Captain Anthrakinos and the entire bridge of the Terminus Est were all working at a fever pitch, the sprawling command structure singularly dedicated to stopping the rampage of the unknown invader that was currently tearing through the bow of their ship from starboard to port side. Squad after squad of plague marines sent to dispatch the intruder were felled within seconds of contact, causing the threat level to rise exponentially. Anthrakinos watched the live vid-streams from the ship's security systems, the intruder seemingly appearing out of thin air and eviscerating the hapless traitor marines like little more than bothersome insects. Worse still, the intruder was moving beyond the lower decks and into the central column of the ship, which housed many of its vital systems, namely its shield generator, communications array, and most importantly the daemonically-possesed power generator at its core. If any of these systems were dama-
"The shield generator's been destroyed!" One of the mutant crewmen shouted. "He's headed towards the communications array!"
Anthrakinos's heart sank. If any Imperial reinforcements appeared now, they would be defenseless against the Imperium's long-range weaponry. With shaky hands, he authorized the deployment of their final reserve.
DEPLOY THE DEATHSHROUD
Leman wrenched his sword out of the chest of the Terminus Est's last astropath, kicking the chaotically-mutated abomination to the ground. He still wasn't quite sure where he was going, moving more on blind instinct than anything. He was causing as much mayhem as he could, sabotaging anything which looked even remotely important in his search for his lost companion. Taking out the shield generator probably wasn't going to help him with that, but by Fenris, did it feel good. Now he had found himself in the heart of their communications array, butchering and smashing anything or anyone that got in his way and cutting off any contact they could have with their ground forces. Just as he was about to smash the long-range vox receptor however, he heard a voice coming through that gave him pause.
"Incoming… need reinforcements…" The voice relayed through heavy static. "unknown daemon… description… horns, 5.5 meters tall… has dispatched roughly… hundred plague marines…"
Leman's eyes widened.
She must have landed on the planet, not the ship. He thought to himself, breathing a sigh of relief. Though, from the sound of what she was doing to the Death Guard planet side, he was not really the one that should have been worried. I have to find a way to escape the ship and reach the surface…
He searched the room, finding a large console with a projected map of the entire ship. He moved the projection with his finger, searching for a means of escape. He found a teleporter bay, though it was on the aft end of the ship, the far side of the vessel from his current location. Besides, he did not quite trust teleporters even when they weren't being maintained by nurglite cultists. He panned to his current location in the diagram, and discovered a landing bay roughly 300 meters from his current location near the ship's power generator. Frankly, he couldn't remember the last time he had flown a voidcraft before… if ever… but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Then, he felt a slight sensation on the back of his neck, as if the wind had just slightly shifted directions. He dodged away from the console, just as the giant blade of the Deathshroud's scythe crashed into it and carved it in half. The hulking monstrosity that faced Leman stood face-to-face with him, even with the primarch's elevated stature, an indication of its warp-enhanced physiology. Four more entered the communications room, surrounding Leman in a circle of bloated flesh and corroded metal. They scraped the floors and walls with their oversized daemonically-possessed scythes, breathing toxic gasses from beneath the hoods that covered their veiled, disfigured faces. Leman felt a trickle of electricity at his side, and noticed that his Starvore axe was crackling by its own volition. He gripped the axe's handle and released it from its sling, raising his sword and axe into a pleasingly familiar combat stance. Suddenly, one of the Deathshroud charged at him with supernatural speed. Leman narrowly dodged the attack, expertly deflecting the scythe blade with his own black sword. He buried Starvore into the hulk's chest, sending him flying backwards in a burst of emerald lightning. He then deflected the blows of two more Deathshrouds, kicking one of them back and plunging his sword into the other's gut. The impaled Deathshroud clawed at his stomach as jets of flame began shooting out from underneath its bloated armor. Leman tore the blade out, leaving a wide gash of smoking, charred flesh in his wake. The wounded hulk recovered and leapt to his feet with unnatural agility, as the other two injured Deathshrouds recovered quickly as well, their seemingly mortal injuries not appearing to slow them down in the slightest. Leman grinned.
"This will be more entertaining than I had hoped." he said, brandishing his weapons with eager anticipation.
Typhus stumbled through muddy streets amidst the sound of nearby bolter rounds and artillery fire. He had been forced to retreat with his forces back to their main camp after the… unexpected complication. Seeing a giant daemonette tear a Leviathan Siege Dreadnought was certainly not something he had anticipated. While as a space marine and a chaos champion Typhus was immune to the effects of fear, he was feeling a great deal of fear-adjacent emotions. Confusion, doubt, uncertainty, frustration… but most worryingly of all, he was feeling something that he should not have felt, that he hadn't felt in millennia.
Pain.
Deep in his abdomen, beneath the layers of corroded metal and corpusculent flesh, he could feel a dull, diffuse aching. It was too faint to determine the cause and it had little to no physical effect on him, but the mere fact that he could feel it was deeply troubling to him.
I don't understand… Typhus thought. Nurgle's blessing should have eradicated such blasphemous sensations centuries ago! Why do I feel this aching, this gnawing sensation deep inside of my gloriously rotten flesh? Then, a terrifying thought pierced his mind.
Has… has Nurgle forsaken me? Has he abandoned my flesh… and renounced his gifts? No, that is impossible! I am Typhus, the Herald of Nurgle, the one who brought the Death Guard into his embrace! This must be some kind of witchcraft or trickery, meant to challenge my faith! He steeled his resolve, putting his worries and growing sense of unease aside.
I will not give in to your temptations, witch! You may have defeated our dreadnought, but I am still the most powerful psyker in Nurgle's service. Long ago I devised a way to banish daemons of rival gods, a potent countermeasure to the meddling forces of the other Chaotic powers. Its cost is great, and would mean sacrificing everything I have achieved on this planet so far… but I would rather begin anew from scratch than allow this planet to fall into the hands of another!
He summoned his personal Deathshroud bodyguards, and began to set up a final defense against the rampaging daemon while also making preparations for his final resort to banish the interloper once and for all. The sound of approaching bolter fire and artillery bombardments indicated she was getting closer, so Typhus had precious little time to spare. With his Deathshroud terminators guarding him, Typhus closed his eyes and began to make contact with the latent energy of the warp through his mind. Electricity ran through his spine and out of his fingertips, creating arcs of sickly green energy that spark from his body. He summoned the souls of all of the Death Guard's victims upon this world, tapping into the vast network of mold, rot, and fetid plant-life which he had seeded all throughout the earth. The vast stores of warp-energy contained within them flowed up into him like a tree draining water from the soil. As a result, the vast gardens of rot and decay he had cultivated began to wither and die, hollowing out into desiccated husks until crumbling into inert dust. The power coursed through him, and he began to channel it towards his own ends.
Admu broke through the Death Guard's final defense, holding the severed head of a blightlord terminator in her hand. Upon seeing Typhus and his retinue, she crushed the helmet into a ball of crumpled metal and shattered bone. The Deathshroud moved to engage her, moving swiftly in spite of their bloated bodies. While Admu battled Typhus's bodyguards, he was casting his maleficent spell. His rotten lungs began to utter fowl chants and unholy prayers, calling upon the power of Nurgle and all of his daemons. The ground began to shift and writhe, as empyrean power was channeled through the warp portals behind him and into tendrils of daemonic life. The Deathshroud pulled away, and before Admu could retaliate a rotten, thorny vine shot out from the ground and wrapped around arm. She struggled against it, but another vine latched onto her other arm. They pulled her down, as if trying to drag her into the earth, but she resisted intensely. She was being fueled by nothing but raw hatred at this point, and she was determined not to stop until she had uprooted the evil from this world permanently, namely smashing the one-horned bastard standing in front of her. As she continued to struggle against the restraints, the ground around her shifted and gave way to giant, overlapping pads of red and green flesh covered in slimy pustules and lined with jagged teeth.
"Behold!" Typhus shouted, raising his Manreaper in the air like a shaman's staff. "This is the flower of Nurgle! A rose of plague and rot, a corporeal manifestation of Nurgle's power! I created this spell to entrap and suffocate rival daemons, cutting them off from the power of the patron gods! Without the connection to their masters, daemons will wither away and dissolve. This flower is a giant stomach, digesting daemonic beings into warp energy and feeding its power with theirs! Once it has wrapped itself around you, you will be nothing more than fertilizer for Nurgle's glorious garden of rot!" Typhus cackled madly, relishing in his victory over the daemon which had caused him so much agony and frustration. The fleshy petals rose from the earth around Admu as she struggled and writhed against the plant tendrils, surrounding her like the walls of an infernal prison of viscera and vegetation. The light grew dim around her as they closed in until finally they snapped shut. The petals twisted further, constricting until they were locked in a contorted bulb of discolored flesh. Typhus stumbled, the exertion from channeling that much warp energy having drained him greatly. He held himself up with his scythe, gripping it with both hands to stay standing. The deathshroud and remaining plague marines lowered their weapons, feeling that the situation had finally been dealt with.
"At last… the daemonette is finished. Now, we can resume our great work." Typhus said between labored, rasping breaths. "Make the preparations for the siege of the Imperial stronghold. We must re-establish contact with the Terminus Est so that we can replenish our n-"
Typhus stumbled as a tremor shook the earth beneath him.
"What was-"
Another tremor struck, stronger than before. Pieces of debris fell from nearby buildings, and many of the plague marines were shaken off balance. The miasma-ridden skies above them began to darken, as the pale haze of toxic gas was blotted out by thick black clouds, like plumes of oil spilling out across the horizon. The air was pierced by the sound of thunder, as fingers of lighting began to strike the earth at random. The tremors became increasingly intense, with some hab-blocks collapsing completely. The clouds began to swirl in an ominous vortex, the wind picking up and carrying clouds of dust with it. Typhus looked around in confusion, his eyes falling upon the previously inert putrid bloom he had cast only moments ago. It was writhing erratically, the tightened petals bulging outwards as if resisting some explosive force from within.
"No… that's not possible…" Typhus muttered.
The earth began to split open, emanating a powerful green light that seemed to flow towards the flowery prison. Typhus felt the same flow of energy that he had when he first cast the spell to summon the bloom, as if energy from the surroundings were still being drawn towards the plant… or something inside of the plant. The petals of the plant bulged outwards, the flesh beginning to rip and tear. A bright light emanated from inside of it, growing in intensity until it became too much for the flower to contain. Typhus raised his arm to shield his eyes, and in an instant the bloom burst open with a brilliant eruption of warp-energy. The force of the shockwave knocked him backwards, sending him flying onto his back along with all the other plague marines and terminators in the vicinity. Entire buildings crumbled and were blown away by the blast. Tendrils of lightning carved up the earth, and clouds of dust dozens of meters high swept out in all directions. Typhus struggled to his feet, his clouded eyes widening with shock and horror as at what he saw. Where his rot-flower had once bloomed there was now an immense lotus with an array pink-white petals, all traces of rot or decay having completely vanished. At the center stood a monstrous creature, a bestial figure of sinewy muscle and savage might. Her face was obscured by abyssal shadow, revealing only a snarling maw of sharpened carnivorous fangs and two eyes of burning emerald, full of malice and atavistic ferocity. She was wreathed in a mane of orange-gold fire, stretching from her head to the long tail that floated in the air behind her. Atop her head were bolts of viridian lightning in the shape of horns, and stretching from her back were immense, iridescent sheets of translucent energy that unfurled like monstrous, ethereal wings. She snarled with a primeval rancor, then howled a harrowing cry that penetrated the air like a blade. Typhus and all of the other Death Guard clutched their heads in agony as their ears were eviscerated by the horrific sound.
"Don't just… stand there… kill it!" Typhus shouted.
The Deathshroud charged the god-beast, as the other plague marines were too incapacitated to respond. Admu tore into them like a fox feasting upon shrews, shattering their power scythes and tearing their armor open with her claws. Typhus stumbled backwards in horror as his bodyguards were eviscerated one by one, an entire squadron of elite veteran terminators slaughtered like livestock. One remaining Deathshroud stood between the frenzied Admu and Typhus. She stared into the darkened hood of the terminator with her piercing, predator-like gaze, fresh blood still dripping from her claws. The Deathshroud stood motionless, then his hands began to shake imperceptibly. The elite terminator dropped his power scythe, turning and stumbling while trying to run away. Admu ignored him and locked eyes with Typhus, who raised his daemonically-possessed manreaper to block Admu's claws. He struggled against her, his feet being pushed back into the mud and dirt as she overpowered him. The daemon inside of his power scythe, imbued within the weapon personally by Nurgle himself, began to reach out and try to curse its attacker with all the poison and biles of Nurgle's cauldron. Tendrils of infection crept up Admu's arms from where she gripped the scythe's blade, and Typhus began to laugh. Then, Admu began to growl intensely, her eyes glowing brighter as she pushed back against him even harder. The infected tendrils retreated, and inside of his mind Typhus heard a piercing scream.
The daemon was screaming.
His scythe began to twist and morph as the daemon was tortured, the curved blade of the scythe straightening into that of a spear. All along the weapon's pole, the corruption and rot disappeared giving way to roots and sprouting flowers. The encroaching plant growths reached Typhus's hands and immediately began to sear his flesh with unimaginable pain. He shouted and let go of the weapon, which Admu now held in her hands without issue. She tossed the spear aside, causing it to plant itself in the dirt. The Deathshroud that had escaped Admu's wrath took note of it.
Admu grabbed Typhus by the throat, lifting the disarmed chaos champion into the air as he clawed at her arm and kicked his legs helplessly. The remaining plague marines dared not move an inch, their rotten, fetid souls frozen with fear.
I am Tadmushtum. I am the daughter of Nurgle. You will not defile this world, nor any other. Your corruption ends here. Admu said, in a voice that pierced the minds and souls of all who heard it.
"Foolish… daemon…" Typhon struggled to say. "You.. cannot… kill me! I am… the Herald… of Nurgle… I will be… reborn!"
Admu's bestial eyes narrowed.
I am not going to kill you. I am going to do something far worse.
Typhus felt something deep inside of him, a gnawing sensation that radiated outwards until it consumed his entire body. He began shouting in pain, crying out in agony as he truly felt the maggots that infested his bloated body, the worms eating away at his entrails, the flies burrowing into his skin. His howling lungs began to burn from the toxic air that filled them, and he began to vomit up the foul biles and fluids that filled his bloated stomach. He screamed and howled in anguish and torment as the corroded plates of his pallid armor rusted away, falling to the ground and breaking into tiny pieces. Chunks of dead skin and maggot-infested fat sloughed off from his corpusculent body, sizzling away into nothing as they fell to the ground. Every inch of his body screamed in pain as his muscles and ligaments tore apart and stitched back together, the heat searing him to his bone marrow. The Death Guard watched in horror as their lord, the champion of their god, second only to their primarch and Nurgle himself, landed on the ground with an unceremonious thud.
Lying in the dirt, surrounded by scraps of worn cloth and pieces of rusted metal, was a naked man with skin unmarked by blemishes or pustules. His breathing was shallow and rapid, his eyes stretched open in a terror his mind was simply unable to process. His pearly teeth were chattering, uttering mad ramblings underneath his breath.
The Death Guard began fleeing in a mad dash to the rapidly closing warp-portals, all of the latent warp-energy needed to keep them open having been thoroughly drained. Plague marines and blightbringers stumbled and scrambled over one another to final surviving Deathshroud turned to flee into the portal but hesitated, turning back for just a moment. He cast his gaze towards the cast-away spear, a relic of their legion's most humiliating defeat in millennia, staring at it for a handful of seconds. He quickly grasped the hilt, the artifact searing his corrupted hands, yet he endured the pain and carried it with him through the warp portal just as it closed completely.
Admu stumbled from exhaustion, too tired to pursue the fleeing enemies. Her monstrous form wavered and began to revert as she struggled to stay conscious. She steadied herself against a nearby wall, her breathing heavy and ragged as every muscle in her body ached horribly. Her head was pounding and her ears ringing, every sensation like a blinding light in her mind… yet beneath it all, she felt a pang of relief.
She had finally won.
Anthrakinos shook uncontrollably, terror filling every diseased bone in his body. Not only had this intruder just defeated an entire squad of Deathshroud, he seemed to enjoy it. Worse yet, while they couldn't re-establish communications with Typhus and his forces planet side, worrying information was coming from their sensor arrays. Chaotic corruption on the planet was dropping. Rapidly. He struggled to muster an explanation for this, any possibility besides faulty equipment despite the numerous subsequent tests confirming the previous observations. Yet even more worse was the fact that the intruder was now on the move, headed directly for the power generator, the most critical subsystem on the entire ship. Sweat poured down the pallid skin of his gaunt face, his sunken eyes locked in a expression of sheer terror. He consoled himself by thinking that things couldn't possibly get wor-
"CAPTAIN! WE'RE PICKING UP WARP SIGNATURES AT 3 O'CLOCK!" a junior officer shouted.
Anthrakinos's face went sheet-white. Dead ahead of them, through the viewing glass of the bridge, he could see a plume of electrified dust and warp energy pluming out of an open tear in the Immaterium. 5 gleaming vessels, like towering, gold-encrusted cathedrals hovering in the void, emerged from the turbulent clouds and immediately began banking towards them. Anthrakinos was struck deaf and dumb, his mind not even registering his surroundings has his subordinates begged him for orders. After a momentary pause, he finally spoke.
"Blow the 1st and 2nd vertebrae of the hull. Detach the prow, separating the intruder from the rest of the ship, and begin preparations for an emergency warp jump." he said, his voice audibly shaking.
"S-sir are you mad?" a junior officer said, a grave accusation from a chaos worshipper. "You're suggesting we blow apart a third of the ship and flee? What about Lord Ty-"
"Would you rather risk feeling the wrath of Lord Typhus or have your soul judged by Mortarian and Lord Nurgle upon death for losing their prized flagship!?" Anthrakinos shouted.
"A-aye sir." the officer acceded.
Atop a jewel-encrusted throne on board the Emperor's Righteousness, a Retribution-class Imperial battleship, sat an opulent figure clad in gilded metal armor and a flowing red cloak.
"Inquisitor, it appears that the shields of the Terminus Est are… disabled. Only its escorts have functional shielding, but it appears they can't communicate with their flagship. Their communications must be down." An Imperial officer said.
"The God-Emperor has blessed us on this day. Let us not waste it. Fire at will!" Inquisitor Guillaume said, as waves of torpedoes and laser batteries targeted the enemy ships.
The inquisitor had been worried about the fact that they were arriving earlier than expected to Leprus, as initial reports had suggested they would encounter heavy resistance. He intended to hide behind one of the planet's moons, awaiting rendezvous with the Lord Inquisitor that was scheduled to arrive soon. However, it appeared that his worries were unfounded. Not only was the Terminus Est, the prized flagship of the enemy's fleet, miraculously without shielding or communications, but initial scans of the planet indicated that the levels of chaotic corruption were far below initial estimates. In fact, the corruption levels were so low that some inquisitors may have even been suspicious. Guillaume, however, had too much faith in the God-Emperor to take such a blessing for granted. Ever since the opening of the Great Rift and Lord Guilliman's miraculous resurrection, some of Guillaume's colleagues had begun to soften on the idea of total information blackout of Chaos or daemonic activity, considering that for many worlds the existence of Chaos was now as apparent as the stars in the sky. Guillaume was not one of them. He considered the dire state of the galaxy to be, if anything, reason to clamp down even harder on potential heresy or chaotic corruption. These were dark times, and the only way to ensure that the faithful flock of the God-Emperor was safe and secure was rooting out any and all possible corruption, before it even took root. No measure was too great, no method too harsh. He would hunt down the enemies of the Imperium, transgressors against the God-Emperor, wherever they could be found.
"The Terminus Est is… it's breaking apart, sire!" the Imperial officer said. "They're activating their warp engines. They're running for it!"
"Pursue them! Inflict as much damage as possible before that fetid abomination can escape our clutches." Guillaume shouted excitedly. "It appears we will not need to wait for the lord inquisitor to arrive after all. These scans indicate that we may not even have to exterminatus the planet, in which case we will merely have to purge the remaining population to ensure no heretics remain. Then, the planet can be repopulated by loyal Imperial citizens free of the accursed stain of Chaos." He turned to two masked stormtroopers standing behind him, awaiting his orders. "Prepare the Tempestus Scions! We will make our landing as soon as the heretics have fled." Guillaume bore a toothy grin. Oh, how he relished his service to the God-Emperor.