Incantator Congressus Chapter 46

The Daemon Prince B'rule was not happy, and for a scion of Nurgle that was a problem. The Grandfather had bestowed a demesne in the warp with a merry smile, the gardens of Anacorna B'rule's to shape as he saw fit. Each Daemon shaped its corner of the Immaterium to its liking and B'rule had imposed the idea of rich farmlands onto his lands. Crops rotted in the fields, rivers of polluted blood ran by and cattle ate their own young in madness. Clouds of flies composed the sky as lost souls bubbled with diseasea, hair falling off and teeth dropping from withered gums, only to die and be reborn to experience it all again. Anacorna was a testament to the love of the Grandfather, B'rule should be happy with his lot, but something was off.

B'rule stomped about as he found himself alone. He was in the middle of a rotting orchard, the fruits hanging from the trees human souls, that screamed in dismay night and day as their essence was corrupted. His gardeners tended to the harvest with smiles of approval, counting the boils on faces and licking pus from open sores. Laughter and merriments arose from all quarters, then suddenly it had gone silent.

B'rule's immaterial lips drew back over yellow pegs for teeth as he scoured the orchard for his servants. He typically adopted a bloated and swollen form, rolls of blubber hanging off his frame and his eyes did not match, one an engorged red ball, the other a hard marble of black hate. His shoulders were lined with curved horns but around the oedematous mass of his torso hung scraps of dirty white armour. The colours of the Death Guard were emblazoned on the shattered plate, declaring once he had been a man, a Legionary of the XIV Legion, but now become an immortal Neverborn.

B'rule cast his gaze about the orchard for his followers, but found no lesser Daemons, no plaguebearers or Nurglings to be seen anywhere. B'rule had battled in realms unimaginable and so he knew when danger was close, he smelt it on the wind and knew someone had penetrated his demesne, someone was stalking him. Shifting shadows tempted him to investigate and yet he was not led astray, he wasn't prepared to play someone's game and so planted his feet and drew a rusty sword as long and broad as a grown man.

"I know you're there!" B'rule cried into the wind, "Face me if you dare!" From the shadows oozed an inky blackness and B'ulre scoffed, "A little shade, that's it?! You are an idiot to challenge me, I am a Daemon Prince of Nurgle, I have…"

His words were cut short as the trees erupted into black motes. From every branch and bough they emerged, flurries of shaded wings and hooked beaks glinting with obsidian gleams. B'rule saw a tide of ink thundering towards him and lifted his sword but was amazed at how many they were, he had seriously underestimated this threat. In a thundercloud of dark wings they fell upon him, ripping and tearing at his diseased flesh. The Daemon Prince roared in anger as he swung his sword about, trying to swipe them from the air. His blows were futile; he hit nothing as the tiny things darted about his clumsy strikes, tearing strips of spirit from his being.

B'rule was beset but he was not a lowly mortal, to worry about physical form. He abandoned any effort to hit these shades and drew in a deep breath before belching out a torrent of green flies. Sharp proboscis and buzzing wings filled the orchard, tiny flies racing to meet feathered shades and drive them off. The shadowy creatures were beset and B'rule grinned as his attackers fell back, but that joy was short-lived.

The clouds retreated a step but they were not done, they swooped together and congealed, feathers and beaks flowing into each other to become a single mass. A new form emerged from that conglomeration, powerful limbs and sharp fangs set within a feline jaw. B'rule saw his flies batter themselves uselessly against that furry hide and began an incantation to unleash new assaults, but before he could react it pounced. Sharp fangs ripped into his essence, razor-claws tore at his mind and his immaterial spirit wailed. This was no mortal attack but spiritual, a creature as ethereal as he, assaulting his quintessence.

B'rule had fought men, marines and Daemons for millennia but was caught off guard by this thing. It carried the stench of none of the gods, not Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh or Khorne. Against any of those he would have known how to counter the attack but this thing was unknown, a breed apart, like him but yet so different too. He was at a loss at how to fight this shade and his spirit was ravaged, left bleeding and torn by ghostly fangs.

B'rule fell to the ground and writhed in agony, unable to fight or flee. The shade paused for a moment, yellow eyes glaring as B'rule cried, "Who are you to attack me in my own kingdom?!"

"I am vengeance," the intruder hissed, "I am justice, come for you at last. I am Nightshade."

"That voice," B'rule gasped, "You are like me, you were mortal once."

"I am nothing like you," Nightshade growled, "I am the voices of your victims' given life, billions crying out for retribution against their murderer calling to me. I am the death you have avoided for so long, finding you in your own home."

Despite his wounds B'rule laughed, "Blind wretch, I am a Daemon, immortal and never-ending. I have become an idea and you can't kill ideas!"

But Nightshade snarled, "Ideas can be forgotten, cast aside and left to wither to nothing. Ideas can be supplanted by another thought, consumed until every trace they ever existed is erased from memory. You can be ended, all Daemons can. You are but the first, I have so many more of your kind to visit. Traitors and betrayers and turncoats shall find no respite, no shelter from me. I shall find them in their own homes and devour them one by one. Those who think themselves safe in their immortality shall find there is no escaping justice. This I swear, all Daemon Princes are my quarry and I shall have my prey."

Fear trickled into B'rule's blackened mote of a soul and he opened his mouth to scream but it was too late. Nightshade leapt and sank immaterial fangs into his form, devouring his spirit piece by piece. That which cannot die found its ending in the Daemon-kin's gullet and B'rule discovered even an immortal's life was not nearly long enough.

The Adventure continues when Captain Toran returns in Armorum Fidei