Chapter 4.5 Pest Control
Calas Typhon pulled the hidden tome from its resting place hidden between a pair of bulkheads in his quarters. It had waited there patiently for many years. Finally, its time had come. His combat knife was a crude thing, but this ritual was a crude business, and so it would be appropriate. Blood would be spilled, blood of the Fourteenth Legion, blood the Death Guard, and from it the gifts of Nurgle would flow.
Mortarion would never see the truth alone. Typhon feared especially following the Council of Nikaea that his friend would never willingly see the truth of Chaos. Horus might have persuaded him to follow the path but now… Now it would take a far larger intervention. He was fortunate the Lodges remained embedded within the Legion, perhaps not as numerous as some other Legions but it was present. They were the key to aiding his actions.
Erebus had sent word through the lodges that the time was now, and so now it would be. Mortarion and the Death Guard would fall to Chaos, to the worship and devotion of Nurgle… or it would die coughing up its last mortal breaths in the warp as disease and plague rotted the Legion from the inside out.
A chime rang at the door of Typhon's quarters. His guest had arrived. Putting the book and his knife aside, Typhon moved to the door access panel.
"Enter."
A solitary Death Guard entered the room. His armour was simple, that of a line soldier, his helmet clamped down carrying nothing but his standard issue combat knife and series of pouches at his waist. He bore no rank insignia, nor much in the way of combat honours. Clearly he was a recent recruit. Typhon nodded approvingly. A clean and pure individual, the very sacrifice needed to bring forth the filth and decay.
He stood a height taller than Typhon, who out of armour wore his simple Legion garbs. Typhon looked up into the dead, soleless eyes of the helm with a subtly malevolent smile.
"You are the one the lodge chose to be the sacrifice?" asked Typhon, already knowing the answer.
The Astartes nodded in reply, saying nothing. Clearly the young warrior was nervous about the ritual that was about to be conducted.
"Do not be nervous, brother," said Typhon soothingly, "I promise your sacrifice will be remembered for generations to come. Enter, and prepare. Grandfather Nurgle will welcome your spirit into his loving arms. I will ensure your armour is enshrined as a monument to our victory in the days to come. Leave it beside the door and we shall complete our task."
His companion entered the First Captain's quarters. Typhon returned to the table to which he'd set aside the knife and tome. Flipping the pages, Typhon turned to the page that was relevant, and mentally let the words wash over him. In his mind he could feel the embrace of Grandfather Nurgle and he shivered with anticipation.
He felt a prickling on the back of his neck. A change in the air currents as if something was moving, like the sense of a spider drifting down on a gossamer thin thread. His hand reached for the combat knife.
In a moment he spun, bringing the combat blade up in slashing motion, only to connect with another knife striking down at his previously exposed neck. The Astartes was wearing Power Armour, the motors of which gave him enhanced strength, but Typhon was no weakling. He strained against the blow, twisting and ducking to move out from under the strike of his attacker.
The combat knife thudded dully into the table behind him, the Astartes leaving it embedded deeply there, keeping the eyes on his prey. Typhon held his blade in a striking pose, ready to attack if the Astartes came at him again.
"Who are you?" asked Typhon, "You're not one of mine. None of us would stoop so low."
The Astartes seemed to pause, as if considering something, then slowly he reached up and removed his helmet. Beneath the helmet was not a face common in the Death Guard Legion, his features whilst having trace echoes of someone like Mortarion, were clearly not one who bore his gene seed.
"I," said the figure, "Am Alpharius. And I am here to kill you, Calas Typhon. We know of your pacts with Chaos. You will not succeed in your sorcery here today."
Typhon's face rippled in confusion. The Primarch of the Alpha Legion? Here?
Then he remembered the rumours of imitation that was spread across the Twentieth Legion. He smiled humorously and nodded respectfully.
"Of course, Alpharius. Forgive me, I did not realise I was in such esteemed company. But I am afraid I cannot let you do that. Here, let me show a taste of the GrandFather's gifts."
Muttering some words under his breath, a miasmic cloud began to coat the floor of the First Captain's quarters. It rose and engulfed the room in a cloud of green haze that smelt of decay and rot. His opponent quickly reattached his helm and locked it from the outside environment, resorting to the suits internal life support to prevent inhaling any of the toxic fumes.
Typhon's flesh began to crawl and welt, boils and blisters burst open all over his body, leaking fluids, expelling maggots and bulbous bodied flies. He raised a hand and a cone of rending force speared out and hit the Astartes in the chest. He staggered back as the paint began to fleck and chip away, corrosion slowly eating into the armour.
The Astartes pushed through the cone, his armour straining at the effort until he reach Typhon. With one hand he grabbed Typhon's outstretched palm and pushed the cone of force up, whilst with the other he wrenched the combat knife out his grip. Turning the blade, he stabbed down deep into Typhon's neck. Typhon collapsed to the ground, sickly black fluid pouring from his wound.
The Astartes stepped back, observing as Typhon slowly pushed himself back up, his head tilted to one side as the black ooze continued to flow from his neck.
"Grandfather blesses me, ignorant one…" he hissed like a swarm of insects, "His is the gift of decay, of life eternal in the blessed rot. I am beyond killing by mortal weapons now…"
"Not from what I've heard," said the Astartes, pulling a small vial from his a pouch at his waist and dowsing its contents on the blade of the knife.
Typhon grinned as a blade of bone cracked and twisted his way out of the rotting flesh of his arm, his hand falling limp at the wrist. The Astartes charged driving the combat knife straight towards the former First Captain's form. It sliced straight through the block pushed up by Typhon's bone arm, much to his surprise, and stabbed deep into the creature's flesh.
Typhon squealed in pain as the coating burned his chaos infused meat. His guard down, the Astartes sliced high and deep across the First Captain's neck, using his superior Power Armoured strength to completely decapitate his opponent.
Typhon's body collapsed to the floor, his flesh rotting and melting away until nothing but bones and black sludge remained. The green haze that filled the quarters slowly faded and once again the simple hum of the ship's sublight drive echoed throughout the room.
The Astartes pulled his helmet off again, looking around the room for precise points to attach objects to. From his other pouches he pulled out several small disks, explosive and incendiary devices which were attached to the walls and ceiling to give the maximum coverage when they detonated. Picking up the book and throwing it on the bed which had formerly belonged to the First Captain, the figure turned to the pile of sludge on the floor.
"From one covert agent to another," said Ingo Pech, addressing the remains of Calas Typhon, "Your methods were sloppy and easily uncovered. Your lodges are easily infiltrated, your secrecy makes you vulnerable as you have very little validation of whom your members are."
He attached several more devices immediately over the bed, confident the book and all its contents would be forever lost to the void, much like the mortal remains of Calas Typhon. The room would be cleansed, and no one would know what transpired there, beyond some possible conduit leak that tragically killed the First Captain as he enjoyed his leisure time.
"And from one First Captain to another," Pech continued, turning to leave, "You were a terrible warrior. Perhaps in your youth, when you were still human and free of chaos you could have matched me. But your corruption made you arrogant and undisciplined. The Death Guard really need to stick to where their skills are best, ground biting attrition. Leave the secrets and whispers to us in the Alpha Legion."