Chapter 359: Nurgle: Such Joyful Occasions Are Irresistible
The Garden of Nurgle
While the mortal realms withered and crumbled under plague, Nurgle's domain flourished with disease and rot. Under the rule of the Lord of Decay, this unholy realm teemed with every imaginable plague and contagion, exuding the stench of decomposition.
The architecture here was a sickly green, streaked with turbid yellow pus and ulcerated scabs.
Rotting vines choked groves of tumorous trees, and sleek birthing sacs hung from the branches, each bursting with the hope of rebirth.
Decay and rebirth, life and rot—this was a microcosm of Nurgle's cycle.
Looking around, twisted houses and palaces in wanton decay were everywhere. Because the corruption was so ancient, those eroded areas left permanent gullies as countless creatures slowly writhed through them.
Where the gullies converged stood a black mansion.
The Manse of the Plague God.
Following the gullies, one could easily find the God of Decay dwelling within.
Nurgle was very unhappy.
Another pustule swelled and burst.
Nurgle never believed in fate and hated changes that disrupted the cycle, but sometimes he had to marvel at the wonder of fate.
He watched the scenes from reality, saw the failure of his kind, and couldn't help but pound his fist into his palm, the whole god standing up in excitement.
He saw the true forms revealed by those four existences in His eyes, which made Him rejoice that He hadn't rashly thrown His beloved children into the fray.
Nurgle needed a stable plan.
Gurgle, gurgle...
That swollen arm continued to stir the cauldron.
"Not enough time."
Time did not exist in the warp, so according to past experience, the gods had ample time to lay their plans, and Nurgle could rely on his sacred number to unleash a plague storm in realspace.
But—
Nurgle's gaze fell on the Dawnbreaker Fleet that had already departed Cadia.
Since 741.M41, time had been pushed forward linearly.
With their arrival, the universe's past became established fact, while the future became ethereal and chaotic.
The four members of the Dawnbreakers were like a node in time, advancing firmly and irresistibly along linear time, turning the future into established fact.
Nurgle could influence other timelines, but in other timelines, these four did not exist, so what He did was meaningless.
That was why He sighed about the lack of time. Even if He could personally brew a plague potent enough to poison a god, realspace would not wait for Him.
Khorne's power was reliable.
Endless war in realspace fueled Him, and now that the World Eaters Legion was lost, He relied heavily on the followers of other gods to exert influence on reality.
Tzeentch was never trustworthy.
He was the biggest winner of this war. He saw the true colors of those four early on, recognizing them as players comparable to the gods, so He decisively lowered His expectations and thus gained a Legion.
Every Space Marine was an extension of their gene-father. With this extreme emotion, it wouldn't be difficult for Tzeentch to replicate a Greater Daemon, following the example of the Iron Hands creating the Sapphire King from extreme emotions after Ferrus Manus's death.
Truly—
Nurgle instinctively felt disgusted by this. The strength of his old rival was uncomfortable; Tzeentch had drawn too much power from this series of changes.
Nurgle symbolized stagnation and despair, the opposite of Tzeentch's change and hope.
But the wooden ladle stirring the cauldron continued to move in a stable triangular pattern.
He was neither furious at his own lack of gain nor carried away by the tempting rewards.
This was the quality Nurgle possessed.
Stability.
He thought steadily about how to deal with those opponents.
The current situation of the galaxy had to change. The gods couldn't just wait dryly for the start of another era; they had to accelerate this timeline.
So Khorne's power had to be relied upon. The Blood God, if nothing else, was truly generous.
Unfortunately, the timing of the Dawnbreakers' birth was too tight; otherwise, Nurgle would have inevitably facilitated all this Himself.
Secondly, the target should be changed.
Those four were players, at the very least secondary gods like Vashtorr. Moreover, their home ground was in realspace. If the civilization they built couldn't be destroyed, everything would be in vain.
And their true strength lay in their trust in each other; this close connection left few openings.
Nurgle's gaze fell into the cauldron. On the emerald scum floated the reflections of Baal, Macragge, and the Rock.
He might as well learn from Tzeentch. Getting the Lion or Guilliman would be good too.
Compared to the somewhat unrealistic idea of destroying the Dawnbreakers, bringing the sons of the Cursed One who hadn't realized their nature into the fold was more realistic.
Guilliman was the weakest link among them, and also the most important.
The fall of a Primarch would trigger a chain reaction among his sons. Now that the Ultramarines lineage accounted for 70% of the Space Marines, it would greatly weaken the Dawnbreakers' power.
Also, unlike corrupting the Dawnbreakers, which seemed hopeless, a multifaceted and massive offensive would stretch these young people who cared about mortals to their limits.
Of course, given the chance, Nurgle wouldn't give up on corrupting them either.
It would be a long process. Accumulating power took time. To deal with the extremely special existence of Arthur, His children's strength also needed to be further enhanced, and He couldn't let those old rivals know His true purpose.
Splash~
Confirming that He couldn't complete the plan before the suitable moment arrived, Nurgle looked at the soup still retaining countless plague powers in the pot and extended his hand.
The bodies of several Primaris Space Marines were thrown into the pot. Those bodies boiled down to dregs, then mixed with countless biological tissues, condensing into relatively intact and compact body forms, only extending a few branches representing corruption on the surface.
If a scholar proficient in biological research were here, they would marvel at the structure of these bodies. This was a stable ecosystem composed of 21 large biological individuals and countless microorganisms, carved into perfect killing machines by a unique gardener.
Nurgle looked with satisfaction at his work, which had cost him considerable effort. Lifting the ladle, these bodies disintegrated, turning into a cluster of twisted, trembling pods, sinking into the pot, gifted to the Grandfather's most favored son.
Until then, He should indeed maintain His enthusiasm for the Dawnbreakers.
The rippling image changed, and Nurgle gazed again at the four young men and the celebrating multitudes.
They stood together, entrusting their backs to each other, sharing the fruits of victory.
Thirty years. Just them, brothers, friends, like-minded people. Since their birth, they had saved countless lives of the Imperium from death.
Grandfather Nurgle split his layered maw wide, letting out a heartfelt, joyous laugh.
It was an enthusiasm that could not be feigned.
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