Across the vast galaxy, each world interprets the mystery of 'flavour' in its own way. For Barbarus — a planet shrouded in lethal mist — the acquisition of 'flavour' often means direct dialogue with savage nature.
Nyx and Brother Bug were engaged in precisely such a primitive culinary ritual. They had decided to build a fire using dry moss and the bones left from the xenos.
And the flame — the planet's most ancient and precious force of transformation — now made intimate contact with today's 'main ingredient': the thickest thigh muscles harvested from the captured xenos.
The fire's temperature subtly influenced the transformation of the meat. Surface tissues contracted rapidly under the heat; droplets of oil oozed forth.
A golden lustre gradually spread, coating the otherwise dull skin and forming a crisp, enticing crust. Muscle fibres slowly stretched within, releasing energy and savoury compounds. This golden, plump form. This sound of spitting oil...
The above excerpt is from A Bite of the Imperium.
Though Nyx provided many lofty descriptions of his 'work' in his heart, when he carefully sniffed it, endeavouring to convey the most authentic 'scent' of the ingredients... Well. It smelled awful.
Nyx's face darkened. But the hooligan beside him had none of Nyx's scruples. To him, roasting was already a form of 'cooking'. Had it not been for Nyx's request, he would have likely started gnawing on it raw by now.
(Ork chewing intensifies.)
Nyx facepalmed. Hoping Brother Bug would understand his guilt, he suddenly found himself missing Curze a little — at least someone who could understand him when he was alive, not a naive Ork.
(Curze: Do not interfere with the Great Crusade.)
Nyx had just learned from Brother Bug to take a big bite of the roasted xenos leg. The moment it entered his mouth, an indescribable taste exploded on his tongue — and simultaneously, a certain ability of the Eleventh Primarch awakened.
If food laced with 'ice' in plywood involuntarily inspires fantastical associations, then after Nyx swallowed this xenos meat, he immediately began to replay, within his mind, the origins of this xenos.
He saw people making agonising, desperate decisions to survive beneath Barbarus's toxic mist. Bones thickening and deforming to bear greater loads. Skin keratinising and proliferating to resist toxicity. Life forms beginning to fully reconstruct themselves.
This was a one‑way street with no turning back. All the way until they forever parted from the human form, becoming the 'xenos' seen today. They were living specimens shaped by the environment — products of the polarisation of humanity's divergent branches.
And the best reflection of this information were the hybrid warriors among the Reapers — such as Typhon — who possessed xenos blood and could wield psychic powers.
But this was not the most critical point. Nyx sensed something else within these xenos.
Nyx glanced at Brother Bug, who was still chewing vigorously, and warned: "Brother Bug, don't eat any more for now. These xenos have something—"
Just as Nyx was halfway through his sentence, he realised that the edible portions had already been swept clean by the hooligan.
"...What's wrong, Boss?"
Brother Bug rubbed his belly and looked at him innocently. Almost simultaneously, the WAAAGH! energy field within Brother Bug's body naturally erupted from the pores around him — like an invisible, purifying flame.
Those chaotic forces of corruption that had quietly infiltrated along with the xenos flesh and blood, attempting to take root like parasites, were completely annihilated and incinerated by this pure, brutal energy field. They did not cause the slightest ripple — as though they had never existed.
"...Nothing. It's fine."
Nyx had intended to warn him that Nurgle's corruptive influence lurked within these xenos. Though trace amounts were difficult to detect, mass consumption could still introduce Nurgle's Rot. But watching Brother Bug like this... this little virus was probably barely enough to warm up his immune system.
Nyx sighed helplessly, then with relief — it was better to worry about himself than about Boss Bug.
...Nurgle, Nurgle. I've finally caught your trail.
Following Tzeentch's example and scheming behind your back? Watch me tear off your hood!
Meanwhile, deep within the xenos castle atop the mountain.
The air was thick with the suffocating stench of rancid ointment mixed with necrotic tissue. The xenos overlord, Necare, was confined to his throne — constructed from countless chimeric bones. Each breath he took was accompanied by wounds across his body, emitting a heavy, coarse, hissing sound.
To replenish the life force consumed by Nurgle's corruption and his earlier defeat, he required large quantities of living humans as sustenance.
Yet the hunting parties he had dispatched were like stones sinking into the sea — all of them intercepted by his adoptive son, Mortarion, who had come for vengeance. He had no choice but to drag his collapsing body into becoming a plunderer himself, attacking the lairs of several weaker overlords nearby and competing for their hoarded human slaves.
As Barbarus's most powerful xenos overlord, he naturally prevailed. But the price of victory was the fresh wounds now covering his body — and his nearly depleted physical strength.
Outside, he appeared ashamed, his breathing ragged, every wrinkle on his hideous face inscribed with pain and gloom. Yet beneath his sunken pupils burned a cold, almost fervent flame.
He knew full well that his adoptive son would come for him. This was his silent resistance. As a powerful xenos overlord, he was capable of concealing his true thoughts — for a short time.
But whether mortal or xenos resistance mattered to the gods — that was debatable.
Nurgle did not think the ingredients in his pot could jump out and hit him... Well... Could they...
Another day of secret experiments.
Nyx sometimes felt he might be a little obsessive‑compulsive — why else would he dig a secret laboratory deep underground, even in Barbarus's already harsh environment?
Of course, since his strength was still in a period of recovery, most of the work was delegated to Brother Bug. Nyx had long understood that Brother Bug was different from ordinary Orks. Extended periods without combat affected him little. As long as he was provided with enough food, he could keep working like a machine.
"Xenos Gene Collapse Bomb — specialised anti‑xenos weapon. Drawback: if the target has xenos blood, it triggers a specialised attack."
"Toxic Gas Detonator — can be mixed with Barbarus's own toxic mist. A single small bottle is estimated to be capable of blowing a xenos castle sky‑high — along with the Reaper camp."
...Wait.
Nyx suddenly realised the problem. He examined them one by one: if all these 'ruthless labours' were actually used, how many living humans would be left on Barbaran soil?
He sighed helplessly. In the end, it turned out that the most useful thing at present was the improved Squig, bred from studying Brother Bug's greenskin cell tissue.
Brother Bug's regenerative abilities were utterly distorted: with sufficient nutritional supplements, severed limbs could regenerate instantly. So Nyx, without further ado, simply tore off two of his 'righteous son's' arms and buried them directly in the ground.
Though it sounded inhumane, Bachelor Bug cared only about 'food supply'. Thus, Nyx completely let go of his reservations — ordinarily, he would tend the greenskin crops in the fields, and the rest of the time, he would use Brother Bug as a black labourer, forcing him to madly churn out shootas and all manner of greenskin technology.
After all, this was a hardened hooligan, renowned for his endurance. Could such a loyal adopted son as Brother Bug still send him to sit on the Golden Throne?