Facing this unknown large tin can who had stepped out of nowhere, Typhus did not hesitate. He charged.
And then the thing that truly frightened him happened.
Nurgle's Sacred Pestilence, which he had been given directly, vanished in an instant.
His own attack, which had landed with colossal force, was deflected with what appeared to be absolutely no effort.
In that moment Typhus felt only one thing: that what he had run into was not a Space Marine.
It was a mountain.
The same sensation as standing at the foot of the settlements on Barbarus as a child, looking up at the peaks where the overlords lived. That long-forgotten feeling of....
Powerlessness.
---o---
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The impacts kept coming. Every attack Typhus threw, the opponent countered without a single flourish or technique. Nothing but plain, simple direct strikes, every one of them landing with absolute, crushing weight. Each blow arrived with the unhurried ease of someone taking a leisurely stroll.
This produced in Typhus a genuine, marrow-deep terror. It felt exactly like ten thousand years ago, when an enraged Mortarion had stepped into Nurgle's divine realm and casually begun killing things.
And what frightened him even more was the greatsword itself. Every time it connected, it took something from him. A portion of his Sacred Pestilence, stripped away with each hit.
What kind of sword was this...
---o---
"This is perfect!!!"
Zhou Ye, in contrast, was having an absolutely wonderful time. This sword had been custom built specifically for himself.
He had named it: Covenant: Heavenfire Holy Verdict, Daemon-Devourer.
The creative inspiration had come from Guilliman's Emperor's Sword, combined with the practical problem that Zhou Ye really could not afford to simply pull out the conversion device in the middle of a battlefield and start stuffing things into it. That would be genuinely too shocking -- even by his standards. The real concern was getting targeted simultaneously by all four Chaos Gods. The Emperor had famously been dragged onto the Golden Throne with all four of them working together, and while Zhou Ye's Star Rail network couldn't be weaponized into something like the Webway project that had turned against the Emperor, being targeted by all four at the same time would still be an extremely bad day.
So for the purpose of misdirection, he had forged this sword.
At its core it was a weakened, heavily modified version of the conversion device. Every time it struck a Warp-infused entity, it stripped away a portion of their essence or raw energy. The efficiency was naturally far lower than simply throwing something directly into the converter -- but the approach was considerably more discreet. And when necessary, it could wear the golden skin of the Emperor's power as a disguise layer.
The converter itself had one critical limitation: it was fragile when dealing with powerful live subjects. The last things he had fed into it directly were plague zombies and Nurglings, both of which had limited resistance and couldn't damage the mechanism from inside. Something like a Great Unclean One, a Daemon Prince, or Typhus himself would almost certainly tear the converter apart from within.
This setup, though, worked perfectly. The sword was ultimately still a weapon. The conversion was a secondary function. And down the road, he could look at equipping some of his Chapter's warriors with diluted versions. In the context of Warhammer 40K this thing would classify as a relic or divine artifact outright -- but it only functioned to its full potential when supported by his own power. Without him channeling through it, it was no better than a masterwork blade. Excellent, but nothing more.
So as far as Typhus was concerned at this moment...
He was a perfect energy source. An absolutely prime specimen of a pig, and you did not slaughter a pig like this all at once. You took your time. You peeled it apart layer by layer.
There was no reason to show any courtesy to Chaos filth anyway. Go for it.
He had activated the Authority of Finality. Typhus, while hardly weak, was moving in what felt like slow motion from inside that bubble of decelerated perception. The Warp concentration around Typhus was dense, but not quite dense enough to seriously interfere with the Authority's operation.
So....
From Typhus's perspective, he was facing something divine. Every single piece of Sacred Pestilence and every psyker attack he launched simply ceased to function the moment it made contact with the opponent. The former was erased on contact by the Wither Authority. The latter was absorbed and neutralized by the Imaginary energy field Zhou Ye carried, which was so vast in quantity that the incoming psyker energy simply dissolved into it.
In theory Imaginary and psyker energy were not fundamentally different in nature -- but the sheer volume of Imaginary energy surrounding Zhou Ye meant that Typhus's psyker output was simply swallowed without a ripple.
And what made this even more valuable was that Typhus, as Nurgle's chosen Champion, was carrying far more Warp-infused material in his body than several named Greater Daemons combined. He was yielding more energy per hit than even that unnamed Great Unclean One currently spraying plague across the battlefield. The range between Greater Daemons was genuinely extreme at both ends -- Guilliman had casually strangled several Khornate Greater Daemons upon returning to Terra, while Ka'Bandha had dealt serious wounds to Sanguinius himself, albeit briefly, before being destroyed.
Zhou Ye had originally planned to devour the nameless Great Unclean One. But Typhus had come to him personally, and that changed the calculation entirely.
---o---
"Wait..."
After another massive wound opened across his body -- which healed almost instantly -- Typhus finally realized what was happening.
His Warp essence was being consumed.
Not simply from the damage of injury. This was something else. This was the same sensation as being burned by the False Emperor's power -- which meant this sword was a divine artifact. One capable of causing harm at the level of fundamental essence.
Typhus shuddered.
And what disturbed him even further -- this person had concealed that power so deeply that he had only detected it after taking this much damage.
But what unsettled him most of all was something he had just identified.
"Death -- you are a child of Grandfather, why do you prostrate yourself before the power of the False Emperor!!!"
He had finally recognized what was neutralizing his every attack. Death. The purest form of death. Nurgle's own Sacred Pestilence was itself a manifestation of life, a twisted expression of vitality's cycle. But under this absolute, pure decay, all plague and all life would ultimately be annihilated and reduced to nothing. This was power operating at the level of pure concept.
Though conceptual power without sufficient magnitude behind it was useless.
"Hm?"
Zhou Ye paused in mid-swing.
What was this individual talking about. A child of Nurgle? He was no Nurgling. He had no connection to Nurgle whatsoever. And more importantly...
The Emperor's appearance was considerably more presentable than any of these plague-infected swine.
Though, setting all other considerations aside -- in a pure cost-benefit analysis of choosing a Chaos patron within the world of Warhammer 40K, Nurgle was the most viable investment. But Zhou Ye had absolutely no interest in any of the options. He found all four Chaos Gods equally repulsive, without hierarchy or preference.
"Laughable."
He said it flatly.
But since Typhus had said it aloud, there was no longer any reason to hold back. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say the man had finally said exactly the line Zhou Ye had been subtly guiding him toward all along.
So almost immediately afterward --
Boom.
Blazing golden flames ignited across the greatsword.
Then Zhou Ye brought it down with everything.
Torrential fire burst outward in all directions, scorching waves of brilliant heat rolling across the entire battlefield. Countless Nurgle plague zombies, plus a swath of daemonic Nurgle creatures, were incinerated to ash in an instant.
---o---
"What a rush!! But unfortunately, AOE attacks like that are satisfying but wasteful -- burning things away only recovers a tiny fraction of the energy. Such a shame..."
Then, as he watched the daemons being consumed by the flames while releasing agonized shrieks, Zhou Ye paused for a moment.
Something unexpected.
The flames were golden, yes -- but that was purely cosmetic. He had painted the skin of the display to imitate the Emperor's power. The actual source was the Authority of the Herrscher of Flame. While that Authority did carry the ability to consume daemons, it only operated that way when the blade's edge was in direct physical contact, and the efficiency was limited. Something like Typhus would lose a significant portion of his convertible essence if incinerated outright rather than bled down gradually.
But these smaller daemons had simply burned. The larger ones had been damaged but not destroyed.
And then Zhou Ye understood what he was observing.
This was Warhammer 40K. The "I Think Therefore It Is" principle was woven into the fundamental fabric of this universe. Especially in the presence of entities drenched in Warp energy. The moment he swung this sword and these daemons perceived the Emperor's power, they had produced some kind of specific, amplified reaction to that belief.
And the sword's conceptual prototype was a genuine Emperor's Sword. The real one. So some amount of unusual chemical reaction between the two was perhaps inevitable.
The effect seemed somewhat weaker than the actual Emperor's Sword. But that was fine -- he had built the sword specifically to conceal its true power, and the Emperor's Sword cosmetic layer was a secondary facade.
---o---
But in this one moment...
Typhus felt genuine terror for the first time.
He knew that even if he died, Grandfather could resurrect him. But if this sword was the thing that killed him -- he could not be certain that what Grandfather brought back would still be him in any meaningful sense.
And so, for the first time, Typhus ran.
Nurgle was not Khorne. Retreating did not result in his patron erupting in furious contempt.
But the moment he turned away, a bone-deep cold detonated behind him.
Frost crystalized across the ground. The entire surrounding area seemed to freeze -- as though time in this small radius had simply locked into place. His Nurgle-blessed, enormously bloated body was suddenly arrested, immobilized --
"What terrifying psyker power..."
That was Typhus's last coherent thought.
Then his bloated head was removed.
Zhou Ye killed him outright. He could not allow this one to escape. The full kill was not as efficient as a complete harvest, but it was still acceptable. Typhus being killed by him would at minimum make resurrection an uncomfortable challenge.
But in the last instant, Zhou Ye detected his soul being rapidly withdrawn.
"Damn it, just a fraction too slow..."
He muttered it inwardly, watching the soul vanish. The moment Typhus had called out "Grandfather, save me," Zhou Ye had already sensed an unusual Warp disturbance. Nurgle, in his characteristic benevolence, had moved to pull his Herald back directly into the Garden of Nurgle -- which was precisely why Zhou Ye had gone for the instant kill. Not fast enough. Typhus had not been rendered completely gone, body and soul simultaneously annihilated beyond recovery.
---o---
Elsewhere on the field, the battle continued.
The Emperor Titan had finally closed with the Plague Titan.
At this point the Plague Titan had transformed into something that could only be called a flesh beast. From Zhou Ye's perspective it was the most nutritious thing on the entire battlefield. The two colossal machines drew close, and the two Aeldari Phantom Titans split to either side, attacking the Plague Titan's legs from left and right.
This was a known weakness of Titan engagements. Old promotional footage had shown Aeldari Phantom Titans cutting a Warlord-class machine down by targeting its legs specifically.
Under normal circumstances, that analysis held.
But this Plague Titan was anything but normal. It had swollen so catastrophically far beyond its original Warlord-class dimensions that those strikes simply became lodged in the grotesque amalgam of metal and living flesh. The Aeldari pilots stared at this result for one baffled moment -- then scrambled to withdraw. But the bizarre flesh was already beginning to extend toward them in the other direction.
Then --
Crack.
The Emperor Titan's strike landed with absolute authority. It drove directly through the Plague Titan's body, then the weapon inside dragged downward with full power.
In an instant, the colossal Titan was split cleanly in two.
Dense, viscous fluid sprayed in every direction. Even the Nurgle daemon forces below who made contact with it began shrieking in apparent distress -- one Nurgling made contact, rolled both eyes upward, and simply keeled over dead. Whatever had been inside that thing, even Nurgle's own creatures could not process it.
Boom!!!
Then the massive detonation arrived. Within moments the Plague Titan detonated in place, erupting like a ruptured abscess.
The Sacred Pestilence within it, concentrated by extreme force, washed outward in a wave directed at the Emperor Titan and both Phantom Titans simultaneously.
The earth shook.
The Emperor Titan staggered and toppled, its arm that had made direct contact with the Plague Titan shearing away in seconds as the corruption ate through it. The weight of its fall made the ground tremble. Rotting patterns began crawling across the Emperor Titan's hull.
The two Aeldari Phantom Titans fared no better. One was swallowed almost immediately. The second was shielded by the Emperor Titan, which Zhou Ye had instinctively moved to protect it.
He was not native to Warhammer 40K. Protecting teammates was apparently still reflex.
"Their Titan forces are now eliminated. Our mission objective is complete."
The Aeldari Farseer's voice reached him through the comm -- the tremor in it made clear that their hearts were bleeding even as they delivered the report. They were not incapable of producing more Phantom Titans. But the pilots were the problem. Finding qualified ones was extraordinarily difficult for them.
"..."
Before Zhou Ye could respond, the remaining Phantom Titan and the two surviving Wraith Constructs opened a transit gate and were gone.
He said nothing. These ones had at minimum accomplished the main objective. They had not betrayed the alliance. The loss of one Phantom Titan was painful, and the Wraithknights were now down to two. He would let it go.
Considering these particular Aeldari, this already counted as reliable.
"This plague filth -- fire everything!!!"
Zhou Ye was not about to do nothing about the Sacred Pestilence washing over his Emperor Titan. He had already prepared for this. The pestilence smashed against his Wither Authority and rapidly dissolved. The two forces cancelled each other, and the plague erosion stopped.
The Emperor Titan had lost a leg and was temporarily unable to move. But that did not mean it had no firepower.
Energy gathered across the weapon arrays.
Then --
Boom!!!
A colossal bombardment punched outward, crossing the battlefield and penetrating straight through the second Plague Titan -- which was still engaged in combat with the Ork Mega Gargant -- and the Mega Gargant itself simultaneously.
In an instant, two enormous machines collapsed.
The methods were somewhat different. The Plague Titan's Void Shield had already been driven to overload earlier, and this second hit simply burned a massive hole directly through its hull. The Mega Gargant, being a construct of assembled salvage and collective Ork belief, simply fell apart into component pieces on impact, depositing a shower of Orks directly into the middle of the Nurgle daemon forces below.
That particular Mega Gargant would not be rebuilt. Zhou Ye had specifically targeted its core. The Warboss inside had been vaporized. The Greenskin mob dissolved into chaos.
Zhou Ye turned the Emperor Titan's weapons to bear on the Nurgle daemon host's center mass.
Without Typhus at its head, this force was already meat on a cutting board. He intended to finish it.
Energy gathered on the weapon arrays.
But --
Boom.
A beam of black light tore across the sky and struck the Emperor Titan directly.
The colossal machine, already unsteady, took the full force of the impact and could no longer hold position. It toppled backward and fell. The systems inside crashed into emergency shutdown. The attack that had been charging was left undelivered.
"!!!"
Zhou Ye stared.
Then a vast shadow fell from above, directly slamming into the ground in front of him.
He looked at the enormous figure that had just landed -- wings spread wide, like some colossal moth dropping from the heavens -- and pulled a slow, deep breath.
He had not anticipated encountering this particular individual quite so soon.
A Daemon Primarch.
Mortarion.
---o---
The moment Mortarion appeared, the entire Nurgle daemon host erupted in renewed frenzy. Simultaneously, two more Great Unclean Ones stepped through the breach behind him -- unnamed, based on what he could observe. The truly formidable named ones apparently still could not pass through. The veil between realspace and the Warp had been weakened, but not enough to permit entities of that magnitude.
"It was you who killed Typhus?"
Even Mortarion was somewhat at a loss. That Typhus had been killed by someone was not itself implausible. But that terrified final scream had been audible throughout every corner of Nurgle's Garden near the Plague God's position. Then Nurgle had immediately intervened -- and still, the soul Nurgle recovered was incomplete. How had this person managed to damage Typhus to this extent while operating under Grandfather's direct gaze? And moreover...
"Such pure death and life. Come, join us -- my.... Brother!!!"
"Hm?"
The remaining Space Wolves and Lamenters both went momentarily blank simultaneously.
As Astartes, they knew the history. And the moment Mortarion appeared, the Space Wolf cubs felt their hearts stop entirely. They knew who this was. A Primarch of the Imperium who had betrayed everything. Over ten thousand years the traitor Primarchs had rarely manifested directly -- but every appearance had been a cataclysm. And now they were looking at a fallen Daemon Primarch on the same battlefield they were standing on.
"Russ..."
Volvok Blood-Howl said it barely above a murmur, his voice hollow. This was already so far beyond anything he had prepared for that his first instinct was to call in an Exterminatus and be done with it.
"Traitor! Traitor! Shameless traitor!!!"
The Space Wolves Dreadnought Ancient, flat on its back with all four limbs destroyed and unable to move, kept roaring from the ground regardless.
But then Mortarion's next words made the entire field go slightly quiet.
"Brother..."
A Daemon Primarch's brother.
A Primarch.
Ah. That explained everything. Of course. No wonder Typhus had been put down so casually. No wonder such ancient warriors could be commanded and organized at this level. No wonder even their own Ancient addressed this person as my Lord.
If this person was a Primarch -- everything made sense.
So this individual who had looked like they were overworked to the point of returning to the Golden Throne was actually a Primarch. All right, that tracked...
Except it absolutely did not, and nothing was fine at all!!!
A loyal Imperial Primarch! A loyalist Primarch -- who on the Throne was it?
The Space Wolf cubs' minds were simultaneously short-circuiting. But regardless of the confusion --
They had apparently been fighting the entire engagement under the command of a Primarch, alongside a group of ancient Dreadnought Ancients of the Great Crusade era.
This was the kind of honor that made death feel like a worthy conclusion...
Oof.
"Damn it, this identity can't be kept anymore!!!"
Zhou Ye registered Mortarion's words and went blank for a moment.
Then he became aware that both sides of the battlefield had gone slightly quiet around him simultaneously.
And then he swore out loud.
An Imperial Primarch. Certified directly by a Daemon Primarch. A loyal Primarch -- an actual Primarch.
A Primarch your rear end. Your whole family's Primarchs -- oh, wait, that was technically accurate.
Well. He did perform exactly like one, didn't he. Anyone capable of beating Typhus to that degree who wasn't a Primarch would have raised much more uncomfortable questions.
In that same moment Mortarion charged again, scythe descending with colossal force toward him.
Clang!!!
A clean, crisp collision rang out. The ground under Zhou Ye's feet shattered from the impact -- but Mortarion's blow, delivered with the full force of Nurgle's divine blessing behind it, was repelled outright.
Zhou Ye stopped pretending.
He became a streak of light.
In an instant he was inside Mortarion's reach, and the two of them punched directly into the middle of the Nurgle daemon formation together. Fluid sprayed in every direction.
"Who are you.... Alpha, or Omega -- which of my two most mysterious brothers are you."
Mortarion, even in the thick of close combat, looked at Zhou Ye with something that could only be described as genuine curiosity.
Zhou Ye, who had at this point become mildly irritated with everything happening around him, answered without hesitation. It was almost completely instinctive:
"I am your father!!!"