Chapter 311: We Plan to Throw a Virus Bomb at Macragge

Dying stars churned in the crucible, dissolving into a viscous mire composed of one dying world after another.

The Father of Plagues writhed his massive body, chuckling as he stirred the ladle in his hand.

Nurgle felt delight, finding joy in the moment of diligent labor.

He sensed six entirely new strains of bacteria emerging in the galaxy.

Like mushrooms after rain, bamboo shoots in spring, mold on summer food, and corrupted fly eggs, they suddenly sprouted on Macragge, surprising and delightful.

Their colonies were still tiny, their numbers few; as bacteria themselves, they were so microscopic that amidst the vast stars they seemed utterly insignificant, attracting almost no attention.

Yet Nurgle rejoiced nonetheless; in his eyes, even the smallest bacteria held an important place.

But soon he discovered something astonishing.

How strange; these six bacteria bore no relation to one another, nor any connection to any other bacterial variety, unlike something born of natural evolution.

Instead, they seemed as though they had been manufactured.

Nurgle could not help but rest his head against the veil between reality and the Warp, observing those six newborn bacteria, and soon he grasped their effects.

Degradation, hair growth, diarrhea, thirst, insomnia, and the decomposition of knowledge?

Most were very ordinary effects; the last one was somewhat useful. Perhaps that neighbor, who had been clucking like a bird lately, would be interested.

If a few samples could be cultivated and sent to his library, it would surely bring him some surprise. Was this not the change he always spoke of?

Thinking of this, Nurgle felt a deeper interest in those bacteria and began to observe them more meticulously.

Something even stranger occurred.

He was the God of Plagues; his gaze had appraised every source of healing in the mortal realm and the Warp.

From viruses to fungi, from bacteria to parasites, he had witnessed every kind with his own eyes and cultivated them with his own hands. In fact, many, many bacteria were born in his crucible, such as the famous tuberculosis bacillus, the cholera vibrio, Staphylococcus aureus, Clostridium botulinum, and so on.

He was the most excellent master of bacterial cultivation and knew the weakness and countermeasure for every strain most clearly. At the very least, he should have been able to devise some leads.

Yet, yet he could not see it; he could not see how to stop these six bacteria from exerting their effects.

Nurgle could not help but share this delightful moment with the empathetic Isharann; Isharann was also surprised, and he too could not devise how to counter these six bacteria.

Now Nurgle was certain; these bacteria were undoubtedly cultivated by someone. He had a peer! And an excellent peer! A perfect master of bacterial cultivation!

Nurgle could hardly contain his excitement; after long ages, he had finally found a kindred spirit.

He could not help but cautiously extend a single finger toward those six bacteria, fearing to harm his peer's perfect creation.

A wave of resistance and rejection emanated from those six bacteria, clearly resisting Nurgle's touch.

Nurgle did not force the issue, but he felt the power residing within those six bacteria and came to know their master.

He slowly gazed into the Warp near Macragge, looking at that round, blue figure.

That was a newborn existence; Nurgle had once tried to greet him, but received no response.

He seemed always to stand there, dazed, flat, and lifeless, as if wondering who he was.

Indeed, it was him, the newborn existence who had brought back two Primarchs; indeed, he too was a loving existence who cherished life.

Nurgle could not suppress the impulse to make friends with him, even to become family.

"Greetings, newborn friend."

"I have seen your six perfect children; they are interesting and perfect."

Nurgle shifted his obese body and bowed politely to that round, blue figure.

"Your skill is even more admirable; I never thought I would one day see my own peer."

"If it is not an offense, I would like to invite you to visit my garden and attend a small tea party I am hosting. We can drink thick tea brewed from maggots and rotting plants, and taste cakes writhing with seven hundred and seventy-seven kinds of parasites. My dear friend Isharann will also join us to discuss the mysteries of life, bacteria, and disease."

Nurgle waited patiently for seventy-seven minutes; that round, blue figure did not respond to his invitation, and he felt deeply regretful about it.

This newborn existence seemed still very shy; that young, small Slaanesh, who was as young as him, had also invited him, but with no success either.

Yet Nurgle was not discouraged.

Making a new friend meant change, meant moving away from a life that was previously slow, stagnant, and dull, and Nurgle liked stagnation.

Moreover, Nurgle knew that just as he would be drawn by his creations,

as long as he created a bacterium equally exquisite, surely it would attract his gaze as well?

Just then, little Mortarion had asked him to create a new disease to trap Guilliman and Sanguinius on Macragge.

In fact, Nurgle did not wish to agree.

Two children who had just been resurrected longed to see their father; how could he stand in their way?

But what could he do? Little Mortarion was his family, and the pleas of family were the hardest to refuse.

Just then, he was in a quandary, struggling over what the carrier for this new disease should be.

Since that peer was skilled in cultivating bacteria, then he too would communicate through bacteria.

Nurgle could not help but hum a little tune and continued stirring the crucible before him.

Countless cries of weeping surged from the crucible, as if billions upon billions of people across ten thousand worlds were crying in unison; the sound of tears hitting the ground resounded like a torrential downpour.

As for dealing with those Chapters that were not the Blood Angels or the Ultramarines, Zhou Yun actually had some experience.

Previously, several newly founded Chapters had spoken with Zhou Yun in private.

The first to strike was the Space Wolves; Zhou Yun even felt they had come to drink and chat with him, but in their words they were probing whether Zhou Yun was involved with Chaos, and they skillfully inquired about information regarding Leman Russ.

Next came the Dark Angels; they seemed to want to know if Zhou Yun was aware of their little secrets. Zhou Yun, in turn, relied on Guilliman's guidance to probe into the situation of Lion El'Jonson, only to be stunned to discover that the Dark Angels themselves did not know the situation of Lion El'Jonson, perhaps because they were not close enough to the Inner Circle.

But what truly left Zhou Yun speechless was the Iron Warriors.

Ferrus's sons hesitated, both eager to inquire about the resurrection of the Primarchs and yet tabooed from mentioning the resurrection of their own gene-father.

Zhou Yun could only express understanding regarding this; a Gorgon sect within the Iron Warriors had once recovered one of Ferrus's silver hands and a pile of rotting flesh on Istvaan.

They then strung the rotting flesh together with iron wire and bolts, pieced it into a human shape, attached that silver hand, and then passed electricity through it via some machine.

Vulkan, Lord of the Salamanders, witnessed that scene; he saw with his own eyes his brother's flesh and steel stitched together, a silver hand twitching and writhing on a chair like a dead frog connected to an electric motor.

This was the kind of situation that even Fulgrim would have called blasphemous, wishing to hack the Iron Hands to pieces to avenge Ferrus, yet that Gorgon sect actually believed this was the Primarch transmitting information to them through his fingers.

At that moment, even the ever-tempered Vulkan lost his composure, swinging his iron hammer to smash that thing and Ferrus's silver hand into a pulp, fearing that leaving them to the Iron Hands would only further desecrate his brother's corpse.

In the end, Zhou Yun managed to bluff his way through by hinting that Ferrus's soul was still fighting for the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang.

But the next Chapter he would have to face was, to put it plainly, something Zhou Yun felt possessed a level of madness higher than most founding Chapters.

The Black Templars, successors of Sigismund, scions of Rogal Dorn, a band of Space Crusaders who, unlike most Chapters, openly believed the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang was a god.

Moreover, the entire Chapter seemed afflicted by a collective hysteria, constantly conjuring up "Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's Champions" who had received the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's enlightenment, making them nothing but black-armored orcs clad in black power armor.

And Zhou Yun, to be honest, felt he would be seen by these black orcs as a heretic, a thoroughgoing heretic.

Add to that the black sword in his four-dimensional pocket, one St. Guilliman had snatched back from Abaddon, originally belonging to Marshal Amalric.

But that Marshal had sacrificed himself in a one-on-one duel with Abaddon aboard the Iron Necron to cover the retreat of the Crusade fleet.

For Zhou Yun himself, he did not wish to make things too stiff with the Black Templars; after all, though the Black Templars were somewhat mad, they were actually quite decent among the Astartes, having never engaged in abstract antics like sucking their father's blood, electrocuting their father like a frog to resurrect him, or attempting to blow up Guilliman.

Merely worshipping the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang and the Ecclesiarchy with fervor actually made them appear so innocent in the galaxy.

And the Black Templars' power armor, resembling that of knights, was indeed very cool; if possible, Zhou Yun wanted to bring them into his own Doraemon Chapter.

He sighed and stepped aboard the Black Templars' Strike Cruiser, Disaster of Heresy.

Three Chaplains from the Black Templars stood tall in the command deck.

The Chaplains aboard the Disaster of Heresy were responsible for patrolling among the stars, reviewing the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's Champions appearing in the Black Templars' Crusade fleet, and bestowing the Black Sword upon them.

This was mainly because the number of Black Swords was too small, while the number of Crusade fleets and Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's Champions was too great; most Black Templars who became Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's Champions did not survive more than a few days, so the Black Swords needed to circulate frequently.

Zhou Yun, carrying some wariness, walked toward the three Black Templar Chaplains, and then

the hum of power armor sounded; the three Black Templar Chaplains stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and bowed their heads before Zhou Yun.

"Praise!"

"Great Friend of the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang! Resurrector of the Primarchs! Executor of the Power of Death! Primal Force! Holy Dora Songbi!"

"May you hear our sins... We attempted to bomb Macragge with virus bombs..."

"..." Zhou Yun's expression twisted into a bitter knot.

(End of Chapter)