-Hello everyone welcome back to Dark Changes, I am the poor chronicler who has been forced to write this tale of death and blasphemy for you all to enjoy. Of course this is simply because I enjoy bringing the primordial truth to all foolish worshippers of Sigmar or the Corpse Emperor(whichever you prefer). Though I may be on my way to becoming a corpse myself as Lord of Change(of Death Korps of Justice fame) has decided to follow this story, so keep an eye out for a boy from Krieg and we should be fine.

Now then, let's get on with answering some reviews.

Jetjedi: I think I have the gist of your comment down and yes there will be a list of Chaos undivided.

Ironwall: congratulations sir, you used the second most iconic battle cry(perhaps besides WAAGGGHHHHH!!!) for the first time in this fic.

Guest: indeed they shall learn the might of the Trye Gods.

Guest: first off, great comment, secondly without giving up much of the plot I have planned out I can confirm that there will be a lot more death and destruction(and maybe some corruption)...

Guest: Ask and ye shall receive………..

Chapter 2: Waltzing into The Garden

Life and Death

Two sides of the same coin, a single truth writ into the very atoms of everything from the smallest insect to the universe itself. Without death we could not enjoy life, and without the gift of life the universe would be an empty void. Mankind has always feared death, giving it various faces and forms, designing vast underworlds for the kind and the wicked to dwell in when they close their eyes one last time. This fear is so ingrained in our species that it leaks into civilization.

The various false beliefs of Remnant all preach in one way or another that life is sacred, promising the worst punishments for those who spit in the face of the greatest gift in the universe. Science and medicine were advanced with the unspoken goal of extending the amount of years were given on the mortal plane. Yet for all the talk of the sacredness of life, we casually step on insects when they accidentally wander into homes. mice and rats are considered creepy pets by the kindhearted, and disease spreading vermin by everyone else, and countless billions of bacteria are destroyed every day whenever we wash our hands.

However, there is one being in this vast universe that can truly consider all life as sacred. His followers are the lost and forgotten, the wretched beings society wishes to forget; to these wretched souls he is a benevolent patriarch, taking away their pain and gifting them with all sorts of wonderful gifts. Indeed Grandfather Nurgle, master of life and decay can be considered the most benevolent of the gods of Chaos(not a difficult feat when his competition is considered), and it is quite possible that when the universe enters into its final death throes that only the Lord of the Flies will be standing when all his rivals are nothing but dust………

City of Vale's SewageTreatment Plant…….

To outsiders the Vale sewage treatment plant was just a simple, unimportant looking building. Most people don't even think about where their waste goes after they flush the toilet, with the most common guess being that the kingdom just dumps it into the ocean. While there is some truth to this theory, amongst the worshippers of decay a different process occurs.

Inside the plant the corrupted water is "cleaned" by Daemonic biofiltration units inside vast reservoirs. Instead of absorbing the waste material and breaking it down into an inert form, the filters collected the filth to be harvested by the diseased crab faunus that stood at the edge of the tanks with large nets. These nets are collected and placed inside large cauldrons stirred by pox maddened shamans as the little sentient balls of daemonflesh known as Nurglings capered about doing whatever they pleased. These brews are slowly stirred over the course of several decades until the new noxious life within their rusted girth is ready to be released onto the populace.

All this is information that Azraq Iahab was able to gleam from a spell hidden by his former puppet within the plant. He had had the Tattered Scholar sneak specially made icons hidden in many buildings that had the potential to be cult outposts in Vale throughout the years, though it had cost the lives of many acolytes(especially in the areas controlled by the blood god), he now he had eyes in every major building in Vale besides Beacon Academy.

This didn't mean that he knew the exact strength of each cult, or their opinions on such frivolous things as "diplomacy", which is why he was starting with the friendliest of the Four Brothers.

Azraq had left his armour back at the warehouse as it was too conspicuous for the modern era. Today he wore a simple long sleeve blue shirt, green cargo pants(with many pockets for hiding a knife or artefacts), around his neck he wore a necklace bearing protective script against possession and manipulation. He left his face exposed, revealing his tan skin and midnight blue hair, as well as his eyes. If Azraq was vain about anything it was his eyes, they had been changed by his patron so that his eye color was always changing, it unnerved people when they made eye contact with him and gave him an advantage in negotiations.

His approach had been noticed by those inside, for a small group of cultists were waiting outside the entrance. The first thing Azraq noticed was that they were all wearing some form of a mask on their faces. Some were flies, others were stylized crows, the second thing he noticed was the man leading them.

Their leader was the most concerning of the plague afflicted rabble, standing over seven feet tall he was armed with a rather large flail, the spiked heads modified into censers filled with plague infused incense that slowly fell to the ground. His face was covered with a gas mask modified to give the appearance of a fly. His protective garments were reinforced with rusted plates, broken chains, and scavenged bits of bone. What was truly alarming about him was his lack of plague distended gut, he was essentially all skin, bones, and disease atrophied muscle underneath his suit, signifying some form of blessing from his deity.

"Who comes to the house of the Father of Flies at this hour?" The champion asked, his voice was muffled by his mask, and came off as a deep growl. Azraq smirked as he replied "Merely a humble servant of the Whisperer in the Dark."

Both of them had used one of their deities lesser guises in their introduction, out of habit and paranoia. In the ancient days worshipping the true gods would often lead to the death of the worshipper(especially when a kingdom discovered the human sacrifices some cults favored), and so came about the false names of the Gods. Some cultists went their entire worthless lives praising these names, never knowing how vast their patron truly is in power. This tradition became even more necessary in recent years despite being in the so called age of "Creativity and Expression" Remnant entered after the war, as it seemed that the freedom to be who you truly are only existed when you stayed within a certain line.

The champion left out a wheezing laugh at that, as did the rest of his gang "There is no such thing." He said before devolving into a coughing fit.

"True," Azraq admitted "But I do come with an offer for Rustigan Carrionskin."

That bit of information caused the champion to lift his flail menacingly, with the rest of his rabble bringing out knives or rusted pistols. "How did you hear that name?" He asked, already somewhat knowing the answer.

"A little Raven told me," Azraq replied,a smirk slowly growing on his face "now are you going to let me in or should I just leave?"

Alright I hate doing this but I'm going to divide this into two chapters, it's taking longer than expected and I need to work on my other stories. Please leave a review or pm me if you have anything to say about this chapter.