"Well, they certainly know how to make an entrance."
An ordinary Great Unclean One was already a nightmare, but this was the Rain Father—the second most beloved of Nurgle's daemons. He emerged from the altar like a mountain of weeping, sentient fat. With a single roar, he exhaled a stench so toxic that nearby Zerglings literally suffocated in their tracks. It was a miasma a hundred times more potent than any standard daemon's.
"Oh, for the love of..." Even the Overmind felt a phantom wave of nausea. "I knew Nurgle smelled bad, but this is biological warfare on a sensory level."
That smell was torture. It wasn't just a scent; it was a physical weight that seeped into pores, making eyes throb and skin burn.
"How dare you trespass in my garden!" the Rain Father bellowed, the earth trembling with every step. "You are merely fuel for the rot!"
With the Great Unclean One's arrival, a fresh tide of Nurglings and Plaguebearers surged from the rift, reclaiming the ground the Swarm had just conquered. Worse yet, a Great Unclean One began to manifest at each of the other six altars. They weren't as gargantuan as Rotigus, but there were exactly seven of them—Nurgle's sacred, filthy number.
"One, two... seven? Really?" The Overmind dismissed the display with a psychic sneer. "Who do you think you're dealing with? Even with my main fleet elsewhere, you think seven fat-clots can stop me? I'll take seventy-seven and give you a Brutalisk for every one of them!"
The size of these Greater Daemons varied based on the local Warp energy, but they currently stood as tall as Warhound-class Titans—towering over even a standard Ultralisk.
"The small fry had their fun. Abathur, send in the heavy hitters."
A 1-on-1 duel with an Ultralisk felt too predictable. Today, the Overmind wanted a 1-on-7 showdown. However, the truly massive organisms would take a moment to reach the frontline. In the meantime, the Great Unclean Ones began their work.
One daemon, clutching a massive plague bell, waded into the fray. Every toll of the bell sent violent psionic ripples across the street, liquefying the internal organs of any Zerg unit caught in the wave. At this level of the game, Zerglings were nothing more than red mist. Even the Roaches found their heavy carapaces buckling and deforming under the psychic pressure, though they continued to spit acid until their last breath.
"Problem, Abathur?"
"Enemy offensive patterns... unpredictable," Abathur's voice rasped. "Losses mounting. Psychic distortion bypassing physical defenses. Clues for counter-evolution... insufficient."
"Don't overthink it, Abathur. Not every problem needs a genetic solution. Sometimes, you just need a bigger hammer."
Ideally, the Overmind would evolve a specialized anti-psyker strain—something like a Zerg equivalent to the Grey Knights. He already had the Queen of Blades, and his Queens and Overseers possessed some psychic potential, but they were currently outclassed by the raw Warp-power of a Greater Daemon.
"My Lord," Abathur persisted, "perhaps I should seek a way to assimilate this peculiar energy?"
"No, Abathur. Trust me, they are insignificant. In this universe, being a 'seeker of knowledge' is a trap. Once you start counting to nine, you're already in Tzeentch's pocket. Watch how the Swarm handles 'destiny'."
The Great Unclean Ones' arrogance was peaked. They slaughtered the Zerg indiscriminately, sweeping away entire broods with their massive arms and crushing Roaches like beetles underfoot. The cultists and Plaguebearers cheered, praising the "Father's manifestations" as the saviors who would topple the False Emperor.
That celebration ended when the specialized drop pods entered the atmosphere.
Before its pod could even touch the ground, the passenger grew impatient. It shredded the reinforced walls from the inside, causing the pod to explode in mid-air. A massive shadow plummeted through the smoke, slamming into the earth directly in front of a Great Unclean One.
ROAR!!!
The Brutalisk, the most ferocious ground organism in the Zerg arsenal, announced its arrival with a deafening, guttural shriek. It towered over the Greater Daemon, a jagged mountain of blades and muscle that stood a full head taller than its opponent.
"Now the real show begins."
The Plaguebearers froze as the Brutalisk lunged. The Great Unclean One gripped its plague bell and swung it with Titan-killing force, but the Brutalisk was faster. With a casual sweep of its left scythe-limb, it severed the daemon's arm. The massive hand, still clutching the bell, flew across the street and crushed a squad of Plaguebearers.
"I love Brutalisks. A bit expensive on the gas, but worth every drop."
The Great Unclean One tried to retreat, but the Brutalisk's carapace rippled. Several massive, harpoon-like bone spikes erupted from its body, impaling the daemon and pinning it to a stone wall behind the altar. The Great Unclean One laughed, oblivious to the pain, and began to pull its bloated body forward, tearing its own intestines out in an effort to break free.
"You cannot kill me with mere thorns, insect! Before the Father's power, you are nothing!"
"Oh, I know 'thorns' won't kill you," the Overmind whispered. "The spikes are just to keep you in the splash zone. Meet the real killers."
The Great Unclean One looked up. High above, a cloud of Scourges was diving at terminal velocity.
The Brutalisk leapt backward, putting a safe distance between itself and its prey. Then—impact.
The collision between the Scourges and the pinned daemon created a blinding plasma detonation. The blast was so violent it scorched the surrounding buildings and vaporized every minor unit within fifty meters. The Scourge is a dedicated anti-capital ship suicide unit; its explosive yield is mathematically absurd.
"See, Abathur?" the Overmind remarked casually. "It doesn't matter how high your health pool is. If you take a direct hit from an anti-ship weapon, you're done."
The flames raged for ten seconds before subsiding. When the smoke cleared, the Great Unclean One was gone. All that remained were two charred, chubby legs still twitching in the dirt.