Maeleum Datum : 587.M35
After the fall of Commoragh, Nurgle had considered acting against his youngest sibling in order to destroy the Panacea STC, whose existence was anathema to the Grandfather. But after seeing what the minions of the Dark Prince had done with the life-saving technology, he had judged the efforts of his followers were best spent continuing the prosecution of the Long War. The horrors that Slaaneshi cults had wrought using the secrets of the Dark Age would have made even the transhuman techno-overlords of that long-lost age shudder with dread, taking inspiration from the flesh-works of the now extinct Haemonculi of the Dark City.
Mutilated by the loss of an entire Segmentum, bleeding from a thousand rebellions and more, the Imperium still stood, so vast that it could endure such wounds and keep blindly trudging along, like a great, idiotic reptilian beast who didn't even notice the spears plunged into its flanks. The preachers of the Imperial Creed passionately proclaimed that, through the grace of the God-Emperor and His Angel, the Imperium would stand forever, no matter what the heretics, traitors and xenos tried.
This offended Nurgle, Father of Plagues and Master of the Garden of Rot. Though those who knew of his existence most feared him for the pestilences he brewed in his great cauldron and that his servants disseminated across the galaxy, the Ruinous Power was more than a cultivator of disease. Nurgle's domain was Decay, the inevitable entropy that claims all things as seen through the fearful eyes of mortal souls. Sickness was but one aspect of this, though the greater one due to the depths of emotional torment endured by those whose flesh failed them and who could feel death drawing closer with every feverish nightmare, every weakening heartbeat.
Yet even if they were Nurgle's favourite tool, plagues were still just that : a tool. The Grandfather could be as subtle as his hated rival Tzeentch when the mood took him, and far less prone to over-complicated schemes that pitted his followers against each other to see which one came out on top. This was not out of love, as so many cultists had deluded themselves, but apathy : Nurgle only cared that the job got done, not who did it, and had no patience for infighting among the slaves who bore his threefold mark upon their soul.
While the Death Guard sponsored cults that outwardly preached unity and brotherhood against the Imperium's oppression, Nurgle had other agents moving within the shadows of the Corpse-God's kingdom. They sought not to spread plague and worship of the Grandfather, but to erode the very foundations of the Imperium. In time, every empire fell, no matter how powerful : even the Aeldari Empire, which had ruled the galaxy for millions of years, had succumbed to entropy in the end. Unlike the Aeldari Empire, however, the Imperium couldn't be allowed to create a Warp God when it collapsed. The threat of the Eternal Tyrant which had pushed the Dark Gods to change their plans at the height of the Heresy and prevent the death of Horus was still present, and Nurgle had dedicated a great deal of effort in preventing the birth of this abomination.
To that end, Nurgle intended to wield a particular weapon that had been the bane of tyrannical empires since the days of the old and ruthless Necrontyr Dynasties : the truth.
The monumental edifice of the Imperium was built on a foundation of secrets and lies. Long before the Dark Gods had put their hooks into Horus' soul in the Davin system, the Emperor and His servants had worked tirelessly to conceal the reality of the cosmos from the people they had conquered, under the guise of the so-called Imperial Truth. The Lord of Decay saw great irony in using those same secrets to help hasten the inevitable collapse of the Anathema's kingdom, and guided his followers in ferreting out these hidden mysteries.
Again and again, the disciples of Nurgle were foiled, their efforts discovered by the Inquisition before they were put to the pyre. Yet the Dark God wasn't discouraged for in this as in all things, time was on his side. Eventually, his agents would succeed : it was only a question of how much time and how many attempts it would take. Such was the true terror of Decay, and if any Inquisitors suspected it, they kept silent, having long known that the war against Chaos couldn't be won, only fought.
These efforts at unearthing the truths that the Imperium sought to conceal had been going on since the end of the Heresy, a front of the Long War where engagements weren't fought on the battlefield but in ancient archives and shadowy corridors, not with bolter and chainsword but with dagger and poison. Entire cults had been founded and wiped out, and several Inquisitorial Cabals had been founded for the sole purpose of preventing their efforts. Whenever one of the Plaguefather's agents succeeded in obtaining evidence of one of the Imperium's dirty secrets, the Inquisition reacted by purging everyone involved along with everyone who might have been passed the information. Imperial organizations, cities and even a couple of worlds had been destroyed in this way, and while this was a victory in itself for Chaos, it did little to advance the greater goals of Nurgle in the Long War. The Septarchy of Revelation, the Brotherhood of Truth, the Seekers of the Unknown, the Revolutionary Committee of Aegaria Primus : all of them and many, many more tried to expose the Imperium's lies, and all were destroyed along with their associates, friends and families.
Still, Nurgle persevered, uncaring of the losses incurred and knowing that he only needed to get lucky once to cause irreparable damage to the Imperium. And so, as the sixth century of the thirty-fifth millennium neared its end and the God of Decay watched as his servants made one more attempt at uncovering the secrets of the Imperium of Man, he felt neither anticipation nor excitement, merely putting his metaphysical hand on the scales of chance as he'd done many, many times before. As before, this was a long shot, but the Plaguefather was willing to play those odds.
At first, it seemed like another failure : an infiltration of an Inquisitorial archiving facility that was discovered as the operatives breached the cogitator-banks, leading to their slaughter. However, their meddling still had consequences. Months later, an Imperial savant accessed the records on behalf of their master. They had all appropriate authorizations, and the knowledge they sought was entirely mundane, tangentially related to an ongoing investigation. But the damage done during the failed infiltration to the antique and ill-understood archiving mechanisms caused a glitch, and along with a list of citizens having made the trip to Illicar Secundus in the last decade, the savant received a file that had been locked deep within the archives' most secure records.
By the time the savant realized the error, they had also realized that reporting it would lead to their mind-scrubbing at best. For the file was a report compiled millennia ago, in the twilight years of the Scouring. It told the story of the Iron Hands, the cold and merciless Tenth Legion of the Astartes. Within it was the tale of how the Iron Hands had been broken by the death of Ferrus Manus on Isstvan V, how the Shattered Legion had fought during the Heresy … and how its leaders had ultimately turned their back on the Imperium. How they had abandoned the one who sought to bring them to Terra to join the defenders of the Throneworld, one Shadrak Meduson, leaving him to die at the hands of the Sons of Horus. How they had fled from the civil war, with only a few scattered groups of Iron Hands making it to the Throneworld on their own. And how, after the Traitor Legions had been defeated at the cost of the Emperor's mortal shell, Roboute Guilliman had bribed them into rejoining the Imperium with the skull of their Primarch, reclaimed from Horus' flagship in the final hours of the Siege of Terra.
However accidental the access had been, the savant knew it had been recorded, and judging by the importance of the information within, surely some kind of warning must have been sent. Their unwilling sin would be discovered, and they were filled with dread and a low anger at the injustice of their fate and the dark secret they had learned. The Iron Hands had served as the crushing fist of the Imperium for thousands of years, yet they had abandoned it in its hour of greatest need. And clearly they still weren't trusted, for the file also contained suggestions for how to best use its contents to force the Iron Hands into compliance with the threat of exposure.
With their faith shaken and the certitude of their doom hanging over them, the savant fled from their post, using their training and resources to fake their death and build a new identity on a remote Imperial world. There they remained for several years, living a quiet and peaceful life as an antiquarian working for the local nobility, until they were invited to lend their expertise to an auction of rare items. Among these items was a picture and a collection of notes held in stasis, which were the work of none other than Euphrati Keeler, the legendary Saint and founder of the Imperial Creed. It was believed to be a priceless relic of the Saint's early life as a remembrancer of the Great Crusade, even if the image's subject was hidden by its position face-down in the stasis field.
However, the image was that of Horus Lupercal, taken before – or perhaps after – his fall to the Ruinous Powers. The Inquisition had tracked it for centuries, and the auction was attacked by Stormtroopers under the command of the Ordo Hereticus, only to find themselves opposed by members of the Congregation of Illumination, another Nurglite cult of revelation. Amidst the chaos, the savant ended up with the Keeler Image and the Saint's writings in their possession as they fled the carnage.
When they dared to inspect their prize, they immediately recognized the image of the Warmaster, but the writings were what was truly important. In them, the Saint told of how the Imperial Creed had come to exist. It hadn't, as the Ecclesiarchy claimed, sprung into existence out of acknowledgement of the Emperor's obvious divinity : the Master of Mankind had insisted that He was not a god, and that Humanity had no need for religion of any kind in the Imperium He envisaged. Instead, the faith had grown as a terrified response to the horrors of the Warp unleashed by the Heresy. As daemons had been revealed to exist despite the claims to the contrary of the Imperial Truth, Humanity had desperately sought a benevolent god to protect them, and thrust that role upon the Emperor.
It was as the savant was left reeling by this revelation that, guided by the Dark God who truly owned their souls, survivors of the Congregation of Illumination found their home. Caught in their indignation and blind to the spiritual rot afflicting their visitors, the savant agreed to join their crusade for truth against the Imperium's lies. Sharing what they knew of the Iron Hands – and finally unburdening themselves in the process – resulted in them gaining great prestige within the group, even if they chose to keep that truth and that of the Keeler's Writings secret for now. All members of the Congregation knew they'd have only one chance to expose the lies of the Imperium : it was all but certain that the oppressors' retribution would kill them.
Half-formed rumors and whispers brought the Congregation to the Kingdom of Ultramar next. For all of the prosperity of the Five Hundred Worlds, Guilliman's involvement in the return of the Iron Hands suggested a dark side to the subordinate realm. The Thirteenth Legion still hadn't fully recovered from its losses against the Necrons of the Pale Wasting and the fall of its Primarch, and there was civil unrest all the way to Macragge, kept alive by the distant support of the Traitor Legions (though the savant and their allies knew nothing of this).
After several months of cautious observation, planning and infiltration, all of which done with the unseen assistance of Nurgle, who saw promise in the savant, a single volume was recovered from the Fortress of Hera. Within that book was recorded the story of Imperium Secundus, Guilliman's great sin during the Heresy. It spoke of the Battle of Calth, of the Ruinstorm which had cut off Ultramar from the rest of the galaxy, of the Shadow Crusade which had bled it. It spoke of how, believing the Emperor dead and Terra lost to Horus, Guilliman had declared the founding of Imperium Secundus in Ultramar, and how the Primarch of the Dark Angels (they of ever-doubtful allegiance) had joined him when he'd reached Macragge, somehow sailing through the Warp storms freely.
And then, with merciless clarity, the book told how Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels, had been crowned Emperor-Regent of Imperium Secundus, head of the Triumvirate.
The reveal that even the Great Angel had taken part in this heresy completely shattered any faith in the Imperium the savant still had left. They were consumed by bitterness and despair, and as they wallowed in misery, the Dark God of Decay reached out and claimed their soul, marking them as one of his champions. Despair was transmuted into a cold determination to see the Imperium crumble for all its lies. With the blade of truth, they would strike at the whole corrupt edifice that had enslaved the galaxy with a web of deceit meant to preserve the position of the powerful and crush the rest of the species underfoot.
The three secrets already stored in the savant's augmented mind were great ones, but they weren't enough. In the decades that followed, the Congregation of Illumination scoured the galaxy for more evidence of the Imperium's lies, making sure to leave backups of their discoveries with clues leading to them for others to follow should they fail and perish. In the Diamat system, they uncovered evidence that Lion El'Jonson had given to Perturabo the siege weapons of the system's forge-world, leading to their use on Isstvan V. In the depths of a Space Hulk infested with Rak'gol, they found a recording of Horus offering STC templates to the Fabricator-General of Mars in exchange for his support in Horus' rebellion. From the cold dead hands of a Rogue Trader, they pulled an antique copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus signed by its author, Lorgar Aurelian. And, on the backwater world of Ironcel V, they recorded the bestial rage and bloodthirst of the Blood Angels as they fought against the Orks of Waagh! Starsmasha.
All of these secrets nested within the savant's mind. Their weight in their soul acted as a lodestone, drawing in the Warp. With every day, the strength of their soulfire grew, and they gained new psychic abilities related to breaking away the veils of deceit and obfuscation that concealed unwanted truths. The Congregation grew into an army of cultists and revolutionaries from a variety of worlds and creed, united under the banner of the heretic savant.
Together, this ragtag army boarded an astropathic void-station in the crossroad system of Melisandre in the year 587.M35. There, the savant-turned-warlord joined their mind with the astropathic choirs and broadcast all the secrets they had learned into the Aether, along with every piece of evidence that could be sent this way. At the same time, their associates broadcast the information by more mundane ways across the rest of the Melisandre system, uploading it to the noosphere of the local Mechanicus and shouting it on unencrypted vox-frequencies. Hundreds of worlds received the astropathic communication, and anti-Imperial movements seized it for their own ends, spreading it even further. While it wasn't as widespread as the infamous Proclamation of Horus, there would be no stopping these claims from circulating, and their bitter truth gave them an edge in the Warp, pushing more souls to accept them.
This came to be called the Hour of Revelation, and as Nurgle watched with a smile, the God of Decay rewarded the one who had started it richly indeed. As scores of rebellions erupted and the stability of the Imperium was shanked with the metaphysical equivalent of a rusted knife covered in poison, the former Inquisitorial savant was granted the honor of daemonhood. In a single moment of ascension, all traces of their mortal identity were wiped out, from the memories of the companions who had fought alongside them as part of the Congregation of Illumination to the sealed records of the Inquisition. Now and forever, they would only be known as Naz'Gher'El, the Entropy of Empires, Daemon Prince of Nurgle.
From within the Warp, Naz'Gher'El became a patron of truth-seekers, encouraging others to follow in his footsteps and bring down the powerful by revealing their secrets. Of all the slaves of the False Emperor, Naz'Gher'El despised the Inquisition the most, driven by memories of their mortal life. They would rarely enter the Materium, and then only for short periods of time, bestowing boons upon their followers or granting them some other assistance before returning to the Realms of Chaos before they could be banished by the Imperium's daemonhunters.
Naz'Gher'El's ascension shook the Imperium from top to bottom, in a variety of ways that mirrored the various secrets they had revealed. The Ecclesiarchy reacted to the Hour of Revelation by doubling down on its fanaticism and firebrand rhetoric. The slightest whisper of sedition, doubt, or protest against the cruelty of living conditions was met with lynching mobs driven into a holy frenzy by threats of eternal damnation. As unrest spread and more and more rebellions popped up, the agents of the Ordo Hereticus were forced to redouble their efforts to keep the fragmenting Imperium together, even as the Ordos themselves were left reeling and fractured by the secrets that had been exposed. With their shameful past exposed, the Iron Hands refused to serve as the Inquisition's mailed fist any longer, withdrawing the bulk of their forces to Medusa in order to debate how they should act in the future. Only a handful of the Legion's commanding officers had been aware of the Iron Hands' ancient sin, but now all sons of Ferrus Manus knew it.
Learning that the Dark Angels were partly to blame for his sons' slaughter on the black sands of Isstvan V drove Corvus Corax into a bleak melancholy, especially after he had sacrificed so much to save the First Legion from the consequences of its own folly during the Second Fall of Caliban. While the Ravenlord didn't blame the Angels Penitent for their Primarch's mistake (none of them had seen Perturabo's treachery coming, for they had all been new to betrayal in those days), this still added to the tension between the loyalist Legions that the reveals of the Iron Hands' actions and, more importantly, the existence of Imperium Secundus, had created. Only a handful outside of the Ninth Legion had known of the Red Thirst, though there had been plenty of rumors, and combined with the fact that, however shortly, Sanguinius had once claimed the title of Emperor, the reputation of the Blood Angels took a hit : no longer were they guaranteed to be welcomed as saviors by the population of Imperial worlds they came to assist.
It was no sudden, cataclysmic collapse, but the foundations of the Imperium had been eroded, and would continue to suffer as the truth spread and more and more Imperial citizens were infected with the poison of doubt. After thousands of years of failures, Nurgle's long-running plan had finally succeeded; as he had always known it would, in the end.
Entropy, in the end, was inevitable.
AN : And here is Nurgle's move in the Long War. This one was inspired by a semi-recent Warhammer 40k novel, but I cannot say anything more without spoiling it. Let's say that it reminded me that Nurgle isn't just about spreading disease and creating zombies and leave it at that.
The concept of Nurgle trying again and again with plans that all don't have great odds of success, knowing he only needs to succeed once, was inspired by a video I watched some time ago on the antagonist of WoW's last expansion, Shadowlands. I find that notion interesting and decided to use it for this chapter, since it ties in so well with Nurgle's whole stick as the Dark God who draws power from people's fear of the inevitability of death and decay.
I also took the opportunity to address the Panacea STC, since several readers mentioned that surely Nurgle wouldn't leave it in the hands of the Slaaneshi. Look, I could tell you what the followers of the Dark Prince are doing with it that makes the Lord of Decay okay with leaving it in their hands. But 1) I would need to up the rating of this story, 2) even that might not be enough to keep me from being banned from any website you can access without being some kind of serial killer, and 3) I would actually have to think on their level, however briefly, and that kind of stuff isn't good for my mental health. So let's all be content with this use of the Take Our Word For It Trope and move on.
Next up, we have Tzeentch's own play. The Architect of Fate can't let the other Dark Gods show him up where grandiose schemes are concerned, after all. I already have a plan, and oh boy, it's a doozy. Feel free to speculate.
Also, check the Maeleum Datum on this chapter, and draw your own conclusions.
Zahariel out.