Makima hovered in the void, her single dark wing spread wide, the thin layer of darkness manipulation covering her skin ensuring she could breathe. Even here, amidst the abyss of space, her yellow-ringed eyes remained locked on the battlefield.
Five Death Guard ships. The bloated monstrosity that was the Terminus Est. And at the heart of it all—Kang Woo.
Her husband. The Demon King. And judging by the way his presence was distorting reality itself, he was about to overdo things. His natural disdain for gods had already begun to bleed into his judgment, amplifying his destruction.
Then, she saw it.
Four of the Death Guard ships were suddenly consumed—devoured by an uncountable mass of writhing mouths. They appeared from the void, snapping and twisting, swallowing the vessels whole as if they had never existed.
Makima narrowed her eyes.
I wonder… if my BlackLight Biomass could ever match my King's Authority of Predation.
The thought was fleeting. Because at that moment—space itself ignited.
Kang Woo materialized at the center of the battlefield. His form was engulfed in a dark radiance, his crimson eyes gleaming with something unfathomable.
In his palm, a miniature sun burned. He exhaled slowly. His voice cut through the void like an undeniable decree.
"Cruel Sun combined with Chrono Void Ascendancy."
The words alone twisted the fabric of existence.
The sun in his grasp expanded—ten times its original size. The space around it warped, bending under the sheer force of the combined abilities.
And then— It detonated.
The explosion wasn't just fire—it was a collapse, an implosion of reality itself. Chrono Void Ascendancy didn't merely amplify the explosion; it erased everything caught in it, reducing the remnants to nothingness.
The result? A blackened void where the battlefield once stood. All that remained… Was the Terminus Est.
A single, rotting behemoth.
Meanwhile, on the bridge of the Terminus Est, alarms blared as the remaining Plague Marines scrambled to respond. The ship trembled from the aftershock of the explosion. Typhus slammed his gauntleted fist against the console, his voice dripping with rage.
"ARE WE BLIND?! DEPLOY THE STARSHIPS! MOVE, YOU FESTERING MAGGOTS!"
The Terminus Est groaned as its remaining forces mobilized. Plague Marines, swollen with rot and blessed by Nurgle's gifts, poured into drop pods and were launched into the battlefield. Warped spacecraft, their hulls crusted with filth and corrosion, prepared for deployment. Typhus gritted his teeth as he observed the battlefield through the command bridge's decayed viewport.
Who is he? His thoughts raced. Is he some Daemon Prince of Tzeentch? But the Warp hasn't fully opened… He shouldn't be able to manifest power like this!
Suddenly, the screens flickered. A grotesque, pus-filled image replaced the tactical displays—the leering, rotting visage of Nurgle himself. The Plaguefather's oozing face stared down at them, his endless, bubbling maw twisting into a grimace.
Typhus immediately dropped to one knee. "Plaguefather, your herald is here! I will bring you the enemy's head, and in your name, I shall—"
Nurgle's voice, thick and bloated with decay, rumbled through the bridge.
"Silence."
Typhus froze. His decayed heart felt as though it had stopped beating.
"Cut me off. Cancel my manifestation from this realm. And evacuate."
Typhus' decayed lips twisted in shock. "WHAT?!"
"GET OUT, YOU FOOL!" Nurgle's voice boomed with rare urgency. "THAT MAN IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! HE IS A NIGHTMARE TO EVERY GOD!"
The bridge fell into silence. For the first time in Typhus' wretched existence… He felt something he hadn't felt in millennia. Fear.
A deafening explosion erupted at the mouth of the Terminus Est. Black flames devoured the rotting hull, searing through the festering metal like it was nothing more than paper. The ship shuddered violently, its decayed bulk barely holding together as twisted corridors buckled under the sheer force of the attack.
Typhus exhaled, steadying himself. Panic would not serve him now. He was Nurgle's chosen. He had lived for thousands of years, weathered countless wars, and fought against daemons, xenos, and false gods alike.
But this… This was beyond him.
He gritted his teeth, slammed his fist onto the command panel, and barked into the ship-wide vox.
"ALL PLAGUE MARINES—THE ENEMY IS A BANE TO THE PLAGUEFATHER HIMSELF!" His voice rang with forced composure, masking the dread eating at his insides. "CHANGE THE ORDER! STALL THE ENEMY UNTIL THE PLAGUEFATHER'S WARP PRESENCE DISAPPEARS—THEN WE RETREAT!"
A pause. Then the entire ship burst into action.
Alarms blared. Red emergency lights flickered through the bile-coated corridors. Across the Terminus Est, Plague Marines, bloated and rotting, rushed to their stations, their armored boots thudding against the flesh-metal floors. Sickly fumes leaked from the bulkheads as Death Guard officers screamed out last-minute commands.
The ship was in full emergency response mode.
From the lower decks, the Titans stirred. Massive, rust-covered war machines, their joints coated in layers of necrotic growth, activated with a deep, hellish groan. Their corrupted reactor cores pulsed with sickly green light, their diseased weapons primed to unleash apocalyptic devastation.
Plagueburst Crawlers, heavily armored tanks bristling with festering cannons, were deployed onto the battlefield, their massive treads crushing the corrupted metal beneath them. The air grew thick with the stench of rotting flesh and necrotic energies.
As Death Guard Helbrutes—twisted, cybernetic monstrosities of flesh and machine—emerged from their containment cells, their diseased claws twitching with anticipation.
And then—the true horrors of Nurgle were unleashed.
The Nurgle Spawns howled as their festering, tumor-ridden bodies were dragged to the frontlines. Once-human, now nothing more than wretched masses of rotting limbs and tentacles, they screeched with inhuman glee, mindlessly charging toward their impending slaughter.
The entire Terminus Est was now dedicated to one mission.
Stall the enemy. Hold the line. Pray to whatever foul gods would listen that the nightmare never reaches them.
Typhus exhaled slowly, gripping the edges of the command table. His mind raced through every possible outcome, every contingency.
He had led countless battles in Nurgle's name. He had seen armies of mortals and daemons alike crumble before the might of the Death Guard. He had watched entire worlds rot to dust under his command.
But this was different. This was not a battle to win. This was a battle to survive.
Typhus barely had time to react before it happened.
The Terminus Est shook. Not from an explosion. Not from an attack.
From a voice. A voice so loud, so all-encompassing, that it did not merely echo through the rotting flagship—it pierced into the very souls of every Plague Marine, every mutant, every wretched creature aboard the ship.
It wasn't just sound.It was Authority. It commanded. It demanded. It broke.
And it was everywhere. It was like the voice of a god. No—something far worse than a god.
Typhus staggered, his diseased lungs seizing as an all-consuming dread slithered into his very being. This wasn't the Warp. This wasn't some trick of the Gods. This was something… else. Something primal. Something outside.
It crushed everything. Plague Marines froze in place, their bloated bodies trembling, their festering minds flooded with terror. The Nurgle Spawns howled in agony, collapsing into piles of twitching, rotting flesh as their warped minds snapped under the sheer force of the voice.
Every single soldier, every single daemon, every single thing on the Terminus Est felt it.
Despair. Pure. Unfiltered. Despair.
And then—he spoke. A voice so vast, so deafening, it was as if the entire solar system was his audience.
"CITIZENS OF NURGLE!"
The very air trembled. The corrupted metal walls shuddered. Even the Warp itself recoiled at the sheer weight of his words.
"A SEALED DEMON HAS COME TO YOUR ROTTEN FLAGSHIP!"
Authority of Sonority. Authority of Fear.
The words carved themselves into reality. Into minds. Into souls.
"WE WILL CRUSH ALL THOSE WHO DARE RESIST THE WILL OF ANOS VOLDIGOAD!"
Something deep within the ship cracked. A physical, psychic, existential rupture.
The will of Nurgle's chosen—the unbreakable, unshakable Plague Marines, the champions of disease and rot, the warriors who had never known fear—
Shattered. Some dropped their weapons. Others collapsed to their knees, choking on their own toxic bile as the concept of hopelessness seeped into them.
Typhus' hands trembled against the control panel. This… This isn't possible.
The Death Guard do not falter. The Death Guard do not fear. The Death Guard do not break.
And yet—
"ABANDON YOUR POSTS… ABANDON YOUR HOMES… ABANDON ALL HOPE!"
A silence that echoed through the endless corridors of the Terminus Est. A silence filled only by the distant sounds of Plague Marines screaming.
The flames of Hellblaze still raged, licking at the decayed, rotting metal of the Terminus Est's maw. The cursed ship groaned under its own weight, its diseased form barely holding together under the immense pressure of Kang Woo's presence alone.
And yet, despite all of it, Kang Woo exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Why the hell did I say we will crush all those who resist the will of Anos Voldigoad?" He gestured vaguely at the infernal wreckage around them. "Technically, I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting here."
Makima chuckled, stepping beside him, her darkness-coated form untouched by the chaos around them. "'We' means an army," she said smoothly. "I am part of the Demon King's army, am I not?" She placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head slightly. "And I am here to spread your name once more."
Kang Woo narrowed his eyes. "My name? As Anos Voldigoad?"
Makima's smile widened. "You said it yourself, didn't you? These bastards—" she gestured toward the shattered Terminus Est, to the cowering Death Guard, to the very concept of gods that had dared to stand in Kang Woo's way. "—every so-called god across the multiverse helped seal you away." Her golden eyes gleamed in the eerie firelight. "That means their fear of you was real."
She took a step closer, her voice lowering.
"And what better way to return than to let your name resound across the stars?"
Kang Woo stared at her for a moment, his crimson pupils unreadable. Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. "One of these days, you're going to end up managing my army at this rate."
Makima's smirk softened—just a little.
"That," she said, placing a hand over her chest, "is what the second-in-command does, isn't it?"
She turned to the burning remains of the ship, raising a single hand as shadows coiled behind her like tendrils of pure dominion.
"To fill the gaps in the King's rule."
Her voice carried a reverence unlike any other. Not just loyalty—but absolute belief.
"You always fight alone."
She turned back to Kang Woo, her expression unwavering.
"But this time," she said softly, with a certainty,
"I will lead the army for your name, my King."
The bolter round tore through the air—a direct shot aimed at them.
Kang Woo didn't flinch. The bullet shattered against the dense mana coating his body, barely an inconvenience.
Makima, however, raised a single hand activate her Mana Veins . Blue veins pulsed beneath her skin, glowing with arcane energy as the round stopped midair, twisting unnaturally before disintegrating. The light coursing through her body pulsed once—just enough to make the nearby Plague Marines hesitate.
Then, without warning, space itself began to twist. Under normal circumstances, it would have been impossible. The Terminus Est was bathed in Nurgle's corruption, its very structure reinforced by the Chaos God's blessings. But Kang Woo—her King—stood beside her.
A King amplifies his Queen.
Makima's power surged, twisting reality itself. The air bent like a warped reflection, the deck beneath them cracked as unseen force rippled outward, and suddenly—
A squad of Plague Marines imploded, their own mass crushing inward, armor folding like tin under the weight of Makima's spell. A sickening pop echoed as another warrior's body twisted grotesquely, his limbs bending in ways they shouldn't.
Some tried to run. That was their greatest mistake.
Makima's yellow -ringed eyes glowed. The Commandment of Piety… reacted.
The moment they turned away from her, their very souls submitted.
Their bodies froze—trembling, resisting—but it was useless. Their weapons fell from their hands. Their armor, once marked with filth and decay, shook violently as the overwhelming power of submission forced itself upon them.
Kang Woo smirked. Of course The commandment i gave her .
Makima's chains of control didn't just subjugate them—it forced absolute devotion. These soldiers of Chaos—the ones who had long abandoned faith—were now chained to her will.
The hesitation among the Death Guard grew. Fear crept into them, the realization setting in—
They were turning against their own comrades.
Makima exhaled, brushing the dust off her sleeve as if nothing had happened.
"More advantageously," she mused, watching as the enslaved Plague Marines turned their weapons against their former allies, "to create disarray among them?"
She smiled. "This time… they'll be fighting themselves."