When the Iron Hands squad breached the primary warehouse district, the scene that greeted them defied the limits of their imagination. Decay and distortion had claimed the entire sector; the metal bulkheads were mottled with leprous cankers. The floor was carpeted in the mangled remains of daemons. Foul ichor leaked from the corpses, releasing a specialized plague saturated with the reek of Chaos.
Silver light flickered across the massive frames of the two Destroyer-class Heavy Automata. Specialized, tight-fitting energy shields isolated the machines from external contact, the fields hissing and crackling as they met the atmosphere. The energies of the Warp were visibly clawing at these barriers.
Gigantic Plague Beasts, standing over ten meters tall and bristling with jagged, unnatural spines, had been reduced to heaps of shredded carrion by the automata's power claws. The terrifying precision of the severed edges spoke to the abruptness of the death that had found them.
As the Iron Hands arrived, a gargantuan daemon, a multi-headed horror covered in twisted bone protrusions, was locked in a desperate struggle with the Destroyer-class machines. The warehouse's spatial constraints prevented the automata from deploying their burners; to unleash ionic flame here would likely turn the entire facility into a sea of molten slag.
Furthermore, a bizarre metallic firearm fused into the daemon's necrotic flesh was the primary reason the automata could not commit to a total offensive. A massive, rust-pitted barrel of inexplicable durability repeatedly clashed with the flickering disruption fields of the automata's power claws. The signal that had first alerted Axion originated from a component of this very weapon.
Though the origin of the weapon was unclear, it was evident that someone had utilized ancient Federation heritage to construct the device, or perhaps a later successor had perfected a lost fragment of Federation technology. Pale green beams of Nurgle's foul sorcery erupted from the barrel intermittently, forcing the Destroyer-class units into evasive maneuvers.
Earlier in the engagement, one automaton had been struck by a green beam. That single hit had nearly shattered its heavy shielding. Since then, the two machines were forced into a grueling contest of strength against the mountain of meat. Blessed by Nurgle, the daemon possessed staggering physical power and preternatural regenerative capabilities; its bloated form loomed even larger than the two Destroyer units.
Hampered by their objective, the automata found the engagement suboptimal. Under normal parameters, the simplest solution would have been to crush the enemy's weapon, pin the target with gravitational anchors, and rend it limb from limb. Now, however, the mission required the seizure of that strange weapon intact.
Despite this, the daemon's form was slowly being hammered into ruin.
The Iron Hands warriors moved with difficulty through the thickening green toxic fog. Their ancient Volkite weapons were brought to bear. Beams of thermal energy lanced out, striking the daemon's hide and leaving behind expansive patches of blackened, deflagrated flesh. Stray flickers of flame occasionally brushed against the Destroyer-class automata, but the splash damage was insufficient to penetrate the heavy units' shields.
Segments of the giant Plague Beast's scorched flesh crumbled away, only for even denser clouds of green vapor to erupt from within. The heavy-caliber Volkite Calivers proved far more devastating than the neutron beams carried by the Sentry-Troopers. The high-energy combustion effect was even more effective against the daemons of Nurgle than the atomic pulse cannons of the Armored Wardens.
For the first time, the Iron Hands felt the true scale of their own insignificance. The battle between the Destroyers and the Plague Beast was a brutal exchange of raw force and flying gore. The sight of the splashing, necrotic fluids was stomach-turning.
The influence of the Plague God was beginning to erode everyone present. The combat efficiency of the two Destroyer-class automata was steadily degrading. One of the daemon's twisted heads let out a piercing, maddening laugh.
"Accept the Grandfather's blessing... Join the evolution of life... Pain shall be redeemed... even machines shall be granted the gift of life!"
Strange spots of rust began to manifest continuously. Even the nanite swarms housed within the Destroyers, working tirelessly to repair their frames, could not halt this unnatural corrosion. Some of the nanites even began to exhibit the same rusted reaction after attempting to break down the blighted spots.
The Chaos plague permeated the air, coiling around the two Destroyer-class automata like a shroud. The Iron Hands, caught in the periphery, were suffering far worse. Their power armor began to age and become brittle with impossible speed; life-support systems hissed with leaks. The malevolent power of Chaos was tainting their cybernetic limbs and rotting what little remained of their biological flesh.
"Ferric Blight!"
The Iron Hands sergeant, well-versed in the horrors of the galaxy, cried out in near-despair at the mention of the plague known as the "Bane of Machines."
"Heh... heh... the Grandfather's gifts are not yours to refuse."
The ancient Volkite Calivers were seizing up, and bone-like spurs began to sprout from the casings of several weapons. These infected armaments seemed to gain a malevolent sentience, twisting and writhing as they attempted to fuse with and consume the Iron Hands wielding them. Should they be swallowed by their own gear, they risked being transformed into grotesque, twisted nightmares.
Several small, spindly figures with unnaturally long tongues scrambled through the daemonic gore on the floor, chirping as they tried to leap onto the Destroyers' chassis. These were Glitchlings, daemons of Nurgle similar to Nurglings, but specialized in the sabotage of machinery and metal.
Clearly, the battle here had drawn the personal gaze of the Plague Father himself.
Khorne and Slaanesh had both previously been frustrated by these mechanical entities. Nurgle, however, did not believe he would be so easily repelled. On the contrary, with the appearance of the Glitchlings, the long-dormant technological relics within the warehouse were being forcefully awakened. The shattered daemonic meat on the ground was merging with the machinery, birthing hideous new Nurgle Soul Grinders and Defilers.
The warp-shadow cast by the Chaos energy severed the Iron Hands' vox-link with the Battle Barge in orbit. However, Axion could still monitor the situation via quantum communication. Facing this unprecedented threat, Axion's processing cores calculated potential solutions.
The planet itself held little value; it could be subjected to Exterminatus to resolve the issue once and for all. But what of other Imperial worlds? At this thought, a staggering proposal was raised within Axion's calculation core.
Aboard the Titan's Spear, mechanical apparatuses roared into life. A massive fluid tank was constructed within a transport craft by tireless automata and rapidly filled to capacity. The transport screamed toward the base of the mountains, trailing a plume of fire.
The battle within the mountain raged on as Nurgle's influence continued to spread. The unnatural plague was swallowing the entire warehouse.
As the transport touched down, the four Sapient Machine Automata waiting in the hall swiftly threw open the rear hatch and hauled out several massive conduits. Valves were wrenched open. A flood of shimmering, radiant liquid surged violently into the warehouse.