Mortarion stood outside the hut, gripping his curved blade, gazing at the distant mountains shrouded in toxic mist.
At the highest peak, enveloped in the densest poisonous fog, stood the castle of his foster father, Necare.
That bastard... his father... Mortarion had sworn countless tis: it’s either him or .
Mortarion deeply feared and intensely hated his foster father.
Since he could rember, being hurled with insults and abuse were a daily routine in his life. He was forced to complete impossible tasks, only to be psychically revived by his foster father when he was on the brink of death.
In his weaker days, Mortarion was made to climb cliffs in acid rain.
Or fight dozens of rock-corroding hounds before he had even learned to stand.
Or be thrown into toxic swamps, battling those disease-ridden sorcerous zombies.
Unquestionably, he was too weak. He failed every ti.
"Useless thing."
"Only able to wail in the mud, waiting for to save you."
"How many more tis must I save this worthless being?"
His father said.
"If you fail again, I’ll snap your neck."
Yet, Mortarion never succeeded.
"You are a failed weapon, a freak. You are different from all the other creatures here."
"You are the failed product of my wizardry experints. I should have destroyed you back then."
"Forget it, you failure. Your only use is to be sent into battles against other overlords."
"Be grateful for my rcy, my worthless son."
He would kill him.
Mortarion would kill his father.
He swore countless tis that he would kill him.
As he lay with broken bones, lungs torn out, struggling and trembling in the swamp, he swore; as his skin corroded and peeled off under the acid rain, chest punctured, he swore; as his limbs were torn off and he was nailed to the cliff, writhing, he swore.
He swore, he swore, he swore he would kill him.
Mortarion's world used to be very simple: beco stronger, stronger, and even stronger until he could stand atop the most toxic peak of Barbarus and tear his foster father's head from his body.
Aside from killing his father, he desired nothing else. His world was made up of combat, captivity, rage, and fear.
In his countless fantasies, there were only two possible outcos for him: either he would die from being too weak in a battle, or he would beco strong enough to kill his foster father.
He had no ti for anything else.
— Until those two peculiar people from the bottom appeared.
Yes, his foster father forbade him from interacting with the humans at the bottom of the valley. They were "lowly," living crops.
Mortarion had never encountered humans before.
He didn't understand what it ant to be of the sa kind.
But when that strange little boy looked directly at Mortarion through the poisonous fog, Mortarion's world was instantly overturned.
He was human.
Mortarion was a human.
Hades and Typhon shattered Mortarion's small world, showing him a completely different one—a world filled with people like him.
Even though this world was not perfect, it was fragile, simple, and rough.
People were deeply imprisoned in fear, raised like livestock by the lords on the mountains. They were toys and expendables.
In them, Mortarion saw his weak self.
The one who struggled in fear and anxiety.
But after eting his own kind, he was no longer weak.
He was Mortarion, a human, and he would lead humanity in resistance,
resisting all oppression and injustice.
They would kill all the oppressors.
Even if it ant sacrificing themselves, it was worth it.
—
If I had to choose a word to describe Mortarion, it would be "rebellion." Mortarion is a rebel, which inevitably leads to his constant conflict with the "father" figure representing "power and authority."
Unless he becos that ruler himself, he will never be satisfied.
But honestly, Mortarion, as a "father," was quite rciful. He treated the Death Guard very well. Aside from Typhon, his relationship with the other Barbarus-born Death Guard mbers was truly one of paternal love and filial piety.
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