Warhammer: I Don't Want to Become a Stinky Can!!!

An unnamed slope on Barbarus.

Hades stood still, his gaze fixed on the figure in the pale mist. For a moment, he felt their eyes meet. Even through the thick fog, the tall, gaunt figure stared intently at his newfound kin.

In the Warp, the master of the garden grumbled in dissatisfaction. The carefully brewed fate it had concocted seemed to have taken on an unpleasant flavor, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

It scratched at a festering sore on its chin, yellow-white pus oozing out. This small act improved its mood. Perhaps the distasteful sensation had just been a fragment of a nightmare, an illusion.

It continued stirring its cauldron, where countless beautiful diseases and plagues danced and sang, praising its benevolence.

It would get what it wanted.

A new player had entered the stage of the Four Gods.

But it seemed this newcomer's debut had no audience.

A blue figure chuckled. Wait, was there really no audience?

Hades hesitated for a moment, but he decided against calling out directly. The puppets were still on their way, and there was still time. He turned and helped Typhon rescue the remaining people from the truck.

First, to save lives. Second, to use these people as cover to delay the puppets.

Hades thought darkly.

Most of them were destined to die.

Everyone had escaped. Typhon spotted Mortarion's castle and, in a panic, began running toward it.

Following his lead, the others also started running toward the fortress. Most of them didn't have gas masks and wouldn't survive long at this altitude outdoors.

The crowd began moving toward the castle, and the mindless puppets adjusted their trajectory accordingly.

Hades, meanwhile, took advantage of the chaos and quietly retreated to the back of the truck. He grabbed his crossbow and began aiming.

He trusted his gas mask to protect him from the toxic air.

The puppets were closing in… Several times, Hades found opportunities for a clean headshot, but he held back… Timing. He was waiting for the right moment.

Just like in the original story, Typhon began shouting at Mortarion.

"Who are you?"

He cried out, half-sobbing, half-wailing.

"You sit high above, watching us burn! You saw us! You could have helped us!"

The faster puppets had already begun attacking Typhon. The leader was clearly in a tough spot, fighting alone, struggling to wield a rusty dagger in the muddy ground.

Others had already succumbed to the toxic gas, lying unconscious on the ground, awaiting death.

The rest, like Typhon, were engaged in combat with the puppets, but their lack of combat experience quickly led to their demise—

Typhon was soon overwhelmed. His psychic abilities only allowed him to hold out a little longer.

Several puppets surrounded Typhon, seemingly intent on tearing him limb from limb.

Hades took aim but hesitated to pull the trigger. He was waiting.

Waiting for Mortarion to decide to rebel, to decide to save Typhon.

Otherwise, none of them would escape.

"Save us, stranger!! You could have helped us!!"

Hades knew Mortarion was wrestling fiercely with his thoughts.

A few gunshots rang out, and the puppets fell. The figure in the fortress was holding a firearm.

It was done. Hades's lips curled into a smile.

Seeing Mortarion raise his gun to aid the humans, the puppets guarding the castle let out furious roars. They were Mortarion's subordinates, but also his jailers.

They grabbed their weapons and charged at Mortarion.

The main force of the slave convoy also turned their attention to Mortarion.

Mortarion leaped down from the high battlements, his Primarch weight crashing to the ground and creating a shockwave.

He drew a long chain whip, swinging it with ferocious speed. Each strike was accompanied by a rain of blood and gore.

Mortarion moved through the puppets with a mix of madness and precision, like a lone wolf herding sheep. Every movement split the puppets into smaller groups, which he then tore apart.

At first, the puppets managed to overwhelm Mortarion with sheer numbers, but as time passed, the battle turned into a one-sided slaughter. Mortarion was clearly consumed by bloodlust, attacking relentlessly, even sacrificing defense for more kills.

While Mortarion was cutting through the puppets like a whirlwind, Typhon was struggling. He clutched his gas mask, wielding a dagger with one hand as he fended off the puppets attacking him.

Hades, meanwhile, was taking potshots from behind the truck. The lack of puppets targeting him gave him precious time to reload. He aimed carefully, providing support for the two frontline fighters.

Silent arrows flew, each one finding its mark!

He successfully took out three puppets trying to sneak up on Typhon and repeatedly shot through puppets attacking Mortarion, giving the Primarch more opportunities to attack rather than defend.

When the last arrow was nocked and fired, blowing apart a puppet's skull, the massacre began to wind down. The ground was littered with gore and twisted limbs twitching in their death throes. The remaining puppets were in disarray, fleeing toward the higher slopes.

Typhon and Mortarion were still dealing with a few puppets, but they posed no real threat. Hades emerged from his hiding spot and quickly ran to the small escort vehicles.

He opened one and managed to start the engine.

Then he turned and called out to the few remaining humans—unbelievably, these lucky few had survived both the gas and the puppets.

"Let's go!" Hades shouted at them. They quickly ran over and climbed into the vehicle.

"Child, aren't you coming?"

Hades glanced at them. "No, I'm staying for now."

When the odds were in his favor, Hades liked to gamble.

They didn't try to persuade him further. The gray vehicle slowly moved off, heading down into the valley.

The vehicle was slow, but it would get them to safety.

Hades found another small truck to use for their escape. He started it up and drove it a short distance away.

He got out and ran back, searching for and modifying more vehicles. He found a wrench and used it to break open the fuel valves of all the small vehicles he could find. Fuel gushed out, quickly covering the rocky ground.

After finishing this, he turned his attention back to Mortarion and Typhon. It seemed their fight was over, and they were now exchanging words.

As a former shut-in, Hades couldn't understand or replicate this kind of behavior, but he respected it. After all, this was a world where thoughts and beliefs held real power.

But seriously, guys, stop chatting! Mortarion's foster father is about to come down and kill us all!

Hades took a deep breath, his gas mask creaking.

"Typhon! Calas Typhon! And you, friend over there! Are you going to run or not?!"

"The aliens are coming down soon! If we don't leave now, it'll be too late!!!"

The strange atmosphere of "what is the meaning of life" and "should we even exist" dissipated. Both Typhon and Mortarion turned to look at Hades, wide-eyed.

Hades waved at them.

At the same time, a horn sounded from the mountaintop. It was the signal for the overlords to attack.

Typhon anxiously said something to Mortarion, but the Primarch remained motionless.

Hades knew what Mortarion was thinking. A life of imprisonment had only offered him two choices: "Kill my foster father, or die." But now, Typhon and Hades had presented him with a third option: "Escape."

It was like someone who had been playing a game with only two options their entire life suddenly being told they could unplug the console and walk away.

You could just walk away.

Mortarion had never encountered such a choice. The idea overwhelmed his inexperienced mind, frying his mental circuits.

Damn it, stop hesitating, you two!

Hades could see puppet soldiers starting to descend from the mountaintop.

"Hurry up, both of you!!! There's no need to die here!!! Live to fight another day!!! Run now, and in a few years, you'll be back stronger than ever!!"

He saw Typhon half-dragging Mortarion toward him. At first, they were stumbling, but soon they broke into a full sprint.

Hades got into the truck and started the engine.

"Get in!"

Mortarion jumped into the truck bed, pulling Typhon in with him.

The moment they were in, the engine roared, and Hades immediately channeled his inner drift king, flooring the accelerator.

Just then, Mortarion's foster father's roar, amplified by psychic energy, reached them.

"Face me, child, or we sever all ties!" The narrow mountain pass echoed with the hollow shrieks of ghouls. "Do you hear me, you little brat? If you dare run, I'll make sure you die without a grave! Abandon me, and you abandon your life!"

"I've been no better than a dead man!"

Mortarion shouted back. He crouched in the truck bed, raising his pistol to aim.

"Until today!"

The bullets, fueled by his rage, roared toward the vehicles. Bright yellow fireballs erupted, devouring everything in their path!

The gray, squat vehicles, the grotesque stitched puppets, the fortress he had once called home… all were consumed by the raging flames, reflecting in Mortarion's eyes.

Mortarion cursed, firing wildly at the fortress. Hades even felt like he was trying to shoot the air itself.

Then Mortarion stood up in the speeding truck and hurled his pistol toward the flames. It traced a perfect arc through the air—

Next, he unbuckled everything from his belt, muttering curses as he threw it all away.

Finally, Mortarion shouted at the direction of his past,

"Go to hell!!!"

Ah, the rebellious phase of a Primarch.

Though Hades felt a pang of regret for the discarded pistol, he had to admit the act of defiance was pretty satisfying.

Now that they had escaped the immediate danger, Hades began to relax.

He whistled and laughed.

"Cool!"

The three of them, each carrying their own fate, raced toward their destiny.

Note: The past few chapters heavily reference The Buried Dagger. I deeply apologize for this, as I couldn't come up with better dialogue. Using official lines adds a sense of "predetermined fate." If this infringes on copyright or causes discomfort, I will modify or delete this content.

Side note: In the official lore, Mortarion and Typhon give off the vibe of a tragic girl being swept off her feet by a smooth-talking guy. Mortarion trusted Typhon so much that even the voice in his head was Typhon's.

Completely won over, Mortarion.