Chapter 335: Today

BOOM!!!

The hunger god's lustful fire blazed fiercely along the border of the plague god's domain, brilliant violet-red flames reaching into the ink-green clouds; the carriers of plague slumped in sloth, the Nurgle spirits' laughter turned into lewd songs, and the Nurgle beasts stirred with lustful urges.

The steed-faced pleasure demon extended its tongue to pierce the plague blade held by the carrier of plague, the succubi danced their beautiful dance of delight against the Death Guard, and the hellfire harpy's music adorned the moment with cries of anguish and venomous melodies.

"Dogs of the Hunger Lord."

The buzzing of the Destroyer flies drowned out the Slaaneshi melody, and the rotting scythes slashed through Slaanesh's lustful flames.

Taphos, clad in heavy shroud-type Terminator power armor, resembled a bloated fly, standing motionless within Slaanesh's lustful fire.

Psychic energy spilled forth from the hybrid bloodlines of xenos and human, roaring and repelling Slaaneshi demons attempting to approach him; the blasphemous flesh-eating plague mixed within the psychic energy corroded the bodies of the Hunger Lord's servants.

Meanwhile, the Reapers of Decay Terminator followers of Taphos advanced forward, forming an iron wall that blocked the path between the Nurgle Garden and the invading Slaaneshi lust demons.

Mortarion had been invited by the Father to visit the garden, and the Slaaneshi demons had suddenly launched an attack for reasons unknown—both events unsettled Taphos.

The precision-crafted Butcher's Scythe in his hand swung constantly, carving arcs through the air reeking of decay, reaping the heads of any who dared approach the chosen of Nurgle.

But Taphos was not invincible; he soon met his match.

A whip and an axe struck from above and below, both aimed at Taphos; he hastily swung his scythe to block.

A Slaaneshi demon prince and a Slaaneshi demon stood before Taphos.

The slender, elegantly female-form Slaaneshi demon perched upon the shoulder of the Ma Lei Slaaneshi demon prince, the two as one.

"Syl. Isko."

Taphos whispered the names of the two Slaaneshi vanguards.

The Slaaneshi demon Syl. Sletongue and the demon prince Isko—these two were the consorts of the Hunger Lord.

It was said that the demon Syl. Sletongue fell in love with the mortal Isko; they became a symbiotic entity and jointly received Slaanesh's blessing, becoming the sharp blade of the Hunger Lord.

Axe, whip, and Taphos's Butcher's Scythe clashed together.

Relying on ten thousand years of accumulated experience, Taphos fought both demon vanguards simultaneously.

"Why do you invade the Father's domain? What does the Hunger Lord seek?!"

The growl echoed through Taphos's amplifiers; Taphos was Nurgle's voice, his tone carrying the Father's blessing.

Both Syl. Isko bore marks of disease; their movements slowed slightly.

"Of course, to satisfy our Master's desire," Syl. Isko giggled.

Behind them, lustful flames roared fiercely as more Slaaneshi demons poured forth from the border.

Taphos's expression darkened.

Though during the Great Crusade, Khan Chagatai had mocked Mortarion by calling Taphos the true master of the Fourteenth Legion,

very few Death Guard truly followed Taphos.

Mortarion, no matter what, was the liberator of Barbarus; that pale figure could command the loyalty of ninety-nine percent of Barbarus-born Death Guard to the ends of galaxy and time.

The vast majority of Death Guard beside Taphos—even those he himself had trained after the Great Betrayal—were few in number and inferior in quality.

They could not possibly hold back such a massive invasion of Slaaneshi demons.

Watching his men die in Slaanesh's lustful fire, Taphos gritted his teeth, his heart bleeding.

He could only pray to the Father, begging for reinforcements to arrive sooner.

Taphos glanced at the giant mouth-trees along the garden's border; he clenched his teeth.

In Syl. Isko's bewildered gaze, Taphos abandoned them, raised his Butcher's Scythe high, and slashed down at the giant mouth-trees.

This was the fastest way Taphos could think of to summon aid.

"Karas. Taphos?!"

The gardener Slikox roared from deep within the Nurgle Garden, calling him by his childhood name:

"You dare cut down my trees?!"

In Taphos's mixture of fear and delight, the giant snail Mors appeared instantly on the battlefield.

Chief Gardener Slikox blinked and severed the limbs and heads of seventy-seven Slaaneshi demons, leaving only their torsos to fall to the ground.

Then it pointed its shears at Taphos.

"HAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Shalashi. Mocai sprinted through the groves of the Nurgle Garden, unable to suppress its laughter.

Its plan was still perfect, its actions still elegant; it would soon regain Slaanesh's favor.

Shalashi. Mocai had been punished by Slaanesh for performing poorly during the Emperor's, Nurgle's, Tzeentch's, and Khorne's raid on Slaanesh's six rings; the Emperor's Iron General had smashed its skull with a single hammer blow, leaving it asleep through the entire war, forgotten and neglected.

But Shalashi. Mocai always excelled at seizing opportunities to regain favor; it had heard the Hunger Lord's murmurs these past days.

"Is this soup meant only for Nurgle, or do the other sisters get some too?"

"I so want to taste that rich broth."

"You know I'm the finest gourmet, yet you refuse to offer me the broth?"

"Fine, don't give it to me—but you give it to that green fatso?"

Shalashi. Mocai sensed the Hunger Lord's emotions.

The Hunger Lord desired to copulate with the being named Zhou Yun, craving to devour all of Him.

Simultaneously, as the Lord of Pleasure, Slaanesh always craved extreme stimulation through food; it yearned to taste that seemingly delicious broth.

Moreover, the Hunger Lord's intense jealousy burned: it could not bear that others possessed what it did not.

Shalashi. Mocai thus knew its opportunity had come: if it could seize that pot of broth brewed by Zhou Yun, it would regain the Hunger Lord's favor.

To this end, Shalashi. Mocai paid a heavy price, allying with a host of Slaaneshi lust demons to launch a surprise assault on the Nurgle Garden.

It never expected to truly invade the garden; it only hoped to distract Taphos and Chief Gardener Slikox.

Meanwhile, Kugath, obsessed with brewing his plague, rarely stirred from within the Nurgle Garden.

The other Great Unclean Ones—even the Rain Father—were no match for it; alone, even if it faced Shalashi. Mocai, it could dispatch the demon swiftly.

As for Mortarion, that gloomy, dull Primarch always holed up on the Plague Star, studying numerology and plotting how to trouble Guilliman—he rarely came to the Plague Garden.

Shalashi. Mocai soon spotted the six giant mouth-trees sealing Zhou Yun's broth.

Originally seven; the Plague God had drunk one. Now only six remained.

This proved one would belong to the Hunger Lord!

Shalashi. Mocai grew excited, extending its blades to cut down the six giant mouth-trees.

"Chief Slaaneshi Daemon Shalashi. Mocai."

A cold, withered voice echoed behind Shalashi. Mocai, calmly asking:

"What are you doing here?"

"I want to—huh?" Shalashi. Mocai turned its head in confusion.

Pale scales rained down like snow; ashen moth wings unfurled from beneath the rotting heavens, spreading like storm clouds over the earth.

Beneath the hood, icy eyes fixed upon Shalashi. Mocai; the deathly scythe hung suspended in midair, as if waiting to reap its life.

" unwilling to speak? No matter. Numerology has already revealed your purpose and your secrets to me."

"M-Mortarion!" Shalashi. Mocai gasped in shock.

"WORTHLESS!!!"

"ALL OF YOU ARE WORTHLESS!!!"

Furious sulfurous fire howled through Khorne's domain.

He roared, pounding the Brass Throne, staring at the eighty-seven blood-mad demons he had solidified from the surging tides of the Warp.

Creating a daemon is a complex process.

Khorne must sacrifice a portion of his own power, wrapping the ceaseless, turbulent tides of the Warp, shaping a constellation of compatible senses, existence, thoughts, and purposes into a form endowed with individuality and consciousness—granting it the ability to exist and act independently within the Warp.

This is how a daemon is born.

The amount of power Khorne sacrifices determines how many senses, thoughts, emotions, and purposes the daemon contains; generally, the more wrapped, the stronger the daemon—the highest tier being the Greater Daemons.

But the Warp's tides are erratic; even gods cannot fully discern what emotions, thoughts, or purposes lie within.

Thus, Greater Daemons are often random in nature, varying in strength; only the most exceptional emotions, thoughts, and senses coalescing into a daemon may deserve the title of Chief.

Skarbrand, before his rebellion, had always been a satisfactory tool of Khorne—but he ultimately betrayed, and in a cowardly, laughable manner.

Angron was tolerable; though he could be defeated by Loken, he still possessed the level of a Chief Greater Daemon, and Khorne used him cautiously.

But Angron was gone! Angron had vanished inexplicably from this universe!

Khorne had no choice but to continue searching for a new, suitable Chief Greater Daemon.

His luck had been poor since banishing Skarbrand; Khorne's domain held millions of blood-mad demons he had shaped over centuries, but most were mediocre.

None came close to being a Chief Greater Daemon capable of delivering sufficient slaughter—or even seizing a Primarch's skull.

Khorne continued attempting to forge new Greater Daemons, yet despite expending great power, he still had not produced one he deemed worthy.

Not even one capable of matching Tzeentch's two-headed bird, let alone that little bitch Shalashi. Mocai.

After eighty-seven attempts, Khorne finally gave up.

"BRING ME SKARBRAND BACK!!!!!!"

The roar echoed throughout the Brass Realm.

(End of Chapter)