The thunder of artillery intensified.

The entire plague factory was shaking, especially the central Nurgle cauldron. The plague brew inside began to slosh violently, spilling over the brim.

"No! My plague!"

Ku'gath scrambled to steady the cauldron and used thick, rotted wood to reinforce and control the tremors.

He was furious, though his voice remained low and muffled:

"The Imperial army shouldn't be here… They're interfering with my work… My Divine Plague will be frightened…

That would make it imperfect…"

In truth, Nurgle's First Favorite had deeper concerns.

What if the Corpse-Emperor's sons broke in?

What if the cauldron was knocked over by an explosion?

The battle outside the factory had already begun to affect his work, and he could feel the corrupted engines collapsing one after another.

How utterly dreadful…

"Ku'gath. Just focus on your work."

At some point, the spectral form of Mortarion, the Death Lord, had appeared nearby.

"We're not nearing defeat. We are approaching final victory. The two Primarchs are walking into death willingly."

He immediately sought to reassure this critical servant of Nurgle, ensuring the Divine Plague would not be compromised by despair.

"I will personally resolve the battle outside. No one will breach this place."

A glint of murder flickered across Mortarion's face.

"Rebut Guilliman is still no match for me. Nor is the Savior. They are fools, ignorant of true power.

I will capture them both. Then your Divine Plague will destroy them completely.

With their deaths, the corruption network will drag all of Ultramar into Father Nurgle's domain — the final step of our grand endeavor."

"Yes, Death Lord. The Divine Plague will arrive at the appointed time."

Ku'gath's mood calmed slightly as he bowed sluggishly, his protective suit squeezing his blubber into grotesque shapes.

The Death Lord's image then vanished, taking with him several other Great Unclean Ones — Plague Lords like Sepsis and Blighttongue — assigning them to reinforce the perimeter near the hospitals.

This hidden zone was vaster than a Hive City. It would not be easy for the Imperium's forces to break into the plague factory's heart.

"Sons of the Corpse-Emperor… my foolish brothers… you all underestimated me."

Mortarion's moth-like wings gave a few slow, ominous flaps.

"I have never wallowed in decay. I have used it. Controlled it. Made it my servant.

And now… you will see!"

He slashed his massive scythe through the air — as if severing a hidden switch.

Instantly, the corruption network surged into full operation.

Hidden runes buried across the planet activated. The corruption devoured the souls of billions of humans. On other plague-infested planets, the same phenomenon unfolded.

Tens of billions of lives suffered in agony, dissolved into rot and despair, becoming nutrient sludge for the corruption network.

All of that power converged here — into the Death Lord's constructed domain — massively amplifying his strength.

A towering, monstrous image of the Daemon Primarch loomed above all.

Zzzzzap—

Reality itself began to disintegrate. The sky turned pitch-black. A warp storm expanded outward.

The air grew thick with the sounds of weeping and invisible hellish stench.

Anyone breathing it began to cough violently. Eyes went bloodshot. Blood spilled from nose and mouth. Many dropped dead on the spot.

And it wasn't just humans.

Hover tanks and turrets began to rust. Their components fell apart with loud creaks, unable to function.

Even holy war machines — Dreadnoughts and Imperial Knights — found their functions sluggish and impaired.

Weapons became deeply corrupted.

Power packs of lasguns were drained. Bolt rounds lost propellant, unable to fire.

The Death Lord Mortarion had weaponized his corruption network to cripple the Imperium's strength.

Imperial forces halted and began to regroup.

"Report our losses!"

Ultramarines Chapter Master Marneus Calgar roared, demanding updates from his commanders. They couldn't afford to fight Chaos without functioning arms.

The damage report soon arrived:

Over half of the vehicles and weapons were rendered unusable.

But — thankfully — the Savior's blessed weapons and vehicles were untouched.

Those had been exposed under the golden radiance of the Holy Tower for 180 days, fully sanctified.

This only deepened the Ultramarines' faith in Savior-forged arms — the true high-grade relics of mankind.

"Just now, my fallen brother has killed tens of billions,"

Roboute Guilliman arrived, his chiseled face dark with fury.

"He's crafted an abyss to halt our advance — but that shall not happen!"

Calgar stood firm, unwavering:

"My lord, we'll fight to the end. Even if we must use fists and teeth, we will make these abominations pay!"

"Withdraw the wounded and those without weapons,"

Guilliman said grimly, having received troubling intelligence.

"They can no longer continue in this war…"

He shook his head.

"My brother — the Savior — has sent word. New reinforcements are on the way.

They will break through the enemy's blockade with us."

The announcement of reinforcements from the Savior reignited morale.

The army pushed forward again.

But soon, Guilliman's forces reached the end of their path.

Things became even worse.

The ground ahead was shattered into isolated islands — no land bridges, only vast stretches of toxic swamps.

The marshes festered. Dead trees soaked in filth, bloated with fungal growths. Massive, deadly creatures lurked below the surface.

Worse still — the corrupted realm disrupted flight.

Several recon squads plunged into waist-deep sludge to scout ahead. But they vanished into the mist.

No signals returned.

Only the sounds of tearing metal and crunching bones echoed back.

Then Nurgle's forces launched their assault from across the islands. Swarms of plague flies blanketed the sky, harassing the Ultramarines' long-range teams.

Just like other fronts, Guilliman's forces were bogged down.

One by one, Space Marines fell to plague barrages. Their corpses and armor melted into sludge — while their attackers remained untouched.

High above…

A fly-swarm twisted into a massive, sneering face — Mortarion's voice came through:

"Brother… look at your pathetic state. Your gene-sons die like vermin, and you can do nothing to stop it…"

"Mortarion! Are you nothing but a sewer rat now? Come out and face me!"

"Your feeble taunts are useless,"

Mortarion sneered,

"Perhaps after all your sons are dead… I'll consider playing with you.

Of course, you could run away like the miserable coward you are."

As he spoke, the unnatural swarm captured an Ultramarine and tortured him to death before hurling the remains into the swamp — right in front of Guilliman.

It was an unbearable humiliation.

The Primarch of the Ultramarines, the Regent of the Imperium, clenched his fists. For a moment, he wanted to charge in with his honor guard and cut his fallen brother to pieces.

But he remembered the Savior's warnings… and the hidden plan.

He forced himself to calm down.

This was a trap.

He couldn't fall for it — nor ruin his brother's plan.

The air turned even more poisonous. More weapons failed. More soldiers died. Equipment was no longer reliable.

The Ultramarines began to recite prayers to the Emperor, seeking divine protection in a realm where only faith could shield them.

Guilliman held on, turning to his psykers:

"Any sign of the Savior's reinforcements?"

The scanners were dead. Only psyker vision remained.

Worse still — his army couldn't last much longer.

The Divine Plague was nearing completion.

The Savior's aid should have arrived by now.

Every second wasted brought the Imperium one step closer to the abyss.

"My lord… maybe the Savior's troops were intercepted too. We must make a decision,"

Calgar urged. They could wait no longer.

"…One more moment,"

Guilliman insisted.

"I trust the Savior. He has never broken a promise. If he says the reinforcements will come — they will."

And then — the answer came.

"By the Emperor! Our reinforcements have arrived!"

The psyker's voice cracked with awe — and then alarm:

"No… Those aren't humans. That's an xenos force!"

From the dense fog behind Guilliman's forces, chaotic screeching erupted.

The warp itself became turbulent — twisted by the presence of the Tyranids.

The Ultramarines looked up in horror at the approaching hive swarms. For a brief moment, despair washed over them.

They were caught between Chaos and Tyranid.

Some began firing instinctively.

But then… Guilliman shouted:

"Cease fire immediately!"

He realized — the xenos weren't hostile.

The Tyranid leader even sent out a friendly psychic greeting.

Even in the face of such a crisis, the Ultramarines obeyed their Primarch's orders, bracing themselves as the swarm surged toward them.

Some warriors were ready to die.

But to their astonishment, the swarm passed right by them, charging into the toxic marshes.

In the mist, the howls of Nurgle's daemons rang out.

Even more astonishing — the Tyranid creatures began shielding the Ultramarines with their own flesh, blocking incoming plague bombs with suicidal resolve.

They created walls of meat to protect the loyal sons of the Emperor.

"By the Emperor… is this a miracle?"

Everyone was stunned. The psyker-priests were speechless — their faith shaken.

Weren't xenos inherently evil?

But the devout quickly patched the logic in their minds.

When in doubt, refer to Imperial theology.

Only the Emperor's divine intervention could explain such an unnatural occurrence. After all, He could totally control or manipulate the Tyranids. Right?

Hiss—

Tyranid leader "Old Eight Eyes" obeyed the orders of the Dark Lord — the Hive Master — and dared not harm their human allies.

Besides, he and his swarm had no appetite for clean human flesh.

Compared to Nurgle's rotten meat, the flesh of the Imperium was bland and unappetizing.

Plagued meat was rich and flavorful.

The Tyranid leader let out a long screech — a command to feast.

Zaelum's Translation: "DINNER TIME, BROTHERS!"

The Hive Mind's psychic organisms disrupted the corruption network in the region. Gargoyles beat their wings, whipping up cyclones that blew away the thick fog.

More Tyranids swarmed across the islands, tearing into Nurgle's daemons.

It was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Some Tyranid organisms even sank into the poisoned swamp.

As they devoured the toxic stew, they used their own bodies to build chitinous floating bridges.

"My brother… just what did he do?!"

Guilliman could hardly believe what he was seeing.

It was perhaps one of the most absurd sights in the entire galaxy.

But he didn't hesitate — he drew the Emperor's Sword, igniting it. A faint glow emanated from his body.

He was mimicking the Savior's signature technique — not quite as dramatic, but still inspiring.

"Soldiers…"

The Lord Regent raised his blade and roared:

"Form up! Cross the marsh!"

"FOR COURAGE AND GLORY!"

The Ultramarines bellowed, one by one stepping onto the makeshift bridges of xenos flesh, charging across the islands ahead.

They fought the daemons of Nurgle in bloody close-quarters.

Tyranid screeches and bolter fire mingled in a deafening cacophony.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Under heavy fire, the Ultramarines raised their banners of glory, climbed onto the massive body of a Hive Tyrant, and formed a mountain-shaped formation to rain down fire from above.

With the Hive Tyrant charging forward, the Space Marines atop it unleashed a storm of fire — an unstoppable tide.

The Loyal Tyranid Chad Mountain!

A War Apostle shouted praises to the Emperor while recording the sacred — yet utterly heretical — moment.

Unfortunately, these images could only be preserved in classified forbidden archives.

They could never be released publicly.

As a compromise, the Apostle retook several shots that only showed the Ultramarines — to at least document this historic war.

With the coordination between Ultramarines and Tyranids, the allied force smashed through Mortarion's defensive line.

They were approaching the plague factory.

"No… this can't be…"

Mortarion stared down at the foggy war-map, disbelief in his eyes.

The Imperial Regent had broken through his poisonous swamp defense. Humanity and xenos were fighting together against him.

Even worse, multiple fronts were collapsing.

More armies were attacking from different directions:

Orks charged alongside the Savior's forces.

Craftworld Eldar and Necron coalitions pushed forward.

Terror Legionnaires fought side-by-side with Battle Sisters.

Former enemies now stood united — all punching through Nurgle's defenses.

The galaxy's species had united… against him.

Mortarion had previously dismissed such reports as exaggerations.

Surely the reality couldn't be that absurd.

Surely the stories were coincidences.

But then he saw it for himself — the Tyranid Chad Mountain. The bizarre alliance of Khorne and Tzeentch daemons fighting alongside the Savior's Daemon Inquisitors.

And he snapped.

"HERESY! Utter HERESY!"

Inside the plague stronghold, Mortarion broke down and roared like a loyalist Ecclesiarch.

Where the hell was the Inquisition?!

How had the Imperium allowed this kind of heresy?!

He felt deeply wronged.

Back when he was still loyal to the Imperium, he had been punished and ostracized — merely for using psychic powers.

Now the Imperium embraced psychic powers even more outrageous than his own.

Radical techniques and heretical inventions were popping up like mushrooms.

Especially that Savior — he was more radical than Mortarion himself.

That guy had practically flooded the galaxy with warp energy!

A heretic among heretics!

How was this fair?!

After venting, Mortarion calmed down.

And then… he realized the truth.

They were all uniting out of fear.

Fear of the Divine Plague. Fear of the great work Nurgle was about to unleash.

Even the other Chaos Gods were panicking — they were joining forces to stop it.

That was deeply concerning.

The situation might be even more dangerous than he'd imagined.

Even Nurgle Himself might become a target of the other Ruinous Powers.

But there was no turning back now.

The crisis was irreversible. Neither Father Nurgle nor His favored could abandon the near-complete project — not now, when they were so close to grasping unimaginable power.

And the other Chaos Gods had already acted. There was no stopping them either.

The only path forward — was to win this war.

Let Father Nurgle gain enough strength to survive the impending storm.

"Fortunately… I still have the Divine Plague. Victory is only a matter of time."

Mortarion glanced at a clock, his expression hardening with confidence.

One hour.

He only needed to hold out for one more hour.

Worst-case scenario — he'd just unleash the semi-finished Divine Plague early and kill everything in the area.

He knew how terrifying it was — even Ku'gath, Nurgle's First Favorite, couldn't withstand its corrosive vapors.

It couldn't kill a Primarch — but it would obliterate every other army: Imperial, Chaos, and xenos alike.

If this was the effect of the unfinished version… what would the completed, blood-infused Divine Plague be like?

Mortarion shivered with anticipation.

He gazed at the war-map, watching his brother grow ever closer to the plague factory:

"My foolish brother… this is our final battle."

With those words, the plague-wreathed shadow vanished.

The Death Lord personally took command of the elite Death Guard and daemon legions, charging straight for the Imperial Regent.

He was determined to take his brother's life.

…

Meanwhile, on a distant battlefield—

The ground shook violently.

A monstrous mutant burrow-snake emerged with a gaping, drill-like maw full of jagged teeth, devouring Chaos daemons in its path.

Atop its head stood Eden— the Savior — cloaked in flames, riding the behemoth.

But his gaze was fixed not on this battle, but on the center of the warzone — as if waiting for something.

Dozens of armies were attacking the plague factory.

But they were not charging blindly — it was a coordinated assault.

Some units had taken the role of decoys, drawing Nurgle's forces away, sacrificing themselves to lure them in.

All of it — to create a tiny, unnoticed gap in the defenses.

A fleeting opportunity.

It required patience.

"Now!"

Suddenly, Eden halted the mutant burrow-snake and activated a device — a piece of ancient Dark-Tech.

The armor-like device locked around him, like layer after layer of protective suits, coated in fragments of blackstone.

Blackstone — a material that disrupted the warp and psyker abilities — made him uncomfortable.

But it was necessary.

This was the only way to survive.

Now that the long-awaited opening had appeared, he had to move fast.

The burrow-snake's outer hide, laced with blackstone tech, pulsed with light — temporarily pushing back the warp and minimizing the corruption network's effects.

BOOM—

Eden rode the beast straight into the deep earth, tunneling forward at incredible speed.

Target: The Plague Factory.

(End of Chapter)

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