|3rd POV|
Twenty rejects sit inside one of the Valkyries, weapons clutched tightly in their hands. They are only one squad among the fifty-seven sent on this mission; a suicidal descent onto the body of an abomination, using specialized equipment to latch onto its flesh and avoid being shaken loose.
Sitting among them are zealots.
They are fervent worshippers of the God-Emperor, imprisoned not for crimes, but because the nobles of Atoma Prime despise them. Their faith makes them inconvenient to the nobles, and they get imprisoned by the corrupt nobles and arbiters.
Now, under the banner of Kael—the Beacon of Humanity—and recruited into his warband, their zealotry has intensified a hundredfold. They witness his divinity and blessing from the God-Emperor, after all.
If not for the Guardians, they would have taken some of the bath water used by Kael and claimed it as holy water.
While others hesitate at the thought of this mission, the zealots volunteer without pause, wide smiles stretched across their faces. They are eager to die in the name of the God-Emperor, for in their mind, martyrdom is a holy goal. They chant loudly in High Gothic, sermons and litanies echoing through the Valkyrie's hold. Their faith burns so fiercely that a faint golden light glows across their skin.
Unfortunately, that same zealotry grates on the nerves of the others.
Among the squad sit deserter veterans and hive scum, watching the zealots with open distaste. These are people who no longer believe in the divinity of the God-Emperor—people beaten down by the Imperium until faith became impossible.
They do not believe in gods.
But they believe in Kael.
They have seen his power. More importantly, they have seen his compassion. He is the first person they have met who truly cares whether they live or die. They do not worship him—but they trust him. Not as a god, but as a leader who offers something the Imperium never did.
Hope.
"Oi! Cut that crap out! My ears're bleedin' from all that screechin', you fraggin' zealots!"
One of the hive scum groans while checking his dual autopistols one last time to ease up his anxiety.
"Fraggin' zealots… if it weren't for the promise o' that sweet melon-pay, I'd be leggin' it far from this whole damn madness."
"Hah! Same here. I'm in it for the apples and oranges. Can't say no to that."
"Bah! Heathens! Watermelon is the only proper fruit! Everything else can piss off back into the sump!"
"Oi! Watch your mouth! I got no beef with watermelon, but callin' it the only fruit? That's heretic talk right there!"
The banter cuts through the tension, easing nerves just as the vox crackles to life.
Marrow's voice fills the compartment.
"Darktide 21. You will reach your drop point in one minute. Your objective is to destroy the final anchor. Twenty-five teams have already been deployed, resulting in two beacons being down. The last seven teams failed. This time, it is your turn to try and search for the anchor."
Weapons are raised. Hands tighten.
"Each of you carries one Krak Charge. It takes at least seven to destroy the anchor, according to the previous teams. Protect the charges at all costs. They matter more than you. If they're lost, the mission fails. Remember that."
One of the zealots offers a final prayer. The others follow, voices overlapping in fervent devotion.
"Follow the trail left by the previous team and continue to search. The support team will send a live feed to your Auspex. Once the charges are planted, activate your emergency signal. Reach the extraction point and retreat."
The rear hatch opens. After a few seconds, the Valkyrie settles against the abomination's flesh. The sound of wet flesh can be heard as the door slowly opens up.
"Good luck," Marrow finishes. "The Emperor protects."
When the door fully opens, they spill out onto the pulsating ground. The valkyrie immediately leaves them to carry more rejects.
"Shit—the floor's all wet and fleshy. Feels like that corrosive slime back in the underhive. Frag this place. I hate it already."
Ignoring the disgust, Darktide 21 advances along the torn pathway carved by earlier teams. They do not find a clean route.
They find infected rejects.
Those without sufficient faith shamble forward, bodies bloated and decayed. Those with faith fare no better—animated into grotesque puppets of rotting flesh and bone.
"Burn them! Burn the heretics!"
A zealot roars, unleashing her flamer. Fire washes over the infected and the stubby, goo-born creatures Nurgle's corruption spawns directly from the abomination's body.
The creatures gibber and slither toward the squad.
Darktide 21 fights on—guns blazing, blades swinging—as the abomination thrashes beneath them, trying to shake the humans loose. However, each time it tries to make the rejects fall off its body, Kael is there to interrupt it. Each violent movement is countered as Kael binds the creature with massive coils of sand, constricting its bulk and limiting its ability to move.
Enraged, the abomination disgorges torrents of warp-tainted sludge, birthing more horrors. This is the move that the abomination uses to kill more than two hundred rejects trying to reach the anchor on its body.
And it is still working as Darkitde 21 starts to lose people as they fight their way through.
"Dammit! LJ's dead!"
"Frag! Grab the krak charge! Keep movin'—this thing's massive! We don't have all day!"
Slowly, painfully, they push forward. Ammunition runs dry. They need to use their blade and other melee weapons to fight their way through the horrors.
"To the left!"
A zealot shouts, watching the auspex. Support teams relay live updates, ensuring no ground is searched twice. He is the one making sure the team reaches the correct location. However, even with this job, his stub pistol still fires more slugs at the horrors coming at them.
"I'm hit! Take my charge and move! I'll hold them off 'til the Emperor claims me!"
The zealot hurls her Krak charge and draws a plasma grenade. Chainsword roaring, she advances, screaming hymns as wounds tear into her body. She does not stop because of the wounds and keeps charging. Her sword is tearing through all the things getting close to her.
Golden light surrounds her body, giving it one last push to hold off the horrors charging at the others. Even when she loses one of her legs, she keeps fighting on the ground.
When her last leg finally gives out, she pulls the pin. With a satisfied grin, she roars one last time.
"For the Emperor! For the Beacon of Humanity!"
The explosion echoes through the abomination. Blue light expands, burning anything it touches as the explosion is bigger than it should be. Her faith is so strong that the golden light enchants her grenade.
On the other side of the battlefield, Darktide 21 does not slow down even after hearing the last warcry of their fellow reject. They keep running, searching, and fighting through the body of the abomination.
"There! I see it! Blow that fraggin' anchor to scrap!"
Ahead stands a two-meter pillar of pulsing flesh and bone. In the middle of the pillar is a sickly yellow eye that looks at them with hatred. With their goal in sight, the squad surges forward with renewed fury.
Fifteen brutal minutes later, they reach it.
"Secure the area! Toss all the krak—now!"
The others obey and throw their Krak Charges to him. He arms them in sequence, then slams the emergency signal. He looks at the others and roars.
"We're done! Move, move, move!"
As they sprint toward extraction, Rannick opens a channel to Kael, who is fighting the abomination.
"Your Holiness, the anchor will detonate shortly."
Kael grins.
"Excellent. Tell everyone to pull back. I'll finish this."
The abomination lashes out as if it hears him saying that. Kael catches three massive limbs mid-swing with both his hands and starts pulling. His Viltrumite physiology strains as he tears them free, flesh ripping with a sound felt across the battlefield.
He also makes sure his [Banishing Fire] works at 100%, consuming warp-taint as it crawls across his body.
As the planet is full of the warp taint because of the cult and the abomination in front of him, he can hear it. He can hear the scream of the Four and their creations. They are angry and wary of him.
They can see his body—but not his soul. ROB's veil blocks their gaze, and it makes them mad. [Banishing Fire] and [Curse Devouring Physique] consume every attempt to breach him, and they also do not help in calming their anger.
A minute later, the anchor detonates. Kael can see the explosion from where he is, and he can feel the shockwave.
He grins at the sight of the abomination screaming in pain as a swirl of warp energy explodes in a chaotic manner.
However, he widens his eyes as the exploding energy condenses and creates something familiar. It creates a symbol, a symbol of one of the four Chaos Gods. Three circles, arrayed in a rough triangle, were split by three lines between each that met in the center. It is the symbol of Nurgle.
Sora-Tel starts to laugh as she sees her creation from a distance. This is the last feature she created for her creation. All the humans her creation absorbed not only made it stronger, but also stored them to be used in a ritual.
It requires a few things to make it work. For one, it requires more than three million sacrifices for it to work. That one is easy. Tritium Hive alone has more than nine billion humans living inside, which is the estimated total number of humans from all registered populations—three million souls needed as a sacrifice for the Plague God to create the ritual.
The second requirement is the strong connection between the planet and Nurgle. That one is easy. Tertitum already has a strong connection to Nurgle, as even the nobles are worshippers of Nurgle.
The last requirement is a vessel. A strong vessel to open the portal and summon the creature from the warp. With all three requirements fulfilled, the ritual is complete, and the summoning of a Greater Daemon is commenced.
"Kael!" Ddraig roars from within the boosted gear. "This is bad! Whatever's coming—it's as strong as I was at my peak!"
Before Kael can do something, a massive amount of miasma spreads and forms a portal. An enormous being appears from the portal. The ground sags as it tries to hold the enormous figure of the being.
It is five times bigger than the abomination.
It is an immense bulk of bloated flesh, layered in rot and disease. Its skin hangs loose, translucent in places, revealing fat, maggots, and lazily pulsing organs. Open sores gape like smiling mouths, weeping pus that turns the ground to mold and fungus.
Flies orbit it in droning reverence.
To mortals, its face is gentle. It is inviting, giving you the sweet promise of relief from a hard life. However, anyone with a strong mind knows that behind that so-called gentle expression is nothing but a hungry daemon who is ready to devour your soul.
One blind eye sinks deep into its skull—the other bulges, rolling with slow amusement. A permanent grin splits its slack jaw.
The stench is sickeningly sweet—decay masked beneath false comfort. It is as if the warp tries to mask the scent of decay, rot, and plague with the scent of sweetness. It is a lie to lure someone so the Daemon can devour any souls foolish enough to trust that lie.
In one hand, it carries a rusted weapon—half cleaver, half bell—each toll spreading invisible waves of sickness. Each time it rings, it sends a shudder through Kael's soul. Even his soul is disgusted at the foulness of the being in front of him.
Its other hand is open, palm upturned. It looks at Kael with a disgusting smile that offers nothing but torment.
"I am Bolothrax," it intones. "Favored of Grandfather. I have come to claim your soul."
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