The Battle Between Behemoths: Grand Duke vs. Mortarion
The Battle Between Behemoths
This page from the fan comic If Doom Slayer joins the Imperium of Man captures an intense and desperate clash between two colossal figures: the Grand Duke and Mortarion, Daemon Primarch of Nurgle. The artwork uses sharp contrasts and dynamic linework to give a sense of motion and weight, especially in how the tendrils, smoke, and armor all seem to pulse with energy. The Grand Duke is not Doom Slayer, but an original character clad in thick, rounded power armor reminiscent of a Tau battlesuit crossed with Imperial tech. He stands strong, but is clearly struggling against the overwhelming forces of Nurgle. Mortarion’s presence isn’t shown in full, but his corruption is everywhere—tentacles, plague-ridden vines, and sickly mists coil around the battlefield. The page radiates tension, a moment of rising danger where hope starts to slip.
The Grip of Corruption
Mortarion’s attacks aren’t just physical—they’re spiritual and biological, as described by the narration. His weapon, likely his baroque scythe Silence, is laced with a virulent new plague designed to infect even the strongest warriors. The twisted vine-like tendrils are impairing the Grand Duke’s mobility, making it clear that brute force alone won’t win this fight. There’s a grim implication in the dialogue that even a single wound from Mortarion’s plague could be fatal. The reference to a Squat slave’s warning shows how even the lowest tiers of the Imperium’s hierarchy play a part in its survival. The art supports the story’s weight through layers of motion and chaotic lines, making the disease itself feel alive.
A Dire Situation Unfolds
The layout of the panels adds to the narrative’s urgency, tilting and overlapping to emphasize chaos and desperation. The central theme here is that Mortarion doesn’t just want to kill the Grand Duke—he wants to use him as a vector, a host for a new plague. That level of psychological warfare is what makes Nurgle’s champions so terrifying, and the art reinforces it through grotesque detailing. Clouds of foul mist and sludge churn around the Grand Duke’s legs, chains dangle in the poisonous fog, and monstrous forms churn just out of focus. The text bubbles feel almost like a whispered commentary from a horrified observer, underscoring the helplessness of the moment. It’s a page that delivers both heavy lore and grim atmosphere, a brutal chapter in a war that never ends.
