a moment, he did not see a man with nearly no decoration, but some feral shaman, with skulls and flowers woven and placed around him, horns atop his head.

"What did you unleash here." Rogal spoke before he could, the faintest traces of unease in his tone, which sent shivers of ice down his spine. If whatever he was seeing was unnerving Rogal, then...

"I asked the dead if they would care for vengeance on those that tormented and abused them in life." The thing was, as he stared at his brother, was the sheer off handed nature of the reply. "Or, if you would rather have me phrase it in the politically correct terminology, I utilized the psychic echoes of the dead to create ectoplasmic shells resembling those they came from, before directing them against the tyrants and fools that commanded The Order in a decapitation strike."

Cold eyes, devoid of emotion, of care looked at them. A mirror in many respects to Dorn. "I am now in the process of ensuring that the administration teams arrive before handing control over to them. In the meantime, I am tending to the injured."

A part of him wanted to ask about the orbital bombardments, about the fact that terror weapons had been used, and yet... that was the thing, was it not. Despite making for a brutal decapitation strike, up to and including a void ship having rammed the capital hive for rapid deployment... the death toll was lighter than it could have been, and he did not use all the weapons that he could have. And so, he slowly nodded. Still. "As for the things in the corner of our vision?"

Mortarion's expression did not change, even as the mists moved and brushed against civilians, flesh that seemed like it should have died soon gasping and looking much more hale. "I am directing my psychically sensitive sons to corral those and return them to confinement. They are nothing more than loose fears, reflections of unease after a fashion."

At those words, his stomach dropped. Did, did his brother not realize just how risky and insane such weapons were, given the atrocities of the long night? A new brother, and one that might be even more reckless than Magnus, even as he seemed to be devoid of any spark of humanity. He felt his blood curdle and freeze as he looked at the thing in front of him.