"The Anathema's last trump..." a Plaguebearer hissed in its guttural, Warp-twisted tongue—a language no mortal should have been able to understand.
Its single milky eye settled upon the newly arrived Grey Knights.
"It's final gambit."
But Nexus showed no reaction.
His Nemesis force sword crackled with silver-blue psychic lightning as he slowly raised it before him.
Before he could take another step, a storm of white bolts screamed past him.
The Purgation Squad behind him had opened fire.
Six psycannons roared in unison, their sanctified ammunition ripping through the advancing daemonic ranks.
The effect was devastating.
Plaguebearers burst apart as torrents of psychically charged shells tore through their unnatural bodies, each impact unraveling the Warp essence that sustained them.
Those not banished outright were hurled backwards, their diseased forms disintegrating into clouds of foul mist before they could regain their footing.
Even the bloated Beasts of Nurgle faltered.
The heavy psycannon fire punched through layers of corrupted flesh with ease, blasting away chunks of diseased meat and exposing their Warp-tainted cores. Their unnatural regeneration struggled to keep pace with the relentless barrage, and one after another the creatures dissolved into shrieking streams of empyric energy.
The disciplined volleys carved a wide corridor through the daemonic horde.
The moment the opening appeared, the Grey Knights moved.
The Interceptor Squad surged forward.
Their teleportation arrays activated.
Reality twisted.
In a flash of blue-white energy, the warriors vanished from their original position and reappeared deep within the enemy formation.
The daemons barely had time to react.
Storm bolters roared at point-blank range, sanctified rounds tearing through the closest Plaguebearers before they could raise their rusted blades.
Then the Grey Knights struck.
Nemesis force swords ignited.
Halberds swept through the corrupted ranks.
Each strike carried the psychic might of the Emperor's chosen warriors, cutting not only through diseased flesh but the Warp essence binding the creatures to reality.
Plaguebearers that attempted to surround them were torn apart before they could even raise their rusted blades.
Then, before the daemons could retaliate, the Interceptors vanished.
Their teleportation arrays activated with a flash of blue-white energy, ripping them away from the battlefield before claws, blades, and corrupted weapons could reach them.
Some reappeared beside another group of Plaguebearers, their Nemesis weapons already descending before the daemons could comprehend what had happened.
Others appeared behind the enemy lines, unleashing storm bolter fire into exposed flanks before charging into melee once more.
And when an attack came too quickly to avoid, they simply disappeared.
A plague-infested blade swung through empty air.
A mass of diseased claws struck only smoke and fading Warp energy.
The daemons, creatures that had slaughtered countless mortal warriors throughout the galaxy, found themselves fighting an enemy they could barely touch.
The disruption created by the Interceptor Squads was all Nexus needed.
He raised his Nemesis force sword.
"Advance."
Behind him, the two Grey Knight Terminator Squads moved forward.
Their massive Terminator armor advanced through the corrupted battlefield with unstoppable purpose, each step shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Alongside them came the remaining Purgation Squad.
Unlike their brothers wielding psycannons, these warriors carried Incinerators.
The ancient weapons ignited.
A wave of blue-white flame erupted across the battlefield.
The unnatural fire washed over the remaining Plaguebearers, burning away diseased flesh and consuming the Warp energy that held them together.
Unlike ordinary flames, the sacred fire of the Grey Knights did not merely burn.
It purified.
Daemons caught within the inferno screamed as their bodies dissolved, their connection to the material realm severed by the psychic flames.
The Terminators followed behind the burning advance.
Storm bolters thundered.
Daemon hammers shattered corrupted bodies.
Nemesis force weapons carved through anything that survived the flames.
At the center of the formation, Nexus led the charge.
His wrist-mounted Incinerator roared, unleashing streams of sacred flame upon any Plaguebearers that managed to approach the formation.
The daemons were reduced to burning remnants before they could bring their rusted blades down.
Those that survived the flames and dared to challenge him directly met a different fate.
Nexus moved with absolute precision.
His Nemesis force sword swept through the air, each strike guided by centuries of Grey Knight training and empowered by his own psychic might.
Daemon flesh parted.
Warp energy unraveled.
No Plaguebearer could withstand a direct confrontation with the Grey Knight Paladin.
Seeing the Grey Knights open a path faster and more efficiently than they had managed throughout the entire battle, the Fire Hawks immediately adjusted their advance.
They had fought through waves of Death Guard.
They had endured corrupted Skitarii.
They had broken Titan-supported defensive lines.
But the arrival of the Grey Knights had changed the nature of the battle.
Where the Astartes had been forced to grind forward meter by meter, the daemon hunters cut directly through the heart of the corruption.
"Garren to all Fire Hawks units," the Grand Master ordered.
"Follow their advance."
"The Grey Knights are creating our path."
The order spread instantly.
The Fire Hawks surged forward, their remaining squads reforming behind the silver-armored warriors.
As the Astartes drew closer and closer to the altar, the Great Unclean One finally seemed to regain some of its senses.
The Greater Daemon turned its massive, foul body toward the ritual site.
It had spent too long allowing the Titans to draw its attention away.
The altar was the heart of the ritual.
If the Astartes reached it, everything would be lost.
The daemon began moving back toward the altar, intending to reinforce its defenses personally. At the same time, the countless Nurglings swarming across the battlefield began shifting their attention toward the advancing Astartes rather than continuing to throw themselves against the Titans.
There was no reason to waste their daemonic flesh against the God-Machines when the Astartes were now the greater threat.
The Silver Lightning recognized the movement immediately.
"It's pulling back," one of the Princeps reported.
"Intercept it," the Princeps Maximus ordered as the Dies Vindicta raised its weapons and fired. "Do not let it reach the altar."
The Warmaster's twin Suzerain-Class Plasma Destructors erupted.
Two incandescent beams tore across the battlefield and slammed into the Great Unclean One's back.
The daemon roared as chunks of corrupted flesh were blasted away, forcing it to stagger forward.
Before it could regain its balance, two Warlords moved into its path.
Their immense forms advanced from opposite directions, positioning themselves between the Great Unclean One and the altar.
Their war horns blared.
Their weapons opened fire.
Two macro-gatling blasters unleashed torrents of heavy-calibre shells, while Apocalypse missile launchers sent salvo after salvo of missiles screaming toward the Greater Daemon.
The first barrage struck the Great Unclean One from both sides.
Its bloated body was torn apart beneath the relentless fire, chunks of diseased flesh blasted into the air as explosions rippled across its massive frame.
Yet the daemon refused to stop.
Its wounds began to knit together almost immediately, foul flesh bubbling and regenerating beneath the barrage.
The two Warlords continued to advance, maintaining their position between the daemon and the altar.
Every step they took forced the Great Unclean One farther away from its objective.
Behind them, the Dies Vindicta continued to fire, its plasma destructors striking the daemon whenever an opening presented itself.
The other Titans of the Silver Lightning soon joined the barrage.
Volcano Cannons thundered across the battlefield, their devastating beams tearing through the daemon's bloated form. Sunfury Plasma Annihilators followed, hurling incandescent spheres of plasma into its diseased flesh.
Macro-gatling blasters roared without pause.
Apocalypse missile launchers filled the sky with contrails before their warheads descended upon the Greater Daemon in a continuous storm of explosions.
The combined firepower of the Legio Argentum Fulgur was enough to devastate entire armies.
Yet the Great Unclean One endured.
Its massive body was repeatedly torn apart, only for Nurgle's foul blessings to rebuild what had been destroyed.
Every wound sealed.
Every shattered limb reformed.
Every destroyed section of flesh was replaced by new, rotting tissue.
Still, the barrage achieved its purpose.
The daemon could not advance.
Every time it attempted to move toward the altar, another volley forced it back.
The Great Unclean One grew increasingly impatient.
It could feel the Grey Knights drawing closer to the altar.
The psychic presence of the daemon hunters burned through the Warp, growing stronger with every passing second. Their advance was no longer something the Greater Daemon could ignore.
And they were not alone.
The Fire Hawks had followed closely behind them.
The Astartes pushed through the remaining defenders with renewed fury, bolters and plasma weapons tearing apart Plague Marines who attempted to form a defensive line.
Whenever the daemons tried to swarm the Grey Knights, the Fire Hawks were there to intercept them.
Plaguebearers were cut down by chainswords and power weapons.
Others were banished beneath the relentless fire of the Grey Knights' psy-weapons.
Every attempt by the Death Guard to slow the advance ended in another pile of corrupted corpses.
Finally, its patience finally broke.
With an enraged roar, the Great Unclean One raised its massive rusted blade and brought it crashing toward one of the Warlords.
The Warlord's Princeps reacted immediately.
"Brace!"
The Titan raised its Arioch Power Claw, aiming for the Greater Daemon's arm that held the blade. The Princeps intended to divert the strike, even if only slightly.
The massive claw punched deep into the daemon's foul flesh with ease.
But it did nothing.
The Great Unclean One's arm barely moved.
The rusted blade continued its downward trajectory.
The blade struck.
The Warlord's void shields flared violently as the impact overloaded them almost instantly.
Then the blade reached the armor.
Adamantium screamed.
The colossal weapon tore through the Warlord's shoulder plating and carved deep into its upper torso, sending fragments of armor and burning machinery flying across the battlefield.
Warning runes flooded the Princeps' command throne.
"Major armor breach!"
"Structural integrity failing!"
The Great Unclean One ripped its blade free, dragging it through the Titan's armor with a shower of sparks and molten metal.
The Warlord staggered backward.
Its Princeps fought desperately to keep the God-Machine upright.
But the damage was too severe.
Large sections of the Warlord's hull had been torn open, exposing internal machinery to the corrupted atmosphere. Worse, the foul influence of Nurgle had begun spreading through the damaged metal.
Rust crawled across the exposed armor.
Warp-tainted growths spread along the wounded sections of the hull.
Warning runes flickered and died as systems began failing one after another.
Even the Machine Spirit began to howl in pain.
The Warlord's legs finally buckled.
With a deafening metallic groan, the God-Machine fell backward.
Its immense body crashed into the ruins behind it, crushing buildings beneath thousands of tonnes of adamantium.
The Great Unclean One turned toward the remaining Warlord blocking its path to the altar.
But it was already too late.
Another Warlord had moved into position, taking the fallen engine's place.
Its massive footsteps shook the ground as it advanced, its weapons already tracking the Greater Daemon.
The Princeps Maximus had no intention of allowing the daemon to exploit the gap.
"Hold the line!" his voice thundered across the vox.
The newly arrived Warlord answered with a blast from its war horn.
Its Princeps did not hesitate.
"Come, abomination."
The Warlord raised its weapons.
"Try to get past me."
The Great Unclean One growled.
Then it spoke.
The words were uttered in a dark tongue none of the Princeps or Moderati understood. Yet somehow, the meaning appeared within their minds as clearly as if the daemon had spoken directly into their thoughts.
"Do you truly believe that you can stop me?"
The daemon continued advancing.
The concentrated fire of the Silver Lightning struck its bloated form, but for the first time, the bombardment seemed almost meaningless. Plasma, missiles, and shells tore into its flesh, yet the Greater Daemon simply continued walking.
"I am Dilap'Tor, Bringer of Plague."
Its rusted blade rose.
"Destroyer of Vandros."
The Great Unclean One approached the Warlord, preparing to bring its massive weapon down upon yet another God-Machine.
"And now I will bring destruction upon Camelarion."
Then—
It stopped.
The Greater Daemon froze in place.
Even through the layers of corrupted flesh and Warp energy surrounding it, the Princeps could tell.
It was shocked.
Something had happened.
Something that even the Greater Daemon had not expected.
Its enormous body suddenly began to change.
The bloated mass of diseased flesh started to shrink.
At first, slowly.
Then faster.
The Great Unclean One threw its head backward and released a deafening screech.
The sound tore across the battlefield.
Servitors within the nearby Titans collapsed almost instantly, their organic components unable to withstand the psychic assault.
Several of the younger Moderati began screaming.
One clawed at his own face.
Another began reciting broken fragments of binharic prayers before the Princeps beside him was forced to execute him.
Even within the command throne, the Princeps Maximus felt the scream tearing at his mind.
He gripped the throne with both hands.
'Hold...'
His vision blurred.
The Machine Spirit roared within his mind, fighting alongside him against the psychic assault.
'Hold!'
With sheer force of will, he kept himself conscious.
Then he looked beyond the shrinking daemon.
Toward the altar.
His eyes widened.
The enormous column of green light that had towered over the battlefield was beginning to disperse.
The Warp storm surrounding it was collapsing.
The ritual was failing.
And as the Great Unclean One continued to shrink and scream, the Princeps Maximus finally understood.
The Grey Knights had reached the altar.
===
Echoing through the air around the altar were words spoken in the dark tongue itself.
The only difference was that the words were being uttered by Nexus.
His Nemesis force sword was cleaved deep into the altar, its silver-blue psychic energy spreading through the corrupted stone.
Around him stood his Grey Knight brothers, forming an unbreakable perimeter.
The Plaguebearers had realized what was happening.
They threw themselves at the Grey Knights in desperate waves, abandoning all sense of self-preservation in an attempt to reach Nexus and stop the ritual's destruction.
But the Grey Knights held.
Storm bolters barked.
Psycannons thundered.
Incinerators swept across the approaching daemons in blazing arcs of sanctified fire.
Nemesis force weapons struck down anything that survived.
The silver-armored warriors stood shoulder to shoulder, becoming an impassable wall between Nexus and the daemonic horde.
And with the Warp corruption around the altar beginning to dissipate, the Grey Knights became even more deadly.
The Plaguebearers' bodies flickered.
Their connection to realspace weakened.
Each strike from a Nemesis weapon tore directly into the Warp essence sustaining them.
One after another, the daemons were banished.
None managed to reach Nexus.
He continued his chant.
The dark words grew louder.
The altar began to shake violently.
Cracks of silver light spread across its surface, racing outward from the point where his force sword was embedded.
The green flames surrounding the structure turned white.
The Warp storm above them collapsed inward.
Then Nexus spoke the final words.
He drove his Nemesis force sword deeper into the altar.
For one heartbeat, everything became silent.
Then—
The altar exploded.
A blinding wave of silver light erupted outward, engulfing the entire ritual site.
The Plaguebearers caught within the wave vanished instantly, their forms torn apart and dragged screaming back into the Warp.
The remaining corruption was burned away.
The green light that had dominated the battlefield disappeared completely.
Across the battlefield, the Great Unclean One released one final, furious scream.
Then its enormous form began to unravel.
The daemon's flesh dissolved into streams of diseased mist and Warp energy as the connection anchoring it to reality was severed.
Slowly, the Greater Daemon was dragged back into the Warp.
Its voice faded into the distance.
Then it was gone.
Only the remaining traitors stood between the Imperium and victory.
The Death Guard and corrupted Dark Skitarii were still present in large numbers, accompanied by countless Poxwalkers that continued to stumble through the ruins.
But something had changed.
The moment the ritual was broken, the unnatural power sustaining the corruption began to recede.
The Poxwalkers slowed.
Their movements became sluggish and uncoordinated.
Some simply collapsed where they stood, their diseased bodies no longer animated by the same unnatural strength.
The Death Guard felt it as well.
Their armor remained corrupted.
Their bodies remained bloated and diseased.
But the unnatural vitality granted to them by the Warp was heavily suppressed.
Wounds that would have been shrugged off moments earlier now slowed them.
Damaged limbs became burdens rather than inconveniences.
Their unnatural resilience was still present, but greatly diminished.
The Dark Skitarii suffered a similar fate.
Their corrupted machinery began malfunctioning as the Warp influence that had sustained their twisted systems weakened.
Some weapons ceased functioning.
Others began firing inaccurately as their mutated machine spirits fell silent.
The Astartes around the area recognized it immediately.
Across the battlefield, exhausted warriors of the Fire Hawks and Angels of Wrath raised their weapons.
The Grey Knights stood among the ruins of the destroyed altar, their silver armor illuminated by the fading remnants of psychic energy.
Now, the battle no longer to destroyed the alter, now the only thing left is clearing the what's left behind and reinforce the other attacks.
===
"Bring the heavy flamer!" the Lord Sergeant of the Sanguine Wardens shouted as he fired his bolter into the mass of Poxwalkers storming his position.
The shambling creatures came in waves, stumbling over the corpses of their own kind as they clawed their way toward the Astartes defensive line.
Bolter shells tore through them.
One Poxwalker lost its entire upper torso and continued crawling forward.
Another had both legs destroyed, yet dragged itself across the ground with its hands.
The Lord Sergeant stepped backward as his magazine ran dry.
"Heavy flamer!"
A battle-brother rushed forward carrying the weapon.
"Burn them!"
The heavy flamer erupted.
A torrent of burning promethium washed over the Poxwalkers.
The front ranks disappeared beneath the flames, their diseased bodies igniting as they continued stumbling forward.
But there were still hundreds behind them.
The Lord Sergeant watched the horde burn.
"Keep firing!"
The Sanguine Wardens opened fire as one.
Bolters roared.
Flamers washed across the battlefield.
Chainswords revved as the first of the Poxwalkers reached the line.
"How far are we from the altar?" the Lord Sergeant shouted toward the Epistolary standing behind them. "We've been fighting for five hours and haven't even seen the altar or the other assault groups. Are you sure we're on the right path?"
"We are," the Epistolary replied as he raised his force staff.
Lightning erupted from its tip, arcing through the mass of Poxwalkers and blasting several of them apart.
"We just need to get past this horde. Then we'll see the altar."
"You'd better be correct," the Lord Sergeant replied as he cleaved a Poxwalker in half with his chainsword. "Or you'll be returning to the training chamber again."
The Epistolary gave him an irritated look.
"I assure you, Lord Sergeant, I have not lost my sense of direction."
"That isn't what you said the last time."
"I was following the psychic resonance."
"And you led us into a minefield."
"A minor miscalculation."
The Lord Sergeant shook his head beneath his helmet.
"Just find the altar."
The majority of the Sanguine Wardens had been assigned to the assault mission targeting the altar deep within the mines due to their preference in close quarter combat.
Their route had proven considerably more difficult than expected.
The mines were vast.
Entire sections had been converted into fortified positions by the Death Guard, while corrupted Skitarii had transformed the old mining tunnels into killing grounds.
For five hours, the Sanguine Wardens had fought their way through darkness, advancing from chamber to chamber while suffering casualties along the way.
And now, according to their Epistolary, they were finally close.
The Lord Sergeant looked toward the endless mass of Poxwalkers blocking their path.
"Then we cut through them."
He raised his chainsword.
"Brothers!"
The Sanguine Wardens answered with a roar.
"Advance!"
The Astarte charge forward and began carving their way toward the supposed altar position with ease.
When they finally punch through the horde and arrived at the supposed alter location, they did in fact see their target.
But there's also an unplanned guest hanging around.
"Ah, so you are those that born from his gene."
"You will be the prefect gift."
"I'm sure Father will be happy with me even if I have failed the mission."