Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

Barbarus is a savage and ruthless world. In this cursed and desolate land, the native Barbarus creatures are all representatives of ugliness and poison.

Toxic lichens, like festering skin, densely cover every inch of the rock;

Slender eels and water snakes with hooked teeth wriggled beneath the dark mud.

The sky of Barbarus was always stained in a sickly dark orange. The sunlight that occasionally penetrated the clouds was weak and turbid, like diluted pus, spreading a pale spot on the vast sky.

Instead of bringing vitality, the light cast more distorted shadows on the rugged rocks.

Thanks to the "favor" of the gods, the poison has penetrated into every inch of this world.

As the altitude increases, the toxins in the air will condense into thick fog visible to the naked eye, like a deadly veil wrapped around the mountain, or like a pot of thick soup covering the entire world.

Only those blessed by the Warp can sit on the mist-shrouded mountaintops, their palaces rising from the toxic sea of ​​clouds like bone spurs growing on rotten gums, overlooking the dying world below.

The toxin concentration outside the castle had reached a suffocating critical point, and even Mortarion would find it difficult to breathe.

Every contraction of the lungs is accompanied by a burning pain, as if countless tiny blades are piercing the alveoli along with the air.

If even he was like this, how could his father, who was just a mortal, bear it?

Wop sensed Mortarion's worry and smiled calmly, "Don't forget I'm a psyker. Back in Nostramo I learned how to use my psykers to filter the air."

Mortarion nodded silently.

He hated psionics and the overlords who practiced witchcraft.

Even after Wop told him the truth about psychic powers, his hatred did not diminish.

Except for Wop.

Mortarion pushed open the door, and a gust of wind swept a poisonous mist around them.

Mortarion's worried gaze fell on Wop through the corrosive poisonous mist. If Wop felt any discomfort, he would immediately close the door.

If they are destined to not escape, then let the Overlord come!

He will perish together with the Overlord!

But he was obviously overthinking it. The light blue psychic halo enveloped Wop like liquid crystal, outlining a perfect spherical barrier in the turbid air.

The barrier continued to expand, enveloping Mortarion as well.

Although Mortarion had long been accustomed to coexisting with the poisonous fog, his father's subconscious protection still made his heart feel like it was gently gripped by something.

Wop was keenly aware of the hitch in his breathing. "What's wrong?"

"No, let's go."

Mortarion turned his face away sharply, making sure his father couldn't see the emotion betrayed by his face.

There are many puppets on the city walls. They are all the overlords' troops, usually commanded by Mortarion to attack other overlords.

Although these puppets were full of fear of Mortarion, when they spotted Wop, they immediately roared in anger and raised their javelins and heavy crossbows to aim at them.

The Overlord imposed many rules on Mortari, one of which was that he was not allowed to come into contact with humans.

Mortarion suddenly rushed out of the psychic barrier, the musket roaring in his hand, piercing flesh and breaking bones.

The javelin came towards him, but was clamped tightly in his palm.

The battle axe drew a sharp arc, and the festering head spun up, rolling out a sticky trail on the filthy ground.

When the puppet drew its bow and aimed its arrow at Wop, Mortarion raised his arm to block.

The arrow flew through the air, but suddenly froze before piercing the flesh and blood - ripples of psychic energy spread out like an invisible barrier, freezing the deadly arrow in mid-air, the tail of the arrow still trembling slightly.

Mortarion understood that it was Worp who was protecting him, just as he had protected Worp.

"Father is behind me!"

Mortarion did not look back, but the responsibility of guarding weighed heavily on his shoulders, and an indescribable sense of security flowed in his blood - his father was watching him!

Nothing could stop a Primarch, especially one determined to protect his father.

Mortarion swept away all the puppets on the city wall, leaving only broken corpses on the ground.

"boom!"

A dull explosion suddenly reached Mortarion's ears.

In the canyon, a group of steam vehicles were passing through the mountain pass along the climbing road.

Such scenes are commonplace on the rugged mountain road leading to the top of the cliff.

Those bulky mechanical behemoths crawled slowly, either carrying puppet legions and killing beasts to plunder, or returning with tributes and captives.

The explosion occurred in the convoy.

The tracked truck suddenly exploded from the inside, and the violent shock wave blew it off the mountain road and into the ditch.

Amidst the billowing smoke, a ragged boy crawled out from the gap in the broken chassis of the truck.

He was wearing a breathing mask but continued to retch.

The small escort vehicles in the convoy slowed down and stopped, and groups of puppets roared and rushed out of the hatches to capture the escaped prisoners.

But the boy did not choose to escape alone.

The boy turned back and rescued more mortals from the overturned vehicle.

They include men, women, young and old, but they are all very strong.

These were experimental items harvested by the Overlords, and they were supposed to be sent to Nakre's skinning workshop.

But even if they escaped the prison van, where could they go?

They could neither deal with the puppet guards nor survive at such a high altitude.

The desperate mortals rushed towards the castle in panic, but the young man in the lead suddenly stopped - on the towering city wall, a pale figure was standing quietly.

"Who are you?" the boy cried, half sobbing, half wailing, "You're just high up there, watching the fire from the other side? You clearly saw us! You clearly can help us!"

"Why this time?"

Mortarion clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

If his father hadn't been there, he would have gone to save them.

But he is no longer alone, and he must prioritize his father's safety.

Those puppets are not a concern, but they have already wasted too much time rushing out of the castle. If we go to rescue these mortals, what will happen when the Overlord comes?

Wop asked softly, "Are you going to save them?"

"Father, I..." Mortarion's voice caught in his throat.

Wop: "Your brother once faced the same trolley problem: save five people or save one. If that person were me, and he couldn't stop the trolley, he would choose to save me. I believe any of you would make the same choice."

"You haven't grown up yet. To you, the Overlord is like an unstoppable tram. You want to save me, but your humanity makes you feel guilty."

"Honestly, I'm very happy." His voice was gentle, yet filled with unquestionable confidence. "Because you chose me, and because of your kind nature. But because of this, I don't want to see you regret it in the future."

"So I want to tell you clearly that I have the ability to stop that trolley. You don't have to bear the moral burden and can make your choice with confidence."

Mortarion's breath hitched for a moment as he realized this wasn't an either-or choice. Worp had given him a chance to break his dilemma.

His father was mortal, but he was also a powerful psyker, even more powerful than his adopted father, which is why he was able to travel across the galaxy to find him.

All he had to do was speak, all he had to do was swallow his pride, and he could have both.

Even if the person standing before him is his biological father who gave him life, he will never be able to lower his proud head.

But standing before him was his father, who had risked everything and traveled across the galaxy to save him!

Was it difficult to swallow his pride when facing his father?

"Father, help me." Mortarion felt a relief he had never felt before.

It turns out that the feeling of unloading a heavy burden is so light.

His heart leaped in his chest, each beat expressing the joy of a new life.

It turns out that suffering does not have to be borne alone, it turns out that this is the feeling of being protected, it turns out that this is the happiness of having someone to rely on!

He took a deep breath, and even the poisonous air became sweet. It turned out that breathing could be so comfortable and free.

"Cough, cough cough—"

Mortarion doubled up, a violent cough tearing at his chest, as if he was coughing up the burning lobes of his lungs.

His mind was still immersed in the sweetness, but his body felt that he was sick.

"I'll help you, anytime."

Wop's palms gently stroked Mortarion's trembling back, each touch carrying a steady strength that eased the burning pain a little. "Go, answer the hands that are extended to you."

“Just like my father responded to me.”

Mortarion repeated this in his heart, and these words were like a drop of warm honey, slowly seeping into his still burning chest.

He slowly straightened up, the aftermath of his cough still vibrating between his lungs, but his breathing was much smoother.

Wop's hand withdrew in time, but left an invisible force, like an invisible cloak, gently wrapping around his shoulders.

"Father." Mortarion lowered his head.

"Ok?"

"Please, look at me carefully."

"Of course, I'll keep an eye on you."

Mortarion leaped from the city wall, passing over the fleeing mortals, his figure drawing a sharp arc through the poisonous mist.

Those puppets stitched together from twisted flesh and blood are indeed stronger than mortals. They know no pain, are not afraid of death, and are driven by the witchcraft of the Overlord.

But in the presence of the Primarch, even these horrific creations were no different from mortals.

Mortarion swept through them with javelin and axe blade, their bodies shattering like dry reeds, their foul body fluids splattering in the air, and leaving stumps of limbs and arms all over the ground.

This was not a battle, but a one-sided massacre.

It was like a child roughly taking apart a toy, except that what flew around were not parts but smelly chunks of flesh and broken bones.

The mortals stopped their stumbling steps, they stood there, their eyes wide open, their cracked lips opening and closing unconsciously.

The scene before them was beyond their meager imagination. Giants descended from the sky and were slaughtering the puppets of the overlord who had made them despair.

It was not until the pale blue spiritual light enveloped them like a veil that the mortals woke up from their dreams.

Their lungs, which had been tortured by the poisonous fog, suddenly tasted the long-lost freshness, just like a dry riverbed welcoming the rain.

Some people start coughing uncontrollably, not because of pain, but because the body is eliminating toxins that have been accumulated for too long;

Someone knelt on the ground, touching the flowing psychic barrier with trembling fingertips, as if to confirm that this was not a dream before death.

The boy's pupils reflected the man leaping down from the city wall. His clothes fluttered in the wind, but he landed on the ground as lightly as a fallen leaf.

It was clearly the same power as his, but it had reached the level he had always dreamed of!

His knuckles clenched unconsciously, his nails digging deep into his palms, but he couldn't suppress the jealousy and desire surging in his chest.

Wop stared at the boy, a burning sensation flashed across the depths of his eyes, and a hint of dark jealousy lurked.

"Snapped!"

Wop raised his hand and slapped the boy on the head, neither too hard nor too light. The force was just enough to make him shrink his neck, but not so strong that he grimaced in pain.

The young man covered his head, and the hidden desire and jealousy in his eyes were instantly shattered, leaving only a trace of unwillingness and grievance.

"Why did you hit me?"

Wop didn't explain, but slowly leaned over the boy and said, "Come, repeat after me, dear father, I fuck your mother."

"Why?" The boy instinctively took half a step back, trembling between fear and confusion.

He knew who the Kind Father was. He was the god worshipped by the overlords. Even he...

"Snapped!"

Wop gave him another blow, "Read it, or die."

There was no murderous intent in Wop's eyes, but the boy felt a chill down his spine. He was definitely serious!

The boy's Adam's apple rolled up and down, but no sound came out.

"Snapped!"