"Are we really being competitive now?"
The Overmind watched the battlefield, realizing the Bone-Shaker Plague was indeed a nuisance. It bypassed the immune system entirely, as it was a Warp-phenomenon that targeted the very concept of a skeletal structure. Since a Zergling's chitinous carapace acts as its exoskeleton, the plague caused their armor to spike and twist inward, impaling the creatures on their own defenses.
It was a difficult move to counter, but the Overmind was nothing if not adaptive.
He commanded the infected Zerglings to retreat a few meters and undergo an instantaneous, forced metamorphosis. These specialized units shed their rigid skeletal requirements, transforming their internal mass into volatile protein structures. When the cocoons burst, they didn't birth Zerglings, but Banelings.
These Banelings still carried the Bone-Shaker warp-energy, and their carapaces began to proliferate wildly. However, the Banelings moved with suicidal speed. Before their bones could grow long enough to puncture their vitals, they had already tumbled into the Nurgle ranks and detonated.
Acid might not bother a daemon of Nurgle, but the sheer kinetic force of a Baneling explosion—amplified by the jagged, overgrown bone shards—shattered the Plaguebearers' formations.
"The more Zerglings you infect with bone-growth, the more shrapnel my Banelings have. If I'm not losing resources, I'm making a profit."
The Nurgle Sorcerers noticed the shift. Their "gift" was being recycled into ammunition. Frustrated, they moved to the next incantation.
"The Third Plague: The Zombie Blight!"
Pustules and weeping sores erupted on the Zerglings' skin. In a human, this would have rotted the mind and body in seconds, turning them into a shambling slave. But a Zergling's immune system is a hyper-aggressive war machine. The "zombie" effect lasted only a few minutes before the Zergling's own cells purged the rot, leaving the creature looking slightly more ragged but no less lethal.
"The Third Plague is a dud," the Overmind noted.
The Sorcerers, sensing the failure, raised their staves higher. "The Fourth Plague: The Plague of Decay!"
They held the spell for several minutes, chanting until their throats bled black bile. They waited for the Zerglings to wither into dust.
Nothing happened. The Zerglings continued to tear into the daemon front lines as if the spell were a light breeze.
"Why?!" the Sorcerers shrieked. "This plague can age a man to a skeleton in sixty seconds! Why do they not rot?!"
The Overmind let out a psychic laugh.
"Ah, it seems someone didn't do their homework. The Zerg Swarm doesn't have a concept of 'aging.' Our units have an infinite biological lifespan. They can starve to death, and they can be killed, but they do not die of old age. You're trying to accelerate a clock that doesn't exist."
Indeed, from the smallest Broodling to the largest Ultralisk, Zerg organisms are biologically immortal. Like lobsters in ancient Earth legends, they only die because they are eaten, crushed, or outgrow their ability to molt—not because their cells "expire."
Going nearly mad with rage, the Sorcerers moved to the fifth gift. "The Fifth Plague: The Plague of Blindness!"
This time, the effect was visible. The Zerglings' eyes filmed over and vanished, leaving smooth, eyeless sockets.
"Haha! It worked!" the Sorcerers cackled. "Die in the darkness, wretches!"
But the Zerg formation didn't break. Their attacks remained perfectly synchronized. Their rhythm didn't falter by a single beat. High above, the Overlords and Queens looked down with what could only be described as pity.
"Idiots," the Overmind thought. "Individual Zerglings don't need eyes. They are extensions of my will. As long as my Overlords can see the battlefield, the Swarm sees everything."
The Sorcerers stopped laughing. The Nurglings around them grew quiet, sensing their masters' mounting embarrassment. Two plagues remained. The Sorcerers conferred in wet whispers before deciding on a transformative curse.
"The Sixth Plague: The Worm-Blight!"
This was effective. The lead Zerglings began to melt and reform, their sleek, predatory shapes twisting into fat, bloated maggots in a matter of seconds. The psychic link to those specific units was severed.
"Now that is interesting," the Overmind mused. "A total metamorphosis into a neutral organism. Useful... but ultimately, you're just feeding me biomass."
Before the Worm-Blight could spread, a volley of plasma fire from distant Ravagers rained down, incinerating both the Sorcerers and the newly formed maggots.
"Wait! The Seventh—!"
One Sorcerer tried to finish the final incantation, but a colossal, rotting foot descended from the Warp-portal, crushing him into the dirt.
"The Seventh Plague," a booming, wet voice echoed across the planet. "The Flood of Filth."
Rotigus Rainmaker, the Great Unclean One, finally emerged from the altar. He clutched a scepter made of gnarled, thorny branches, his mountain-sized body wobbling with every step as he forced his way into reality.
"Insects! Are you prepared to drown in the Father's generous rain?!"
As Rotigus spoke, a gentle, sickly drizzle began to fall. Within seconds, it escalated into a torrential downpour of black, oily liquid. The entire planet was suddenly caught in the grip of a supernatural storm.