Chapter 452: Ramesses: Nurgle Seems to Have a Stress Response
"..."
Mortarion beat his wings, charging into the gradually decaying castle.
Warriors of the Mortifactors Chapter rushed out of the exhaust-filled smoke, wielding weapons that were gradually disintegrating under the baptism of Warp viruses.
These sons of a feral world tried to stall him, to stop him.
They faced an invincible enemy, yet their charge remained unwavering.
Clad in the bones of their kin, shouting battle cries from their savage homeworld, they carved a bloody path through daemons and Chaos Space Marines, arriving before the Daemon Primarch.
Splutch!
Casually cleaving these resisting warriors in two, his scythe left crimson blood trails on the floor.
Splash~
When the scythe was retracted, a casual sweep knocked the corpses into a crack opening in the floor. Mortarion reached out, wanting to grab these souls first, but was blocked by a greater power.
The power from that cold sun in the Warp was growing stronger, even on this planet completely occupied by the Grandfather.
"...Damn it!"
The tall, withered figure paused for a moment, then cursed in a low voice, retracting his claws, ultimately giving up these souls within reach.
Let me see how many you can protect!
Mortarion chose to ignore that person's power, carrying his scythe, continuing inward along the intertwined passages of the fortress.
He was now on Civitavecchia, a Port World.
Decades ago, this was an inconspicuous ocean world. But with the establishment of the Greater Ultramar Special Zone and the stationing of Ultramarines Successor Chapters, this planet also ushered in development.
Leveraging the planet's advantages, magnificent spaceports were established here. Fuel in the ice layers at the planet's poles was mined. The people of Civitavecchia no longer lived solely on fishing, but provided supplies and maintenance services for passing merchant ships, selling specialties of this ocean world on the side.
Prosperity and wealth quickly enveloped this planet.
It was said that the residents of Macragge were quite fond of a crab-like food from this planet.
Well, this was also the reason why this planet could develop in a short time—it was relatively close to Macragge.
Mortarion's steps moved forward along the steel of the spaceport. This ravaged grand structure was so wide; its terraced ports for docking merchant ships layered upon each other, climbing upwards in a ring structure, so high even his gaze couldn't take it all in.
He hadn't not seen such prosperous ports.
Lion's Gate, Saturnine Gate... When they attacked Terra back then, there were four starports more magnificent than this. One was personally shot down by the Death Guard.
But since when could such an inconspicuous planet compare with Terra?
This gave birth to a faint jealousy in him, jealous that his brother's kingdom could possess such prosperity on just an inconspicuous planet.
Now every wall was covered with dull filth, mostly from the fierce resistance of the garrison inside the port. As the Death Guard moved in, blankets of mold and algae began to spread on these walls still retaining residual warmth, further polluting and rotting the remaining parts.
The docking bays were now draped with net-like vines, heavy with drooping, swollen juices. Buzzing insects piled up in corners, overlapping with maggots to form a living black and white carpet. This huge building, like a wonder, began to decay as a whole, slowly dissolving into biomass.
The planet below it was the same.
The azure seawater began to turn green. Toxic fog began to permeate. What spewed from under the two polar ice caps was no longer fuel, but clumps of viscous gel, poisoning the few lands of this planet.
Again.
Mortarion frowned.
Always like this.
Whenever a planet was occupied, the longer it was occupied, the more it looked like Barbarus.
Was this intentional on Mortarion's part?
Of course not.
They all hated that world, Mortarion especially. When he learned the news that the Lion destroyed that planet back then, the Death Lord felt a subtle pleasure.
He looked down, seeing the soul of his wicked xenos adoptive father still suffering in the lantern, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Boom!
The vibration of an explosion sounded again. The living starport let out an overwhelmed murmur.
The Death Guard's blessings allowed them to be heavily protected from artillery fire, but the resistance of the port troops was so fierce that these Plague Marines had to shuttle through crowded fire. Enemy wounded and damaged vehicles actually had chances to be sent to support bases outside the defense hub. Soldiers recovered after a short stay and repaired vehicles were sent back to the front line.
From the fleet's auspex, the flow of supply trucks for the defenders was much sparser than at the beginning of the attack. Now, from basic rations to ammunition, everything was running out.
But beneath his feet, the sound of artillery fire never stopped. Earth-shaking impacts and the footsteps of the enemy's marching column, kilometers long, counter-charging.
"...Hiss."
A sucking sound came from Mortarion's mask-covered face.
The connection with his sons allowed him to see the overall battle situation. Those sensory structures all over the Death Guard's bodies allowed him a glimpse of the outside.
The picture within the starport range was mostly gloomy, as it had been for nearly two weeks. Explosions from resistance kicked up billowing smoke. Flames and biological tissues attacked each other, spreading unevenly from the logistics center in the north of the starport, making the ruins of those huge buildings wrapped inside look like pale bones.
Those raging fires were mostly ignited by phosphex weapons, others due to fuel depots and deliberately piled fuel transport vehicles. Above the spherical void shield in the western area, bizarre ripples still shone. Flames spread with it as the center like ceaseless purgatory fire. The spire of a Death Guard battleship pierced into this furnace, appearing frail amidst the ripples constantly blooming from various weapon explosions.
East of the starport, through the ruins left by the once prosperous exchange, extended a crisscrossing network of trenches, most of which had fallen into Death Guard hands. Mortarion had fought there for days, participating in part of the operation aimed at completely cutting off the connection between this area and the logistics center protected by void shields.
It was a tough battle. Even under the leadership of the Primarch, fighting along toxic mires, the burning pain of flames and fierce resistance made the Death Guard attackers suffer greatly.
Nevertheless, the operation succeeded.
Corruption could still proceed. Most of the souls within could still become nutrients for the Godblight.
But how long it could last was a question.
Part of the vision disconnected.
From the vision of members further away, Mortarion could see mortals wrapped in void armor breaking through the flames, launching counter-charges. Shouting "For Humanity," they intended to destroy the artillery positions the Death Guard had just established.
Every hour of maintaining the offensive consumed a large number of lives and materials, even though they possessed the power of the Empyrean.
Why?
Why waste lives?
Mortarion saw the fire burning in their souls, that fierce fire of revenge. As long as the besiegers still occupied this place, the torrent would not slow down, let alone stop.
They all knew.
They all knew what the enemy they faced wanted to do to them.
They were defending their current lives, lives they believed were absolutely better than surrender.
The road sank underground. Mortarion lowered his head, re-submerging into shadows flickering with lumen lights and filled with the pungent smell of promethium. The further in he went, the more frequent the explosions, and the ruder the mortals' welcome to the Primarch became.
One large outpost, just established not long ago, was completely shrouded in a sea of fire. The corpses of both attackers and defenders had long been burned to ashes. Little lives from the Warp told him it was the work of saboteurs—maybe enemy professional commandos, or just a soldier driven mad by fear. There were many such people.
Once witnessing the enemy's actions, anyone with a bit of sanity wouldn't surrender. However, the plague infecting the soul was ubiquitous and getting worse. No matter how tough these mortals were, they couldn't resist such torture.
It should be so.
Finally, he passed through all stations and penetrated the inner court. This was a city within a city, the last part fully controlled by the defenders.
Too troublesome.
Mortarion once took pride in the achievements of the Great Crusade—or rather, even among the Traitors, no one wasn't proud of the glory of that era.
In just a century, they liberated countless worlds. Those resisting worlds couldn't last a day in the hands of the liberators.
They even stormed Terra.
But the Ultima Segmentum was different.
The firmness of the resistance will here, the completeness of the armaments, was simply unprecedented.
Mortarion personally led the Death Guard to attack, but was stuck on this ordinary planet for nearly two weeks.
Even without a Primarch, the defense of the Ultima Segmentum wasn't as full of holes as Terra back then. These people weren't like the defenders of Terra, each harboring their own thoughts.
So what caused the current situation?
"..."
Mortarion thought of something, something he absolutely refused to admit.
Maybe this was due to the lack of Custodes, Imperial Army, and Malcador dragging each other down. Plus, the thinking of these fanatics no longer supported them pondering who they should serve.
Mortarion comforted himself.
"It is ripe."
Ku'Gath's voice in the projection was sharp, also carrying a crying tone.
"We are ready."
This Great Unclean One on another planet far away was weeping while boiling the cauldron.
"Not yet."
Facing his good partner's urging, Mortarion's answer revealed impatience.
"Gains are few, losses are many. We still need patience."
"Patience!"
Ku'Gath shouted.
"Patience is no longer needed. You have no idea what happened. You don't know what kind of war we are fighting. Your patience is like dawdling. My dear Mortarion, you should put away that awkward thinking..."
"Stop. Now."
The Primarch's voice suddenly lowered, turning into a warning growl, making Ku'Gath's scalp tingle.
"This is a delicate juncture, and you failed to see the whole picture. Neither did I."
"Of course I didn't."
Ku'Gath took a deep breath, emitting a painful sound.
"My Father's decision was forcibly corrected. Children must die. This is so difficult for Him. Just because of this reckless rashness, just because of the dawdling of us children, you can't complete the task assigned by the Grandfather. Now everyone has to pay the price."
Mortarion hesitated, asking: "Price?"
The projection vanished briefly, then quickly re-established.
Ku'Gath tried to avoid staring at the Godblight in front of him, as if those were actually the corpses of his kin.
The Great Unclean One paused, seeming to want to speak again.
But suddenly, the connection broke. The projection shattered into a cluster of grey-green sparks, gradually dissipating.
As the node of their communication, a Plaguebearer of the Death Guard suddenly exploded.
His existence was erased. The essence formed by his soul was injected into the unfinished Godblight.
He was killed.
Killed by the Grandfather personally.
"!!!"
Only then did Mortarion cast his gaze to the sky.
Only then did Mortarion know what exactly happened.
Because—
Septicus was stuck in his half-melted fat, unable to get up.
He was Nurgle's favorite, the seventh guardian of the Seventh Manse, the Plague Lord's seventh most favored Great Daemon.
At this moment, he was heavily wounded, lying among the bones of his kin.
Under the attack of the Blood Angels, on this nameless planet, they were surrounded.
These angels who saved countless lives were so angry. Angry at their lateness, angry at the cruelty of these Warp daemons. Fury burst from their eyes. Abandoning all etiquette, they turned into pure slayers. Even the Blood God couldn't help but pay attention.
War always brings anger and hatred.
The giant on the Brass Throne laughed loudly. The surrounding weapons vibrated with it. More and more planets in the material universe were shrouded in crimson mist. Wars became gradually fierce with the mutual hatred of the warring parties.
Even Khorne's legions, the Blood God's subordinates were thrown into it. Some could return to the Blood Wastes after their shells were destroyed, receiving rewards and ascension; others were annihilated by targeted means, turning into consumables.
But the Blood God's investment remained wild, only for war itself.
Completely different from Nurgle, the Blood God looked forward to the escalation of war, looked forward to life-and-death battles that could stir up more Warp waves. The Blood God never feared change, nor bloodshed.
Even His own blood.
Rip!
The Blood Angels indulged in their hatred for the enemies of humanity, tearing apart everything still moving in front of them. Crimson threads wrapped around these warriors, strengthening their bodies, seizing more blood for the Blood God.
And around Septicus, the Plague Guards were either dead or dying.
Bang!
Septicus watched a swarm of plague flies being turned into nothingness by disintegration mists in the air. Imperial troops sped forward in vehicles, tracks crushing bouncing Nurglings into fragments.
Blood Angels with jump packs, like true angels, surrounded a Great Unclean One. Septicus knew it, but before he could recall its name, this Great Unclean One was torn to shreds by churning chainswords.
Their souls left, dissipated, with painful wails.
Always confident in rebirth, they howled, finally returning to nothingness, leaving only the eternal echo of death in the Warp.
The Grandfather's sons were dying, starting from that firing pin from the Dawnstar Sector nailing into the Garden.
Septicus himself worried this would be his last time.
Karna pounced on him with fury. That heartfelt hatred dyed this holy angel crimson. The Spear of the Crimson Dawn drew a crescent-like flame in the air, burning the daemon without touching. The scorching flames made these wicked souls curl up uncontrollably.
"Stop fighting!"
Septicus screamed.
He caught the Spear of the Crimson Dawn with his sword. His whole body exploded on the spot, killing intent awe-inspiring. He had never seen such an angry and bloodthirsty existence, like another Blood God.
His head rolled on the ground, taking a deep breath.
"Let's talk! We're only benefiting the Blood God like this."
"Talk? Because of the Blood God?"
Karna roared.
"You just know you're going to die, and your master is panicking too!"
In an instant, scorching light filled Septicus's vision. Flames exploded in front of him, burning the Great Unclean Ones besieging him to ashes—despair making the flames even stronger.
Septicus's eyes widened.
He saw the source transforming into the angel's power.
Karna integrated into the human group with practical actions. The Blood Angels he led watched groups of ordinary people being liberated from heavy and meaningless labor, watching them truly contribute to humanity while also embracing their own lives.
The Blood Angels accepted humanity's gratitude. These superhumans integrated into the crowd, covering them with the feathers of the Dawnbreakers.
No Astartes Legion was so close to humanity itself, caring for so many groups.
Humans lived in the cradle they wove, naturally forgetting the temptation of the Empyrean.
Facing attacks from the Empyrean, humans would resist naturally. They wanted to defend their lives. This would be an endless war.
Even if mortals could never be as powerful as gods, the echoes before their deaths would eventually become the strength of the guardians.
Bang!
The questions lingering in his mind exploded abruptly.
Septicus could no longer think.
"And now, I just need to do what I'm best at."
On this nameless planet, on this humus formed by countless human corpses, the Ever-Burning Angel declared.
"I will kill you!"
"I will throw you into nothingness. I will wipe away the sores you left in the material universe, sleeplessly!"
This was the reason.
Nurgle feared death, feared change, feared hope.
But with His greedy reach—a reach not much different from every past action—these things the God of Life loathed followed one after another.
He could no longer accept the Dawnbreakers continuing forward.
The Grandfather wanted victory, victory by any means necessary, even if the means violated His instinct.
As long as this fire was extinguished, everything would return to the starting point.
"No, My Lord, you cannot do this!"
When his palm swept across the Death Guard beside him, touching only a patch of exploding pus, Mortarion, the Death Lord, the Primarch who prided himself on resilience, wailed.
Nurgle's children kept exploding. Believers, daemons, Chaos Space Marines...
So many children died suddenly. Their souls turned into nutrients accessible to the Grandfather, their bodies turned into pus, into sparse rain and occasional thunder in the sky.
This Primarch, who once became Nurgle's slave in exchange for saving his sons, bathed in the death of his sons, revealing a look of despair.
"My Lord, why! Why do you do such a thing!"
When the last son he could reach exploded, Mortarion shouted in vain to the sky, despair piling up with death integrating into his body.
He loathed these powers, yet could stop nothing.
"Interesting."
Webway. Ramesses watched all this with interest.
"Master Art."
He called out immediately.
"What is it?"
At the desk, Arthur, still discussing military deployment with the Lion, looked up.
The two were discussing decompression strategies for the Maelstrom region. No matter how excellent Huron was, he was just an Astartes. Years of torture in the Maelstrom made this Guardian of the Maelstrom mentally exhausted.
Arthur didn't specialize in this. He was indeed good at learning and using people, but the gap in talent was always hard to make up with learning. And the Lion's level was really high, exaggeratedly so. Maybe he could focus more energy on the Legion's ideological issues in the future.
Thinking so, Arthur simply proposed it to the Lion, intending to go through an appointment ceremony later, stunning the old lion.
Again, these four were really hard to deal with.
"Look at this. Nurgle's reaction is a bit big."
Ramesses scanned the Warp again before pulling out a paper document Arthur could understand.
He spoke with some surprise:
"And big to an exaggerated extent."
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