In worlds besieged by Nurgle, the greatest danger often lies not in the plague zombies or the Daemons themselves, but in the omnipresent miasma saturated with Warp energy.
On Grevan, the capital world of the Phoenix Sub-sector, countless plague zombies now roamed the surface. All life wailed under the "Grandfather's" twisted care. Resistance had become meaningless; the final city was already teetering on the brink of collapse.
The surviving humans huddled in that last stronghold—a mountain fortress. Equipped with powerful void shield generators, this steel bulwark could theoretically hold off a million-strong conventional army, yet it was currently falling bit by bit to these insidious foes.
Streets once clean and orderly were now deathly silent, coated in dried, foul blood and unidentifiable stinking fluids. Dying residents lined the roads, slumped against walls like withered husks. Their shrunken skin caused their bloodshot eyes to bulge, staring deathly at the sky. Receding lips revealed blackened, rotting teeth, and silent wails seemed to echo through the stagnant air.
A thin, pale-green fog covered the entire district. Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps and guttural snarls erupted nearby.
"Dammit, the South District has basically fallen! Go notify the Governor immediately!" A squad of Stormtroopers in carapace armor was battling a tide of plague zombies. They were outfitted with the best gear the planet had to offer; high-grade air filtration masks and fully sealed suits allowed these warriors to resist the plague's influence—at least for a short time.
But the zombies—once living citizens—were nearly infinite. The squad found themselves circling the same blocks; the terrain they once knew by heart had somehow become a twisting, labyrinthine maze.
"Hell!" The squad leader, Andre, suddenly felt something snag his ankle. He looked down to see a withered, skeletal hand gripping him with terrifying strength. "Save... save me..." Andre didn't hesitate; he smashed the man's skull with his rifle butt. It was the only mercy he could provide.
"Captain, this alley isn't right! We're lost!" a teammate shouted in a panicked tone. "Our supplies are running low, Captain!"
"To hell with it! Prepare for close quarters!" Andre roared. His lasgun let out a final hum before clicking empty. Their only remaining weapons were the combat blades at their waists.
Andre's ragged breathing echoed through his filtration mask in the narrow alley. He gripped his knife tight. "Emperor on high, grant me the courage and skill to face the foe. Let me fall in glorious combat..."
As they offered their silent prayers, the snarling from both ends of the alley drew closer, and the green fog thickened. When the first zombie lunged from the mists, Andre drove his combat knife deep into its cranium, kicked the half-headed corpse away, and wrenched his blade free.
A desperate struggle erupted instantly, but they all knew this was merely a final stand. The enemy was a tide, filling every inch of the cramped space. they swung their blades until their elbows bumped into the teammates behind them—until there was no space left to strike.
Countless zombies pressed in, unable to breach the carapace armor but crushing the men with sheer mass. The armor began to emit a bone-chilling groan of deforming metal.
"Arrgh!" A scream rang out in Andre's ear, but he couldn't even turn his head. Crack... As spiderweb cracks appeared on his eyepiece, he could only offer a bitter smile. He was going to die on this mission after all.
The remaining seconds were just a wait for the journey to the Golden Throne. He closed his eyes. The snarling seemed to fade as the suffocating toxins finally breached his seal, causing his consciousness to fracture.
At the final moment before the darkness took him, he glimpsed several "meteors" piercing through the fog via his broken lens. "What... are those...?"
A thunderous boom answered Andre's final question. Then, a terrifying radiance ignited in his vision. Flame, compressed into plasma spheres, swept through the alley, incinerating every loathsome thing into ash. Only fire could truly purify the plague.
"Hahahaha! Come on! Come on!! Eat this! Woohoo!!"
"Shut the hell up, you idiot. You weren't this excited when we were fighting the Swarm." Coste growled over the comms. Dale, encased in Firebat power armor, immediately silenced his shouting.
Coste's Gauss rifle barked continuously. Having confirmed the primary enemies were plague zombies, they had switched to high-explosive ammunition.
Violent explosions flashed through the alley. Suddenly, Coste's HUD indicated life signs ahead. Shattered carapace armor appeared in his sight. "Medic! Where's the Medic? We have a survivor!"
Andre's eyes, now a dark, sickly green, could see almost nothing. He felt someone rip his mask off, followed by a sharp sting in his neck.
"Hang in there, pal. You've made it." A figure in white power armor flashed across his vision before he blacked out completely.
The Medic slung the man over his shoulder. He had already injected the latest stabilized treatment; the plague would be unable to claim him for now.
"This is Blaze Squad. Landing zone cleared." Coste shattered the torso of the last nearby zombie. "Repeat, this is Blaze Squad, landing zone clea—Wait..."
Several red pips suddenly blossomed on his HUD. An overwhelming sense of dread filled his chest. "Look out!"
Before he could finish the shout, a heavy bolt shell slammed home. "Contact! I'm hit!" Warning lights for armor integrity flashed across Coste's vision. Out of the fog emerged loathsome enemies: bloated, distended bodies with organs exposed through ruptured power armor, leaking yellow-green pus with every twitch.
The Firebat's massive frame immediately moved to shield the squad. However, the enemy's bloated size did not mean they were slow. They crossed the distance almost instantly, bypassing the heavy Firebat to reach the others. A rusted, jagged blade—seemingly blunt but terrifyingly sharp—effortlessly skewered a soldier.
"Hank! Hank! You bastard, I'll kill you!" Seeing his battle-brother fall silent, Coste's eyes turned bloodshot behind his visor. He roared, pouring Gauss fire into the attacker, but the bloated warrior moved with unnatural fluidity, dodging the high-explosive rounds as a rusted cleaver swung toward Coste's head.
Clang! At the moment of crisis, a monomolecular chainsword appeared out of nowhere, parrying the blow. Then, the Plague Marine was sent reeling backward by a massive, armored kick from a towering warrior who had appeared beside them.
Coste stared in a daze at the four giant warriors now standing between his squad and the enemy. Then, their voices crackled over his comms: "Fall back, Sergeant. This is our battlefield now."
In the silent alley, over the manic laughter of the foe, the roar of chainswords suddenly exploded.