"AAHHHH—!!"
"No—!!"
Screams from the crowd rose in waves as their skin turned pale and ruptured, muscles twisted and bulged, and their bones cracked with grotesque, grating sounds.
Then their eyes clouded over, pupils flickering with an eerie green glow, as if some unnameable presence had eroded their very souls.
Some saw their arms morph into writhing tentacles. Others sprouted rotting tumors from their backs. Still others became entirely overgrown with fungal rot, like walking corpses reanimated by pestilence.
The once-beautiful sky garden had become a living hell.
Lush flowers and trees withered instantly, dissolving into puddles of foul slime.
The reinforced flooring was corroded into pitted craters, while the stench of rot and decay swept outward like a toxic wave.
Darth Vader stood atop the platform, coldly watching it all.
His own Force aura interwove with the viridescent field consuming the garden—not in opposition, but as if… in observation. Perhaps even…
Enjoyment.
Beneath his mask, a flicker of barely-perceptible fanaticism gleamed in his beastlike eyes.
"GRHH~!"
"RRAAAGH!!"
At the same time, the corrupted citizens began to emit guttural roars. Their minds had been fully consumed by an unknown—no, a chaotic power from the Warp.
Though deformed, their bodies surged with a perverse vitality.
They were no longer sentient beings. They were Plaguebearers—walking vessels of contagion in Nurgle's service.
Their very existence was an affront to life itself.
In the garden's center, a massive Pool of Corruption had begun to form.
Green pus churned within it, releasing a nauseating stench that clung to the lungs.
All around it, the mutated masses had collapsed to their knees in worship.
"All things decay… but all beings endure."
The chant rang out once again, booming through every corner of the sky garden—not through Force compulsion this time, but with unshakable sincerity and frenzied devotion.
Those who had survived the forced corruption now chanted on their own, eyes aglow with green fire. Though their bodies were twisted and diseased, they seemed to revel in this grotesque "new life," echoing that dreadful mantra over and over.
!!
Meanwhile, the stormtroopers—every last one of them who had borne witness to the transformation—could no longer remain composed.
Veterans of countless brutal battles though they were, their breaths turned ragged, palms sweaty beneath their gloves as they clenched their blaster rifles. Beneath their helmets, their faces were pale as death.
What lay before them defied comprehension—
Living beings, twisted into monsters in mere seconds. The overpowering stench of decay and death choked the air.
Even their unwavering loyalty to Vader could not completely quell the rising terror and doubt within.
Especially the thousand or so stationed within the garden or positioned on elevated platforms—their mental defenses were crumbling.
Their eyes darted between the twisted crowd and the oozing corruption pool, filled with primal fear.
Instinct screamed at them to flee this hellish scene, yet loyalty to Vader chained them in place. This conflict between reason and survival instinct made their bodies tremble uncontrollably.
And yet… as they trembled, the chaotic energy had already begun to seep into them.
The viridescent force field, like an invisible plague, infiltrated their armor, their flesh.
At first, only a chill. Then came the unbearable itch, and pain.
Their skin turned deathly pale. Muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Bones twisted with sickening cracks.
But unlike the civilians, these troopers' transformations did not degrade them into zombies.
Instead, under Chaos' touch, they began to evolve—into something far more terrifying.
Their armor fused with their flesh. Once-white plating now bulged with festering tumors and mold. Their blasters warped into plague-spewing weapons, exhaling green gas like breath from the underworld.
They grew larger, stronger, and their minds were reshaped entirely—becoming devoted "Plague Troopers" in service to Nurgle and Darth Vader alike.
Their helmet visors burned with green fire. Their mouths whispered blasphemies, uttering incantations to unravel life and order alike.
And this was only the beginning—the first "seeds" of Chaos sown into this galaxy.
?!
"What… what is this feeling?"
"Something's wrong… with my body…"
"What the hell is happening?!"
Whispers of confusion echoed beside Darth Vader—not just from the thousand mutated stormtroopers, but even from the hundred elite guards who stood closest to him.
Even they had begun to feel the shift within.
These elite troopers' transformations were different—more subtle, more insidious.
From the outside, they still appeared unchanged.
Their armor gleamed coldly. Their weapons remained gripped tight, ready to execute Vader's every order.
But beneath their armored undersuits, the truth writhed.
Their skin had drained of all color. Muscles grew denser, tighter—packed with explosive strength.
Dark red veins pulsed beneath the pale flesh, as if Chaos energy flowed through them instead of blood.
And their eyes—
Where once there was sharp, calculating precision, now there burned crimson fury. Eyes glowing red with a thirst for blood, for slaughter.
Their bodies had not rotted. They bore no tumors or tentacles. Instead, they had become perfect—stronger, faster, more deadly.
But this perfection hid a deeper corruption.
Their souls had not merely been overtaken by rage—they were steeped in rot and disease, subtly reshaped by Nurgle's gifts.
Hoo! Hoo!
Suddenly, Vader's mechanical breathing quickened. A force within him surged, uncontrollable and wild.
His body trembled, and from his right hand—or what should have been his mechanical right hand—came an unbearable itch.
Not mechanical, but spiritual—as if a million ants gnawed at bone and sinew, a torment both agonizing and… exhilarating.
"This… this can't be…"
His voice wavered—rare for the Sith Lord.
Without hesitation, his left hand gripped the connection port at his right shoulder.
SNAP!
With a metallic crack, he ripped the cold prosthetic from his body and cast it aside.
What happened next left every elite around him stunned.
Before their eyes, Vader's severed arm—long ago lost to Count Dooku (Darth Tyranus)—began to regenerate.
First, bone. Pale, skeletal structure extended from the stump, the "crack crack" of rebirth ringing out like death knells.
Then came veins and nerves, weaving together like vines, a pulsing network flowing with unnatural vitality.
Then flesh. Skin grew layer by layer, rapidly covering the newly formed arm.
The regenerated skin was pale, smooth—jarringly different from Vader's original tone.
Lastly, fingers—formed one by one, their nails sharp as blades, twitching slightly as if acclimating to this new body.
The entire transformation took seconds… but felt like an eternity of metamorphosis.
When it was done, Vader clenched the fist.
He felt warmth, strength—life.
The hundred elite troopers watched in stunned silence, awe and fanaticism flickering in their glowing eyes.
They knew: this was not merely Vader's personal rebirth. It was the expansion of Chaos into their universe.
That hand—reborn flesh—was the beginning of something far more terrible.
"More… more…"
"Bring more children into the fold…"
The whispers returned, sickly sweet and rotting, like honey laced with death, seeping into Vader's thoughts.
This time, the Dark Lord no longer resisted the Warp's call.
He turned, black cape trailing through the foul air, each footstep echoing across the spore-ridden landing pad.
The Lambda-class shuttle loomed like a crouching beast, its once-pristine surface now smeared with slime.
As Vader led his elite up the ramp, those most mutated among them dripped pus from the seams in their armor, leaving corroded marks on the metal stairs.
The cabin reeked of decay. Dim lights cast twisted shadows on the walls, silhouettes of monsters in a dark rite.
With a warped mechanical hum, the shuttle lifted into the smoke-choked skies.
Through the viewports, Coruscant had become a furnace of damnation.
Once a shining metal metropolis, now lit by countless infernos. Smoke rose in twisted pillars. Crowds scattered like ants—but were hunted by their corrupted kin.
Vader stood at the rear of the cabin.
His new right hand slowly rose.
Pale, almost translucent, fingers opened—then clenched into a fist.
CRACK!
A Force wave, laced with Chaos energy, surged from his body like a tide, engulfing hundreds of square kilometers below.
The air rippled, reality itself beginning to rot.
BOOM—!!!
A thunderous explosion, and the viridescent evil light consumed the Force field.
Faces—countless human faces—swirled within the glow, screaming silently.
Buildings blackened with mold. Metal collapsed like rotting fruit.
Millions who had not yet perished screamed in chorus as their flesh liquefied, muscles melted like wax.
Most horrifying of all—their souls were torn from their bodies, transformed into green light, flowing like a river of filth into the Warp.
Inside the shuttle, the hundred elite dropped to their knees as one.
Through their visors, they watched the end of days. Under their helmets, mouths stretched wide, revealing jagged teeth.
Hoo! Hoo!
Vader's breathing intensified.
He could feel it—those sacrificed souls, nourishing an unnameable entity deep within the Warp.
And as the chosen medium, he was being gifted power beyond imagination.
Coruscant's night sky turned a sickly yellow-green.
Amid the clouds, shapes moved—massive, veined, like pulsing organs—and this sacrifice was only Chaos' first wail in this galaxy.
Then—
Vader's body collapsed.
His remaining prosthetics shrieked, hydraulic lines bursting like dying beasts, spraying foul coolant.
CRACK!
Metal groaned. His left arm and both legs, mechanical, split open from within.
New bones—pale and strong—tore through the alloy. Scarlet muscles squirmed like worms, extending out.
"AAAGHH!!"
His scream shook the cabin. His broken body was being reforged—beyond human limits.
His new hand tore into the floor, dragging five deep gouges into the steel.
Cursed blessings roared through his veins, every nerve consumed by fire and insects.
Then—silence.
The last of his cybernetics fell away.
Trembling, Vader rose on newly grown limbs.
Each inch of skin was deathly pale, with veins of dark red pulsing beneath.
He tore the breathing mask free—SSHHHHT!—ripping away the helmet that symbolized failure and shame.
He staggered toward the reflective wall.
And there—he saw it.
The face of Anakin Skywalker, restored to its prime.
A sharp jawline, a proud nose—every scar from Mustafar, gone.
Only the eyes remained—burning red, slit like those of a beast.
He ran his new hand over his bald scalp. No golden hair returned—but the power coursing within made up for it.
He flexed his fingers, tracing the Force and Chaos as they flowed together within him—
Smoother than any cybernetic. Stronger than before Mustafar. Stronger by thousands of times.
"So this… is true power."
His voice no longer carried mechanical distortion—but it chilled the blood more than ever before.
In the cabin, the kneeling elite looked up with reverent madness, helmets hiding twisted faces.
Outside, Coruscant burned.
Vader's reborn silhouette stretched across the walls—shifting shape.
Now a Jedi Knight.
Now a Sith Lord.
Now something older. Something far more evil.
------------------
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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