Foul creations stood in the muddy swamp.
Stretching to the ends of the sky.
Shrouded in a yellow mist, appearing and disappearing.
Occasionally, mountain-like wreckage could be seen piled together, all covered in green, slimy moss.
Countless worlds, covered in death and plague, formed this vast realm.
Maggots gnawed at everything in the real universe, transforming it into grotesque wreckage.
Everything in Nurgle's domain was a dark spectacle, a blasphemy against life.
All glory had vanished, all hope had been shattered.
Even time lost its original value and purpose in such a realm.
Countless pains and wails echoed through every corner of this muddy world.
In the ears of humans, those sounds spoke of despair and suffering that could never be escaped.
Of course, in the ears of Nurgle's followers, those sounds were filled with joy, praising the great Grandfather for granting them eternal life. The perpetually dim, unchanging sky was split in two.
One side was a dim sky permeated with yellow mist. The other side was a sky filled with divine light. The two represented different wills and different factions.
Nurgle called his enemies the "evil corpse-worshippers."
The Imperium called its enemies the "claws of the Plague God."
The foul sounds praising the Lord of Corruption reverberated in the air, clashing with the religious hymns passionately sung by the choir priests.
Faith brought power against the Chaos Gods. The chosen priests were extremely devout; these individuals even went so far as to imprint themselves with multiple mind-seals to ensure that no thought of betrayal would ever arise. They dedicated their entire being to the Holy Light, the God Emperor of Mankind. Their fervent faith, coupled with the blessing of the Lighthouse device, made their power of belief exceptionally strong.
Even within Nurgle's domain, they could contend with those eerie whispers and malevolent entities. The God-Slaying Crusade was of immense scale. The armies deployed were countless.
In addition, there were the newly trained and recently armed Aethel-warriors.
Guilliman had carefully selected them.
Now was the time to demonstrate the results of their training.
Vulkan's methods were swift and decisive.
He led the Aethel Legion and Imperial forces in a spearhead assault on Nurgle's domain, aiming directly for its core. The Imperium quickly seized a bridgehead and used it to penetrate deeper into Nurgle's chaotic realm.
War spread in a very short time. The armies were divided into several forces, attacking from different directions. This forced many Great Unclean Ones to appear, turning the tide and halting the human advance to prevent the situation from deteriorating further.
If it were to worsen, it was highly likely that other Chaos Gods would see an opportunity.
And they would also attack Nurgle's domain from different directions.
Facing attacks from all sides, this was a sign of impending doom. The Chaos Gods had briefly reached an agreement, withdrawing their forces from the Eternal Battlefield to unite and first eliminate the Imperium of Man.
However, the Emperor's desperate, all-out strike before his departure shattered this plan.
Coupled with Guilliman's sweeping victories, and the defeats of Abaddon and many daemon Primarchs, they completely lost the means to interfere with the real universe. To interfere with the real universe again, they either had to destroy the barrier between reality and illusion, or re-establish their avatars.
However, before they could make a decision, Guilliman reversed humanity's long-standing disadvantage, directly challenging Nurgle, one of the Chaos Gods. The situation immediately became somewhat delicate. The other Chaos Gods had to consider whether to continue adhering to the alliance treaty or to backstab.
Chaos Gods at the multiversal level naturally controlled more than just one universe. The influence of the Chaos Gods was extremely widespread.
For weaker ones, perhaps only their names were known. These names usually appeared in the form of mythological stories, novels, movies, and so on. This kind of weak influence could not be controlled.
Unless these universes were as mad as the Aeldari, allowing those names to sprout like seeds, grow, and eventually attract attention.
For stronger ones, they had their avatars. These avatars would strenuously propagate their names, causing more sentient beings to sink into desire, establish religions or various organizations, and ultimately drag the entire universe into the abyss.
Alliances and betrayals depended solely on the scale of benefit. The conflicts between the Four Gods were far greater than their conflicts with humanity. Their alliance was purely because humanity stood in their way. The struggle on the Eternal Battlefield had been ongoing for countless years.
For the portal that could connect all universes, the Four Gods had fought back and forth, but never achieved a decisive victory.
When a universe was destroyed, and the portal disappeared, they might temporarily quiet down.
But when the universe was reborn, the wheel of fate turned, and powerful civilizations rebuilt the path, constructing that mysterious portal capable of connecting all universes, they would reappear, defeating the Emperor according to a pattern that had been repeated countless times, and then fall back into chaotic infighting. This cycle had repeated for countless kalpas.
Yet no Chaos God had ever truly triumphed.
According to the previous storyline, Guilliman would not become the Emperor of Mankind, and the Emperor would not choose to end himself, but would gradually become the God-Emperor. The loyal Primarchs would return one by one after tens of thousands of years of disappearance, following the Emperor to declare war on the Gods once more. That great war would not only affect the galaxy but would create a Great Rift spanning the entire universe, bringing everything to an end.
Until the last planet was devoured. The universe would then begin its cycle anew.
Except for multiversal, omniscient beings, all sentient beings would reincarnate, perishing with the destruction of the universe and entering a new round of evolution. The Gods had existed for far longer than mortals could imagine.
Perhaps even daemons did not fully understand those Chaos Gods.
Whether to betray one's allies depended entirely on self-interest. They had witnessed too many cosmic cycles; for them, the entire multiverse was a game.
In some circumstances, it was inappropriate to describe the Chaos Gods as "evil."
If a person was trapped in a single day, and after committing murder, they just slept and time reset, the person would reappear.
Would that person still feel guilt for their murders and crimes?
Anyway, everything would return to normal the next day.
It was the same for the Chaos Gods.
No matter how many terrible things they committed against this universe, when the universe reset and cycled through its evolution, those sentient beings would reappear.
Why would they care about those lives?
This time, however, the story had changed in the eyes of the Gods.
It could even be described as the universe being irradiated by nuclear fallout during its evolution, undergoing a drastic mutation, becoming completely unlike its former self. The causality of this universe was like a vast net; if even a small part was touched, it would trigger a chain reaction like a butterfly flapping its wings. The struggle on the Eternal Battlefield was very likely to be decided in this lifetime.
Whoever seized the portal could potentially completely alter the evolutionary process of all universes.
In other words, there would be no next chance.
Backstabbing Nurgle and letting humanity eliminate a competitor was definitely an excellent choice for the other three.
As a multiversal Chaos God, Nurgle's true power was unimaginable.
But in this universe, Nurgle's forces were merely a colony, not his overall power.
It didn't seem very powerful.
At least, not to the extent of easily crushing the Imperial invaders.
No matter how strong the Imperium was, it still had to suffer at the hands of the natives. The Imperium and Nurgle's plague legions fought fiercely.
Many battlefields were piled high with corpses.
After completing the landing operation, Loken received new orders: to cooperate with the Grey Knights and Aethel forces to seize a giant manufactorum blocking the Imperium's advance. The manufactorum was a keystone, creating an unimaginably vast wall.
A wall that stretched endlessly. The wall was covered with rusted spikes and towers made of rotting flesh.
Eerie lights gleamed from holes in the wall, like rows of cannons.
Human warships were annihilated; even time-reversal devices were useless. Time in the Warp was chaotic.
It was meaningless.
When a warship was destroyed, no matter what technology it contained, it was destroyed. To erase it from the realm of concepts was true destruction.
Do not use any rational or dialectical thinking to comprehend things and strange phenomena within the Chaos Gods' domains. The Warp was idealistic.
It followed a different set of laws.
It did not need to adhere to the rules of the real universe. Those terrifying, decaying creatures possessed bodies comparable to stars. They were entrenched on the wall, using their terrible power to impede the advance of the corpse-worshippers.
For the Imperium of Man to continue its advance, it had to destroy the wall.
A frontal assault on such a wall would undoubtedly cause heavy casualties to the fleet. The best way was to act according to the rules of the Warp: destroy the concept of the object.
In the universe, reality and illusion coexisted, like the ancient Eastern Yin-Yang symbol.
Reality and illusion were equal; neither was inherently stronger than the other.
Symbolic representations held power in the Warp.
It followed an abstract order. Thought influenced reality, and symbols became fortresses.
By countering symbol with symbol, destroying its foundation, the wall would self-destruct. The Luna Wolves, using teleportation, approached within ten kilometers of the manufactorum. This was the maximum range the Teleportation Priests could achieve. The teleportation devices were disturbed by the Warp energy emanating from the wall. To narrow the range to within ten kilometers was already a display of exquisite skill.
Awaiting them were countless daemons. They roared and charged, attempting to overwhelm the humans.
"Advance, kill those monsters!" Loken roared loudly.
His voice, transmitted through the communication module of his power armor, echoed in the ears of every Luna Wolf. The earth boiled, the sky shrieked.
Angry roars filled every corner of the battlefield. The warriors of the Luna Wolves let out furious roars.
Piercing the heart of the enemy formation like a spear. The mortals, positioned several kilometers away on artillery emplacements, fired their cannons with precision, bombarding the daemons in front of Loken and his forces, weakening the enemy's strength, allowing them to more swiftly tear out the enemy's heart.
Speeders flew at high velocity, their thudding cannons firing at the flesh-covered, foul-smelling plague drones. The coordination between the various units was perfect.
One had to commend the fanatical adherents of the Adeptus Mechanicus for this.
It was their efforts that kept the communication channels stable.
Efficient communication and complete information allowed the commander to integrate all troops into a single entity, moving them as if they were his own limbs.
If the War for Terra had such communication capabilities, even Horus would have shown despair at the defenders of the Imperial Palace. Torgaddon was not far to his left, leading his combat squad in hacking down the daemons. They moved swiftly, leaving a trail of corpses in the wake of the frenzied daemonic tide.
Of course, some battle brothers were also swallowed by the daemonic tide, meeting their demise once again amidst cries of sorrow and indignation.
Loken, however, felt no sadness, but instead charged forward with high morale.
He knew that the Emperor would surely bring those bravely fighting warriors back again.
Soon, they carved a bloody path. The scale of that manufactorum was extraordinarily immense.
Gigantic chimneys soared into the clouds, like towering mountains. The continuous factory buildings resembled a mountain range with broad shoulders.
Loken cut down the obstructing daemons and strode towards the arched gate, a fusion of steel, decaying flesh, and calculus-like rock. That gate was over twenty kilometers wide and tall.
Even a primaris space marine seemed minuscule in front of such a behemoth. The gate, covered in flesh and rusted iron, stood open.
Endless Nurgle daemons poured out, brandishing rusted weapons and bone spurs.
"Make those bastards pay," Torgaddon's voice echoed through the comms.
Other warriors responded with similar roars of anger.
A beam of light illuminated their surroundings. The ship had locked onto their coordinates and began to provide reinforcements, ensuring that Loken and his team could breach the manufactorum's interior.
Kaldor Draigo, the legendary Grand Master of the Grey Knights, emerged from the teleportation beam.
Accompanying him were other Grey Knights, wielding halberds and clad in grey power armor. They were experts at fighting daemons. The arrival of the Grey Knights greatly relieved the pressure on the Luna Wolves, allowing them to advance into the manufactorum.
Loken glanced at Kaldor Draigo.
If he wasn't mistaken, the Grey Knights must have been formed by those eight Rogue Knights. This was the so-called Titan Project.
With the Horus Heresy and the Webway Project's failure, the Emperor and Malcador had to activate contingency plans. The Titan Project was precisely a part of those contingency plans.
Humanity absolutely needed an army capable of combating daemons.
Otherwise, the galaxy would fall, becoming a boiling ocean of countless tormented souls. The hellish scenes wrought by the Immaterium would unfold on every human world.
Every planet would be shrouded in terrifying shadows, and humanity would be enslaved.
All achievements of civilization would be steeped in blood or plague. The Imperial Aquila banner would be replaced by tattered strips made of human skin. The only reason surviving humans would remain alive was to provide raw materials and sustenance for those immortal devils. This universe would devolve into a complete wasteland. To prevent that apocalypse, the Emperor and Malcador initiated the Titan Project. The nine chosen Rogue Knights became the eight Grand Masters of the Grey Knights Chapter.
Loken was also one of the chosen, but he withdrew. Thus, of the nine Rogue Knights of the Titan Project, there were only eight Grand Masters.
Watching the Grey Knights slaughter daemons like chickens, Loken nodded. They had become humanity's sword against daemons, just as planned.
"For our lost dreams of old!" Loken shouted a new battle cry, "Advance! Into the heart of the factory!"
Loken swung his sword while firing his gun.
Every targeted bolter round accurately struck the enemy.
With a 108% hit rate achieved through time and fate, even daemons couldn't escape. The daemons flailed their limbs and claws, launching wave after wave of attacks, driven by endless hunger.
Loken employed all his skill, slicing every obstructing enemy into fragments.
As they delved deeper into the manufactorum, what appeared to be steel pulsed like decaying organs.
Green toxic gas spewed from pipes, occasionally accompanied by repulsive pus. The manufactorum had been imbued with another form of life.
It was forged from decaying flesh and rusted iron. The filth of the warp permeated every corner.
At the entrance to the passage, one could see teeth encased in yellow rock, and tongues covered in festering sores.
Morbid sounds emanated from deep within the pipes, like a distorted, eerie music, or perhaps someone whispering, trying to tell something.
"I keep feeling like someone's talking in my ear," Torgaddon said.
"Activate your filtration devices and do not listen to these voices," Kaldor Draigo said, opening communication with the Luna Wolves. "Their words are blasphemous, defiling poison."
Loken felt the floor beneath his power boots breathing like a lung.
When he lifted his foot, a viscous liquid stretched into threads.
For every distance they advanced, Loken had his subordinates install annihilation bombs capable of erasing everything. These bombs were extremely dangerous.
Once caught in the blast, even the soul would be erased, losing any chance of return.
Each installation required extreme caution, and they would only be detonated after moving a sufficient distance away.
Each explosion of an annihilation bomb caused the manufactorum to tremble.
Wails echoed from deep within the massive pipes, as if it were suffering unimaginable harm.
Loken and his team continued to slay daemons and detonate bombs throughout the manufactorum, wiping out all the repulsive elements.
From the outside, it would be easy to see that the manufactorum was riddled with holes from the Imperial assault.
Some areas were left blank; not only had the physical form vanished, but even its Warp presence had disappeared.
It was as if an eraser had wiped it away. The annihilation bombs completely destroyed everything.
Leaving blanks in both reality and the Warp simultaneously.
No Chaos, no physical presence, just blankness. The manufactorum's wails grew more mournful, while Loken and his team's fighting spirit soared; their attacks were working. To destroy the manufactorum more efficiently, Loken and Kaldor Draigo reached a consensus: they would split their forces and head down different passages to accelerate the destruction of its nodes and utterly annihilate the manufactorum.
Loken led an elite squad deep inside, eventually entering a dark room filled with a strong, foul stench.
He rarely encountered a Death Guard squad.
Lion El'Jonson's encirclement of the Eye of Terror had left those traitors nowhere to run, and many warbands had perished.
Loken had thought the Death Guard were gone.
Who would have thought they would encounter them here?
After striking down a few Death Guard warriors, a tall figure emerged from the darkness.
"The Luna Wolves' insignia? You should all be dead. It seems Guilliman has done something again? Bringing you lot back."
Loken frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on the figure in the mist. To recognize the insignia and call out "Luna Wolves," it must be someone familiar from the Great Crusade era. The figure stepped out of the mist, revealing its full appearance.
An bloated body was encased in moldy, pus-oozing power armor.
Disgusting, rotting growths oozed from corrosive cracks.
A sharp horn grew from its head, and it wore no helmet.
Its bloated, decaying face was fully exposed.
Loken rummaged through his memories to match this monster with the image of someone from the past.
He tentatively spoke, asking, "Are you Typhus?"
"Looks like an old acquaintance."
The newcomer was indeed Typhus.
During the siege of the Five Hundred Worlds, he had spoken a few words to Mortarion, who was single-mindedly focused on defeating Jaghatai.
As a result, Mortarion had cut off his head with a scythe.
His soul was also imprisoned by Mortarion and locked in a bottle.
He went to be punished alongside Mortarion's adoptive father.
However, this very act allowed him to survive.
Mortarion suffered a crushing defeat at Jaghatai's hands and was brought back to Terra, imprisoned in a cage. Typhus, however, escaped calamity, though he lost his fleshly body.
But through the blessings of the Grandfather, he was able to reconstruct his body in Nurgle's Garden, even gaining some enhancements.
"State your name, Luna Wolf, perhaps I will show you some mercy for old times' sake," Typhus said, looking at the Luna Wolves before him. They were all wearing helmets, so Typhus naturally couldn't recognize them.
He could only identify them as the Luna Wolves from ten thousand years ago by their insignia.
"You don't need to know," Loken said, shaking the rotten flesh and putrid blood from his sword.
He also placed his bolter on the magnetic lock at his waist, drew another sword, and activated it.
"What's the point of following that fool Guilliman?" Like Mortarion, Typhus wielded a massive scythe, and combined with his large, cumbersome, bloated body, holding the scythe gave him an extremely oppressive presence.
"Only the great Grandfather can grant you the transcendence and future you desire."
Loken mocked him, using his own tone: "Why don't you rejoin the Imperium? Only the great Emperor can grant you the transcendence and future you desire."
These words angered Typhus. "You will soon learn the price of refusal, fool. No one can challenge the Threefold Path."
"Before, I always felt that present-day Terra was missing something," Loken said mockingly. "Now I finally know. It was missing you, Typhus. Your screams must be delightful. I can ask the Emperor to let you stay next to Mortarion; that's a privilege for acquaintances. Just imagine, you spent so much time and effort trying to enter the Sol System and Terra. Now, if you just obediently enter the cage, your wish will be granted."
"You truly are a disgusting fool. Since you refuse the Grandfather's mercy, then die." Typhus charged forward, swinging his scythe, which was tainted with countless plagues from Nurgle's cauldron. Even a small scratch from it could instantly kill a powerful warrior.
"I hope you have the strength to back that up," Loken said, swinging his twin swords, covered in deadly electrical arcs, to meet him.