When that mighty figure appeared before him, Mortarion stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Ten thousand years had passed. He thought he might face that presence with more courage now.

But his body instinctively urged obedience.

It was a bond of blood—he had never truly broken free of his father's authority.

The moment the Emperor appeared, the fallen Primarch, the Lord of Death, fell silent.

He even forgot to run.

"Mortarion, my son."

The Emperor stood before the fallen Primarch. His unnatural voice brimmed with coldness, though a trace of disappointment and anger remained in his gaze:

"Why have you become like this?"

In the past, he would never have spoken such words.

But under the Savior's influence, the Emperor of Mankind had become more emotionally expressive.

This warmth constantly clashed with the cold divinity, always threatening to vanish at any moment.

"Father, I…"

Mortarion choked up, and tears unexpectedly welled in his eyes.

This was the first time the Emperor had ever called him "son," not any other title.

He was being addressed as a father, not a ruler.

Mortarion didn't know how to answer. How could he explain his fall?

Warp energy surged within him, triggering illusions of his life before corruption.

Visions of Nurgle's threats and coercion filled his mind.

The Death Guard endured unspeakable torment.

He was trapped in isolation on Barbarus, struggling in the agony of failure.

Again, Mortarion felt that same despair, helplessness.

No one had come to save him—not even his father.

"It wasn't what I wanted… I didn't fall willingly…"

Mortarion's face contorted with anguish and grief, and even a tinge of hatred appeared in his eyes:

"My sons were suffering. There was no other way—I had no choice.

No one came to help me. No one! Not even you, my hypocritical father!

If only you had—"

SMACK!

Before he could finish, a psychic slap landed across his face, knocking out his jagged, twisted teeth.

"Coward."

The Emperor, at some point, had grabbed Mortarion and delivered several more slaps in rapid succession:

"This is your reason for betrayal?

A selfish and cowardly excuse. Your will was weak, your loyalty to humanity faltered, and you didn't even have the courage to raise your sword against the enemy.

You disappoint me."

"I—I didn't!"

Mortarion clutched his face, utterly pitiful.

The words hit a nerve. He tried to flee, transforming into a swirling yellow mist.

But he didn't get far.

Seeing his brother's condition, the Emperor grew even more furious, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

A surge of divine light began to gather—he was preparing to attack.

The Emperor... drew his belt!

"No—!"

Space trembled.

Mortarion was struck again and again by paternal wrath, letting out blood-curdling howls.

Corrupted limbs and black wings were ripped apart and purified, his entire body bloodied.

Roboute Guilliman watched, his heart pounding.

No matter how you looked at it, watching your brother get beaten with a belt—so violently that it snapped—was more than a little unsettling.

Even if he'd done nothing wrong.

Especially when their father had become so overwhelmingly powerful, there was almost no hope of resistance.

He recalled the time when Lorgar had been forced to kneel by the Emperor before his very eyes.

In truth, had the Emperor not been bound to the Golden Throne and the Webway, he could have suppressed all the Primarchs and prevented the Heresy from ever happening.

Elsewhere, far away—

"He—He was supposed to be imprisoned on the Golden Throne! Why is he here?!"

Fulgrim, the fallen Phoenix, panicked and ran for his life, completely abandoning his usual grace.

Even as his makeup ran, he didn't dare pause to fix it.

Despite their betrayal, the Primarchs still feared facing the Emperor—except for Horus, once the Warmaster.

And why was Fulgrim fleeing so frantically?

He knew full well—if the Emperor saw what he'd become, his fate would be worse than Mortarion's!

So he fled, heading straight for Slaanesh's palace.

This place was no longer safe. Not even the Prince of Pleasure could protect him now.

AAHHH!!!

Mortarion screamed again.

Fulgrim flinched. Tears almost welled up—he truly felt a "there but for the grace of the gods go I" kind of pity.

He ran even faster, cursing that he didn't have more legs.

Vmmm—

Guilliman looked up. The Emperor had silently appeared before him, eyes glowing with white light.

He swallowed hard. "Father?"

The Primarch quickly reviewed everything he'd done, wondering if he was about to get smacked too.

"Sword."

The Emperor's fury hadn't subsided. His voice was still filled with rage.

Guilliman reflexively handed over the Holy Sword—which had originally belonged to the Emperor anyway.

Then he watched his father approach the fallen Mortarion, sword in hand. There was killing intent in the air.

Guilliman's heart tightened. He wanted to speak.

But remained silent.

He was the Regent of the Imperium. He had no right to plead for a fallen brother, no authority to interfere with his father's actions.

Mortarion, covered in injuries, could barely stand.

Holy energy scorched his body, purging all signs of corruption. He looked like a plucked chicken.

Utterly pathetic.

Most of the Warp corruption inside him had already been burned away.

His twisted thoughts were beginning to clear.

As he watched the Emperor approach, sword in hand, he was overwhelmed with remorse.

"Forgive me…"

His voice was almost inaudible.

Exhausted, Mortarion collapsed to his knees.

He looked up at the father he once knew, his memories flashing through his mind. He wanted to speak again.

But stayed silent.

He looked as if he were awaiting execution.

Perhaps he truly regretted it all—and no longer wished to live as a traitor.

But Chaos would not let him go.

BOOM—

The black fortress's gates flew open.

The Plague God would not abandon a Primarch. Nurgle had invested too much in this son to allow him to be lost.

Warp corruption surged forth, grabbing Mortarion, trying to drag him back into the fortress.

That fortress was the very heart of corruption—the Cursed One couldn't yet destroy it.

If Mortarion entered, he would be beyond salvation—a slave to pestilence forever.

"No—Father!"

Mortarion panicked, crying out in fear.

If he entered that door, he would never be free again.

BOOM!

The Emperor acted. The golden Holy Sword fell like a descending sun.

It cleaved through Nurgle's outstretched hand, erupting with blinding energy, searing the diseased flesh.

Splat.

The unnatural hand was severed.

"Cursed One!"

Nurgle howled. His right hand was already wounded—now his left was maimed too.

Khorne and Tzeentch took the chance to grab him and drag him deep into the fortress, giving him a vicious beatdown.

It was brutal.

But when the Emperor looked in their direction, the depths of the black fortress immediately went silent.

Though the Cursed One couldn't enter, the Chaos Gods dared not provoke him further, fearing he might actually show up.

The Emperor did not pursue.

He knew this form of his couldn't penetrate to the fortress's core, nor could he face three Chaos Gods at once.

Mortarion knelt, not daring to move.

Yet something stirred in his heart—the Emperor had saved him.

Perhaps he didn't intend to kill him.

Indeed, the Emperor had abandoned that idea. Mortarion still had a chance at redemption.

For humanity, any Primarch was an immense asset.

Not just for their personal power—but for the military forces they could rally.

The Emperor was now bound to the Warp, but the Primarchs could still traverse both the galaxy and the immaterium freely.

Rationally speaking—

A fallen Primarch who could be saved and returned to the Imperium wouldn't just weaken Chaos—it could give humanity precious breathing room.

The transformation since Guilliman's return had proven this beyond doubt.

Of course, reintegrating a fallen Primarch into the Imperium would not be easy. Perhaps there were other ways he could still serve mankind.

The Emperor stared down at Mortarion, issuing a silent warning.

Stay here. Behave. Or else.

Then the Emperor vanished, leaving only the kneeling, penitent Lord of Death behind.

Even with the threat gone, Mortarion dared not flee.

"Father…"

Guilliman tried to say something but saw that the Emperor had already rushed off.

The Regent of the Imperium sighed.

Then he turned to look at Mortarion. The two Primarchs stared at each other.

And the next moment—

The Regent of the Imperium swung a heavy punch. A good ol' brotherly love beatdown.

...

Within the Purple Mist.

"Shit! Where the hell did the Emperor go?!"

Eden was starting to panic.

At this moment, he was bound to a torture rack in a rather provocative pose, every muscle on his body exuding raw power.

It had to be said—the Prince of Pleasure really understood bondage.

Not far away, the Goddess of Life, Isha, was also restrained, tears streaming down her face.

"Stop…"

She could only watch helplessly as the dark god tortured the Savior right in front of her, utterly powerless.

The Prince of Pleasure, sensing the arrival of the Cursed One, didn't flee immediately.

Too greedy, the Dark Prince sought to drag both the Savior and the Goddess of Life back to His palace.

He had already half-succeeded. The essence of desire, embodied in mist, was nearly out of Nurgle's garden.

As long as He returned to His domain, not even the Cursed One could touch Him.

"Your hope is in vain…"

The Dark Prince's hand traced across the Savior's body, savoring the long-coveted flesh and soul.

He couldn't wait to indulge in it all.

Crack!

A whip of thorns lashed across the Savior's back, leaving deep marks.

Yet none of it marred Eden's appearance—on the contrary, it added a tragic charm to his already striking figure.

Tsss~

Eden was stunned.

He'd expected the lash to bring searing pain, but instead, it felt... euphoric.

It was more thrilling than any illusion he'd ever experienced.

In truth, the Prince of Pleasure's whip did inflict pain and corruption—but Eden, already a dual-aspect being with a special soul and shadow, was unaffected.

All negative energy was absorbed, leaving only unfiltered pleasure.

After a few lashes, not only had he thoroughly enjoyed it, but his shadow power had also increased.

A free upgrade!

"Hey, why'd you stop?"

Eden looked at the embodiment of galactic seduction before him and swallowed hard.

Then quickly switched back to his proud, defiant tone: "Anyone watching might think the Savior couldn't take it. Keep going! I will never yield!"

Isha watched as the Savior endured torment for her sake, heartbroken and moved.

And promptly broke down crying again.

She wasn't much of a fighter, nor particularly strong-willed.

???

The Prince of Pleasure halted, growing increasingly furious.

He sensed something was off—this Savior seemed to have more endurance than even a Primarch, and he possessed some devouring trait.

As a result, the pleasure-infused warp energies had no effect. Everything He gave had been absorbed for free.

In short—He'd been robbed blind, right before His eyes.

What a humiliation!

Fortunately, this devouring trait had limits.

If the Dark Prince kept pushing, the flood of corrupt pleasure energy would overwhelm Eden's threshold, fully corrupting him—turning him into a true champion of Chaos.

He would become the strongest of all His servants.

The Dark Prince ceased His corruption, not wanting to waste more power.

He stared at Eden and issued a threat:

"I know what you're thinking. Your salvation will never come. Soon, we'll be back in the realm of ecstasy.

There, every Daemonette will torment you, and I shall personally drag you into the abyss."

The Prince wouldn't just send his generals—He would take matters into His own hands.

For any follower of the Emperor, that was the vilest blasphemy imaginable.

Although, for certain Slaaneshi cultists, it might be considered a reward.

Before their fall, they'd experience every physical delight, fulfilling all fantasies.

That's the terrifying seduction of the Prince of Pleasure.

Even the nobles and warriors of the Imperium struggled to resist that temptation.

Let alone the average human.

Imagine it—everything on your hard drive brought to life, ready for your command.

You could live any dream, become anyone—noble, artist, or even a different gender.

You'd reach the pinnacle of your skills and passions, granted every desire.

And you could stay in that pleasure realm for a hundred years… a thousand… forever.

All for the low cost of your soul.

As for the pain and torment? That comes later.

After all, the Imperium wasn't short on suffering either.

And with time, that suffering would be twisted into a new form of ecstasy.

It balances out.

First comes pure bliss—then pain mixed with pleasure.

Still pleasure.

But that temptation didn't work on the Savior.

Because he got it all for free.

Besides, everything the Dark Prince offered? Eden could already do in reality.

He just didn't want to.

The problem was—he could no longer refuse.

The realm of pleasure was almost beyond the Garden of Nurgle. Once it crossed the threshold, not even the Emperor could catch up.

He'd be dragged into the Prince's bedchamber and corrupted thoroughly.

And the Goddess of Life would meet an even crueler fate.

"Looks like it's time to gamble."

Eden's expression grew grim. Quietly, he began to gather power, ready to brawl with the Prince of Pleasure.

He wasn't powerless.

His shadow half, Diablo, wasn't to be underestimated. At the very least, they could land a few solid punches before going down.

BOOM!

A surge of psychic power erupted from Eden. Golden lightning arced across his body as he broke free of his restraints.

Then… he lay down flat.

No dark-side powers, no chaos transformation.

Because the Emperor had arrived.

It was time to sit back and enjoy the show.

Zzzrrrtt—

In an instant, a golden greatsword pierced the pleasure domain, stopping its escape.

"NO!!!"

The Prince of Pleasure's exquisite face twisted in agony, releasing a shrill scream.

A towering figure in golden armor had appeared before Him, locking eyes.

The white light in the Emperor's eyes practically exploded, and His fury surged.

He hadn't forgotten the humiliations the Dark Prince had inflicted upon Him through illusions.

Without a word, the Emperor moved in zero frames.

And punched. Hard.

The brutal strike sent the Prince flying, utterly obliterating the domain.

BOOM.

The Dark Prince's true form—a voluptuous female demon—was slammed into the ground inside the Garden of Nurgle.

"HERETIC!!"

The Emperor followed up, unleashing a relentless storm of attacks.

Their battle formed a swirling vortex of unnatural energies in the sky—a clash of concepts, not just strength.

Nearby, Eden carried the Goddess Isha back to the ground.

A green robe woven from plants covered his body, preserving some modesty.

"Damn, that's satisfying!"

Eden looked toward the source of the screams—where the Emperor was absolutely pounding the Prince of Pleasure.

The visual:

The Emperor had grabbed the Prince by Her long purple hair and was slamming Her into the ground, over and over, mercilessly.

Each punch was a full-force strike—Her face was unrecognizable.

This was the Dark Prince's third catastrophic defeat since Her birth.

She had been beaten before by Khorne and Nurgle, but this was the worst—her essence itself had been damaged.

The energy from their clash was tearing through Nurgle's garden.

The Dark Prince was now filled with regret.

Maybe She shouldn't have humiliated the Cursed One. Maybe She shouldn't have tried to steal the Savior.

That greed had cost Her the chance to escape.

Within the Black Fortress—

The other three Chaos Gods paused their brawl.

They began watching the fight—a perfect opportunity to assess the Cursed One's strength.

Khorne watched in silence, deeply serious.

Could He withstand that level of power in battle?

"What a delightful scene!"

Tzeentch watched with pure glee, enjoying this unprecedented sight.

Watching the Prince of Pleasure get beaten so viciously somehow made His own wounds hurt less.

"Damn that Cursed One!"

Nurgle wept bitterly as his garden burned under that radiant light, mourning his losses.

Soon, the Dark Prince abandoned part of Her essence and fled into the Black Fortress.

The four Chaos Gods exchanged glances and fell silent.

Then, they all tensed up.

The Emperor—humanity's ultimate weapon, that peerless titan—was looking right at them.

His gaze burned with fury and divine pressure.

But He did not approach.

Much to Tzeentch's disappointment.

If the Emperor had dared enter that core domain, they might have been able to trap Him.

That would have changed everything in the galaxy.

"This is a warning."

The Emperor looked upon the Black Fortress, raising His golden blade. Holy flames surged skyward like a draconic inferno.

His voice rumbled with power:

"The Warp and the material realm were once in balance.

But you have long since shattered that balance—bringing nothing but suffering.

The Warp is not yours alone.

This realm is not real.

Only will has meaning.

And no will surpasses mine.

You will not die today.

But your death will come."

As His words ended, a firestorm more intense than a million suns engulfed Nurgle's garden, spreading rapidly.

Daemons screamed.

They poured from their hiding places, running in panic—only to fall moments later.

The flames cleansed everything.

The Black Fortress shook. Stones fell from the ceiling. Wet, rotting doors hissed with steam.

But the fire halted at the threshold, unable to enter.

"NO! My garden! MY GARDEN!!"

Nurgle wailed, nearly sobbing—his precious power slipping away.

He nearly lost his mind, wanting to rush out and extinguish the flames.

But Khorne and Tzeentch, barely holding back their glee, restrained him.

"Calm down, Nurgle, calm down!!"

(End of Chapter)

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