Deep underground.

The gaping maw of a mutated Subterranean Mawloc crushed and devoured the bedrock as it burrowed through, spitting rubble to the sides and carving a lengthy tunnel through the earth.

Eden rode atop the tunneling beast, sighing in admiration. "This thing's better than machinery for construction work… cheaper, too."

Tyranid tunneling units like this one could dig through virtually any terrain, forming troop transport tunnels that allowed the swarm to move undetected and strike with surprise.

But influenced by his agricultural instincts, Eden didn't immediately think of its military use. His mind went straight to development and infrastructure.

These Tyranid creatures were ideal for demolition, excavation, and foundation work. They cost practically nothing to maintain—eating anything you gave them—and even consumed industrial waste, saving on disposal.

Perhaps it was time to breed a batch of Tyranid worker units.

He already had his Genestealers janitor crew, the Ork security and repair squads… adding a group of Tyranid laborers wouldn't be a problem.

Even aliens had their uses. War was important, but rebuilding couldn't be neglected either.

With millions of planets in the galaxy, there was no shortage of places needing reconstruction.

As he pondered, Eden guided the creature along its designated course.

But this wasn't merely physical travel—he could sense the mutated Mawloc moving through the corruption network with the assistance of Blackstone technology.

Blackstone was practically made for dealing with the Warp—webways were one of its most advanced applications.

Now, the corrupted network had anchored itself to Vester and linked to the spatial domain of Ultramar. At any moment, a rupture could form…

And the Warp would devour Ultramar.

To put it simply, it would be like creating a miniature Eye of Terror—dragging this entire region into Nurgle's Garden.

What triggered such an event? That remained metaphysical—likely tied to certain concepts or definitions.

But without a doubt, the Godplague was the most critical part of the chain. Break that link, and the eruption could be stopped.

Suddenly, Eden halted.

This part of the defensive line still had guards. A direct breach would alert the Nurgle daemons.

That could trigger the plague factory's defenses.

Fortunately, the Terror Legion arrived just in time. Eden used the chaos of their assault to pilot the Mawloc past the defensive lines.

Before long, he reached the underbelly of the plague factory.

Even through layers of stone, he could feel the deadly toxins. The miasma had seeped deep into the earth, killing every living thing, down to the smallest bacteria.

Even other plague strains struggled to survive here.

Clearly, this toxin had a terrifying exclusivity and even harmed the soul. Eden's own psychic consciousness felt strained.

"…Don't tell me the Godplague is already complete?"

He hesitated.

If that cursed creation had already come into being, charging in would be suicidal.

He'd likely get infected, dragged into Nurgle's Garden, and left to die until the Emperor maybe—maybe—resurrected him.

And as a counterfeit Primarch, his connection to the Warp and Emperor wasn't exactly deep.

So Eden played it safe. He decided to stay hidden and observe.

No point in sabotaging the enemy's plans if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.

…

Inside the Plague Factory.

The Great Cauldron of Nurgle boiled viciously, its fumes lashing at nearby souls with violent corruption.

Ku'gath, First Favorite of Nurgle, clutched the long beak of his stitched leather mask, trying not to inhale too deeply.

He was immensely proud of his latest brew.

This plague could kill a Primarch. It would use the essence of their soul to birth waves of Warp-infused boils and rot.

These would spread through the corruption network to countless other planets, rotting Ultramar from its core.

Trillions of humans would die screaming in agony, their souls broken down into raw corruption energy.

What greater achievement could there be?

More importantly, Ku'gath would offer the Plaguefather his most perfect plague, repaying his past failure when he had accidentally consumed one of the Father's divine concoctions.

"Maybe then… I'll be able to laugh. Like the others."

Ku'gath's wrinkled face curled into something resembling a smile.

For the first time, he felt… joy.

But it didn't last.

That joy shriveled on his face the moment he sensed the presence of vile invaders attacking his factory. He could even hear their obnoxious shouting.

"Hold them off! My Plague Guard—stop those lunatics at the gates!"

Ku'gath roared, but his voice lacked confidence.

His daemon lieutenants—Bloodpox, Sorethroat, and others—had been sent to nearby defenses. If the invaders had made it this far, they were likely dead or driven off.

That was bad news.

Worse yet, Ku'gath didn't have time to summon reinforcements from Nurgle's Garden.

He turned to his Plague Guard and barked, "I need twenty-three minutes! That's how long it takes to finish this brew!"

At his command, Plaguebearers, Rot Flies, and Nurgling swarms surged out of the factory.

They would lay down their lives to stop the intruders.

...

Near the Plague Factory.

Explosions shook the landscape. The armor of a Chaos Centurion spewed fire, torching dozens of daemons.

"Praise Diablo the Destroyer! Rally up, brothers!"

The Terror Legion commander's voice brimmed with excitement. "We've got a big boy in there. Let's take it down together!"

In his mind's eye, he already saw himself paying off his blood debt and riding off with a shiny, top-of-the-line Hell Drake.

Maybe he'd even get an upgraded Daemon Engine capable of firing multiple streams of molten fire.

Who would dare challenge him for war spoils then?

He could already feel the Dark God's blessings granting him new limbs.

The other warriors were equally hyped.

"This score's gonna be worth so many blood points!"

"My psychic senses are screaming! That means it's expensive!"

"Urgh… Guys, be careful! This place is saturated with plague toxins—I just vomited my intestines…"

One warrior had accidentally inhaled trace amounts of the toxins and immediately vomited up black blood and entrails.

"Yup, definitely the plague factory's core. This stuff's nasty…"

Another warrior, now wearing a Blackstone respirator, turned to him with faux concern. "Better fall back if you can't handle it. No shame in surviving."

In truth, he just wanted fewer hands splitting the loot.

But the poisoned warrior swallowed his own blood and roared, "Anyone trying to stop me from earning Diablo's favor gets cleaved in half!"

He was drowning in blood point debt. This battle was his ticket out.

And nothing would stand in his way.

Coughing up gore, he charged into the daemons, cutting them down in a berserk frenzy. His sheer madness made even Nurgle's servants flinch.

Of course, part of that came from the Terror Legion's aura of dread.

The Terror warriors didn't blindly rush in—they bombarded the factory with Inferno Torpedoes, Concussion Missiles, and other ranged ordnance to burn off the toxins.

Soon, the plague factory's rotten walls were under sustained bombardment.

"Not enough… I don't have enough time!"

Ku'gath threw his bulk in front of falling debris, then hastily reinforced the Great Cauldron's frame with rotted wood.

He stared into the boiling cauldron, anxious.

"If I leave now, the brew might burn… but if I stay, they'll break through."

And if those suicidal invaders toppled Nurgle's holy cauldron, the Godplague would leak—he might suffer a wound he'd never recover from.

He might even die.

"Maybe I should add the precious blood now. Just in case."

Ku'gath picked up two glass tubes of thick, crimson blood—blood harvested from a Primarch.

He tilted one tube… and the sticky blood began to ooze out, reacting violently with the swirling toxins in the air.

But at the last moment, he paused.

No—he pulled the blood back.

He shook his head and muttered, "Not yet… it's not the right time. Without the proper moment, it won't be perfect. I need a perfect plague."

It was all the fault of those gut-damned intruders!

"I'll deal with those madmen myself. I'll kill them. I'll make them suffer with my plague…"

Ku'gath took one last look at the thickening brew, then turned his massive, mountainous body toward the factory gates, seething with fury.

He had to kill them quickly.

Then, at just the right time, he would return… and complete the Godplague with perfection.

Thump. Thump. Thump—

A rotting figure strode swiftly down the corridor, his antlers scraping against the grimy ceiling above.

Behind him, his withered plague sword dragged along the plasteel floor, carving deep gashes that oozed dampness, sprouting tumors and patches of dead grass.

"I am Ku'gath, First Favorite, most beloved of Nurgle."

Ku'gath's massive body emerged from the Plague Factory and looked down at the Terror Legion warriors below. "You lunatics have pissed me off! All of you must die!"

In that instant, the weight of his daemonic presence crashed down.

With a single swing, the plague blade struck a Terror Warrior, shattering his snarling armor into thousands of rotting shards. The body within burst into putrid black sludge.

But instead of terror, this drew a cheer from the other Chaos Marines.

"Hell yeah! It's Ku'gath! A real boss fight!"

"By Diablo the Destroyer! Call everyone—we can't let him escape!"

"Surround him! Don't let him move!"

One particularly deranged Terror Warrior lunged in a sliding tackle, driving his power sword deep into Ku'gath's gut.

The Greater Daemon grunted in pain and instinctively backhanded the attacker into a wall. For a moment, he was stunned.

What the hell was wrong with these maniacs? Why weren't they afraid?

What Ku'gath didn't realize was that fear was reserved for their enemies. Terror Warriors never feared combat. They feared missing out on loot.

Even if Papa Nurgle himself appeared with a glowing health bar, they'd still charge in to try and chip it down for rewards.

BOOM!

A violent detonation erupted from Ku'gath's lower belly—a melta charge planted by the sliding Terror Warrior had exploded, blasting out a chunk of his intestines.

That just made him angrier.

"Fools! I am no feeble Plaguebearer! I am a PLAGUE MASTER! Such feeble attacks cannot hurt—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

"Triple blood points! Triple favor!"

The sliding Terror Warrior, now with half his shoulder missing, whooped with glee.

The damage he'd done had already earned him a fresh wave of Diablo's blessings, barely keeping him on his feet.

Raising his weapon one-handed, he began firing again—but wisely refrained from another suicidal dive.

"Triple loot?!"

That did it.

The other Terror Warriors went berserk, unloading everything they had.

Such bountiful rewards were worth any cost.

This was all part of Eden's secret plan. Hidden underground, he'd increased the bounty for taking down such a powerful foe.

He needed Ku'gath held in place.

Flame missiles, melta beams, explosive rounds—wave after wave of heavy fire battered the Greater Daemon of Nurgle.

Ku'gath roared and slashed back, turning more warriors into rotten meat, but none of them retreated. On the contrary, more kept arriving.

Boss Fight Engaged!

Unknowingly, Ku'gath had been lured farther away from the factory.

He ripped apart a Centurion's armor and lashed out with his tongue, frog-like, yanking a Hell Drake out of the air and slamming it to the ground, reducing it to a twitching, sparking ruin.

But the Terror Legion was relentless.

They didn't charge blindly—they had experience killing powerful enemies. They built tight kill zones and used coordinated tactics—unless they got too hyped to think.

More and more warriors joined the fight, each one drawn by the promise of blood points and divine favor.

They praised the great Diablo and emptied every clip, every shell, every energy pack.

Some of the higher-ranking commanders mutated further, growing gnashing bone growths and burning with infernal flame.

The greater the courage, the heavier the damage dealt—the greater the reward from the Dark Prince of Shadows.

The strongest of them were already brushing against the threshold of daemonhood. Sadly, Diablo's capabilities—being just a minor Chaos god of the solar system's dark side—couldn't support more than a few ascensions at once.

He still had a long way to go before matching the Chaos Gods… or the Emperor.

"OUT OF MY WAY—ALL OF YOU!"

Ku'gath was fuming. These lunatics couldn't kill him, but the damage they inflicted was adding up.

Worse still, he had to defend the Plague Factory!

"No! My Godplague!"

Suddenly, a deep bell tolled within the factory.

Ku'gath's eyes widened.

His perfect creation had reached its final stage!

He swatted away the closest Terror Warriors and bolted back toward the cauldron.

He had to get there—now—to complete the final step.

But he didn't make it far.

A Hell Drake, piloted by a Terror Legion commander, rammed into Ku'gath's knee with all its force.

He tumbled like a mountain of rotten meat, crashing to the ground and sending tremors through the terrain.

He clambered up quickly.

Nothing else mattered now. He had to reach the Plague Cauldron and pour in the Primarch blood.

It was the key to Papa Nurgle's grand plan.

He smashed the Hell Drake flat and unleashed a wave of corrosive Warp energy, sprouting foul fungus and cordyceps that entangled the pursuing warriors.

Then, with the path temporarily cleared, he surged back into the Plague Factory's main chamber.

Ku'gath was thrilled—he had stalled the invaders and returned just in time.

Perfect.

"Praise be to the Plaguefather…"

He muttered with a sickly smile. "Once the Godplague is complete, I'll slaughter every last Terror freak… and that damned Dark Prince too."

But the moment he pulled out the vials of Primarch blood…

Something snapped.

A vital connection had been severed.

He froze, smile vanishing.

"Plaguefather… where is my pot?!"

The chamber was empty.

Only a massive pit remained.

There was no one left to answer. The fumes had killed even the maggots and Nurglings. The rest of the Plague Guard had died outside.

"Did it… fall underground?"

Ku'gath swallowed thickly, clinging to a shred of hope, and peered into the crater.

But there was nothing. The abyss had swallowed everything. A faint smell of Tyranid bio-matter and anti-psyker residue lingered.

Reality dawned on him:

The sacred cauldron gifted to him by Papa Nurgle had been stolen. Its connection to him and the corruption network had been cut.

He stared helplessly into the pit. The path was too deep, too intricate—no trace of the cauldron remained.

The thief was long gone.

A millennia of planning… the Plaguefather's divine artifact… and his life's work—all vanished in an instant.

The souls of trillions, meant to be offered in eternal agony… now lost.

"No… my cauldron… my Godplague… you wretched, gutless THIEF!"

Ku'gath collapsed with a thunderous crash, shaking the entire factory.

And then… he went still.

The First Favorite was engulfed by guilt and sorrow.

"I have failed… I've betrayed the Plaguefather's blessing…"

"Ku'gath… the Bell of Corruption has tolled. I await the Godplague."

A spectral image of Mortarion, Daemon Primarch of the Death Guard, shimmered into view—clearly mid-battle.

Regent Guilliman was, as usual, getting his face kicked in during a duel and struggling to stand.

Mortarion needed the Godplague to finish him, once and for all, and drag his soul into Nurgle's Garden—to rot all of Ultramar in his name.

But the Death Lord's voice was abruptly interrupted.

"The Godplague is gone. And the Plaguefather's cauldron too…"

Ku'gath's voice was hollow, full of despair. "The thief had anti-Warp properties. I can't track them… not even a trail."

"…What?!"

Mortarion's pupils contracted. For the first time, a flicker of fear crossed his daemonic eyes.

—

In a deep underground tunnel…

"Holy crap, holy crap—we're rich!"

Eden chuckled as he rode the sluggishly retreating mutated Mawloc.

Faint plague vapors seeped from its body, leaking through gaps in its Blackstone scales and poisoning the soil around them.

The haul from this operation… had gone far beyond expectations.

(End of Chapter)

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