The Emperor’s Angel of Death

“May the wrath of Father gnaw at your bones! Not even a false Emperor can save you!!”

This book is first published on the entire network by 𝕥𝕨𝕜𝕒𝕟.𝕔𝕠𝕞

Amidst the roaring, the poisonous fumes permeating the battlefield surged in astonishing quantities, swirling and splashing through the air as Typhus reached out, drawing upon the power of Nurgle's Garden to swiftly conjure a gigantic, pustule-ridden hand.

As Rotigus landed, his feet firmly planted, knees bent to cushion the impact, he rebounded once more.

“Die!”

With a violent thrust, Typhus sent the Father's Hand, imbued with potent sorcery, crashing down upon Rotigus, yet the latter merely gripped the Lion's Swift Rend, retrieved from where it had fallen.

The instant it swept forth, its might was undeniable, unstoppable.

The golden blade cleaved through corrupting energy, through poisonous miasma, through rusted steel and decaying flesh.

“Aaaaargh!!!!!”

Typhus staggered backward, his right arm flying high, then erupting in flames, the wound on his shoulder likewise ablaze, even the oozing pus unable to quench the inferno.

“How is this possible!!!!!!!!”

The searing agony nearly brought Typhus to his knees.

The Nurgle Daemons, seemingly enraged, swarmed Rotigus anew, seeking to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, rusted blades, claws, and tentacles weaving a tapestry of desecration.

Yet the once-corroded blade had transformed into a divine weapon radiating a unique, precious light, and with a mere wave, vast swathes of Nurgle Daemons vanished into nothingness.

Seeing Rotigus's awe-inspiring power, Eidolon felt a twinge of trepidation, turning to an aide at his side.

“Is the summoning ritual complete?”

“A report just came in, the sacrifices are gathered, the ritual has begun—”

Mid-sentence, Eidolon looked up, spotting the golden, bizarre blade leaping high, a series of ancient symbols, mesmerizing and dizzying, erupting from Rotigus and converging into the blade, transforming it in the blink of an eye into a roaring, golden lion, which pounced down.

The unparalleled power transported some veteran warriors back to the Terran battlefields that had nearly torn their souls apart.

Instantly, the entire central hall began to burn and crack, shockwaves rippling outwards, the expanding flames engulfing the Nurgle Daemon hordes, turning the metal floor into churning, molten iron, and obliterating the filth upon it, the Daemons disintegrating one after another, the Plague Marines and nearby Third Legion soldiers torn apart by the heat and fire, melted armor plates and charred weapons flying out from the destruction, scattered in all directions.

“Gwak! It’s the false Emperor, everyone retreat quickly!”

The rolling shockwave of flames, like a raging torrent, was unstoppable, consuming all, even the most resilient Terminators melting like wax.

When the glare subsided and the pain lessened, there was nothing left for hundreds of meters around except the luminous, flowing molten iron and Rotigus standing barefoot within it.

“How is it possible... how could I be humiliated again by such... things...”

Typhus lay on the ground, gasping, spitting out dry, black ash, his entire lower body gone, leaving only charred remnants, like shriveled fish tails, making him look like a hideous merman, most of his armor melted, mixed with his flesh, turning into a smoldering black mass, not even the blessings of Nurgle restoring his pain.

“No... this is definitely not a living saint of the false Emperor...”

Lucius also lay curled up on the ground, half his face still burning, his experience of sensation so extreme that his sense of pain was particularly acute, the most extreme pain he had felt in ten thousand years.

With a deafening crash, a massive machine broke through the already riddled walls, collapsing with a wail, the once radiant and seductive Noise Marine now a disheveled beggar, almost all of its limbs gone, its head and chest riddled with huge cracks, revealing the twitching flesh inside, the Emperor's Dreadnought faring no better, the armor of its entire barrel-shaped shell almost torn to shreds, exposing the complex and chaotic mechanical parts within, half of its head gone, only the clawed arm remaining, its weapons almost completely destroyed.

However, Khârn had creatively hidden a weapon in the middle of the Emperor's Dreadnought, calling it the "Big Stick," actually a large power drill that could launch a surprise attack on enemies at close range, and it was this weapon that helped him turn the tide at a critical moment, the huge, torn wound in the Noise Marine's mechanical crotch being proof, this blow directly destroying the transmission structure of its lower half.

“WAAAAGH!”

Khârn's roar came from the damaged speakers, then the Emperor's Dreadnought staggered forward, the huge power drill in the lower middle of the mech lowering and extending suddenly, striking the Noise Marine's head repeatedly, the last strike drilling directly into the daemon-possessed head's mouth, exiting from the back of its head with arcs of electricity, completely destroying the Daemon Prince.

But this "fucked" explosion death was indeed a bit unique, leaving many in the Third Legion dumbfounded.

But before Khârn could rejoice for more than two seconds, a long, mirror-smooth sword slid past the Emperor's Dreadnought from behind, bisecting it at the waist.

“Hmph, ugly beast, daring to desecrate my lord's toys.”

Purple gauze half-covered the jewel-adorned, neither-male-nor-female, perfect body, as the hoofed feet passed, a tempting fragrance and song filled the air, but when passing those fallen Plague Marines, it would disdainfully kick them aside, its two hands each holding a sword and a knife, its other two arms slender crab claws, beneath the forward-curving horns was a bewitching, inhuman face.

Sly'Essy the Sinuous, one of the most renowned Keepers of Secrets in the Dark Prince's palace, whose greatest hobby was hunting prey related to the Ecclesiarchy, especially Battle Sisters, also known as Faith Hunters, or Purity Defilers, its fragrant, venomous blades entwined with lingering shadows, many from those Ecclesiarchy believers who had once been devout but were destroyed and seduced by it.

Then, those enchanting eyes gazed at the figure standing amidst the scene of destruction.

“Worm, eking out an existence in the present, struggling in a time not your own, the demise of the cursed is already ordained.”

But Rotigus merely glanced at the Keeper of Secrets, then his eyes rolled back, and he fell backward.

The Keeper of Secrets laughed, but then its laughter stalled.

A distant chime floated over, accompanied by a dense, rustling sound.

Cheese, cheese, cheese—

“Hm?”

The Keeper of Secrets looked up sharply, seeing the sealed metal dome rusting and decaying at an extreme speed, as if tens of thousands of years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Cheese, cheese, cheese—

The bizarre rustling grew louder and louder, and the Keeper of Secrets slowly raised its swords and knives.