The Tolling of the Bell
A deep, muffled bell tolled, unexpectedly echoing through the Nurgle mist surrounding the plaza.
The sound wasn't a simple metallic clang; it was as if something had struck directly against the eardrums of the soul.
As the tolling spread, the air in the area just swept by Eileen's aura became murky again. Yellowish grease began to seep from the metal floor once more.
"Halt! Defensive formation!"
Cole stopped abruptly, his golden power boots slamming heavily onto the rusted metal. His power halberd rose instantly, his red goggles locked onto the billowing fog at the far end of the plaza.
Eileen was positioned at the very center of the formation. She looked back; the last small squad of mortal support soldiers who had been following behind were now nowhere to be seen.
The wall of mist she had forcibly pushed aside with her psionic powers closed rapidly behind the squad, as if it were a sentient being. Only a few muffled whimpers, cut short by hands covering mouths, echoed from within the mist, followed by a chilling chewing sound.
No screams, no gunshots. The soldiers had vanished.
"Do not look back." Cato Sicarius stood beside her, his power sword already activated, its blue disruption field humming. "Keep your eyes on the front. Warp magic is cutting through the battlefield; now it's just us."
The air here was thick, almost like glue. Eileen felt breathless, each inhale feeling like swallowing moldy dust.
"Thump. Thump. Thump."
Footsteps echoed from the depths of the mist.
It wasn't the dragging, slopping sound of a Nurgle walker, nor the buzzing of a plague fly. It was the vibration of heavy, ceramite-encased power boots.
Each footstep was accompanied by the squeak of liquid squeezing through the seams of their armor.
Seven tall figures slowly emerged from the mist.
These figures wore ancient and cumbersome power armor (Mk III Iron Pattern), the Imperial markings long gone. The armor was covered in a sickly gray-green, the ceramite plates riddled with rusted pits and cracks.
Some of the figures had their abdomens completely ripped open, revealing swollen, purplish-red organs or gaping maws with sharp, serrated teeth; others had massive, horny spikes sprouting from their shoulder armor, from which hung dripping human skulls.
In one hand they held rusty boltguns, muzzles slick with slime, and in the other, a rusted plague-ridden sword.
Death Guard.
Traitors of the Fourteenth Legion. Elite warriors of the Plague God.
"Traitors!"
Sicarius roared in fury, his voice filled with vengeful hatred for these fallen ones. "How dare you wear this power armor! You have betrayed Holy Terra! You have betrayed your oath!"
Faced with Sicarius's wrath, the seven Death Guard remained silent. They needed no words, no battle cry.
These rotting warriors simply raised their bolt rifles in silent, synchronized motion, revealing a twisted discipline.
"Fire!"
Sergeant Varo pulled the trigger first.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
The Astartes' bolter roared. Sergeant Varo's marksmanship was impeccable; three bolt rounds, arranged in a triangular pattern, precisely struck the breastplate of the foremost Death Guard.
A deafening roar erupted.
The mass-reactive explosive, powerful enough to tear a light vehicle apart, exploded in the target's chest, blasting thick layers of rotting flesh and decaying ceramite steel into countless fragments.
A gaping hole, large enough to expose the spine, appeared in the Death Guard's chest, gushing black, foul blood and yellow pus.
But it was meaningless.
The mortally wounded Death Guard merely swayed backward, like a withered tree swaying in the wind. He glanced down at the gaping hole in his chest, didn't even try to cover it, and continued walking forward, as if the body wasn't his own.
"For my Father..."
A hoarse syllable squeezed out from his decaying vocal cords.
Then, the counterattack began.
*Rat-a-tat-tat—!*
The Death Guards fired their bolt pistols. They weren't firing standard bolts, but plague-infused rounds filled with deadly poison and contamination.
The bullets struck the floor beside Cole. Having just fought a fierce battle, he dodged the attack, but the exploding acid beneath his feet caused a wisp of white smoke to rise from his golden armor, accompanied by a sizzling, corrosive sound.
"Watch out for the gas! Don't let the shrapnel cut your skin!" Cole rallied, brandishing his power halberd to deflect the incoming barrage of bullets, while simultaneously advancing forward. "If ranged fire is ineffective, then try to cut off the traitors' heads!"
"Ms. Eileen! We need your divine light!" Sergeant Varo shouted while firing suppressive shots. "The Warp energy here is making them self-repair!"
Eileen gritted her teeth, her hands gripping the ruby necklace around her neck tightly.
"I know, Uncle Varo! I'm trying!"
She closed her eyes, attempting to channel the power of the golden ocean within her through sheer willpower. Based on past experience, this power should have surged forth like a flood, completely suppressing the Warp shadows until the enemy was reduced to ashes.
But this time, the situation was different.
She felt as if she were thousands of meters below the surface of the ocean; the invisible, malevolent psionic pressure and Nurgle plague around her were simply too dense.
The moment the golden power left her body, it was suppressed by the viscous air around her.
The halo that originally covered fifty meters was now compressed to only two or three meters, barely enough to envelop her and Varo who was pressed against her.
[Don't force it, Eileen.]
Old Huang's voice echoed in her mind, carrying a hint of warning.
[This is the home turf of those stinking canned goods. Nurgle's Garden is connecting to reality. You're too exhausted right now; don't even think about activating the halo. Concentrate your power! Only enchant your weapons!]
"I'm trying my best!" Eileen felt as if a steel needle had been inserted into her head, causing waves of pain. She struggled to control the dissipating golden light, wrapping it like a thin thread around the weapons of the two giants in front of her.
"Uncle Cole! Uncle Sicarius! Get ready!"
With Eileen's shout, two faint yet extremely condensed golden beams of light poured into the power halberd and the *Talassa Storm*, respectively.
"That's enough, lady!"
Sicarius roared, blue flames erupting from the thrusters on his power pack. Using the propulsion, he became a blue afterimage, instantly closing the distance to the enemy.
A Death Guard wielding a Plague Sword charged forward. The two weapons clashed fiercely in mid-air.
*Sizzle—!*
The Plague weapon, originally indestructible thanks to the power of the Warp, shattered with a crisp sound the moment it touched the enchanted power sword.
The golden sword light sliced through the plague blade without resistance, then cleaved downwards.
*Thud!*
The head, clad in a rusty helmet and severed from its neck, flew into the air. No blood spurted from the severed neck; instead, it was instantly sealed by golden psionic flames and burned to ash.
The headless, massive body finally lost its ability to move, collapsing heavily to its knees before turning into a pile of charred remains with unbelievable speed.
"Praise the Saint! Even the power of a false god cannot save you!" Sicarius didn't turn around; with a backhand slash, he pierced the abdomen of another enemy attempting a sneak attack, killing him instantly.
On the other side, Cole's fighting style was far more concise and efficient.
The Imperial Guard's martial arts were an incomprehensible art. Even when surrounded by several Death Guard, he remained calm and composed.
He didn't use the sweeping, powerful slashes like Sicarius.
One Death Guard raised his great axe and brought it down. Cole simply sidestepped, the end of his halberd striking the guard precisely at the wrist joint. With a crisp crack of bone breaking, the power axe flew from the guard's hand.
Immediately, the halberd spun, its blade, coated in golden light, piercing the three iconic circular holes on the enemy's breastplate.
A dual burst of disruption field and Imperial psionic energy.
*Boom!*
The Death Guard's entire chest cavity was blasted out.
"Target cleared." Cole coldly withdrew the halberd, flicked off the black blood, and continued searching for the next target.
With Eileen's pinpoint support, even in such unfavorable conditions, the Empire's elite troops still displayed overwhelming combat power.
Seven Death Guard, five of whom had fallen in less than three minutes.
The remaining two showed no fear or hesitation. They stepped over their fallen comrades, mechanically pulling triggers and wielding their swords.
Until Sergeant Varo's close-range shot completely obliterated one of them, and Sicarius sliced the last enemy into three pieces.
The battle was over.
The plaza fell silent once more. Only the hum of the power armor radiators and the heavy breathing of the men could be heard.
"It's over?" Eileen looked around at the charred remains, letting out a slight sigh of relief.
But Sicarius's expression didn't relax; instead, it grew even more grave.
He looked at the corpses. Too easy.
This was just an ordinary squad, more like cannon fodder used to wear them down.
"Stay alert." Cole turned to face the massive grain silo, shielding Eileen behind him. "The real threat is yet to come."
Just as he finished speaking…
*Buzz—*
The pebbles on the ground began to tremble.
The enormous grain silo, now practically alive, suddenly began to shake violently.
It wasn't a natural earthquake.
It was a sound.
At first, it was faint, like a few mosquitoes buzzing in her ear.
But after only a few seconds, the sound became an overwhelming roar.
*Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz—*
The sound of a swarm of bees flapping their wings.
Billions. No, trillions.
Eileen covered her ears in terror; the sound was omnipresent, making her skull tingle.
Suddenly, a thick column of black smoke billowed from the enormous chimney atop the grain silo.
It was the Plague Fly Swarm.
Countless demonic insects, each the size of a fingernail and carrying a deadly plague capable of infecting a planet, coalesced into a dark, blotting-out cloud.
These vile creatures swirled and gathered in the air, swallowing even the surrounding light.
At the center of this black whirlwind, a colossal, inhuman figure slowly descended.
A giant, even taller than a typical Terminator.
He wore an ancient, heavy Terminator armor, as thick as a mobile fortress.
The armor was unrecognizable, its surface covered in grayish-white keratin and mycelium, resembling a giant, walking fly.
A single horn sprouted from his helmet. The exhaust pipe on his back no longer spewed exhaust fumes, but rather, a continuous stream of insects.
His weapon was a massive, long-handled war scythe.
The legendary weapon, said to be soaked in the filth beneath Nurgle's throne—
*"The Manreaper."*
*Thump.*
The colossal figure crashed to the ground, the metal floor groaning beneath its feet.
Swarms of flies buzzed around it, as if it were a Michelin-starred defense.
Even from dozens of meters away, the overwhelming psionic pressure, like a landslide and a tsunami, instantly shattered the faint golden aura Eileen had maintained.
Eileen felt a sweet taste in her throat, her legs went weak, and she nearly collapsed.
"That... that... what is that?" Eileen's voice trembled as she pointed at the figure.
Sicarius stared intently at the giant, his teeth grinding, forcing out the name cursed by the entire Empire for ten thousand years:
"Typhus the Traveler."
"The Death Guard... the First Company Captain... a Herald of the Plague God."
The giant slowly raised his head.
Even through the thick helmet, everyone felt a gaze filled with decay and arrogance.
"Ah… look what we have here… I smell it…"
A hoarse, deep voice rang out amidst the buzzing of black flies.
"…The nauseating… stench of the Corpse God."