All the daemons of Nurgle froze.
Even among the followers of the Four Chaos Gods, Nurgle's daemons—known for being the slowest to react—were typically characterized by their sluggishness and stubborn tenacity. However, they were still daemons blessed by the Grandfather; their reaction speeds were not something mortals could hope to match.
Yet, in this brief span of time, no one spoke. A deathly silence fell over the entirety of Nurgle's Garden.
The Nurglings, who had been frolicking and fighting just a moment ago, stiffened in place. Their round bodies stopped swaying, and grotesque, comical expressions froze on their festering little faces. They stared blankly at the uninvited guest, pus dripping from their open mouths, forgotten.
Ku'gath's massive frame was pinned by some invisible force, having lost all capacity to respond. His cloudy eyeballs bulged so far they seemed ready to fall out of their sockets.
Mortarion knelt on one knee. The wound at his waist was still slowly knitting together, but his thought processes had completely stalled.
How is this possible?
The vicinity of the Grandfather's mansion in Nurgle's Garden—one of the most hidden realms in the deepest reaches of the Warp, a core sanctuary that had never been breached throughout the history of the Chaos Gods' Great Game—was being invaded?
That mortal—or rather, that thing that looked like a mortal—stood there so blatantly on the land where the Plague God's power was most concentrated. He stood in the heart of the corruption that should have turned any living being into a puddle of pus, looking as composed as if he were taking a stroll in his own backyard.
A profound terror seized the heart of every daemon. If even the Grandfather's Garden was no longer safe, then where in this universe could be called home?
As if to accommodate their current mood, it began to rain.
It was a light, pitter-patter drizzle. Rain was a frequent occurrence in Nurgle's Garden, but it was usually a foul acid rain, viscous as pus, falling with a sickening hiss to nourish the festering marshes and deformed flora.
This time, however, it was entirely different. Even the Astartes visiting the Garden for the first time could sense it.
This rain was transparent and cool, carrying a long-lost scent of freshness—the unique fragrance of rain hitting soil that could only be found on unpolluted Paradise Worlds.
It fell upon the rotting marshes, and the seething bogs went still. The pus, bubbling with foul odors, cleared and evaporated at a visible rate, eventually revealing the soil beneath that had not seen light for ages.
It fell upon the deformed trees. The pulsating tumors withered silently, shriveling until they fell away as fine powder. The trunks began to crumble, but in the process of disintegrating, strands of green moss actually began to grow within the cracks.
Ku'gath lowered his head blankly, looking at his massive body. The seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven types of microorganisms he had cherished for countless centuries met their end at the same time.
The precious plagues he took pride in—the unique gifts personally bestowed by the Grandfather—withered in vast patches like they had met a natural predator. They peeled away from his rotten skin as multicolored powder, spiraling down to the ground.
A scent he had never experienced before entered his nostrils. It was... the smell of being clean?
Ku'gath discovered to his horror that the stench on his body was being ruthlessly washed away by some force. It was as if he had been soaked in a super-deodorant; the armor of rot that had protected him his entire life was being stripped away layer by layer.
"This... this is impossible..." Ku'gath murmured, his voice trembling beyond recognition.
Then, Adam drew his sword.
After the brief cleaning, the real show was about to begin. The moment the sword was unsheathed, the entirety of Nurgle's Garden was illuminated.
A blinding holy flame burned upon the blade. The fire was so intense it was as if a thousand suns had risen simultaneously from the horizon, turning this place of eternal corruption as bright as day.
Daemons accustomed to gloom and viscosity shrieked and covered their eyes. Even the festering skin of the Nurglings, which usually feared no light, burned with stinging pain.
In a short amount of time, Adam had completed the total transformation of this blade. As a Class IV Reality Bender, he was an existence capable of independently creating anomalous entities.
He assigned the following traits:
The Emperor's psychic intensity and the strength of faith support are increased thirteenfold from their original base.
The restraining effect against Chaos daemons is increased thirteenfold from its original base.
Attack power, destructive force, attack range, and penetration are all increased thirteenfold.
It was that simple.
The ground of the Garden began to tremble, seemingly unable to bear this gargantuan power. Roaring celestial fire fell from the heavens.
It was true celestial fire—not a metaphor or a figure of speech, but a waterfall of flame composed purely of psychic energy. It crashed into the soil of Nurgle's Garden, into the twisted trees, and onto the daemons fleeing in terror.
The ringing sound, like a death knell, sent every inhabitant of the Garden into a state of total panic. The violent flare of the flames spread in all directions. Trees shrieked as they were uprooted, but before they could escape, they were incinerated into ash.
Tens of millions of plague-flies rose from the corpse-piles, attempting to flee into the sky, only to turn into wisps of blue smoke in mid-air.
Nurglings protected by the Grandfather barely held on, but they too let out piercing screams as if they had seen a ghost, scrambling to flee in all directions. Their round bodies rolled through the marshes, struggled in the fire, and wailed in despair.
Mortarion struggled to stand, raising the great scythe known as "Silence." However, he could not move. A massive terror seized his limbs, turning his muscles as stiff as iron.
Mortarion could only watch the sword-bearing figure, unable to stop himself from raising a hand to shield his eyes—the holy flame was too bright, searing his eyeballs with pain.
"...Father?"
His voice trembled, uttering a sound of fear he had never made in the past ten thousand years. It was the guilt of a child caught committing a small but completely unforgivable crime.
Adam smiled. "To survive, you would even call out to your Father?"
He raised the sword. The floor of the Garden began to heave violently. Rotting vegetation twisted, grew, withered, and grew again with madness. The scene began to shift drastically, as if the entire Garden were resisting the sword's presence yet found itself powerless to do so.
"...This is impossible! Who are you?!" Mortarion shrieked, despair in his voice.
"I am the Emperor's companion. I am the hope for humanity's rise. I am Adam, the dawn from another universe!" Adam declared.
His voice was resonant and powerful. With the massive boost of his reality-bending ability, the roaring soundwaves traveled across the entire Garden within 0.0001 seconds, gradually spreading outward and echoing throughout the Warp.
As his words fell, a strange silence gripped Nurgle's Garden. In response, Nurgle clearly reacted.
Inside the black mansion, a small window opened soundlessly. A gaze peered out. It was a cloudy, ancient gaze that landed on Adam, assessing him from head to toe.
Adam simply held his sword level, facing it calmly. The holy flame on the sword burned even more fiercely, as if responding to the gaze's scrutiny.
Mortarion backed away with difficulty, looking back timidly. "Save me, Grandfather."
A force reached out to him, gave a sudden yank, and pulled him away at a speed exceeding light. He flew across the Garden and into the door that had opened at some unknown point.
Adam did not stop it; he just watched calmly.
A murmured whisper echoed in his ears. The sound did not seem like a single person speaking, but rather like countless dying patients moaning at once, countless rotting bodies squirming at once, countless foul bubbles bursting at once.
"...Are you here to declare war?"
"Of course! To you players hiding behind the veil—the war has begun!" Adam said.
He held the sword high. The holy flame on the blade soared into the sky, shrouding more than half of the Garden in light.
"This is both a declaration and a warning. The Warp and the material realm were once in balance. Ten thousand years ago, a human waged a war that could be called the greatest in the history of the galaxy. At the cost of himself, he once defeated you utterly, leaving you to lick your wounds in the Warp."
"And now, I shall inherit his work and complete his unfinished task!"
His voice grew even more passionate, every word like a hammer striking the soul of every daemon.
"Remember this, Lord of Pestilence—and pass this news to your brothers! I do not speak for myself, nor for the Emperor; I speak for the whole of humanity!"
"Go and prepare! The true war has begun!"
Nurgle watched him. He remained silent. That gaze stayed on Adam, and no one knew what the Lord of Pestilence was thinking, nor if He would choose to act. The mansion door remained open, and Mortarion had vanished into the darkness behind it.
Adam simply held his sword high. His gaze was firm, showing no fear. As long as the opponent took the initiative to strike, with the Emperor's power amplified by his own Class IV reality bending, he might just be able to take the hit.
Do Gods bleed, too?
Time seemed to freeze at this moment. One heartbeat. Then another.
Then, the gaze was withdrawn. The black mansion fell into silence. The small window closed soundlessly, as if nothing had ever happened.
Adam smiled. He did not lower his guard, but a slight curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
"Then, let us begin."
Adam turned to face the Astartes who had followed him—the heroes from different eras, the warriors who were now looking at him with eyes full of awe, fervor, and disbelief.
Adam raised his sword, the holy flame illuminating every face.
"For Humanity!"