Within the Empyrean.
This realm, a plane transcending physical dimensions and forged entirely of pure emotion and conceptualization, was currently rippling with a rare disturbance.
A bloated, rotting giant, massive as a mountain, was slowly treading through the boundless Warp.
His leathery, necrotic grey-green skin was riddled with weeping ulcers and pustules. His split abdomen pulsed with a sickening squelch, internal organs dangling like rotting fruit. Clusters of boils hung around his waist like grapes, oozing slime and fleshy fragments from their ruptured sores.
With every step, Nurglings birthed and split from beneath His feet, chasing each other and frolicking like playful children.
A black swarm of plague flies swirled around Him, forming a living, buzzing cloak of pestilence.
Grandfather Nurgle.
The Lord of Plagues, the God of Life and Decay, the most affectionate and benevolent among the Four Chaos Gods.
Yet at this moment, the eternal, eerie smile plastered across His face had faintly frozen.
Just a moment ago, He sensed it—His child. The Warp essence of the Great Unclean One that had been slain in the Aru Industrial Zone on Aurelian IV had suddenly appeared in the Warp.
Squelch...
The pustules around the gash in Nurgle's stomach pulsed gently, emitting a thick, sticky sound. He raised His colossal, rotting hand, His fingers slowly tracing through the void of the Empyrean.
"Hehehe... Naughty... far too naughty..."
The smile on Nurgle's face grew even more affectionate, but the swarm of flies surrounding Him abruptly tripled in size. The Nurglings shrank back in sheer terror, too frightened to continue their play.
He stopped walking.
Ahead, a domain floated silently amidst the turbulent currents of the Warp.
From the outside, the domain was entirely unremarkable, measuring roughly three hundred Warp units in diameter.
Its outer shell was woven from a medley of elemental energies: flame, lightning, frost, water, and earth.
Inside, one could vaguely perceive a violent yet orderly flow of energy, much like the rhythmic breathing of a slumbering leviathan.
"Ah..." Nurgle let out a mild sigh, the sound echoing like the synchronized death rattles of ten million dying souls.
He recognized that domain. Or rather, He recognized the authority represented by the energy shell encasing it.
Conversion.
To convert one energy into another, to transform one form into another, to twist one concept into another.
That was the domain of the Law of Flow, the Core of Conversion.
An ancient Warp deity who almost never interacted with the outside world.
Veritas.
Born from the collective consciousness when sentient races first mastered "Energy Conversion."
When the first generation of shamanic sorcerers of ancient humanity and the ancient Aeldari successfully converted "Warp Energy" into magical manifestations like "Flame, Frost, or Shields" for the very first time... the collective consciousness of those exploring the laws of energy conversion coalesced in the Warp to form the core of this deity.
His authorities were the "Primordial Flow of Energy" and "Omni-Dimensional Energy and Morphological Conversion."
He was the embodiment of rules.
An ancient god without a belief system, for He required no faith. As long as sentient races continued to study energy conversion and wield magic, they would unconsciously provide the foundation for His existence.
His age placed Him in the same era as Morr (God of Murder) and Slaanesh, making Him one of the most ancient entities in the Warp.
But since the dawn of His creation, Veritas had chosen to remain entirely solitary, spending the vast majority of His time in deep slumber, with practically zero contact with the material realm.
He was a loner, aloof from the universe and its conflicts.
Until today.
Squelch, squelch, squelch...
The pustules on Nurgle's abdomen pulsed at an accelerated rate.
The Lord of Plagues' affectionate smile now carried a distinct, undeniable trace of wrath.
And today, this aloof, ancient god actually dared to offend Him so brazenly.
The Warp essence of that Great Unclean One was blatantly stored right there within His domain.
It was akin to someone slaughtering your pet dog, then stuffing its corpse to display as a trophy on their front porch.
It was a provocation—a naked, blatant provocation.
"Ah... my dear neighbor..." Nurgle's voice echoed through the Empyrean, a cacophony of ten million wailing plagues layered atop one another. "You have slept for far too long... so long that you have forgotten... the manners... of the Warp..."
The rotting giant slowly raised His right hand.
That hand was massive as a mountain, its skin ulcerated and oozing pus, with rotting flesh and squirming maggots wedged beneath the fingernails.
He reached out toward that domain encased in its elemental shell.
The defensive outer shell—woven from flames, lightning, frost, water, and earth—automatically activated the instant it sensed the foreign intrusion.
Boom!!!
Incandescent white flames erupted like an angry dragon, burning hot enough to melt battleship armor.
Crackle!!!
Azure lightning wove into a net, every single bolt imbued with the authority to rend souls asunder.
Frost condensed into billions of ice spears, earth reshaped into colossal hammers, and water formed into high-pressure cutting blades.
The dense barrage of elemental attacks blasted against Nurgle's extended, rotting hand like a torrential downpour.
It had absolutely no effect on His hand.
The flames licked at His ulcerated skin, only serving to make the pus boil a little more violently. The lightning arced through the rotting flesh, blasting out a few insignificant craters that were instantly filled by freshly oozing slime...
To the Lord of Plagues, Nurgle, these attacks didn't even amount to a tickle.
His authority was the cycle of life, decay, and rebirth. It was the eternal law that all things must eventually rot, and from that rot, new life is nurtured.
A mere elemental barrage?
Before the conceptual authority that all things must decay, flames would extinguish, lightning would dissipate, frost would melt, earth would weather, and water would run dry. It was only a matter of time.
And time was the one thing Nurgle had in absolute abundance.
Squelch...
The rotting giant hand pierced through the elemental shell without the slightest hindrance.
Five ulcerated fingers lightly clamped onto the boundaries of the domain.
And squeezed.
Crack!!!
A shattering sound detonated across the Warp.
Spiderweb-like fractures were forcibly crushed into the outer shell of Veritas's domain.
--
Goal = 300 Powerstones.
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