Chapter 392: Target Acquired
The massive dome of the Gate of Worms plunged deep into the ground from the twisted sky, allowing almost no light to penetrate.
Typhon Plagueheart, the Greater Daemon symbolizing the Weeping Plague, was diligently stirring the cauldron.
Almost every Great Unclean One had such a pot. They were Nurgle's favorite children, differing from the Grandfather only in lacking His all-encompassing, broader form.
Gurgle, gurgle.
The giant cauldron creaked under the weight of massive amounts of materials transported in every moment. The Great Unclean One stirred laboriously with a wooden stick.
This was one of the three arteries leading to Dawnstar. The lifeblood of the plague flowed from the Empyrean to areas untouched by the Grandfather's power. Beneath its surface was a tide condensed from the souls of Nurgle believers, rushing down from an invisible river.
Splash~
The stirring staff stopped.
"Oh, oh, my partner, you can't fall in."
Typhon Plagueheart said gently, catching the Nurglings observing from the edge of the pot who almost slipped.
In the past, their fall merely represented an expansion of the family. Even failure didn't matter; the big family of the Garden of Nurgle could still cheer for the losers.
But now it was different.
Falling meant death.
Those four ruthless existences would not cherish these lovely lives; their eyes held only extinction.
Watching the Nurglings lick the cracks in his palm and then bounce away to pass his words to others, tears immediately flowed down his swollen face.
Typhon Plagueheart's domain was still expanding. With the increase of his influence, more and more dead wood and branches around him oozed turbid liquid.
The pressure from the Dawnstar Sector was too great. He and his two colleagues had to do their best, even if the expansion of their domains had to encroach upon the Grandfather's garden.
However, the Grandfather said nothing, only supporting them kindly.
They were the most important part of the Grandfather's great action.
Stirring the cauldron vigorously, Typhon Plagueheart looked up at the sky.
Buzz~ Buzz~ Buzz~
Clumsy and fat Nurgle warships flew overhead. The massive engines no longer had brilliant blue trails but dragged light bands coated with an oil film, buzzing like greenbottle flies, flashing with weird ripples.
Seventy-seven, another seventy-seven, roaring in the abyss and rushing into the distance.
"If you intend to prove something, I suggest comparing yourself to the Dawnbreaker Fleet," Magnus commented, playing with a dagger in his left hand.
The Pale King had fulfilled his promise. This targeted dagger had been forged, but other elements were needed to make it effective.
Mortarion shifted his massive body, turned his head, and glared at Magnus.
A thick layer of ash covered Mortarion's armor and face. The huge scythe leaned against a cracked dead tree nearby, but Magnus knew that the massive weapon could return to the Pale King's hand in an instant and attack him.
Because of his disrespect.
"Inciting me is unwise," Mortarion said.
"Not inciting," Magnus replied.
But it was.
"This is not incitement," Magnus repeated, smiling.
"This is just stating facts."
"Hmph."
The Primarch of the XIV Legion grunted, then sneered.
"Yes, they are there, those guys. They took everything that should have belonged to me. Possessing those things is only natural. The Emperor has always been biased; we all know that."
"But there will be a result eventually."
Mortarion exhaled toxic gas: "Right next."
"The last person who said that is no longer our brother."
Magnus implied something.
"Perturabo? Hehe, I am not him."
Mortarion responded conceitedly.
Magnus knew where the Pale King's attention was focused.
Mortarion despised almost everything. He was conceited, believing his abilities had never been perfectly utilized and recognized. Since his homeworld was saved by the Emperor from his adoptive father, allowing that golden figure to enjoy the cheers of the Barbarans, he believed the Emperor's actions took away everything he should have had.
This made him hate the Dawnbreakers who took over the Imperium's power immensely.
Just a brief contact planted a deep hatred for the Dawnbreakers and all their creations in his heart, and this hatred deteriorated into a complex obsession, wanting to engage in a protracted battle with them.
If used well, this would be very helpful.
"You and Ku'gath had better hurry up. We have to bring our dear Guilliman back early, let him see how his legacy fell into another's hands."
After mocking and satisfying his vanity full of preachy wisdom, Magnus couldn't help but remind him.
Frankly speaking, what Mortarion possessed now was indeed too shabby compared to the Dawnstar Sector.
Although Magnus's brain function was basically paralyzed, he could still see that such an army would be hard-pressed to defeat the mobilized Dawnbreakers on the frontal battlefield.
Those daemons were naturally chaotic. No matter how their nature was suppressed, they couldn't work hard and complain like humans.
If they could, they wouldn't be daemons.
"The Ultima Segmentum spans a hundred thousand light-years from north to south at its furthest."
Mortarion exhaled green mist.
Magnus avoided it in disgust.
"Even if they escape now, they won't reach Macragge in time."
The Pale King responded confidently, then gradually disappeared from this world.
He had to check on Ku'gath's progress with the Godblight.
The brewing of this plague also required sacrifices from realspace. They needed to find another planet closer to Macragge.
It must be completed before the Dawnbreakers noticed, then strike directly at Macragge.
Typhon Plagueheart saw his brother, most favored by the Grandfather, walk into the shadows. From the cheerful calls of the surrounding Nurglings, he could hear the sound of rotting wood breaking and maggots gaining new life.
Deep unease shrouded him again.
He didn't want to stay, but he would.
He was very uneasy, not because the toxic gas filling the surroundings stung his skin; these toxins were excellent nutrients for him, and he had never been stronger.
But for countless nights since he started releasing the plague, whether sleeping or traveling, as long as no colleagues were around, a hallucination that had plagued him almost constantly would appear.
Breathing sounds, someone approaching, close at hand but invisible.
A shadow was walking towards him. This was the hallucination, appearing since the spread of the plague.
This hallucination always bothered him. He could hardly perceive what was peeping at him. He asked Herpes Simplex and Festering Bonebreak, the two partners spreading pox and dengue fever, but found nothing.
They didn't notice at all.
Now these hallucinations were back, the soft breathing sound right behind his head.
Now, in his mind, what was the imagined threat?
Typhon Plagueheart stood alone. The rotting fat on his body trembled, and the surrounding Nurglings immediately swarmed up, wanting to merge with that rotting flesh.
All daemons told him it was a hallucination.
He looked back again.
The Pale King had completely left his sight.
"Go away."
Typhon Plagueheart whispered, scaring away a large patch of Nurglings.
Ignoring the dissatisfaction of those Nurglings, he shouted with his viscous voice: "Or come out and face me! The Grandfather welcomes every member who wants to join this family."
The breathing sound didn't change its gentle rhythm. Typhon Plagueheart wanted to leave, but he knew that wherever he went, the breathing sound would accompany him.
"Tell me where you are."
He whispered.
No answer.
It was just a hallucination.
Typhon Plagueheart waited for the breathing sound to leave. terrifying legends from the warp rose in his mind.
He was definitely targeted.
That was the shadow lurking beneath the waves of the Sea of Souls, and the flock of crows tearing and chopping prey in almost cruel ways.
Coming without a trace, leaving without a trace.
'No!'
Typhon Plagueheart denied this conjecture almost instantly.
'They wouldn't dare. This is the Grandfather's domain. How could they...'
Whoosh~ Whoosh~
The forest of plague began to sway again, as if the Grandfather was urging him. He stood up tremblingly, enduring the fear, and continued to stir the cauldron diligently.
The surrounding branches flowed with viscous pus again, expanding with his stirring.
Caw~ Caw~
On the layered branches of rotting wood, an invisible raven flapped its wings.
Leaving quietly.
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