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Thanks! Also, due to Christmas stuff, I will be unable to write for the next few days.

I heard that. Life is rough, innit? Excellent addition to the story. It has all the down-and-dirty fighting (no pun intended) that you would expect from a big battle. Looking forward to the conclusion of this chapter!

New entry. This one focuses a bit on Lucanus, both the Daemon and the Mortal.

The Land Raider Caecus Pugionem rocked and groaned unsteadily as it tore across the landscape. It's once spotless haul now festered with a thick layer of encrusted filth doted with the occasional throbbing mold entity or swollen pustule. The interior of the vehicle was even worse; the air was thick with a variety of poxes, noxious gases and other toxins sealed in by the thick ceramite and adamantium walls.

Inside stood 1st Captain Typhus, his form an overwhelming beacon of decay, flanked by Kharyun, Chief Librarian and Captain of the 2nd, and Florus, Chief Librarian of the 3rd. Near the back of the Caecus Pugionem was Lucanus. A host of skeletons draped in dead flesh and dripping with slime surrounded him, polishing and repairing his armor. The vibrant azure blue color scheme of the Ultramarines had been restored while its various cracks and imperfections had been filled in. A proud red cape had been fastened to his recently repaired backpack.

I can feel Lucanus' joy at his form's restoration. He considered that armor just as much a part of his body as any limb or organ, remarked the Daemon. In his current state, he takes anything he can get.

Typhus turned towards Lucanus and glared, his expression obvious despite his encasing suit of Terminator armor. "Pardon?"

You didn't think he just disappeared, did you? As long as I inhabit his form, he goes where I go. He raised his left arm and one of the skeletons turned it's attention towards a large hole in the ceramite oozing copious amounts of pus.

"I would prefer that you just got rid of him," said Typhus. "It's a risk letting him stay, especially with your influential position amongst the Death Guard."

I'm flattered that you would care so much about me, Lucanus spat. However, I know what I'm doing. You do not. Seventeen thousand long, long years has given me plenty of time to hone the art of possession.

"One minute to destination," announced a twisted creature at the forefront of the vehicle. It had once been a proud Tech Marine, but following Nurgle's intervention it had been fused by disease to the Caecus Pugionem. "Now within range of enemy artillery."

Finish up you damn things! Lucanus shouted at his undead slaves. Its a pity Nurgh-leth chose to leave them like this.

"Do not question the will of the Pestilence Lord," snapped Florus.

You don't know him like I do.

The Land Raider lurched violently as a bright light pierced the haul. Flames burst into existence. Chunks of rusting ceramite and solid decay rained down inside of the vehicle. The skeletons were sent reeling by the impact, slamming against bulkheads and shattering bones. Lucanus was flung backwards and toppled over into a puddle of slime, staining his perfect armor. Kharyun fell also, his bloated form collapsing onto a relatively clean patch of floor.

Losing his footing, Typhus scrambled frantically to remain upright. Before he could fall, Florus shot out a bulky hand and clamped onto Typhus' wrist, pulling him to his feet. A flaming skeleton attempted to claw its way out of the now open roof but collapsed into a pile of scorched bones. The daemon possessed Ultramarine grimaced and sloshed the puddle with an open hand, still lying on his back.

Just when I got cleaned up no less. Oh well, hopefully the rain will get most of it.

"Engines overheating," the Tech Marine driver announced. "Coolant tank likely damaged in blast."

"Then slow down!" Typhus shouted.

"Negative; brakes not responding. Approaching Ultramarine citadel."

Typhus grumbled and brandished his Manreaper. He slashed across one of the Caecus Pugionem's side hatchdoors, ripping it open in a flash of green light. Without hesitation he leapt out through the empty hatch and landed on the rough, rocky ground. Florus immediately followed, retaining his balance as well. Kharyun, with his relatively light weight standard power armor, went into a roll upon landing as opposed to simply stepping outside. Upon his escape the Caecus Pugionem was struck by a Multi-melta, reducing the front half of the Land Raider to slag.

Roaring praise to the Plague God, Typhus charged forwards towards the citadel. A squad of loyalist Neophytes attempted to halt him, launching a barrage of frag and krak grenades while opening fire with silenced bolter pistols; it had no effect. A stroke of his scythe immediately downed two of the Neophytes, bisecting one and decapitating another. One leapt forward and forced his chainsword into the abdominal joint of Typhus' corrupted armor. As the weapon grinded through the 1st Captain's chest it tore through flesh and organs until it was jammed by viscera.

Another Neophyte slashed across Typhus' arm and leg armor with little success, failing to even penetrate the rusting ceramite. The Scout Sergeant boldly attempted to stab the Plague Lord through the visor of his helmet. Cackling madly, he caught the chainsword with his free hand and turned it to dust with a mere thought. With his other hand he impaled the Neophyte who had managed to penetrate the armor, killing him instantly.

His corpse fell onto the Sergeant, knocking him onto his back. The instant he hit the ground Typhus stomped down on his head, breaking his skull and crushing his brain. With a quick prayer to the Emperor, the final Neophyte swung his chainsword at Typhus' face. The Herald of Nurgle extended his free hand and drew warp energy into it. As the Neophyte came closer, he released it. A stream of filth and decay rained down on the Loyalist, leaving him victim to a thousand diseases and plagues. Armaplas and ceramite plates rusted away. Teeth rotted. Eyes burst. Ears bled. Flesh melted. Entropy ruled.




I'm just fine, thank you! called out Lucanus from his prone position within the speeding Caecus Pugionem. Yeah, you guys can go on without me! I am definitely fine with this!

A blinding light and a piercing noise rocked the Land Raider. Sheer heat melted away all of the metal within a small radius. Lucanus' cape caught fire and the paintjob was burnt away from his lower armor. Biting wind and rain promptly put any fire out, leaving a billowing cloud of smoke and steam in its stead.

"Right track disabled," the Tech Marine said. "Coolant disabled. Brakes disabled. Engine overheating. Citadel nearing."

Lucanus stood up groggily and clutched a large mold structure extending from one of the few intact bulkheads. Glancing out a large hole, he saw that Astartes were rushing out of the way as the Caecus Pugionem barreled towards the citadel, somehow still mobile. A sound reminiscent of hail emerged as the vehicle became within range of a dozen bolter armed Ultramarines. Several shots worked their way through the gaping holes in the vehicle and exploded within the interior, kicking up filth and slime.

Tell me, are you afraid?

"Negative; an odd question."

Why not?

"Fear is a sign of weakness. Fear is a sign of failure to master one's emotions."

Why do you serve Nurgh-leth after what he has done to you? He has bound you to this vehicle which is now on the fast-track to hell.

"Nurgle represents the ultimate defiance of pain, weakness and death. If I must die to further the aims of his other Acolytes, so be it. This conversation is irrelevant."

I didn't expect such insight from a hopeless Tech Marine. How would you prefer to die?

"Honorably. This conversation is irrelevant."

You don't need to tell me that again. And I'll grant your wish.

Lucanus slowly worked his way to the front of the Land Raider, occasionally glancing out to see how much more time he had until the collision. Upon reaching the front he reached down and touched the Tech Marine's swollen mass, feeling the pustules and swollen flesh that held him fast to the slime coated machinery. Where his hand traveled the flesh began to glow with an odd, pale light and swell. Flies swarmed. Horrible growths jutted out from his form.

"Wa... Waahth are yooouu doi... ingg?" the creature slurred as his form mutated even further, ballooning in size and losing any remaining visage of humanity. "Teeheheh Caacus Pourgenium ish... fai... faling... Elsp ena... eeye you..."

Hideous hives of daemonic insects began to emerge from the rotting mass of flesh. The Tech Marine's mouth unhinged and ripped open, broken bones inadvertently flaying through skin. Teeth receded into his mouth, leaving only a deformed gaping hole in the middle of his face next to two terrified looking eyes. He gagged and screamed while a massive, spike adorned Destroyer Plague hive rose out from the hole. As what was once the Tech Marine writhed impotently, Lucanus leapt out the empty hatch door.

The Caecus Pugionem careened into the citadel. Despite the strength of the damaged Land Raider's front haul, the wall was stronger. Ceramite and adamantium sheets buckled in. The overheated engine exploded but did little beyond blow open the back compartment of the Land Raider. As the vehicle's momentum further crushed it up against the wall, the Tech Marine's form was compressed. It burst. An explosion of steaming bile dissolved whatever it touched, tearing into both metal and rock. Nearby Ultramarines fell to their knees screaming in pain and tearing at their melting armor and flesh. The insect hives tore open. A cloud of assorted insects, bugs and pests exploded into existence, burrowing through the wall and swarming onto any Ultramarine within sight.

One Astartes with a flamer managed to incinerate a large cluster of them, only to be attacked from behind and have his neck eaten within seconds. A Veteran Sergeant armed to the brim with krak grenades charged into the heart of the swarm and pulled the pin in an attempt to quell the pests. Massive artillery cannons punched holes in the swarm only for them to be filled within seconds.

All of the while Lucanus laid on the ground panting, limbs flailed out in all directions. At least two dozen Astartes had already been slaughtered by his spell and many more would die until it finally ended. Within the mortal form, chaos was accumulating. He fought down each mutation, desperate to keep his form. In the moment of severe weakness, the true Lucanus punched through.

"KILL ME!" he shouted to anyone within earshot, barely able to comprehend what was going on. His voice began to weaken. "Kill me!" Lucanus unholstered his plasma pistol and began to bring it towards his face. An invisible force was pushing it back. "Kill me." The pistol drew closer. "Kill.... me..." The Daemon was beginning to retake his form. "Ki-ki-kill...." Through sheer mental strength, Lucanus was still able to bring the pistol forward. "....me." It was almost there. "Ki-ka-ca.... ca...."

Now it was there; fixed on the bridge of his nose, centered perfectly between his eyes. Lucanus just had to pull the trigger now. His index finger was refusing to cooperate. He couldn't pull the trigger. Horrified, he realized that his entire left hand was paralyzed. Nevertheless, Lucanus was an Ultramarine and a true servant of the Emperor. He brought his right arm up and moved his index finger towards the trigger; this limb was starting to go dead as well.

Lucanus reached it. His left arm swerved as he pulled the trigger. A pulse of light exploded from the barrel and stabbed into his shoulder. His arm toppled off. Radiating heat scorched the right half of his face, lighting hair ablaze and taking off an ear and an eye. Chaos took control. Tentacles immediately exploded from the wounds. Lucanus was still holding down the trigger. The plasma pistol overheated. His left hand exploded. Molten plasma rained down onto his chest.

The Daemon's rage was powered by despair. He slammed into Lucanus' psychic essence, flaying and tormenting him as he forced him further back into the recesses of the mortal form. YOU WILL SUFFER, he promised. YOU WILL SUFFER.

Wow, Lucanus's Daemon is really PO'd right now...can't wait to see what fate awaits Lucanus himself.

Ty for the comment. Yeah, the Daemon is really pissed off. He's spent all this time working on Lucanus' body and now it's all fethed up.

That daemon's gonna be coming back with a vengeance!

I found out about this story today and from the minute i started reading it i did not stop until there was no more to read. You've got storytelling talent my friend, and you've got another hooked reader right here i will follow this story through and i'm really interested to find out what happens next! Keep writing brother!

New part. Ty for the comment, as always! It makes more sense if you've read The Flight of the Eisenstein. If not, click on the link and read the brief summary. Note, this entry is uneditted and incomplete. I will edit and complete it within the next thirty.... eight hours. Eight is a good number.

Chapter Five
Reunion

"Death to the False Emperor!" Kharyun bellowed as he followed Typhus in through the gaping hole in the wall. Both psykers were completely blinded by the buzzing swarm, only capable of sight using their warp powers.

Lucanus, whether intentionally or by accident, had torn open reality and the warp was spilling through. As the filth accumulated, Nurglings began to spawn. Soon even larger creatures were forming. Vaguely humanoid creatures of unnatural origin tore themselves free from bloated sores and puddles of slime. Much like the Death Guard they had bloated forms and rotting skin with sunken in, beedy eyes. Every one of them had a single horn jutting out from it's forehead and rusting primitive weapon in hand.

As the swarm intensified, horrendous abominations clawed free from the Immaterium. Their bodies resembled sore doted, disease swollen slugs and their faces were nothing short of a bundle of writhing tentacles with a mouth at the forefront. They moved on doublejointed limbs that ended in barbed claws and curved talons.

"By continuing inside," said Typhus as he kicked back one of the slobbering slug-beasts. "We'll have cut ourselves off from our forces."

"Most of the Ultramarines are already dead. We can handle ourselves," Kharyun said. "Just how powerful is Lucanus?"

"Evidently very. He is a useful, albeit... aggravating ally."

"My men don't like him. They see him as an Ultramarine still, and an arrogant, self absorbed one at that. Sometimes I agree with them."

They reached the edge of the swarm and found themselves in a place remniscent of the Endurance. Though thoroughly corrupted, it's origins and purpose were clear and it still seemed barely survivable. An Ultramarine was sprawled over in the tides of slime, moaning and hacking. Typhus approached the Ultramarine, rolling him onto his back and kneeling besides him.

"Ultramarine," the 1st Captain said. "Where is the radar facility, ammunition facility and acting Commander of this fortress?"

"Tra-traitor scum...."

"Where are they?" shouted Typhus, grabbing the Ultramarine by the collar of his armor and slamming the back of his head against the ground.

"Dead.... everything's dead..." He began to trail offer, muttering something incomprehensible when not gasping for breath. "...dead..."

"Yes, I know that. We'll start off with an easier question then. Who is your commanding officer?"

"Sarge... Sergeant Kindsin..."

"Good. Where is he?"

"Still... screaming...."

"I presume he is dead. Now, who is incharge of this fortress?"

"Captain Solius..."

"Good. Now, where is he?"

"...gone. Nof-nothing left of... of him."

"Good. Now, where is the radar facility?"

"Collapsed."

"Where is the ammunitions facility?"

"Down hall... left... left door down hall..."




Lucanus sensed something. He couldn't quite tell what it was in his dazed, energy deprived state. It was reminiscent of his birthplace but material. He hobbled towards it, mastering his newly mutated form. As he approached, he saw something. It wasn't a location; it was an entity. Something big was coming in. Smiling, Lucanus forced his body to move faster.




Typhus kicked open the door and launched a bolt of psychic energy inside. It pierced through one Astarte's abdomen and into a rack of frag missiles. The room was consumed in flames. A burning Ultramarine blindly charged out through the empty door way only to be scythed down by Typhus. Kharyun summoned on a wave of filth and watched it spill into the room, suffocating the flames and coating the scorched corpses. The two Sorcerers stepped inside and examined the devastation.

"Any remaining Ultramarines won't be a threat," Typhus said. "Besides, all of the turrets and shields are disabled. We can leave and orbitally bombard this place until nothing's left."

"The Death Lord will be pleased. We're ahead of schedule. The Ultramarine's organization has been shattered and their head quarters destroyed," said Kharyun.

"At this point, very little pleases Mortarion. He was opposed to eradicating the Ultramarines to begin with."

"Yes, I was witness to your earlier... argument with him," Kharyun cautiously stated.

"Appearances can be deceiving. No one can be sure where Mortarion's loyalty truly lies."

"Surely it is with his Legion?"

"In these dark times anything is possible."




It was taking shape now. Lucanus couldn't hold back his glee. For a moment he was even distracted from his own corrupted form and the screaming former Ultramarine Captain locked within his conscience. Slime and filth were beginning to recede to the center of the warp anomaly where the entity was arriving. Thick, grey gases swirled throughout the air with a mind of their own.

It appears I will have to edit and finish this entry later. Sorry.

New entry. This one has a main character (Lucanus, Typhus, Cleon or Mortarion) get his ass kicked. No, it's not who you expect. But not that guy. The other guy. You know, the one?

Typhus and Kharyun walked past a fallen Astartes and towards the buzzing, warp cursed insect swarm. It was receding now, but in the areas where the Warp still held sway it was stronger than ever. A hideously mutated Astartes limped towards it. His left arm and shoulder were completely missed, replaced by a bundle of dry, sore doted tentacles, as was his right hand. The paint had been scorched off of his ceramite torso and dozens of the boneless appendages focused on worming their way through chinks and cracks in the armor. Half of his face had been burnt away; especially lithe tentacles emerged from the flaking, dead skin.

Greetings! called the figure. It seems I have gone through another change of form. He smiled widely, tearing at the burnt flesh.

"1st Captain," said Kharyun, ignoring Lucanus. "Do you sense it?"

"Sense what?" Typhus asked.

"It! There's something inside!"

"Daemons, nothing more," said the 1st Captain with disdain. "You can expect such things when the Warp breaks into the material."

No, Lucanus said. That's why I'm here. There's someone inside.

"And what do you think that it might-" Typhus was cut off by a sudden flash of dull yet blinding brown light. A wave of slime exploded from the beacon of Warp energy and the swirling winds fluxed inward. As the warp disappeared, the silhouette of a massive figure could be seen. It was easily twice as tall as Typhus.

Kharyun dropped to his knees and bowed his head as best he could in his corrupted form much to the amusement of Lucanus. Both the Herald of Nurgle and Daemon Possessed Ultramarine remained standing tall, ready for whatever it might be. Finally the last remnants of the warp faded away, exposing the abomination.

Plague Marines were deformed, bloated and corrupted Astartes, blessed by Nurgle with the power of pestilence; this entity seemed like a horribly exaggerated one. Any armor covering its abdomen had been destroyed and it's swollen gut hung out. Something reminiscent of ceramite covered it's legs, right arm and back. In one arm it held a massive, rusting blade dangling with heavy chains and decayed trophies. From it's back rose strange, stalagmites of rotting bone and pus. The skin on it's left, bare arm had been pulled gaunt and was missing in some places, giving a clear view of the rotting, maggot infested muscle. On it's wrist was a strange, arcane contraption of tubes, vents and tarnished mechanics.

Worst of all was it's face. Though twisted and corrupted with disproportional eyes and needle thin fangs, there was still a glimmer of humanity. Its red pupils glowed in the dark night; bile oozed from its gaping maw. It chuckled darkly and took a step forward on a cloven hoof.

Ignatius Grulgor, Lucanus said. I've heard of you.

"Gra-grulgor," stammered a horrified Kharyun.

"Commander Grulgor of the 2nd!" boomed the Daemon Prince. Though his voice was grounded in the material, unlike Lucanus', it was no less intimidating. "Where is my company?"

"No," Typhus snapped, taking a step forward towards Grulgor. "It is no longer your company. In your absence, Librarian Kharyun was promoted. After your failure to eliminate Garro you were presumed dead. The psykers run this Legion now."

"Ah, 1st Captain Typhoon, I see that despite also gaining the favor of Nurgle you have retained your personality. Perhaps this was for the worse though," Grulgor said. "Stand down Typhoon; this is a matter between a Commander and his underling."

The two chosen of Nurgle stood deadly still, simply staring. Grulgor leaned down so that he was closer to Typhus and grinned, licking his rotting lips with a fat, slime oozing tongue but the 1st Captain remained stalwart.

"My name is Typhus."

Typhus suddenly swung his Manreaper in a deadly arc, moving around Grulgor's leg and stabbing him in the back of the knee. The scythe went in deep, piercing bone and leaving a gaping, pus oozing wound. Grulgor fell to his knees and was immediately punched in the face. Typhus' fist lit up with a pulse of decay, eroding Grulgor's skin and wracking muscle and bone. Ignoring the attack, Grulgor jabbed Typhus in the gut with the hilt of his massive blade, knocking him back. While Typhus stumbled, the Commander jerked upright and pummeled into him at full strength.

The Herald of Nurgle slammed into the rusting wall of the Ultramarine citadel. His scythe immediately dropped to the ground. Armor began to crack from the strain as Grulgor crushed him harder and harder against the steel. Desperate, Typhus launched a torrent of disease, but it had no effect on the already decayed blessed Grulgor.

"You don't intimidate me," snarled Grulgor. "I stared into the warp and the warp stared back. I've seen the tendrils of Nurgle and the hoards of Daemons. And you... you are nothing. All of your egotism and impotent rage adds up to nothing."

Typhus was breathing hard now, each breath rendered a hard, grating noise by his deformed throat and the vox unit of his armor. Grulgor was just giving him enough freedom so that he could squirm and nothing more. His armor was barely intact.

"You are a disgrace to the Death Guard name," he continued. "And I want you to die knowing that."

And that was when Lucanus spoke. Stop. Typhus is more useful to Nurgle alive than dead. Grulgor, release him. Grulgor took a step away from Typhus but stayed within arm's reach, watching him cautiously. Keep your damned rank and underlings for all I care, but let Typhus live.

"Very well."

As always an impressive read. Eager for more !!!

Ty for the comment. New entry coming up soon. I've noticed that the plotline of this story will kind of contradict the fluff, but It'll be like 85% the same. Only some details will be different.

Hey LoneLictor! Just read the whole thing through in one sitting. Colour me impressed - you certainly have a flair for the visceral and disgusting!

Don't sweat it if the storyline diverges from current fluff - it's your take on things that people want to read.

Thanks Necroagogo! Your post has reminded me that I should continue work on this story!

Mortarion's chambers were a mess. The already all-consuming filth, slime and mold now completely coated the room, leaving no surface untouched. They emitted warm gusts of poison and squelched when touched; Typhus was reminded of a diseased womb. Furthermore, much of Mortarion's personal possessions had been cleared out in favor of a holotable, vox communicators and data disks. The Death Lord seemed obsessed with the attack on Terra. "Probably for the better," Typhus muttered to himself as he stepped inside. Once again he noted that his Primarch should probably get a door.

"Yes, Typhus?" Mortarion said as he put in new coordinates to the holotable. The grainy image of the World Eaters fleet moved an inch closer to Terra. "Horus has already arrived within the Solar Segmentum and Angron is close behind. A combined force of Iron Warriors, Sons of Horus and Emperor's Children has overtaken Luna."

"Have you directly contacted the Warmaster yet, my Lord?" Typhus asked. Though he had meant to speak of Grulgor, he was aware that this was a far more pressing issue.

"No, only through binary code."

"Does he know of our new found allegiance to Nurgh-leth?"

"He doesn't."

The Herald of Nurgle grimaced beneath his helm. If Horus reacted badly it could put the whole Death Guard Legion in jeopardy, a risk he wasn't willing to take after all he had done. "Perhaps," delicately said Typhus. "It would be best if I spoke directly to him first, my Lord. As you know, I am a very persuasive speaker."

"Only too well," said Mortarion in a brief moment of honesty. "Nevertheless, I know my brother better than you ever will. I will speak to him, myself alone. Not you." He paused. "But that isn't why you came here. What's on your mind Typhus?"

"You no doubt have heard about the incident regarding Ignatius Grulgor and myself. I was hoping disciplinary action could be taken against Grulgor for violating the chain of command and a dozen other laws and rules within our Legion. Only the timely intervention of Lucanus stopped him from straight out executing me."

"He only did what everyone in the Legion has desired to do for the past several years," replied Mortarion with an uninterested tone. "You and him can work out this squabble yourselves. I have larger matters to deal with."

"Everything I have done has been in the best interest of this Legion!" Typhus shouted, enraged. "You cannot deny this! And we he returned unexpectedly after his humiliating defeat at the hands of Garro and demanded his rank back, you can expect how I would react."

"A larger portion of the crew of the Eisenstein remained loyal than expected. The odds were against him from the start. Furthermore, he's a fellow Acolyte of Nurgle. Grulgor is still the Captain of the 2nd until I declare otherwise."

"Very well, my lord," said Typhus, having already begun scheming as to how he would assassinate Grulgor and then shift the blame to someone. Perhaps he would accuse Kharyun; after all, the Librarian would have had a motive for it. "I suppose, I'll do as you've suggested and attempt to work it out peacefully with him."


Chapter Six
Paranoid

Lucanus laid down on the operating table, surrounded by a literal skeleton crew of undead Surgeons, Medics and Artificers. They systemically activated lasersaws and removed the tentacles, scorching them off one at a time. It was a long, steady process as the Daemon had demanded absolute perfection. Any of the undead creatures that so much as touched what little remaining untainted flesh the body still held was liquefied into a stinking puddle of pale ichor.

Meanwhile, other skeletons repaired and repainted his armor. Once the last mutations were removed they would turn their attention towards fitting him with bionic replacements for his wounds. As the skeletons worked, the Daemon simply relaxed. Periods of inactivity like this gave him more time to focus on what was left of the mortal hiding in the recesses of his brain.

Non-psychically attuned souls simply displayed as tiny lights in the vast realm of the Immaterium, making it difficult to see damage to them. There, a crippled child could easily be mistaken for the Lord-Commander of the Segmentum Solar himself. Nevertheless, with each piercing psychic blow Lucanus' light blinked. When it returned, it was always just a little dimmer than before. If the Daemon concentrated, he could hear its faint screams.




Cleon patrolled the massive swathes of undead, holding his bolt pistol loosely and keeping his sacred power sword sheathed. The skeletons disassembled the power armor of the deceased Ultramarines one by one, forcefully removing the corpses and loading the armor parts up into Rhinos and other transport units. Other members of his squad and by extension the entire Grand Company performed similar duties. Though exceedingly dull, it was necessary to keep the Legion running smoothly; the skeletons couldn't be trusted to operate efficiently by themselves.

Suddenly, Cleon heard a sharp, cracking noise. He turned to see an Ultramarine groggily forcing himself upright from a pile of corpses and punching a skeleton back. A second skeleton approached the Ultramarine and met a similar fate, his ribs and spine destroyed by the slash of a whirring chainsword. The Ultramarine noticed Cleon and launched into a mad charge.

The Death Guard reached for his power sword but was struck by a wave of dizziness and nausea. He felt for the sword's handle but was unable to grab it. Soon it was increasingly difficult to keep his balance. Cleon stumbled back as the Ultramarine neared. His eyes rolled in back in his head and his body went limp.

He was back in the ocean of filth. Hideous creatures were swimming in all directions. A tentacle faced slug grabbed him with a mutlijointed claw. Intestines in the water coiled around his flailing body and threatened to drag him down. A fatty tentacle scraped across the feet of his power armor and took hold of his ankle. He was too weak. He couldn't resist anymore.

Cleon plunged into the water.

And he saw the universe. All of existence stood there before him, everything that ever was and everything that every would be. Within it, was something horrifying. Even on the atomic level, he could see the decay take hold. It consumed with a patient hunger, knowing full well it would soon have the chance to devour all. Gradually, the decay ruined all.

His eyes opened. And he saw the chainsword sticking out of his gut, still grinding in further. It was draped with viscera and filth; giblets of gore had managed to jam themselves in the mechanics. It was barely still operational. With one hand the Ultramarine was shoving the weapon in while with the other he was fending off the skeletons. A quick kick broke one's pelvis and a punch shattered another's sternum.

Cleon immediately unsheathed his power sword and slashed at the loyalist. The shimmering blade easily passed through the chainsword and continued into the Ultramarine's thigh, where the weapon lodged itself after managing to penetrate a portion of power armor. He reared back and grunted in pain. That was all that the undead needed. A noticeably tall one latched onto the exhausts of his power armor and managed topple the ceramite behemoth. Others attacked from all angles, pounding on him with skeletal fists and biting at his joints like feral animations.

The Death Guard cautiously stood up, still dazed from the vision. He wrenched what was left of the chainsword out of his chest and tossed it to side. By all accounts he should have died. Even the insanely durable Plague Marines could seldom survive a dead on, penetrating hit like that. Cleon deliberately gripped his plasma pistol, slowly bringing it up towards the Ultramarine.

"Traitor!" the loyalist shouted as he struggled to fight back the swarming victims of Nurgle. His voice was seething with hatred. "Traitor!"

Cleon pulled the trigger, blasting a smoking hole through his chest. The loyalist growled incomprehensibly and tried to stand up one last time before falling limp. All around him the skeletons set to work disassembling his armor and removing any remnents of his corpse. Whoever he had been didn't matter. Now he was just another causality of what would become the greatest war in the Imperium's history.

NEW ENTRY! WOOOO! As always, ty for the comments. This is a pretty long one, at least I hope it is considering how damn long it took me to write it. I'm a slow writer I guess. Oh yeah, and does anyone remember the minor character Vitus? Probably not. Anyways he kinda has a role in this entry and a bigger role in the next one. Oh yeah, and Kharyun's in the next entry. He was even more minor than Vitus, so I'll probably reintroduce him.

Perhaps only forty of the loyalists still drew breath after the Death Guard’s previous assault, but they were prepared. Their small, Spartan complex was a metal rectangle with rounded corners and an enveloping layer of barbed wire, fences, improvised barricades and land mines surrounding it. Tiny bolters and, oddly enough, lasguns poked from dozens of gun slits; the fortress was also a housing area for serfs. In the absence of Astartes they had been equipped for the upcoming battle.

Cleon felt his wound, moving his ceramite glove across the uneven break in his armor. Occasionally bile would dribble out as it ‘healed,’ with layers of disease and rot growing where the flesh should’ve been. It occurred to Cleon that there was no pain; he wasn’t really feeling at all. He pressed into the wound hard with his index finger; it made a dark, squelching sound. There was no pain. I am a prisoner of my own corpse, he thought.

“Ready,” ordered Commander Grulgor over the Comm. System. “Approaching firing range. Let Havoc Squads and Vindicators proceed ahead. Over.”

Cleon moved his hand up and grasped one of the main breathing tubes connecting from his helmet to his chest. It subtly pulsated as it pumped fluids of unknown origins into his body. His grip tightened and he tore it open, watching the liquid gush out freely. At least seven more tubes still clung to his helmet anyways. A growth infested Vindicator rumbled past his squad, spewing thick grey smog from organic silos.

“Proceed with caution,” the Commander continued. “Approaching firing range.”

Cleon grasped his helmet itself and tugged; it was stuck. Frantically, he pulled the plug on his black carapace. The connection remained active. There had to be a way out; the Legionnaire sealed all air vents and set all power condoles to 100%; if he overheated it the black carapace would short out and he could manually disconnect. Acting with a sadistic mind of its own, the armor forced all vents open and activated emergency coolant protocols. There is no escape from my ceramite tomb.

“Sergeant,” hissed Arsenius, gesturing to the fortress ahead. But it wasn’t Arsenius; his loyal comrade and old friend was long dead. This horrible thing was another corpse, like himself, enslaved by Daemons and condemned to an eternity of war.

The first Vindicator reached the enemy. Hundreds of weak lasers and bolts were easily deflected by its impressive siege shield as it plowed towards the fortress wall. A landmine detonated underfoot, shredding treads to pieces. Even in its immobile state it was still a threat; the cannon open fired, blowing a massive hole in the wall. Crumbling pieces of masonry rained down in all directions along with the occasional corpse.

Another Vindicator roared up, only to be obliterated by a lucky shot from a lascannon. A third one had better luck, managed to fire directly into the corner of the building. The entire building reeled from the impact, worsening any existing wounds. An elite squad of melta armed Havocs rushed the front, reducing the adamantium door to slag in mere seconds.




"Excellent work," said Typhus, activating his own comm. unit. "Commander Grulgor, I will take it from here as the Death Lord commanded in the first place." The 1st Captain had chosen to somewhat exaggerate his recent conversation with Mortarion, preferring to say that his Primarch had officially declared Typhus' superiority to Grulgor. So far Grulgor had accepted it, but the tension between the two was still thick enough to cut a knife through. "Vitus, follow my lead."

Vitus nodded and gestured to his squad. Ever since Lucanus had chosen to demonstrate his Nurgle-blessed power on the Terminator, Vitus had never been the same. He had lost his ability to speak and likely large chunks of his brain as well to the surge of poison. Furthermore, he had become home to a variety of mutations. His right arm had become a bundle of oozing tentacles which he used to wield his power-mace with lethal proficiency. His intestines moved with a mind of their own, sometimes strangling opponents in battle. Lastly, the breather unit of his Terminator armor had twisted into a hideous gaping maw at the forefront of his helmet.

Typhus charged ahead as fast as he could with his bulky form. Soon he was under fire by a barrage of lasguns and bolters, with the occasional plasma gun or lascannon thrown in, but he successfully weaved through without serious injury. Vitus' squad faired similarly, with only one of the ten of them falling to the loyalists. The Herald of Nurgle pushed through a cluster of barbed wire and finally entered the fortress. It was heavily damaged; the lights had gone dark and massive chunks of walls, ceilings and floors were missing. Dust constantly rained down from the crumbling ceiling. Corpses crushed by debris littered the floor.

The first figure to attack Typhus wasn't in fact an Astartes, but a serf with a lasgun. Almost casually, he obliterated the mortal with a quick jolt of psychic energy. Continuing inside, he met a disorganized squad of actual Astartes. A quick sweep of his scythe immediately downed two. Before they could even retaliate, Vitus' Terminators caught up and were able to slaughter the remaining, disoriented Ultramarines with no resistance. Grinning beneath his helmet, the 1st Captain continued inside the building.

A group of fleeing serfs encountered them within the hallways, but failed to even touch the Astartes. One by one they fell, either through horrendous injury or simply contracting one of the thousands of plagues that resided within the Death Guard. Most of the Astartes were little challenge either, as they were separated from their squads and usually injured. After several minutes of slaughter, Typhus was interrupted by Grulgor's voice on the comm. system. "1st Captain Typhus, Devastator Squads within the northeast third floor are inflicting heavy damage."

"Then get rid of them," Typhus spat. He quickly added in, "Commander Grulgor."

"1st Captain, this is no time for petty squabbling. Our forces on the outside are being destroyed before being able to get within range."

"Understood; I will accept once again having to compensate for your failure, as I have done many times before." He cut off his comm. unit before Grulgor could respond. Turning towards the Terminators he said, "Four of you, follow me. Vitus, you take the rest and try to find the armory."




The Death Guard fired in unison as if to the beat of an unheard song. Cleon fired with them, still consumed by the absence of sensation. The knock back of a bolter, something that had once been so familiar to him, was gone. He had never thought he would miss that. As Neophyte he had even embarrassingly broken his nose when he fired a bolter too close to his face in melee. I have forsaken the Emperor. And this is his ultimate punishment to us, his everlasting justice. If we can no longer feel his righteousness, his glory, we shall no longer feel anything at all. All the while he and his squad kept firing, systematically butchering a dozen serfs clustered too closely to a hole in the wall.




The Terminators ascended through a narrow staircase, ignoring the raining dust and overall instability of the building, especially in their current situation of the third floor. At the end of the staircase was a bulky, metal door reinforced by ceramite bars. Without hesitation, Typhus fired on the door with a barrage of psychic entropy. It dissolved away and Typhus leapt inside, followed closely by the 1st two Terminators. A flamer open fired before he could even get a good look inside.

He was blinded by light. Despite lacking pain, he was vaguely aware that he was on fire. It set in; he was on fire! Blindly, Typhus swept back and forth with his scythe in a desperate attempt to save himself. A massive noise almost deafened him and his leg gave out. Evidently he had been shot by something. He concentrated on his second sight and his vision returned, albeit through the gaze of the warp rather than the material.

One of the Terminators who had also been lit ablaze was knocked back by a gleaming power weapon. He tumbled onto the already weak stairs, which caved in under his weight. Another hulking Terminator fell in with him. The Devastator with the flamer had been impaled on the broken blade of a power sword and was flailing wildly. One of the loyalists brought a plasma cannon towards Typhus. Typhus clamped onto the barrel of the plasma cannon and pushed it upwards as he felt for his scythe. Despite his massive daemonic strength, the weapon was seldom inches away from having the perfect shot at his forehead.

The loyalist began to charge the weapon and lean foreward, pressing down with all his weight on the weapon. Typhus immediately twisted his grip. Continuing forward with his momentum, the loyalist smashed into a wall and his plasma cannon detonated. Molten plasma poured over his form, liquefying metal and scorching flesh. He made a long, gurgling scream before finally succumbing to his wounds. Finally, there was a long silence.

Chapter 1, third line- Mortality. Overall really good writing. Keep it up!

Awesome writting! A big thank you to you good sir as this kept me very busy waiting for my delayed flight today at another abysmally boring airport. Cant wait to hear more!

New entry. Ty for the comments, as always.

Anyways, while editting it into the old entry (2 posts ago) I accidentally deleted the first three paragraphs. I think it still makes sense anyways, those paragraphs were just descriptive stuff. I'll add them back in later. Essentially all you missed was the description of the Death Guard preparing for/driving to/marching to war to finish off the Ultramarines.

LoneLictor! Awesome work, lovely writing and i think you've captured the feel of Nurgle. Please give me more! It's jaw dropping

I have always enjoyed your stories!!!Keep it up

New entry! As always, ty for the comments! This entry is currently unedited, but I will have it edited in 24 hours. I apologize in advance for the grammar and spelling errors.

The building quaked, loosening a chunk of ceiling. It crashed directly before Typhus, making the Plague Marine vividly aware that he had to escape. To die here, a causality of poor architecture, would not be an option. He was the Herald of Nurgle and he would survive.

Walking away wasn't an option. As such, he crawled. Typhus dragged himself across the room, each pull a momentous effort. Multiple times a charred and disfigured body blocked his way, forcing him to clamber over it. When he ultimately forced himself through the doorway, he was horrified at what he saw; the stairs had been devastated. At least five feet of stairs were absent, in their place a dark, unyielding chasm. With his increased stature getting over that would normally be difficult, but without the use of his legs he was hopeless.

He shook the thought. There was always hope, even if it came from despair and pain. If Nurgle willed it, so be it. Typhus flicked on his comm. system only to hear static. The flamer must've damaged his helmet. With no other choice, Typhus cautiously lowered himself down the stairs and towards the chasm.




Blood jetted from the headless serf's neck, his skull gripped in the knotted tentacles of the deformed giant before him. Vitus tightened his grip, destroying the head with a wet crunch, and turned towards his men. As they butchered the last of the loyalists, he made a quick hand gesture for them. The 1st Captain had failed to contact them within the past 15 minutes as protocol required. As soon as his Terminators were behind him, Vitus began racing down the corridor.

Webs of shallow cracks were appearing in the walls, steadily expanding as the building endured further bombardment from the Death Guard on the outside. Dead serfs were scattered throughout the complex with the occasional Astartes mixed in. Whereas most of the mortals seemed to have suffered grievous wounds from falling debris, the Astartes had died in actual combat; their corpses were missing limbs and punctured with bullet holes, a testament to their violent deaths. Such was the life of a Space Marine.

Advancing onward, they reached the stairwell to the 3rd floor. It creaked and moaned incessantly, swaying even during the breaks in the shelling. Vitus raised his left arm, signaling for the Terminators to hold their current position. The stairs didn't look like they could hold too much weight, meaning that he would go up alone. Even still, one misstep would certainly claim his life.




Typhus reached the gap. He admitted to himself that he hadn't expected this. Due to his high rank, he assumed that one of his men would've arrived and rescued him prior. He was reminded of the old Terran provide, "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." He would just have to save himself. If it was the will of Nurgle, so be it. Typhus pulled forward as hard and as suddenly as he could, simultaneously pushing forward with his good leg.

As he slipped downwards, Typhus' arm shot out and he barely managed to snatch onto the edge of the chasm. He began to hoist himself upwards; that was when a massive crack appeared in the side of the chasm. Typhus let his arm go limp, becoming aware the attempting to pull himself out would only hasten his demise.




Vitus rounded a corner and saw a large, crumbling hole near the end of the stairs. Upon closer examination, two massive gauntlets could be seen barely clinging to its fragmenting edge. "Hello?" called a voice from within the chasm. "This is 1st Captain Typhus of the Death Guard! I'm more valuable to you alive than dead!" The deformed Terminator sprinted to the ledge as fast as he could, carefully avoiding stepping on any cracks or weak spots. Upon reaching Typhus, he clutched the wall with both arms and began coiling his intestines around the Captain. "Thank you Vitus!" he stammered. "I assure you, you will be rewarded greatly! Your loyalty and devotion in this time of need will not be forgotten."

The Terminator's entire form tensed as he slowly lifted Typhus, barely able to keep standing himself. As he lifted, he could've sworn he heard foot steps. "Hurry! Vitus, quickly!" Vitus tightened his grip on Typhus' shoulder joints and abdomen, worming his intestines into places where it was easier to hold. Now he could distinctly make out the foot steps, which were growing louder and closer. "As I've said earlier, you will be rewarded greatly, but for Nurgh-leth's sake hurry!"

An Ultramarine slowly rounded the corner. He was missing one arm, a gory stump in it's place. In his remaining hand he clutched a viscera choked chainsword, smeared with the blood of past kills. His distinct white helmet and the purity seals adorning his shining armor marked him as a Veteran of the Great Crusade. The Ultramarine clicked on his chainsword and immediately charged, shouting, "Courage and Honor!"

Unable to move, Vitus stood helplessly as he struck the first blow, rending his chainsaw through the thick ceramite of his backplate and through his torso. He looked down to see it sticking out from his exposed gut, grinding away into the air. The 1st Captain had to survive. Continuing his assault, the Veteran wrenched his chainsword free of the Plague Marine's gut and turned his attention towards his right arm, or rather the bundle of hideous tentacles that had replaced it. Putting all of his weight into the attack, he forced his chainsword against the tentacles, slowly but surely cutting through them. Thick, grey ichor that stunk of death gushed from the wounds, sloshing onto the Ultramarine's pristine armor.

Finally he cut through. Slipped forward and swayed over the small chasm, only holding on by one arm. What remained of his tentacles, no longer clutching to the wall, went on the attack. Like ravenous serpents they latched onto the face of the Veteran's helmet, attacking his respirator and optical units. The Veteran reared back and renewed the assault. Stepping out of reach of the tentacles, he hacked furiously at Vitus' remaining arm. The Tactical Dreadnought Armor held strong, but each swing brought it closer to breaking.

That didn't matter; he was but one of many Legionnaires, already equally dedicated to Nurgle and all equally ready to bring death to his enemies. The 1st Captain, the Herald of Nurgle, had to survive. And he would. In a burst of strength, Vitus hoisted Typhus out. Typhus fell limp on the side of the chasm, his leg falling out from under him. No longer focused on protecting his Commander, Vitus unleashed his full wrath on the Veteran. A jarring punch left him dazed and vulnerable to his creeping intestines. They snaked around his arm, crushing ceramite and snapping joints. Finally, he hurled the Ultramarine into the chasm.

Most of the noise from a gunshot is in fact from the expanding gases, though some comes from a small sonic boom from the bullet itself. Silencers are simply an extension of the barrel filled with tiny holes that the gas can silently escape through. If, for whatever reason, you drill the holes incorrectly, the gas can shoot out in any direction. With a strong enough gun, it could blow off your hand.

The Mk. V-1 Autocannon was a bulky weapon that fit firmly in Lucanus' new, artificial hands. A rusted chain attached to the weapon just before the barrel, wrapping around his right shoulder and then reattaching itself to the stock. A thin, slime encrusted bayonet protruded from beneath its slender barrel. Its shells were highly explosive, designed to penetrate the initial hall and then detonate within the intricate mechanics. A lucky shot could explode within the engine and send the entire vehicle up in flames.

Unfortunately, the Imperium had yet to design any weapons intended for use against Astartes.

But an improved Mk. V-1 Autocannon will work well enough. Lucanus drilled in the final silencer hole, leaving a thin cloud of metallic dust. Continuing on, he picked up large electrosaw. Over the past hundred years, the Mechanicum had steadily upgraded autocannons until the upgrades had replaced the actual weapon. Their religion kept them from cutting away the unused metal, leaving the autocannon mostly dead weight. With extreme precision, he slowly disassembled and cut into the weapon, carefully removing one tiny component at a time. He had commissioned a dozen Mk. V-1 Autocannons from the armory so that he would be able to experiment, determining which parts it needed and which parts it didn't. It was a laborious project, but Lucanus was patient. He had waited two thousand years alone just for this body that he used now. Nurgh-leth couldn't have given it to him immediately of course; he had to test his loyalty. The galaxy was extremely treacherous, as were the Daemons it had spawned.

His next project would involve the ammunition. Explosive shells were a useless endeavor against Astartes. They had a tendency to detonate impotently against the armor, doing little more scorch away a small portion of their Legion's colours. The fanciful Emperor's Children would be the only force hurt by that. Hollowpoint rounds were even worse. In combat, he'd seen thousands of them deflect helplessly off of armor. Solid slug rounds though, those were lethal. They could rip straight through a ceramite breast plate and still have enough force to stab through the genetically enhanced rib cage and straight through both hearts. As such, he had taken extremely detailed casts of the Mk. V-1 rounds; more ammo would be made, but as solid adamantium. Obviously Typhus would be opposed to the 'wastefulness,' but Typhus wasn't here.

And that led to the question, where was Typhus? By now the self proclaimed Herald of Nurgh-leth should've been there to make his usual rounds of plotting and scheming with Lucanus, usually against his latest rival within the Legion. Taking a break from his work, Lucanus stood up from his desk and stepped out into a corridor of the Terminus Est. He noticed a nearby Plague Marine, holding his bolter up against his bloated form as they normally did when on guard.

Excuse me, he said in his polite, regal voice. The original Lucanus had excellent vocal cords and he was sure to use them. Do you know of 1st Captain Typhus' current whereabouts?

"Sick bay," answered the Legionnaire, his voice dark and monotone.

Very funny, Lucanus hissed. Where is he, worm? I could kill you right here and right now if I so desired.

"Sick bay. The 1st Captain sustained serious wounds during the fighting."

Apologies, the Daemon said. With a flourish of his cape he made a sharp turn and continued down the hall. Several other Plague Marines marched by him, identical in posture and movement. Lucanus had come to suspect that Nurgle had been steadily rotting their brains away, just to insure their loyalty after all of the 'gifts' he had granted them. He had used similar tactics with his other cults, though none of them had been nearly as grand as this one. An entire Legion had fallen to him and the Sons of Horus might have too, if not for the mechanisms of Tzeentch. It didn't matter, as the Decay Lord would have his revenge eventually. Entropy was inevitable.

The corridor ended at a dark elevator. Stepping inside, Lucanus wiped away a layer of slime from a control panel and typed in his floor number. Tarnished doors clamped shut the elevator jolted downwards, throwing him off balance. He snapped onto the wall to keep standing and remained that way until the elevator jarringly stopped. A different set of tarnished doors opened and he stepped out, into the sickbay. It was dimmer than the rest of the ship, and mostly empty. Long rows of blood stained, slime encrusted vacant hospital beds stretched throughout the room. The occasional corpse could be seen, usually of an Astartes even Nurgle couldn't save. One was missing the entire right side of it's body, another drilled into by at least a hundred bullet holes.

In the far left corner of the room, Lucanus spotted a sign of movement in one of the beds. He warily approached, scanning the room for other nearby signs of movement. As he neared, he heard a weak voice. "Greetings, Lucanus. I expected that you would arrive eventually." Seemingly hundreds of IVs, tubes and wires were plugged into Typhus. Parts of his armor had been stripped away for surgery, revealing the rotted flesh. One of his legs was horribly mangled, with exposed bone and ripped muscle easily visible. "As you can see, I am regrettably not in peak physical condition at the moment."

I would expect more Legionnaires here, considering its their 1st Captain.

"Injury is not regarded well within the Death Guard. With our resistance, our resilience, comes a belief in the survival of the fittest. Failure is weakness and weakness is failure. As such, I am granted no respect until I recover. If I fail to do so, I shall be executed or, entombed with a Dreadnought and condemned to a fate worse than death. I have faith in Nurgh-leth that I will recover though."

Are there any favors you would request in your incapacitated state?

"The rank of 1st Captain is currently vacant. Sergeant Vitus is the 2nd in Command of my Company and as such is the candidate for promotion. Kill him."




Several hours later, with the first batch of ammunition completed, it would be the perfect opportunity to test out his weaponry. In the style of the Techno Barbarians of old, he had decided to name his weapon. Qui Putrescit seemed fitting. By now the weapon was at least half its former weight, even with the added mass of the adamantium solid-slug rounds. Furthermore, Lucanus had chosen to drastically sharpen and lengthen the bayonet incase the confrontation turned physical. Nevertheless, he was confident that he would win.

He knocked repeatedly on the door to Vitus' quarters. Sergeant Vitus of the 1st Company, this is... It occurred to him that he had no official rank within the Death Guard. He would have to request one later. ...Lucanus, acting on behalf of 1st Captain Typhus! Open the door or I'll kick it in!

The door immediately slid open. There stood hideous Vitus in the door way, his tentacles and intestines currently dragging across the floor. He made a low, snarling sound and beckoned for Lucanus to come inside. The Daemon casually stepped in and examined the room. It was a stark contrast of Typhus' quarters, little more than a concrete box with a rotted bunk in the corner. There was practically nothing. Sitting down atop what remained of the bunk, he ordered, Close the door. Vitus immediately complied. Now, as you can probably guess, this involves your heroic saving of the 1st Captain's life. You see, 1st Captain Typhus, or Typhus as I'm just going to call him, is a poor, demented soul. It would've been best for everyone if you had let him die. You didn't though.

Vitus tensed his tentacles and leapt at the Daemon, unhinging his toothy maw. Lucanus was faster. Qui Putrescit was immediately fixed on the Plague Marine; with one tap of the trigger he launched a barrage of solid rounds. The first hit Vitus hard in the side of the head, sending him recoiling back and taking out one of his eyes. A second blew through his breast plate with a sickening burst of fluid. Three more ripped through his shoulder, paralyzing his gun arm before he could shoot back. The final shot went through his forehead and he fell limp.

Lucanus let go of Qui Putrescit, letting it hang by the sling, and knelt down to examine the corpse. He carefully reached into each wound and plucked the bullet, reloading it back in the ammo case. Due to their adamantium nature, they could easily kill a mark without losing their shape. After collecting the last one, he removed a chainsaw and began cutting Vitus into multiple, small sized pieces, which he could load into small cases and carry away without suspicion. From there, he could throw those pieces into the engine's furnace. For all intents and purposes, Vitus would've simply disappeared. He would be presumed KIA and eventually forgotten by the Legion.

Lucanus is just plain awesome...

Typhus is a very smelly hole. Though I suppose that's why he's the bad guy.

As always, thanks for the comments. I'm glad that you guys have opinions on the characters; I've been trying to build Lucanus up as a psychotic badass and also Typhus up as a smelly badass/donkey-cave. This entry that I recently wrote seemed really long at the time, but now it doesn't seem quite so long. I think it's only 700 words. Oh well.

Cleon approached Mortarion’s quarters, summoned along with several other members of the Death Lord’s retinue. The Endurance was mostly empty at this point; each ponderous footstep echoed incessantly throughout the vacant ship. Most of the Plague Marines hid away in their quarters, Cleon included. Whenever summoned for guard duty, he simply relegated the task to one of his men, usually the loyal and energetic Phokas, and was able to remain secluded. That description didn’t fit Phokas anymore, of course. Now he was introverted and reserved, only speaking when ordered to. Conversations with him were impossible; the same could be said about any of the Legionnaires. Their humanity had been lost the instant the instant they had bargained with Nurgle, but only now was it truly apparent that they had also lost their souls.

Ignatius Grulgor was the first to arrive, already speaking to Mortarion. The two were the same height, though with Grulgor’s wings he looked taller. They easily dwarfed Cleon, being at least twice his size. Cleon stood near the corner of the room, remaining silent as to not intrude on their conversation. Even if he wanted to speak, he had nothing to say.

Other higher-ups soon arrived; Captain Eridion of the 3rd was one of the earliest . He hadn’t been wearing a helmet when he had caught the warp pox, now leaving his disfigured face easily visible. Captain Iradio of the 5th came close behind. Lastly came Talmon, Kallimen and Aetius, Captains of the 6th, 4th and newly rebuilt 7th companies. Normally Cleon would’ve been intimidated by an audience with such powerful figures within the Legion, but he felt nothing at their presence.

“We are entering warp travel. Segmentum Solar is estimated to be mere hours away,” announced Mortarion. “We’ll have arrived at Terra within the week. The area surrounding the Imperial Palace has already been secured by an assault led by Angron. The Warmaster and Perturabo have successfully brought in thousands of heavy war engines, including the dreaded Warmongers Elegit Manus and Mortem Ludicium. The galaxy is within our grasp.”

The Traitors were awed. It had always been known that they would triumph, but now that it was so close they could truly comprehend the magnitude of it. The Imperium was falling; a thousand years of order would end at the hands of the very soldiers that had secured it.

“Unfortunately, the Dark Angels, Space Wolves and Ultramarines are nearing Terra. A full on conflict between the Warmaster’s Legions and what remains of the Emperor’s would be of a scale never seen before and predicting the victor would surely be impossible. The Warmaster is not one to hinge his plans on chance; the Emperor must be eliminated before then, and it is as much our Legion’s responsibility as any other. When the palace walls are breached, we must immediately take the gap. We are perhaps the only Legion capable of enduring the combined forces of the Blood Angels, Imperial Fists, White Scars and Custodes long enough to secure the entrance of our brothers. Anything less will not be tolerated. If any of you fail in this sacred endeavor, you shall answer to the Warmaster himself. I assure you that he will not be amused. Is this understood?”

They all nodded as best as they could with deformed necks and rusting armor. “Excellent. Commander Grulgor will assume temporary control of the 1st Company in addition to his 2nd until Sergeant Vitus can be located. Captain Iradio, your 5th Company is the most mobile and as such will lead the assault. You shall be granted access to the Legion’s complete arsenal of bikes, jump packs and tanks. The rest of you will fill supporting roles, doing whatever is requested of you. I will remain aboard the Endurance, monitoring and organizing the Companies from above. Sergeant Cleon, you will as my eyes and ears, keeping tabs on every Death Guard activity planet side and advising me as to our next course of action. Is this understood?

Victory is within our grasp. On Istvaan V the galaxy was lit ablaze. Now, at the Emperor’s own home, its last vestige burns away.”

I am more intrigued on seeing what Mortarion will do with Typhus...Keep writing man!!!You are really good at it!

Found this from Necroagogo story :
Sleight of Hand - another tale of the Relictors
Which is outstanding too

LoneLictor, you write brilliantly. I have never been attracted to nurgle however you have bought personalities to the pus and filth. Your story telling is vivid, imaginative and your timing and feel for flow is excellent.

Moar please.

Oops - looks like I've missed a couple of updates! Gruesomely nice stuff throughout, although this in particular stood out for me:

LoneLictor wrote: There was always hope, even if it came from despair and pain.

That's a nicely-weighted and crafted line, right there. Kudos.

Thanks for all the comments, as always. They're much appreciated! And, now, you loyal readers you've stood by and tolerated the many, many errors I've made when writing, have a chance to have an impact on the story.

For you see, I've become crippled by a horrible bout of writer's block that I can't seem to shake using my normal methods (lots of caffeine, music that fits the mood of the story and locking myself in my room) so now I'm looking to you readers for suggestions and opinions which is something I probably should've done a long time ago.

So, what do you want? Do you want to focus more on certain characters? Do you want to focus less on certain characters? Do you want to focus more on certain events? Do you want to focus less on certain events? Do you want me to stop writing this on the grounds that I'm wasting everyone's time? Now's your chance to tell me because I'm desperate!

There needs to be more on Mortarion - lets see him in the thick of it!

How about introducing some interaction with more greater daemons - its a tough challenge but hey, have a crack!

Perhaps some insight into Nurgle's throneroom?

Or a sorceror moving through an imperial world unknown and tell the story of how a thriving city dies from disease with rapid conversion to nurgle unable to be contained by the arbites?