The Imperial fleet annihilated the rebel armada with overwhelming force, destroyed the last corrupted void station, and seized complete control over Espand's orbit.
Gigantic warships floated in the cold void like mountains of metal, their shadows spilling across the shattered continental plates scattered over the planet's surface.
When the Primarch gave the order for a full-scale ground assault, countless landing craft swarmed out from the vast hulls like a cloud of angry wasps, falling like a storm of steel.
They turned into unnumbered blazing meteors, tearing through the planet's atmosphere and streaking toward the plague-ravaged, war-torn surface at incredible speed.
Felix, one of the Four Heroes, served as the commander of this ground-sweep operation. He and his forces were determined to wipe out every remaining Death Guard warrior and cultist with absolute military might.
When the Imperial fleet secured orbital superiority, Datch received a notification that his mission was complete.
[Congratulations on Completing the Mission: You have successfully assisted Regent Roboute Guilliman in establishing a stable star lane between Macragge and Espand.]
[Quest Rewards: 1,500 EXP, 1,500 Points, Reputation +200, Power Spear ×1]
As Datch pondered this, an orange spear instantly appeared in his hand.
The spear was a deep, rich gold, with a cold, star-bright gleam shimmering along its haft and blade. It was long and slender, covered in intricate, unusual patterns.
[Weapon: Power Spear]
This weapon was said to have been forged from the core of a collapsing, dying star and then refined and tempered by a master artisan. It is no mere weapon, but the crystallized rage of a bound star.
Entry 1: Execution. When a fatal weakness in the enemy is revealed, a red Execution Marker appears. Attacking a marked location has a very high chance of triggering a finishing blow, calling on the power of the stars to tear the target apart from within.
Entry 2: Meteor Shower. Consumes a large amount of stamina to summon a solidified phantom star and bring it crashing down onto the target area, inflicting devastating destruction.
Comment: "Don't ask what it can pierce. Ask what it can't."
Datch weighed the spear appreciatively in his hand. It was heavy, yet its balance was astonishingly perfect.
As he moved, the starlight flowing along the weapon traced bewitching arcs of light in the air.
He returned the Moon Greatsword to his in-game inventory and equipped the Power Spear as his new main weapon.
A casual downward sweep of the spear's tip left behind a brilliant afterimage. The motion was elegant, yet carried a terrifyingly lethal force.
At the same time, the visual effect of the Lich King's Skin activated.
The cold star-glow was instantly overlaid with a pall of pale white and glacial chill, the characteristic hues of the dead, as if the stars themselves had risen from the underworld—beautiful, yet desolate.
After playing around with it for a while, Datch stowed the spear and skipped off to look for Guilliman.
At that moment, Guilliman was standing before a gigantic strategy table. A holographic star map was projected above it, with a glowing image of Espand hanging in the center.
The Primarch was discussing the ground offensive with the others present.
Datch slipped into the room and blatantly cut across the NPCs' conversation.
Then he walked up to Guilliman—who had a quest exclamation mark floating over his head—and asked if there were any missions for him.
Guilliman was clearly irritated, but there was nothing he could do about this nameless player. All he could do was point at Espand's projection on the star map.
"A significant number of Death Guard and cultists still infest Espand's surface," the Primarch said.
His finger traced across areas marked as fortresses and complex trench works and zoomed them in.
"They intend to rely on the ruins of the cities and the fortifications they've built, and fight like cornered beasts."
"Mortarion has also installed the devices required for a blasphemous ritual on this world, devices whose influence may spread across the entire galaxy."
"I must personally confirm that they are completely destroyed or rendered harmless before I can proceed with confidence to the next battlefield."
"Nameless one, join Felix's landing force and participate in the ground assault."
"While you are to destroy the enemy and their devices, you must also do everything in your power to rescue those civilians trapped deep within the nests, who cling to survival through faith alone."
"The Emperor's mercy must never be forgotten, even in the heart of hell."
A mission window appeared before Datch's eyes.
Mission: Purify the World of Espand
Espand has been brought under Imperial orbital control, but numerous Death Guard troops and cultists still hold the ground, guarding the ritual devices deployed by Mortarion and continuing to spread plague and decay.
Meanwhile, in the far corners of its vast cities, surviving civilians struggle to live on, protected only by their faith in the Emperor.
Imperial Regent Roboute Guilliman expects you to support Felix, break through the enemy lines, destroy the ritual devices, and rescue the survivors.
Quest Rewards: 1,200 EXP, 1,200 Points, Reputation +200, 1 Mechanical Warhorse
Datch skimmed through the mission description, then nodded to Guilliman.
Without any hesitation, he drew his teleporter gun, aimed it at the floor, and pulled the trigger. A stable, green teleportation portal blossomed open.
Datch dove into the hole of light and, a heartbeat later, stepped out right beside Felix.
….
Espand was a religious world, its surface dotted with countless carved stone tablets, churches, and temples.
Magnificent religious towers stabbed up into the leaden sky at a terrifying density, stretching all the way to the horizon.
Once, the chants of millions of faithful had filled these sacred buildings. Now, they had been utterly defiled by the powers of Chaos.
The stained glass windows were shattered, the holy statues desecrated. Strange pieces of flesh and fungal growths were scattered everywhere.
The corrupted nest was protected by a thick void shield. The Imperial artillery barrage could do no more than send faint ripples shimmering across it.
Beneath the null shield lay heavy defensive bastions, packed densely among the ruined buildings.
These bunkers of rubble and concrete were jagged and interlinked, ringed with twisted metal barricades and an overlapping maze of deep trenches.
Black anti-air gun barrels pointed skyward like the heads of coiled venomous serpents.
All of this made one merciless fact clear: any attempt to outplay the enemy with aerial assault alone would be futile.
To conquer this city, they would have to return to the most primitive form of war—close-quarters infantry combat—to decide victory or defeat.
However, the enemy was monstrously vicious.
Through ritual and fortification, they had transformed a mighty river, once known as the Odriya, into a horrific, many-kilometer-wide corrupted marshland.
Here, the ground and the river's viscous waters were indistinguishable. Oily green, orange, and sickly ashen foam churned and bubbled on the surface.
The bottomless mire reeked with a stinging stench—rotting corpses, chemical toxins, and cloying pathogenic filth all stewed together.
Toxic miasma rose up and warped the air. Gigantic tentacle-like plants, covered in knots and pus-filled blisters, occasionally writhed up from the mud.
Any unprotected human approaching this swamp would quickly fall into a coma, and their body would rot away within minutes.
Beyond the swamp's treacherous span, through the haze, they could vaguely make out the silhouettes of more fortresses and gun emplacements built by the rebels.
To seize the nest and claim victory, the Imperial army would have to cross this hellish marshland.
And once they were trapped knee-deep in the sludge, the enemy's artillery would rain down mercilessly upon the immobilized Imperial troops.
Felix surveyed the battlefield and devised a simple plan.
First, he would concentrate all heavy artillery and air power and saturate the enemy positions on the far side of the swamp, suppressing their forces with overwhelming fire.
During that bombardment, he himself—relying on the fully sealed life-support systems of his power armor and his superhuman physique—would lead his Primaris Space Marines.
They would force their way through the deadly mire and use explosives and chainswords to reduce the enemy entrenchments to rubble.
It was a brutal decision. Many soldiers would die in the swamp.
But for the Emperor, for the Primarch, and for the cleansing of this world, a price had to be paid.
The warriors gathered behind the hero, loaded their boltguns, tightened their grip on their chainswords, and stared into the filthy hell before them, waiting for the order to charge—and to bring victory to the Imperium by the most primitive means.
Datch skidded to a halt and came to stand directly in front of Felix.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Felix was somewhat surprised, but after spending so much time with Guilliman, he was very familiar with the temperament of this Nameless One.
The captain pointed at the nauseating swamp ahead.
"Lord Nameless," Felix said,
"This marsh is far too dangerous. Under enemy fire, many will lose their lives. We need a safe and solid route across to the other side."
"In that case, we can use armor columns and mechanized units to open the way."
A new mission prompt popped up before Datch's eyes.
Help the hero Felix overcome the swamp obstacle and open a safe route for the Imperial army to advance.
Reward: 1,000 EXP, 1,000 Points, Reputation +100
Datch nodded and accepted this side quest.
After a brief look at the Sweeping Marsh, he opened the in-game Shop.
His fingers moved quickly, and he soon found a readily usable tool.
[Item: When equipped, you can "gather" or "dig" terrain with a rake to obtain land.]
[Item: Rake] – When equipped, allows you to dig up the ground.
Note: "Can be used for turning earth—and for poking an Exorcist in the backside."
Datch selected the exchange option, and a rake appeared in his hand.
Under the watchful gaze of Felix and the other Primaris Space Marines, Datch strode boldly to the edge of the swamp.
Then, like a farmer working his fields, he began to furiously rake at the toxic mud and corpse-laden slurry.
And then something unbelievable happened.
As the rake touched the surface of the swamp, a ten-meter-square patch of terrain—mud, sewage, rotting corpses, and mutated plants all mixed together—was sliced, peeled up, and rolled away by an invisible system rule.
It turned into a floating chunk of land, soared into the air, and automatically flew into Datch's game warehouse.
Beneath the stripped top layer, solid bedrock was exposed.
One tile. Two tiles. Three tiles…
Datch worked with the nimble ease of a craftsman trained for two and a half years.
Wherever the rake flashed, the filthy swamp receded. In its place, a straight, solid road began to emerge.
"By the Emperor…" murmured one of the Chapter's chaplains.
"Is this… is this even permissible?"
"Incredible. He's impossibly strong."
"The Nameless One is magnificent."
"…"
Voices of astonishment filled the comms.
Felix forced down his shock and immediately shouted to the others.
"The Nameless One has opened the way. All units, CHARGE! For Macragge, for the Emperor—crush them!"
"For the Emperor! For the Nameless One! For Guilliman!"
The stunned units snapped back to their senses, then roared as they surged forward in attack.
Heavy, fearless war machines strode in great earth-shaking steps at the very front, acting as walking fortresses.
The engines of Land Raiders and Land Assault Boats thundered as the vehicles plowed ahead, sweeping aside any infantry in their path while driving straight for the enemy positions on the opposite bank.
Heavy bolters, multiple rocket pods, and Whirlwind missiles wove a terrifying web of fire over the rebel lines.
Seeing a road appear across the swamp, the Death Guard and cultists stared in confusion and dismay.
They had expected the Imperials to attempt airdrops, artillery barrages, anything to brute-force their way across the marsh.
But this? They had never even imagined such a thing was possible.
Someone had just walked up with a rake and dug the swamp out of existence.
If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, who in the Materium would believe something this ridiculous had actually happened?
"For the Emperor and the Nameless One!"
"For the glory of Guilliman and the Nameless One!"
The Primaris Space Marines surged forward with soaring morale, roaring without pause as they advanced.
The concentrated bombardment from their explosive weapons was like a storm, shredding dozens of traitors and cultists on the front line before they could even react.
The clashing of shields and power weapons, the screaming roar of chainswords, the hissing sizzle of flesh vaporized by molten-hot weaponry—these sounds instantly filled the front.
Datch dismissed the rake and took the Power Spear in hand once more.
In the blink of an eye, he leaped into the air and then slammed down hard, summoning a phantom star that crashed into the ground.
BOOM!!!
A deafening roar shook the earth.
Pale flame and a circular shockwave erupted outward, instantly swallowing dozens of enemies.
Even Death Guard warriors blessed with Nurgle's favor were reduced to ashes by the sheer impact of a direct hit.
The surrounding traitors and plague-ridden zombies were torn apart by the shockwave and devoured by fire.
When the blast faded, a massive scorched crater lay where they had stood, its edges crystalline and glassy from the heat.
In the distance, the Death Guard and cultists were dumbfounded. These things had to be minions of the Corpse-King's servant.
They were all convinced the Lich King served the Corpse-Emperor.
Star Strike consumed a tremendous amount of energy. After unleashing it once, Datch dropped back to the ground and shifted into standard close combat.
His pets were also wreaking havoc across the battlefield.
The Masque of Slaanesh wove a graceful, lethal ballet through the enemy ranks, every step claiming another life.
The Changeling—a spirit-born mage avatar—harried the enemy lines with unpredictable sorcery, never giving them a moment's rest.
Datch also unleashed the long-silent Skarbrand and Overlord Zarhulash.
The Blood God's champion burst into the fray with an ear-splitting roar, bringing his colossal axe crashing down again and again, conjuring a storm of blood and slaughter.
Zarhulash, the C'Tan Shard, continuously lanced searing beams of light across the field, piercing through enemy flesh as if it were paper.
Life Spirit did not join the fighting. The chubby little being simply danced lightly across the battlefield, radiating soft, life-giving green light and healing wounded Imperial soldiers.
Two Plague Warriors fixed their sights on Datch, plotting to kill him and claim a reward from their "merciful Father."
They were far larger than others of their generation. Their corroded armor was scrawled with insane markings and soaked in the stench and malice of millennia of war.
One Plague Warrior's head had been replaced by the head of a gigantic fly. Its compound eyes glowed with malicious green light, and corrosive slime dripped constantly from its mouthparts.
The other's ten fingers had become slick, writhing tentacles, each tipped with razor-sharp teeth.
Both of them were veterans who had survived ten thousand years. With their immense combat experience and Nurgle's blessings, they were notoriously hard to kill.
Unfortunately for them, they had succeeded in provoking the Dutchman.
During this whole campaign, Datch had indeed relied heavily on tools to complete missions—but that didn't mean his actual physical strength had not grown.
He had spent his EXP on upgrading his passive skills, pushing his fighting prowess to a whole new level.
And he possessed active skills as well.
With a single stomp, he knocked both attackers back.
A flash appeared behind the fly-headed traitor.
On its back, a bright red skull-shaped mark flared to life—the Execution Mark.
The chance would last only an instant.
Datch did not hesitate. He thrust out with the Power Spear, piercing the Execution target with perfect precision.
Puh!
As expected, there was almost no resistance.
The spear slid through the rotting leather-like flesh as if it were nothing, and the star-power concentrated at the spearhead detonated inside the traitor's body.
The champion's roar broke off mid-cry as his massive body froze.
Pale light seeped through the gaps in his armor.
With a low growl, Datch tightened his grip and heaved, lifting the giant body with the spear and swinging it half a circle overhead. Then he smashed it violently into a nearby broken wall and heap of ruins.
BOOM!
The wall exploded into fragments. The corpse, still dripping star-light, was flung clear and instantaneously charred into ash.
The other tentacle-fingered monster bellowed and rushed him, but Datch slid low in a tackling slide to knock it down. An Execution Mark appeared on its body as well.
"Feel the Lich King's mercy," Datch whispered.
The spear's tip punched through the warrior's form and ended it for good.
…
With Datch's help, the Imperial forces advanced rapidly, breaking through the marsh defenses and surging into the complex streets and ruins of the hive capital.
The Primaris Space Marine units worked together with flawless tactical coordination, wiping out the remaining enemy detachments.
Tech-sergeants and heavy weapons teams focused on destroying enemy anti-air batteries and missile silos they encountered along the way.
With the enemy's flak weakened, the colossal fleets of the Imperial Air Corps were finally able to penetrate deep into hostile territory.
Thunderhawk gunships, Valkyrie transports, and Stormraven gunships screamed low over the city, like raptors of iron whose wings blotted out the sky.
They kept pouring more troops, heavy equipment, and all manner of crucial supplies into the battlefield.
During the fighting, Datch discovered that, in structurally complicated lower levels and sturdy shelters that had suffered relatively light damage, there really were survivors.
They were emaciated, dressed in rags, and their eyes were filled with fear and numbness.
When, outside their cracked windows, the familiar symbol of the double-headed Aquila appeared—
When they saw the uniforms of the Imperial Guardsmen and the imposing forms of the Space Marines breaking through the barricades and stepping into view—
First came a deathly stillness of shock. Then, slowly, it gave way to an ecstasy beyond words.
Sobs, laughter, hoarse prayers, and hymns to the Emperor all mingled together.
These survivor locations were quickly marked, and follow-up units were dispatched to provide initial medical care and logistical support.
Datch, Felix, and the others did not stop—they pushed through the outer defense lines at full speed and headed straight for the heart of the nest: the central temple complex.
According to intel reports and psychic divination, the root of the corruption lay there.
Eventually, they reached a terribly desecrated plaza.
In its center rose a once-magnificent cathedral, now encased in congested masses of flesh and pulsing veins, making it resemble the organ of some colossal beast.
The surviving Death Guard and cultists had gathered here for their last stand.
To protect the cathedral and claim victory, the enemy had used ritual power to rip open a warp rift.
"I am the Second Lost One, Qaramar!"
A daemon forged from countless rotting limbs and insect parts struggled to claw its way out of the rift.
Its voice was a blend of a thousand flies' buzzing wings and the groans of a dying man.
"In your final moments, what will stand at the Father's feet, guarding you to the end—"
But before the daemon could finish its self-indulgent entrance speech, the impatient Skarbrand cut him off.
The Bloodthirster let out a feral roar and swung his massive battle-axe straight at the new arrival.
We're all misfits from the Warp, his actions seemed to say. What makes you think you're so special? You think I'm just a mortal human?
Skarbrand's axe blow was swift and lethal, crackling with annihilating energy, forcing Qaramar to swallow the rest of his words.
The daemon frantically lifted a grotesquely deformed arm made of rusted swords and bone to block the strike.
The Masque of Slaanesh laughed, the sound like silver bells, and whirled around Qaramar like a ghost.
The Changeling prowled in the background, chanting binding spells. Chains of violet crystal burst from the air and wrapped around Qaramar's limbs.
"For the Emperor, for the Nameless One, for Guilliman!" Felix cried, raising his power sword as he led the Primaris warriors in a charge against the Death Guard and cultists defending the church.
Grenades, plasma weapons, and flamers interwove their fires into a cleansing net, clashing violently against the filthy armaments and plague sorceries of Nurgle's cult.
The battle ended quickly. Every summoned lesser daemon and traitor was slain.
Qaramar was hammered to the ground, where the Changeling used magic to bind him up in crystalline chains, trussing him like a dumpling.
Skarbrand planted a massive foot on him, pinning him in place.
"You… foolish wretches who betrayed the Most High! The Father will never forgive you…"
Qaramar kept screaming, spewing muffled, venomous curses.
Annoyed by the noise, the Changeling summoned a meaty, tooth-lined, constantly squirming sphere and jammed it into Qaramar's mouth.
"Uuugh… ugggh…!"
All the daemon could manage now were faint, broken sobs.
"My, I didn't expect you to be this entertaining," the Masque of Slaanesh said, dancing lightly around Qaramar and the Changeling, her tone mockingly amused.
"Stay away from me," the Changeling snapped, fighting the urge to gag the Dancer too. She held back only because she feared it might excite the Dancer even more.
Datch ignored the bickering between his pets. He didn't intend to kill Qaramar. He wanted to capture her as a Servant instead.
He fully planned to exploit them all ruthlessly, working them to the bone on his galactic infrastructure mega-projects.
There were no Poké Balls here; those were all locked behind paywalls. The only thing he could get for free was an infinitely reusable whip.
After they cut down the last of the guards, the party entered the church.
The moment they stepped inside, an overpowering stench of blood and rot hit them. Even with helmets on, the smell was barely muted.
All the enemies inside had already been killed. Their corpses lay strewn across the floor around a blasphemous construct.
It was a three-legged bell made of brass, glass, and innumerable souls trapped in agony and wailing despair.
It reached all the way up to the church's ceiling. Its three massive clock faces spun in opposite directions at different frantic speeds.
Instead of numbers, the dials were marked with constantly flowing plague runes and patterns of festering organs.
Its low, mournful tolling echoed like the last screams of countless dying victims, sounding and fading in irregular intervals.
Visible waves of greenish-brown corrosive energy pulsed outward from the bell in expanding ripples, seeping into the walls, the floor, and even into the unseen Warp.
This was the ritual's core device left behind by Mortarion, binding Nurgle's Garden to the material universe.
It was the reason Espand—and the entire surrounding star region—was being endlessly corrupted.
As Datch approached, a prompt popped up.
[Nurgle Ritual Bell – Available Actions: Destroy / Warp]
Destroying it would sever Nurgle's Garden's corrupted power from this place, though it would still take time to cleanse the pollution it had already caused.
Warping it, on the other hand, meant intervening in and rewriting the essence of the ritual with a power sharing its origin but opposite in nature—turning a path of decay and death into a source of life and purification.
If successful, it would not only purify this region, but also push its influence backward along the existing corruption network, continuously affecting and weakening Nurgle's Garden itself.
Datch looked at Life Spirit, who was hopping excitedly and chirping, "Puh! Puh!"
This being, once a Nurgle entity and now transformed, could carry out such a warped mission when nourished by the power of faith.
After a brief consideration, Datch chose: Warp.
"Puh, go and turn that blasphemous thing into something more to my taste."
With a joyful cry, Life Spirit leapt from Datch's shoulder.
His squat, round body traced a green arc through the air, heading straight for the brass bell that radiated endless malice and decay.
The bell tolled—and something unexpected happened.
From the plump little being at its center, a soft yet astonishingly resilient emerald light spread outward in ripples.
Wherever that light touched, the rust and bloodstains clinging to the brass faded away like a receding tide, revealing a warm, jade-like sheen beneath.
The once-murky glass cleared into crystal transparency, allowing glimpses of lush forests and rivers within.
The fragments of tormented souls were purified; anguish drained from their faces, which grew peaceful before they dissolved into pure motes of light.
The ripples, once oily green waves of corrosive power, were replaced by radiant emerald rings.
New ripples surged back along the invisible psychic pollution network—once tainted—at unprecedented speed, racing along the ley lines of Espand and the distant stars it was linked to.
Outside in the plaza, gentle green light flowed over the plague-ridden terrain like a soft, incoming tide.
Festering wounds began to close. From bloated corpses, tender buds and bright, harmless flowers sprouted and bloomed.
The corrupted air was purified by the fresh scents of plants and wildflowers. The yellow-green haze that had hung year-round in the sky thinned away, and long-lost sunlight finally shone down.
Throughout the city, survivors hovering at death's door from the plague suddenly felt warm vitality coursing through their bodies.
Their fevers broke. Ulcerated skin began to heal.
What they coughed up was no longer blood, but clear phlegm.
The still-active plague zombies collapsed to the ground as their bodies rapidly decayed, transforming into fertile soil that nourished vast carpets of green grass and wildflowers.
Birth, growth, death.
A balanced, vibrant triple cycle spread along the cleansed network, replacing Nurgle's stagnant, ever-rotting eternity.
"Waaah—"
Trussed up like a dumpling and gagged, Qaramar watched all of this unfold.
Its huge body thrashed violently, chains clattering in protest.
With its mouth stuffed, the daemon could only produce muffled, yet unmistakably terrified and furious screams.
This was not just the cleansing of a world. It was a direct blow to the very roots of the Father's own Garden.
…
The reversal of the psychic network had severe consequences.
Mortarion, mastermind of the corruption, sensed the anomaly instantly. Fear and anxiety twisted his features.
If this corrupted network were destroyed by his loyalist brother in open conflict, he could accept that.
But if it were hijacked and turned against them, the situation could become far, far worse.
This pollution network stretched across the entire Ultramar sector.
If the enemy succeeded, they would strip away a portion of his benevolent Father's authority.
The problem was not merely an incursion into the Father's Garden.
If this matter were mishandled, the doting Father would surely stuff him full of rich, boiling soup and turn him into a cream puff.
"Damn it, why would Guilliman do such a thing?" Mortarion thought, panic rising in his hearts.
He had no desire to become a choux bun packed with sweet, cloying broth. He would have to act—immediately.
…
Deep within the Warp, in Nurgle's Garden—the realm of corruption and eternity—
The daemons of Nurgle, who had always spent their time laughing and playing, suddenly stopped and stared at one another in confusion.
They could feel that something had changed in their beloved Father's Garden.
The rivers of reeking pus suddenly began to churn with an abnormally clear, luminous glow.
Among the endlessly rotting trees, some were shedding their dead bark, revealing soft new shoots beneath.
These abnormal phenomena faded quickly, but they had undoubtedly affected the Garden.
The daemons who witnessed it had no idea why it was happening. They looked at each other, baffled.
In the depths of the Garden, inside a magnificent mansion,
Nurgle himself was humming an off-key tune as he stirred his enormous cauldron. Suddenly, he stopped, having sensed the Garden's change.
His enormous face twisted with a complex blend of anger and worry, woven into the tapestry of decay and rebirth.
Nurgle immediately saw the source of the problem. It was that Nameless Man—again.
This was a conspiracy. A plot aimed directly at him.
First, the Nameless Man had captured one of Nurgle's own spirits and twisted it into a spirit of life.
Then, he had nourished it with Imperial faith, granting it the power to fight its former master.
Now, he was using the mental manipulation network that Mortarion had built in order to steal their authority and forge a new god.
It was no wonder the other Chaos Gods had once captured powerful daemons and critically important followers.
But when it was Nurgle's turn, the Nameless One had captured Nurgle himself.
Nurgling or Great Unclean One, he was the lowest of his daemons and, at the same time, the purest—bearing the essence of what Nurgle was.
That was why his form so perfectly mirrored Nurgle's own.
That hateful Nameless Man harbored an unimaginably grand ambition.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Realizing what was about to happen, Nurgle slammed his colossal ladle against the rim of the cauldron.
The ear-splitting clangor shook the entire Garden.
Plague-carrying flies scattered in terror. Even the most favored of the Unclean Flies trembled and prostrated themselves on the ground.
If Mortarion's plan failed, the consequences would be disastrous.