"Cursed One, stop!"

The Plague Lord thrashed violently, but he couldn't break free from the barrier formed by the Blood God and the Changer of Ways.

They were terrified that if the Plague Lord broke through, he might collapse before the Cursed One's blade, which would make the black fortress at the heart of this realm impossible to maintain.

And then, they would truly have to fight the Cursed One themselves.

Win or lose, such a clash would inflict tremendous trauma upon them—an outcome utterly unacceptable.

So, for the sake of the greater good, the Plague Lord had to suffer a little.

"Caw!

This is predestined fate. You cannot stop it. To force change will only drag you into a more miserable end.

Accept it, Plague Lord—and our benevolent protection as well."

The Changer of Ways couldn't even contain his mocking laughter, his great raven's beak twitching with delight.

Though the Chaos Gods and the Cursed One were technically enemies, there wasn't a fundamental irreconcilable conflict between them.

In their view, avoiding that troublesome being was enough.

But it was different among the Chaos Gods.

The concepts they represented were inherently contradictory, locked in eternal conflict within the same Warp. They were born enemies.

Their wars had raged for countless centuries—truly to the death.

Especially Tzeentch and Nurgle.

Tzeentch embodied ambition for change and transformation. Nurgle stood for surrender, stagnation, and decay—eternal and unchanging.

They were polar opposites—one strong as the other weakened, one representing endless evolution, the other the unmoving stasis between life and death.

These two entities had been locked in savage rivalry since the moment they were born. Their war had lasted for entire epochs.

The Emperor of Mankind, by comparison, was a new threat—one that had emerged only in the last ten thousand years.

Compared to each other, they hated one another more than they feared the Emperor—yet neither could destroy the other.

So when the Plague Lord began to grow too powerful, the one most alarmed was this big raven.

Thus he allied with the Blood God, forming a temporary coalition. They even aided the Savior to sabotage the Plague Lord's grand plan: the Plague War.

Then they invaded Nurgle's Garden itself, striking directly at the Plague Lord's true form.

These two gods were the true main force of the war—they endured the brunt of Nurgle's might so the Savior could trail behind and scavenge the rewards.

Without them, humanity would've struggled to achieve this victory, let alone gain access to Nurgle's Garden.

Yet the Plague Lord, one of the oldest of the Chaos Gods, master of rebirth and death, was immensely resilient.

The previous assaults by Tzeentch and Khorne hadn't damaged his essence too deeply.

They'd prepared to spend thousands of years gradually wearing him down.

But now, the Savior had summoned the Cursed One.

His unnatural, golden fire scorched the Garden with terrifying speed, gravely wounding the Plague Lord.

Their goal was achieved far ahead of schedule—an unexpected but welcome surprise.

If not for how inappropriate it would seem, the two might have applauded the Cursed One.

Such is the state of the Warp.

Chaos Gods constantly drew on their strength to invade the Imperium—yet whoever gained too much power was quickly targeted by the rest.

Still, due to the threat posed by the Emperor, they were sometimes forced to cooperate.

The very definition of: "I fear my brother's poverty, but I also fear him buying a luxury car."

Tzeentch's false comfort only deepened Nurgle's misery.

That unnatural flame had truly scorched his essence, inflicting permanent, profound wounds.

Centuries of great work—millions of years of plague accumulation—and the tormented souls of untold trillions, all wiped out in a single blaze.

"Predestined fate?!"

The Plague Lord roared. Hearing such nonsense from this two-faced schemer made it sound all the more ridiculous.

Gathering all his remaining strength, he smashed it right into the Changer's face.

The resulting shriek was terrible to behold.

"Is this also destiny? Did you foresee this?"

The Plague Lord, before his power dispersed, seized the moment to pummel the big bird-man violently—pouring all his lingering plague power into the blows.

He beat the Changer of Ways so hard that he squawked uncontrollably.

The Blood God rushed over to stop the fight but accidentally kicked Tzeentch a few times, adding to his injuries.

Not far away…

The Prince of Pleasure, having lost much of his essence, hid in a corner, trembling.

Yet the pain he felt stirred a tinge of excitement in him.

What none of them knew was that he had already embedded part of his essence within the soul of the Goddess of Life, Isha.

That fragment of excess pleasure would slowly take root, eventually spreading to corrupt the Savior further.

Within Nurgle's Garden…

The howls of Nurgle and Tzeentch echoed.

The golden, unnatural flames conjured by the Cursed One burned with unstoppable fury—like a forest fire without end.

The demons within couldn't escape, dying shrieking in agony.

"Father, save me! I'm going to die!

Ah… am I finally being freed?"

A despondent voice cried out.

Kugath, mortally wounded, sat on the scorched ground, slapping the flames on his body to no avail.

He was caught at the center of the inferno, unable to escape—nor did Nurgle respond.

His rotting body turned black before their eyes, drained of all vitality.

At last, these demons who had committed countless atrocities now tasted the fear that humans had felt before them.

A fear of total pain and eternal death.

"Damn you, Cursed One!

One day I, Ka'Bandha, Supreme Bloodthirster, will challenge you and strike you down with my axe!"

Ka'Bandha clutched his scorched butt as he fled—completely humiliated.

He had been hacking his way through demons when suddenly, the Garden had burst into flames.

Too many daemons were annihilated by the Cursed One's fire.

Fortunately, Ka'Bandha reacted quickly and withdrew his forces before they were wiped out.

Still, during the retreat, the flames singed his rear.

For him, it was a shame beyond words.

"This cursed fire! It's even worse than the Savior's holy weapons!"

He glanced around nervously. Thankfully, no one had seen his disgrace.

But unbeknownst to him, a certain sage of the Terror Legion had already recorded the entire scene and uploaded it to the Dark Prince.

Elsewhere…

The Terror Legion had received orders from the Dark Prince and begun withdrawing.

They watched the burning garden with some regret.

So many bloodpoints wasted—and they hadn't even had their fill of slaughter.

"Warriors! The Dark Prince has given a new command—we head for the Scourge Stars!"

Their commander rallied the troops.

And so, the Terror Legion whooped and roared as they left the Warp, setting off en masse toward the Scourge Stars.

That area had been warped into a pseudo-Eye of Terror—a smaller version.

They had to take it before the Chaos Gods caught on, and secure it as the new base of the Terror Legion.

As for the original Eye of Terror—they wouldn't be able to stay much longer.

Chaos Warmaster Abaddon was already uniting other factions to organize a purge.

According to the Dark Prince's prediction…

After the Plague War ended, the Chaos strength within the Eye of Terror would surge. The wounded Gods would give Abaddon full backing to stir even greater chaos across the galaxy.

On a high ridge somewhere…

Baal the Glutton, demon spy extraordinaire, had caught wind of the danger early. He led many Nurgle daemons into emergency refuge—saving their lives.

Many Nurgle Great Unclean Ones and demons were deeply grateful to him.

Too many high-ranking daemons had perished in this catastrophe. The Garden was in ruins.

It was clear that Baal's status would skyrocket after the dust settled. Nurgle himself would lavish affection upon him.

His love for his kind would also earn him broader support among the Nurgle host.

He would become the most beloved being in all of Nurgle's Garden.

"Farewell… my brother."

Mortarion knelt on the scorched earth, letting his father's unnatural fire engulf him.

He accepted his fate with serenity, tears falling as he smiled.

"Mortarion…"

Guilliman watched as the flames swallowed his fallen brother, hesitating whether to reach out.

But by the time he moved, Mortarion had already turned to ash.

Yet the Regent of the Imperium quickly realized—Mortarion had not died.

He had been taken by the Emperor.

Perhaps, one day…

This former Primarch of the Imperium, the fallen Death Lord, would return in some form to atone for his past.

Such is the Imperium.

Life is the Emperor's currency—even the lives of Primarchs. Even fallen ones.

They held too much value to be discarded.

"What a shame…"

Eden also sensed the departure of the giant moth man, sighing slightly.

To be honest, he didn't quite agree with that perspective.

If he were there, he might've considered executing Mortarion—to make him atone through eternal death.

But from a rational standpoint…

A leader mustn't act on emotion. They must weigh value.

The galaxy was locked in eternal war. Killing a recoverable asset might be a waste.

His return might prevent future wars and save untold lives.

It was a hard question to answer.

Eden didn't dwell on it long. He cast the thought aside.

After all, wasn't he also using the Terror Legion—those Chaos warriors soaked in innocent blood—to help humanity in a roundabout way?

Once the Terror Legion secured the Scourge Stars…

They would rapidly become one of the largest Chaos Legions in the galaxy, spreading more slaughter to the other Chaos factions.

Golden fire surged forward.

The Savior and his warriors bathed in its light—not burned, but warmed.

"For the Emperor!"

More fallen soldiers rose within the brilliant light.

"Whoa—massive area holy healing spell?"

Eden was a bit amazed.

In this realm where thought and will were king, the Emperor's influence was beyond imagination. Truly, humanity's ultimate chad.

Yet he could feel it.

After striking Slaanesh and burning Nurgle's Garden, even the Emperor seemed a bit fatigued.

Fighting in enemy territory, across such vast distances, while simultaneously suppressing all four Chaos Gods… of course he was under pressure.

He was bound by faith and the Golden Throne—not an omnipotent being.

If he truly were all-powerful, humanity would've been swaggering through the Warp long ago.

Still, this was a step forward.

The Emperor, empowered by the Savior's domain and its technology, had manifested in Chaos territory in some form, launching attacks against His enemies.

Unfortunately, the conditions were harsh.

They had to invade Chaos realms to activate the Holy Core, and even then, it took time to function.

Perhaps with access to more advanced technology, Eden could better channel the Emperor's might—

And let humanity gain the upper hand within the Warp.

Eden looked out into the distance, where the divine fire raging in Nurgle's Garden began to wane. The Holy Core was nearly depleted.

It was time to leave, and take the spoils with him.

"In the name of the Emperor, purge the heretic!"

Several Grey Knights—previously laid low by Slaanesh's corruptive power—now rose amid the sacred light, their grievous wounds healing.

They cried out in the Emperor's name, eager to fight once more.

Such was the Imperium's grace to the pure of soul.

Yet they found there was nothing left to fight.

The sacred fire had cleansed the filth—every daemon was long dead.

The main force had begun its retreat.

"Sigh… time to leave this wretched realm," muttered Grand Master Corwin, visibly disappointed.

The battles they'd encountered during this foray into Nurgle's Garden had all ended too abruptly. The Grey Knights barely had time to act.

In fact, aside from some dramatic poses and a few explosive action shots—

They hadn't achieved much at all.

It had felt more like a field trip than a holy campaign. Even the smaller exorcism missions they'd previously joined had been more intense.

To take part in the most "glorious battle" of the Seventh Brotherhood's history and come away with nothing but half-finished swagger—it stung.

Like wealthy debutantes chipping in to take turns at a photoshoot.

Corwin even wondered—

Should the honor banner for this battle really hang in the Hall of the Demonhunter Chapter?

He led the Grey Knights away, somewhat dejected.

Anyone who didn't know better might have thought they'd just lost a battle.

At the edge of Nurgle's Garden—

The Savior strolled away with the Goddess of Life, Isha, in tow, casually glancing back at the black fortress behind him.

He could almost feel the Plague Lord's grief.

"No!"

The Plague Lord too saw this scene and was overwhelmed with despair.

Isha's joy and her growing reliance on the Savior hit him like a critical blow.

His grand undertaking was shattered.

The Goddess he had long "protected" had been taken.

His beloved Mortarion had departed.

He'd been ganged up on by the other gods—and his entire garden had been set ablaze.

And he… could do nothing.

It was agony. Humiliation.

The once kind and smiling god now bore a face like a tragedy mask, frozen in torment.

It would be a long time before he smiled again.

Far away, the Prince of Pleasure cast a seductive smile at the departing Savior.

He could still sense it—

That essence of his, hidden deep within the Goddess of Life's soul, remained.

…

No one knew how much time had passed.

The Chaos Gods withdrew. The fire within Nurgle's Garden finally burned out.

The once raucous and teeming garden now lay silent, strewn with charred bark and faint groans of demons in pain.

They were still gripped by fear.

Rodigus the Rainfather wandered the blackened soil, searching.

On some bloated trees, smooth gestation sacs could still be seen.

They housed demons whose essence had survived the catastrophe.

"Father… when will we laugh again…" he sighed deeply.

It was said such burns would never heal. The damage might last for millennia—perhaps even longer.

Their Father now tossed and turned in restless slumber, groaning in pain.

Sometimes in His nightmares, He called out the names of the Savior and the Goddess of Life.

Who knows what He dreamed of?

The Savior and the Cursed One had left a scorching wound in Nurgle's paradise—one that would not soon close.

Rodigus didn't know how long he had wandered before finally coming upon a massive, towering blight-tree.

Even after the blaze, it remained moist. Within a birthing sac on the tree was the half-formed skeleton of a daemon.

It meant the favored children had returned to the Garden… though still technically dead.

Perhaps, one day, their Father would approve of them again—and restore them to life.

Rodigus knew who lay inside.

"Kugath… my once rival for Father's favor."

He tapped the bloated sac gently.

It quivered in response, faint antlers forming beneath the surface.

Rodigus soothed it:

"Shhh, calm down. You failed—spectacularly. You'll need Father's permission before you can return.

Of course, Father is… very disappointed in you.

You ruined everything. You even let the Savior and the Cursed One set fire to the Garden.

You're probably not coming out any time soon."

He paused, smiling smugly:

"You're wondering, aren't you? Why I wasn't punished? Why I'm still out here, roaming freely?"

He chuckled.

"It's simple—I had a better plan. One that will bring a region even greater than Biotramas into Father's fold.

You may not understand… but decay does not follow a single path.

It will spread across the Imperium.

Granted… it'll take a little time."

The sac gave no more reaction. It seemed angry.

Rodigus didn't care. He banged on it again and grinned with satisfaction:

"Just you watch. I'll be Father's favorite soon enough.

The First Chosen One… what a glorious title.

Mwahahaha!"

But before the sac could respond again, Rodigus's laughter was cut short.

Movement stirred from the direction of the black manor.

Baal the Glutton—once seen as weak and useless, always scavenging food—was now being cheerfully escorted by Nurgle's demons into the Father's sanctum.

It was the first time Father had summoned one of His children since the calamity.

There was no need to spell out what that meant.

Rodigus stood dumbfounded next to the sac, his grin vanishing into the void.

And so, within this plague-ridden realm… one more heart was broken.

———

The Warp.

Divine light illuminated the void.

BZZZZT~

The Holy Sun quivered, radiating powerful emotion.

???

The Emperor stirred, recovering His strength and awakening from brief slumber.

He blinked at the lush emerald garden behind the mini-sun—a realm representing the Goddess of Life—and was thoroughly baffled.

Psychic super slap, primed and ready.

"Whoa whoa whoa! That's one of us! Calm down, Your Majesty!"

Eden scrambled to control the miniature sun before the Emperor did something… excessive.

What if He scared the Goddess of Life into tears again?

Truthfully, Isha already looked a little scared.

She remembered, vividly, how centuries ago she had once begged the Emperor for help—and caught a massive psychic backhand in response.

That attack had been terrifying!

Fortunately, the Emperor's charge didn't strike her this time. Instead, it diverted and bonked the little sun on the head.

The power was greatly reduced.

Eden rubbed his essence-infused head, but didn't really mind.

After all, Isha couldn't physically enter the galaxy and needed protection against Nurgle and Slaanesh.

To avoid being… milked.

Eden had thought it through—this place was the safest, and required no extra effort.

But he also understood the Emperor's attitude toward xenos deities.

If he could calm Him down, that would be enough.

Had Guilliman done this instead—brought a nonhuman god before the Emperor—he'd probably have gotten the bamboo shoot special, and a long lecture about the Second Imperium.

That was why the Primarchs feared the Emperor so much—He was truly strict, and showed no mercy.

But… it depended on who you were.

The Emperor was unusually tolerant of the Savior. Perhaps because he was receiving so many "favors" from the Savior's domain—

Especially that divine high-tower massage.

Still, in the Emperor's heart, the Savior only ranked second.

First place—undisputed—belonged to the Machine Goddess, Webby.

So, Eden promptly summoned her.

Let her go keep Grandpa Emperor company and cheer him up.

Eden watched as the tiny winged girl flitted around the Emperor's psychic form, making him chuckle like a grandpa amused by a mischievous granddaughter.

He felt a bit complicated.

Why did it seem like his little cotton-padded jacket (Webby) was closer to the Emperor than him?

Maybe he'd worked her too hard lately…

He really should give her a vacation—and maybe find her some ancient mechanical relics to play with.

Gotta keep his #1 worker and little girl happy.

Before long—

Webby fluttered back, hands on her hips.

"Hmph! Grandpa Emperor's asleep again. I'm heading back to decrypt the data. So much left to process!"

"No work today. You're on vacation."

Eden's psychic projection ruffled her hair.

"Go play for a few days. I approved your data-entertainment project too."

"Really?!"

Her eyes lit up, and she leaned into his touch with a giggle.

"Heeheehee! Father is the best!"

"Of course. But when vacation ends, don't forget that mountain of data."

He gently reminded her.

It was data about the Warp nodes surrounding the galactic commercial hub—the most important post-war project in the Savior's territory.

Massive calculations were involved.

To Eden, the greatest prize of this war wasn't material—it was time.

With Chaos forces taking heavy losses, the galaxy would experience a brief era of relative peace.

Enough time for him to grow stronger and reform the Imperium.

"Mhm!"

Webby nodded rapidly, full of energy.

Eden was pleased.

His little cotton jacket was truly reliable—diligent and thoughtful, maintaining the entire system of the Savior's domain.

He couldn't do it without her.

He patted her head again.

"Good girl. Go play now. I have some business to take care of with your Aunt Isha."

Once Webby skipped away cheerfully—

Eden immediately made his way to the heart of the Goddess of Life's garden, carefully layering multiple psychic barriers.

In the soft center of the flowerbeds, Isha waited, clad only in a thin veil of gossamer.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked a little nervous…

(End of Chapter)

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