-Simulation-
You swung the Bloodthirsty Manreaper faster, the weapon becoming a blur of crimson and steel. Your frenzied strikes carved through the air with savage precision, each blow finding its mark.
More than a dozen nearby corrupted Librarians fell to your relentless assault, their bloated bodies splitting open under the scythe's merciless edge. The foul-smelling fluids from their ruptured flesh kept splashing against the surface of your Terminator armor, each impact leaving eye-catching corrosion marks that ate into the ceramite. The acidic pus hissed where it made contact, trails of acrid smoke rising from the damaged plate.
"Those black swarms are the embodiment of the Destroyer Plague. Typhus is here, be careful!"
You turned your sight subconsciously, tearing your attention away from the carnage before you. Through your visor, you stared at the approaching tide of darkness, at the Destroyer Plague rushing toward you with terrible speed. The warning left your lips even as you watched Mortarion charge deeper into the enemy ranks.
"Do not worry, I killed him once, and I can kill him a second time!" Mortarion didn't even turn his head to acknowledge your concern. He simply continued to swing the giant scythe Silence with devastating efficiency, the weapon rising and falling in brutal arcs that completely eradicated the remaining corrupted Librarians before him. Bodies were swept aside like wheat before the harvest.
You heard the Primarch's arrogant words clearly through your vox-system. The casual confidence in his voice made you frown behind your helmet, brow furrowing with concern. Pride had been the downfall of greater beings than Mortarion.
But another battle was nearly upon you, and there was no time to voice your doubts or offer further warnings.
The next second, the swarm of black flies had multiplied impossibly. They occupied more than half of the passage space now, a living wall of pestilence that rushed toward you in successive waves. Each individual fly was the size of a clenched fist, their wings beating in discordant harmony that created a buzzing so loud it threatened to overwhelm even your helmet's audio filters.
You slowly drove the Khorne Terminator armor backward, servos whining as you gave ground step by measured step. The Bloodthirsty Manreaper gripped tightly in your palm was swung so rapidly it became almost invisible, danced into a series of bloody afterimages that covered an area of several meters around you. The sharp blade continuously smashed and drove away the black flies that repeatedly tried to breach your defenses, each successful strike reducing another daemon-spawn to ichor and chitin.
Your mind raced even as your body fought, quickly making rational judgments about the tactical situation before you. You had already formed a plan, risky but necessary. You would rely on the blessing power from Khorne and your daemonic equipment to resist this wave of corruption attacks from Nurgle. It was the only viable option.
Otherwise, the harassment from these black flies would never end. They would wear you down by degrees until the corruption finally took hold.
At that moment, Mortarion, who had been standing motionless with the giant scythe Silence held in his palm, suddenly raised one huge hand. The limb was wrapped in a heavy metal gauntlet, fingers spreading wide as though to grasp the very air itself.
In an instant, tremendously powerful psychic sorcery burst forth from his massive body. The atmosphere rippled and distorted, reality itself bending to the Primarch's will. Warp energy crackled across his pale form, arcing between his fingers in green-tinged lightning.
In the blink of an eye, the dark swarm that had almost covered half the passage was dispersed. The flies shrieked as they were torn apart by invisible forces, their bodies disintegrating into motes of diseased light that faded into nothing.
Only a small portion of the dark swarm remained, perhaps a few dozen flies that had somehow resisted the psychic blast. They continued to circle and harass you, buzzing angrily as they sought openings in your defense.
You had no time to consider what Mortarion's casual display of psychic might truly meant, what it said about how far he had already fallen into the very powers he claimed to control. You simply accelerated the swinging of the Bloodthirsty Manreaper, redoubling your efforts to crush the few remaining flies from the air. The weapon's living eyes seemed to track each target independently, guiding your strikes with unnatural accuracy.
"My pitiful offspring. My former right hand." Mortarion blinked his muddy yellow eyes slowly, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the corridor. His low and majestic voice traveled slowly through his breathing mask, carrying into the depths of the dimly lit passage ahead. "Hiding is not the fighting belief of the Death Guard."
The words were clearly not meant for you.
You completely blasted away the last cluster of black flies, the Bloodthirsty Manreaper carving through them in a final, sweeping arc. The surging blessing power within your body immediately went to work, actively eliminating some of the discomfort caused by the flies' corrosive touch. Khorne's gift burned through the corruption like cauterizing fire, painful but cleansing.
Your hands rubbed back and forth across the cold haft of the Bloodthirsty Manreaper, adjusting your grip in preparation for what was to come. You immediately drove the Khorne Terminator armor forward, blood-red magnetic boots stepping heavily across the flesh and debris scattered all over the ground. Each footfall squelched wetly, crushing fragments of corrupted flesh beneath your weight.
You walked to stand near Mortarion, taking up a position at the Primarch's flank. Your sight turned forward, staring into the depths of the shadowy passage where something massive stirred in the darkness.
You readied yourself for another fierce and bitter battle.
"Mortarion." The voice that emerged from the shadows was deep, resonant, and utterly transformed from what it had once been. It kept echoing inside the passage, bouncing off corroded walls and mixing with the sound of continuous heavy footsteps. "Before you killed me, I was indeed your genetic offspring, and indeed your Captain Typhus."
The figure drew closer, each word punctuated by another thunderous step.
"But now, I have returned from the silence of death, reborn through the generosity of my Lord and Father Nurgle."
At that moment, a massive silhouette moved into view from the depths of the dimly lit passage. The shape resolved itself slowly, revealing details that sent a chill through even your Khorne-blessed form.
"My name is the Herald of Nurgle, the Lord of the Destroyer Hive. My name is Typhus!"
The creature that had once been Typhus stood nearly three meters tall, matching your own enhanced height. Its Terminator power armor had been completely transformed, every surface turned to a rotten, diseased green that seemed to pulse with unhealthy life. The armor on the abdomen had become horrifically bloated, swollen to the point where the ceramite had cracked and split in places.
Countless streams of yellow-green viscous liquid flowed continuously down from the gaps in the corrupted armor, dripping and pooling until the fluids nearly covered every inch of the metal deck behind the creature's advance. The trail of filth marked Typhus's path like a slug's slime, acidic and foul.
Most disturbing of all was what had happened to the power pack. The familiar bulk of a standard Terminator reactor was simply gone, vanished as though it had never existed. In its place were the Destroyer Hives themselves, grotesque organic structures as thick as a man's arms. They were shaped like funnels or chimneys, and from their gaping mouths poured endless streams of black flies. The daemon-insects emerged in constant swarms, adding to the buzzing chorus that filled the air.
"Typhus. Typhus." Mortarion's tone seemed eerily calm, almost conversational, as he slowly raised the giant scythe Silence. The weapon pointed toward this Herald of Nurgle who had once been his trusted officer. "My hateful offspring, why do you make me so angry and disappointed?"
The question hung in the fetid air, heavy with something that might have been genuine grief beneath the Primarch's controlled exterior.
However, Typhus, who had not stopped his heavy advance for even a moment, responded only with mockery and ridicule. His corrupted voice echoed through his vox-grille, distorted and wet.
Whatever he said was lost as Mortarion's massive body launched into a terrifying charge forward, the Primarch's patience finally exhausted.
Typhus, transformed fully into a Chosen of Nurgle, showed no intention of retreating before his former gene-sire's fury. He quickly wielded a daemonic scythe stained with endless layers of corruption, the weapon's blade dripping with substances that hissed when they struck the deck. A metal horn jutted from his helmet, a crown of mutation and pride.
The daemonic scythe rose to meet the giant scythe Silence that fell toward his head, and the two weapons collided heavily with the force of clashing avalanches.
In that instant, a deafening sound of metal striking metal resounded throughout the corridor. The noise echoed repeatedly through the entire passage, so loud it threatened to rupture unprotected eardrums. Shockwaves radiated outward from the point of impact, stirring the pools of filth into rippling waves.
You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with recycled air that tasted of ozone and distant corruption. You drove the Khorne Terminator armor forward with all the force you could muster, launching yourself at the enemy before you.
The Bloodthirsty Manreaper, its blood-red living eyes constantly rotating in their sockets as they tracked potential targets, quickly cut through the thick air. The weapon fell heavily toward Typhus's corrupt form, aiming for the gaps in his diseased armor.
"Khorne's lackey!" Facing your sudden attack from the side, Typhus, who found himself temporarily at a disadvantage fighting the Primarch alone, couldn't help but let out a deep roar of frustration and rage.
The Herald of Nurgle first used his considerable strength to slash away the repeated strikes coming from Mortarion's giant scythe Silence, forcing the Primarch back half a step. Then the daemonic scythe suddenly pivoted in his grip, changing direction with impossible speed.
The corrupted weapon collided heavily with your Bloodthirsty Manreaper, the impact sending vibrations racing up your arms. The force of the blow was enormous, far greater than any corrupted Librarian could have managed.
In the same moment, fresh swarms of black flies gushed out from the Destroyer Hives on Typhus's back. They erupted in thick clouds, quickly swarming toward your blood-red form with single-minded hunger.
However, facing both a Primarch and you who had been blessed by Khorne, even Typhus, who had become a Chosen of Nurgle, proved no match for your combined might.
Just when Typhus attempted to use the Destroyer Plague to block and weaken your assault, to give himself breathing room, Mortarion's giant scythe Silence had already accumulated terrifying power for another strike.
The Primarch's weapon swept forward with devastating force, aimed directly at Typhus's power armor. The Herald's abdomen had expanded grotesquely, swollen like an overripe fruit ready to burst.
Typhus, who had no time to dodge while engaged with both opponents, was easily cut in half by the Primarch's blow. The scythe Silence carved through corrupted ceramite and diseased flesh with contemptuous ease.
Countless streams of sticky yellow-green fluids wrapped around corrupt and festering internal organs spilled outward with wet, crackling sounds. Intestines and organs that had been transformed by Nurgle's touch slithered across the deck like serpents, still twitching with unnatural life.
However, for an ordinary Astartes, such a grievous wound would be instantly fatal. But for Typhus, who had become a Chosen of Nurgle, it was merely a superficial injury, an inconvenience at best.
The Herald simply shook his green power armor, which seemed perpetually on the verge of breaking apart entirely. Before your eyes, the terrible wound on his abdomen that had been inflicted by the giant scythe Silence began to close. Diseased flesh knitted itself back together, organs repositioning themselves with wet, organic sounds.
Within seconds, the wound had completely healed, leaving behind only a faint scar that quickly faded into the general corruption covering Typhus's form.
"Join our great family, Pale King!" Typhus seemed to laugh in Mortarion's direction, his voice bubbling with diseased mirth. "The power of our loving Father is beyond the imagination of us mortals! He offers gifts without end, strength without limit!"
However, at that precise moment, you, who had been resisting the continuous erosion and corruption from the swarms of black flies still harassing your armor, suddenly stepped forward. Your movement was explosive, catching Typhus off-guard.
You waved the Bloodthirsty Manreaper with one hand in a defensive arc, blocking the heavy counter-blow from Typhus's daemonic scythe that sought to punish your advance. Metal shrieked against metal, sparks flying from the collision.
Your other hand moved with desperate speed, reaching back to the equipment modules at the base of your power pack. Your gauntleted fingers closed around a melta bomb that you'd already activated in the seconds before your charge.
The device was hot to the touch even through your armor, its thermal core building toward detonation. Red warning lights blinked urgently across its surface.
You struggled against Typhus's strength, driving the Khorne Terminator armor forward another crucial step. Your boots carved furrows in the corrupted deck as you pushed through the Herald's guard.
With a final surge of effort, you successfully stuffed the melta bomb, which was mere seconds from exploding, deep into Typhus's corrupt body. You jammed it into the gaping wound in his abdomen, into the space where his diseased organs churned and writhed, into the opening that his power armor no longer protected.