When the sisters of the Inquisition and the Dialogus revealed the deciphered contents of the pact to Marneus Calgar, the "Father of Ultramar" was instantly gripped by a mixture of fury and suspicion.
"Abaddon is coordinating with these loathsome vermin to seize Vigilus?" Calgar questioned, his brow furrowed in thought. Though he had barely begun to recover from emergency surgeries, proving himself the kind of titan who could crush a Heretic's skull even while confined to an Intensive Care Unit, he had already dragged his battered body back to his post.
He scrutinized the report with the weary eyes of a veteran who had faced death a thousand times. He knew better than to take anything at face value.
"Whether the intelligence is genuine or not, we must remain vigilant. Vigilus cannot be allowed to fall into peril!" declared Marshal Corvin, leader of the Nachmund Gauntlet expedition, addressing Calgar.
The sentiment was echoed by the gathered assembly: Captains and Chapter Masters from the Ultramarines First Company and their successors, alongside representatives from the Black Templars, Iron Hands, Raven Guard, White Scars, and Blood Angels.
"Very well. Marshal Corvin, I shall grant you sufficient force," Calgar said, his gaze locking onto the Marshal. "You will lead the ground elements of Battle Group Randax to the Greater Omnissian Hoist. The Stygian Spires must not fall!"
"In the Emperor's name!"
Soon, millions of Astra Militarum Guardsmen and Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii, supported by over a dozen Adeptus Astartes Chapters, were deployed to the Greater Omnissian Hoist designated in the pact.
Yet, beneath the surface of this world, hollowed out by millennia of Mechanicus industry, lay a literal sea of vermin. Dozens of Skaven clans, totaling billions of ratmen, had been funneled in as cannon fodder. Gathered from across the stars, they now swarmed within the sub-layers of Greater Omnissian Hoist.
The rats began their work, gnawing through Mechanicus machinery and occupying deep-strata facilities. Assassins of Clan Eshin, hired by Kratch, began a shadow war, eliminating Skitarii Marshals, Magos, and Tech-Priests, ensuring that the Cult Mechanicus's reclamation efforts were plagued by endless delays.
This time, Clan Rictus had truly committed. To deceive both the forces of Chaos and the Imperium, luring his rivals into a meat grinder so he could claim Vigilus for himself, Kratch Doomclaw had displayed unprecedented audacity.
Though hiring the specialized forces of Eshin, Skryre, and Moulder cost a king's ransom, Kratch was a merchant among warriors. Having built a sprawling empire in the Old World through tolls, mercenary work, and the Greenskin slave trade, his wealth was second only to the Great Clans. This bid for Vigilus was his ultimate commercial gamble.
…
Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon the Despoiler watched as Haarken Worldclaimer requested an audience once more. The Warmaster was in a foul mood.
He had torn the Imperium in half, yet this tiny Nachmund Gauntlet remained a stubborn splinter in his side. It was a stain on his honor, made worse by the memory of Calgar's "rising upper-cut" that had nearly rearranged his features during their last encounter.
"If the xenos coordinate their strike as promised, I guarantee the fall of Vigilus within eighty days!" Haarken proclaimed.
Abaddon did not truly trust Haarken's boast, but the Worldclaimer was one of the few lieutenants who remained both fiercely loyal and competent. Instead of mockery, Abaddon gave a curt nod.
"I will grant you one final opportunity. To ensure those treacherous xenos do not trip us up, let them strike first. Once they and the lapdogs of the False Emperor have bled each other white, then we descend."
"As you will, Warmaster!"
Haarken turned on his heel, immediately summoning his Chaos Raptors and ordering his Sorcerers to forge new Heldrakes. He was desperate to wash away the shame of his previous failures, and the mounting body count of those who dared whisper the nickname "Lord Eighty-Days" in private.
…
"This is definitely a divergence in the timeline... none of this was in the official archives," Lucius mused, observing the shifting tides on Vigilus. Ever since Kratch's prayer to the Great Horned Rat, Lucius had been privy to the ratman's every scheme.
"If this rat actually manages to blow up Calgar and Abaddon, who knows what happens to the setting? More importantly... if two of the most pivotal figures in the universe get snuffed out by a rat, will the Four Gods and the Emperor come after me?"
Lucius shuddered at the thought. He didn't believe for a second that Calgar could perform "ICU sit-ups" and survive such wounds without the Golden Throne's direct intervention. As for Abaddon, he was the chosen plaything of the Pantheon; if their champion were killed by a stray vermin, Khorne and Slaanesh would surely come looking for someone to vent their fury upon.
"Ugh... skip the Golden Throne. I need to find someone... or some god... I can actually talk to."
Though he had ascended as the Fifth God, Lucius wasn't arrogant enough to think he could act without consequence. He needed to touch base with one of the established powers.
Khorne and Tzeentch were out. One was a pathological liar; the other had a cerebellum made of brass and a temper to match. As for Slaanesh... Lucius had no desire to visit the Prince of Pleasure. He wasn't interested in being violated, metaphysically or otherwise.
That left the Emperor and Nurgle. If he approached the Emperor, the Master of Mankind would likely strike him down without a word. Thus, the choice was clear: Grandfather Nurgle.
Lucius rose from the Throne of Ruin. Within the Realm of Ruin, rat-daemons and the ever-swelling tide of Skaven souls cowered in terror as the very foundations of their world shook with the movement of their god.
"Prepare my passage… to the Garden of Nurgle."
The Garden was not difficult to find. In the chaotic tides of the Warp, only the domains of the Five held fixed coordinates (save for the legendary Black Library). Lucius stepped out from the Realm of Ruin, casting his gaze across the Warp until he located the festering territory of the Plague God.
The domains of the Four were guarded by infinite legions and impenetrable fortresses, a cosmic-scale wargame played for eternity. But while those defenses were absolute against mortals and lesser daemons, to a god, they were as fragile as structures made of toy blocks.
As Lucius stepped into the nightmare of the Garden, the playful, chortling Nurglings and industrious plague-daemons were instantly seized by a primal dread. The horrific denizens of this realm fled as if a greater predator had entered their midst.
Lucius's power, the authority of Formless Distortion, was potent. At his core, he could warp any concept: turning loyalty to betrayal, or love to hate. Much like the Emperor's power of destruction, Lucius's presence could unravel a daemon's essence, often in a far more agonizing fashion.
"Please... halt... Lord of Distortion. This is the land of the Allfather."
A voice like wet phlegm bubbling in a throat called out. A daemon of Nurgle appeared, riding a bloated, multi-legged gastropod of sickly yellow-green hue. The daemon dismounted with a wet thud, looking at the black-robed figure with a mixture of caution and fear.
Lucius looked at the entity. It was, predictably, revolting. "And which of Nurgle's brood are you?"
"I am Slimux, gardener of this domain," the daemon said, bowing with surprising politeness.
"Ah, I've heard of you. I am here to see Nurgle. Lead the way," Lucius commanded with a wave of his hand.
Slimux did not hesitate. He knew his "Grandfather" shared a certain... professional rapport with this newcomer.
"Certainly. But I implore Your Excellency, restrain your radiance. Do not disturb the harmony and beauty of the Garden."
Slimux gestured to where the Great Horned Rat's power was leaking out. Friendly daemons were becoming uncharacteristically violent and irritable; plants that usually thrived on rot were suddenly showing signs of unnatural "health." Viruses were beginning to nourish their hosts instead of killing them, and fungi were refusing to spread, instead consuming themselves. It was the unintended wake of a god who twisted the very nature of things.
Guided by Slimux, Lucius soon arrived before the great, rotting manse, a structure resembling a witch's hut from a dark fairy tale, though the horrors within far exceeded any mortal myth.
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