At this moment, Nyx received his answer: pain. He estimated that several of his ribs were still broken.
That seemingly casual flick of Mork's thumb had contained immense power — enough to pierce through stars — propelling him like a meteor through layer after layer of Warp storms, hurtling towards the cold, dark material universe.
As for his destination, it could not have been clearer. Mork's parting words echoed, unmistakable: the Storm Starfield. Barbarus.
A world shrouded in deadly toxic mist, steeped in death and suffering. A death world claimed by Nurgle. The last place Nyx wanted to be.
At this moment, he was like Mortarion, another 'chosen son' whom this planet had welcomed countless years ago — piercing through the thick, green poisonous clouds. The atmosphere scoured his shattered golden armour, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Below, the grotesque surface of miasmic swamps and harsh mountains swelled rapidly.
"AH——?! NONONONO——!!"
Nyx cried out, desperately attempting to adjust his falling trajectory — which refused utterly to obey him. He did not want to plunge headfirst into the dark green bog below, bubbling with putrescent froth and saturated with rancid stench.
One glance at that sight made his stomach churn. Perhaps some residual trace of Mork's divine power still clung to him, because just as Nyx was about to kiss the swamp, a faint force compelled his trajectory to deviate — most reluctantly.
*BOOM——! *
Like an uncontrolled hammer, he barely skimmed the foul bog water. The wind of his passage carved a long trench, and he finally impacted a low stone and deadwood farmhouse at the marsh's edge. In an instant, shattered wooden beams, collapsing stone, and accumulated dust exploded everywhere.
"What was that noise?!"
After a brief pause, a young man's voice rang out — alert, panicked. A ragged Barbaran youth peered out from behind a nearby boulder, staring at the house that had instantly become ruins. His face was blank with shock.
"It's over... It's over!" Despair seized him instantly. On Barbarus, every handful of uncontaminated soil, every crop that struggled to survive, was precious beyond measure.
This farmhouse was not merely shelter from wind and rain. It held the seed stock — the hope for his entire village to survive the next toxic miasma season. Now, all of it had vanished in smoke and dust. He could not bear to imagine how many familiar faces would vanish forever this year, consumed by hunger and cold.
Tears welled in the boy's eyes — then were immediately replaced by a near‑maddened tenacity. He could not simply give up! He had to salvage something, anything!
He staggered forward, heedless of the danger of further collapse, and began frantically tearing away the heavy, sharp gravel and splintered wood with his bare hands.
The boy's fingers shredded quickly. Blood mixed with black mud. He seemed to feel no pain. He only wanted to find the culprit who had ruined everything.
Minutes passed. The moment he shifted the last heavy, pinned beam — he froze.
The smoke and dust thinned slightly, revealing not the expected blazing meteor or monstrous remains, but... a humanoid figure?
Heavy golden armour, such as he had never seen, even dust‑covered and shattered, could not conceal its beauty and majesty. And within it — an enormous human form.
Its size far exceeded any strongman he knew, nearly rivalling the loathsome xenos overlords who lurked in the castle atop the hill.
"...Human? A human?" The youth muttered under his breath. Then he immediately rejected the thought. Humans didn't seem to fit this description — but something else did.
"UGH! YES — A HUMANOID XENOS!!"
The boy's cry erupted into a shriek of pure terror, as though he had beheld his worst nightmare. He spun around and sprinted away from the village with all his might, leaving only Nyx — who had silently opened his eyes — with an infinitely chaotic heart amidst the ruins.
*...I don't know who you're calling a xenos?! *
*Damn... If I weren't currently incapacitated, I'd make this kid experience the supreme insult firsthand! *
...I have to... I have to tell Lord Mortarion!
The wind howled in his ears. Fear spurred his steps. This single thought remained in the youth's mind.
Only the saviour in his heart had any chance of contending with this humanoid xenos.
"Only he... Perhaps only he can deal with that monster. Maybe... maybe he can also save... the village's food stores."
His gaunt figure rapidly disappeared into the thick toxic mist and jagged rock shadows, hurrying toward the newly formed Reaper camp.
Ten minutes later, a group of Reapers surrounded the tall Mortarion as they approached the farmhouse. Most were armed with crude agricultural tools; only the massive scythe in Mortarion's hand gleamed with a cold, solid, practical light beneath the gloomy sky.
"Where's the xenos?"
One of the villagers, after scanning the area, could not restrain his roar. The farmhouse before them was intact, standing quietly. Its stone walls and deadwood roof bore no sign of damage; not a single brick was displaced. It was utterly unlike the tragic scene of destruction wrought by something crashing from the sky, as the boy had described.
"Kid — you mocking us?!"
One of the Reapers turned and glared viciously at the youth, his eyes full of impatience and suspicion. The Reapers had only just been established; every ounce of their strength was precious. They had no time to indulge a child testing some absurd hallucination. Many believed this was likely a delusion caused by toxic gas eroding the mind.
"No! I didn't!" The boy's face flushed with impatience and grievance. He turned to Mortarion, his trembling voice earnest. "I... am loyal to the Reapers and to Lord Mortarion."
"Enough, Lasker."
Mortarion's deep voice cut off the potential escalation of rebuke. His eyes saw through the pure panic in the boy's gaze — this was not pretence. Nor did the boy exhibit the typical symptoms of toxic gas inhalation. The problem, perhaps, lay within the farmhouse itself — too intact.
"You return first. I will investigate alone."
Mortarion's order made Lasker realise something was amiss. He wished to remain on guard, but under Mortarion's unwavering, calm regard, he ultimately withdrew, along with the villagers and the interrogated youth.
In the twilight of the toxic mist, Mortarion remained alone. He entered the dim interior of the farmhouse.
He carefully examined the simple furnishings. "...Seeds... farming tools... Nothing unusual." He murmured to himself. Then his massive fingers selected a stored seed, and without hesitation, he placed it in his mouth. After slowly chewing, a faint smile crossed his face.
Completely toxin‑free.
On Barbarus, every crop, to a greater or lesser degree, contained toxicity from the infiltration of poison clouds and tainted soil. The only difference was the severity. But this seed was anomalously pure — one could even call it 'frighteningly' clean.
Mortarion stood silent for a long while, until the sky was fully submerged in darkness. He closed his eyes. His perception, far beyond ordinary men, was like an invisible net, meticulously capturing every anomalous disturbance in the air.
"...No... No repulsive psychic residue remains."
In that moment, he was certain: this farmhouse had indeed been completely demolished — and then restored to its original state. This was no psychic trick; he could not be more familiar with that accursed breath than he hated it.
This was some unknown power that had caused all this. But he was too late. The so‑called 'humanoid xenos' had vanished without a trace.
Mortarion lingered no longer. He turned and exited the farmhouse, heading back toward the Reaper camp. His heavy footsteps merged with the shadows of the Barbaran night, unaware that behind him, not far away, a faint yet pure golden light was silently blooming.