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Just as Eden finished speaking, the rubble nearby began to stir.
A viscous, oily substance oozed out from the wreckage, clinging to scattered stones and shards of iron, engulfing the corroded gears of a corrupted machine clock face.
From it, a new demonic body was forged.
It stood seven meters tall, with a body stretching several times its own height.
With the ticking of gears and mechanisms, the grotesque figure lumbered forward like a decaying dragon. A suffocating stench of rot spread once more across the battlefield.
It was Karama, the Fifth Favored of the Plague Lord.
Because the Emperor had invested all his strength in the invasion of Nurgle's Garden, this favored servant had narrowly survived under the pestilent god's blessing—and had even grown further, empowered by divine favor.
"I shall always endure. Chaos shall be reborn, renewed through me!"
Karama's raspy voice echoed out.
He had already scanned the area: the Accursed had departed, and there was no longer any sign of holy weapons nearby.
This Second Forsaken One once again felt his time had come.
Now fused with the corrupted machinery, Karama had become a vital component in the final plague network.
As long as he could continue to corrupt this place, slay more humans, and absorb their souls—if he could hold out until the arrival of the Plague Arks and Ku'gath—then the tide could still turn.
In doing so, the losses suffered by Nurgle, the Grandfather of Decay, might be doubly repaid.
Under his influence, the corrupted network began to show signs of reigniting. The corruption resumed its spread across the planet.
In the void, the Plague Arks surged forward with renewed speed, drawing ever closer.
Their advance pressed an invisible weight onto the souls of the mortals below—a spiritual dread.
The filth aboard those plague vessels could drown the planet in oceans of rot!
BOOM BOOM BOOM—
Artillery fire from afar thundered, as the warriors launched their assault.
Alchemical cannons, bolter shells, and psychic blasts hammered Karama's unnatural form, tearing chunks from his putrid flesh. But that rotted body simply regenerated.
All physical attacks sank into the daemon's form like stones into water—disappearing without effect.
Worse still, he was leeching energy from the real world, causing the temperature around him to plummet.
Karama shook his head, his foul hair drifting like shredded seaweed around his skull. The Librarians' lightning and fire were diverted—twisted into other directions.
That destructive energy was reflected outward, annihilating heavy artillery and machinery.
He was evolving toward perfection. His daemonic form continued to shift—like a mythical dragon growing old, dying, and then being reborn under the influence of time.
Again and again, the cycle repeated.
That was Karama's true strength—an immortal form.
He let out a sinister chuckle. "You cannot harm me. I am the end of time, the final form of decay—eternal and unyielding!"
Karama lowered his grotesque head and unleashed a blast of unnatural wind, filled with diseased organ fragments, maggots, and toxic miasma.
The filth corroded an even greater swath of land, even breaching the warriors' armor.
"Despair before me! I am the Dragon of Decay, the Filth-Hunter! Time dies here…"
He roared, "You face the mightiest of all daemons!"
The cathedral had become a battlefield of rot. The unnatural winds corroded respirators and seeped into throats, ravaging internal organs.
The plague infected the Primaris Champions and the Custodes, their bodies wracked with pain as their vitality steadily drained away.
"That guy's got way too many lines. He's got more titles than I do," Eden muttered with a dry laugh, though his expression remained serious—he wouldn't dare underestimate this foe.
A name carries weight.
And in this world, someone with so many titles was never weak. Underestimating him might lead to a humiliating defeat.
Eden swung the Emperor's Sword, cleaving the unnatural winds in two to shield himself from infection.
This was the weakness of a human body.
No matter how powerful, it remained susceptible to the material world. Wounds bled, viruses infected.
Not long ago, he had unknowingly inhaled some pestilence released by a damned Nurgle daemon—and ended up coughing and burning with fever.
Thankfully, some medicae agents managed to cure it quickly.
"You all fall back and treat your wounds. The Regent and I will face this one."
Eden ordered the surrounding warriors to retreat.
This was a big boss battle—no need to throw elite troops into a meat grinder, especially without the holy weapons needed to counter such a foe.
If two Primarchs couldn't take him down, the others wouldn't make a meaningful difference.
Besides, Eden disliked the Imperial habit of sacrificing lives for victory through attrition.
Of course, if the situation became truly desperate, lives would have to be spent—but not now.
"Daemon!"
Guilliman's voice rang out. "I am Lord of Ultramar, the Light of the Imperium, the Emperor's son. He watches me now.
You will fall—not I!"
The Regent began his ritual pre-battle declaration. This was a crucial step. In the presence of the Warp, morale affected strength.
With a roar, he charged.
The Hand of Dominion unleashed a metallic storm. Alchemical shrapnel tore into the daemon's flesh.
The unnatural winds could not hinder a Primarch.
Guilliman fought with honed precision, dodging Karama's claw strikes. His legendary power sword landed several devastating blows.
With a final slash, he decapitated the daemon.
Yet Karama's aura didn't falter—it grew stronger.
His tail lashed out, sending the Regent flying. The oily substance reassembled into a new body.
"Each death makes me stronger. At time's end, no one shall surpass me!"
Just then, Eden completed his emergency battle arrangements and leapt in front of the fallen Regent.
He intercepted a brutal blow.
The impact pushed him backward, carving two deep trenches through the ground beneath his boots.
"Karama…"
Eden fixed his cold gaze on the daemon. "You will die—at the hands of the Primarch of Hope, the Savior, the Devourer of Daemons, the Emperor's Most Beloved, the Scourge of Chaos, the Storm of the Void, the Second Sun, the Machine-Goddess's Guardian, the Swarm's Ender, the Redeemer of Baal… the Daemon Butcher!"
He rattled off title after title, like reading a menu, his aura rising with every name.
In the galaxy, no one bore more titles than he did—and that was without even revealing his true identity.
As he spoke, the flames of the Emperor's Sword burned brighter.
The golden fire wreathed his dark-gold armor. A luminous halo formed above his head, and golden wings of flame unfurled behind his back—radiating divine majesty.
And deadly threat.
Guilliman, seeing this display, was stunned. This was the first time he had seen the Emperor's Sword used in such a way.
Why hadn't it ever done that for him?
He'd wielded it for years—did it… prefer his brother?
That felt a little unfair.
Karama saw the form of the Savior and Daemon Devourer—and his spectral pupils shrank.
The Emperor's Sword had once been dangerous, but survivable—so long as he avoided its edge.
But now… now he felt a mortal threat.
"This is impossible!" he roared in denial.
"Maybe you should cool off," Eden said. "Clear your head…"
As he spoke, a purifying rain began to fall across the battlefield—filled with neutralizing agents.
The atmospheric regulators had arrived and released torrents of anti-plague compounds.
The sacred bone ash shells were exhausted—but Eden had other ways to combat Nurgle's filth. Not as direct, but effective.
As the rain poured down—
The cathedral and its surroundings began to clear. The foul swamp became ordinary mud.
Karama's corruption weakened. The plague network stopped spreading.
Raindrops fell upon the Daemon of Decay, dissolving the pestilence that clung to him. He felt discomfort, even pain, as his infections melted away.
Before he could react, another attack struck.
The Regent raised the Hand of Dominion. Alchemical bolter rounds raked across Karama's side, exploding rot and gore in the rain.
Then Guilliman severed one of his bony wings with his power sword, crippling the daemon's mobility.
"Now," Eden shouted, "this undying dragon dies!"
His golden flame-wings beat once, launching him forward at blinding speed. He swung the Emperor's Sword repeatedly.
Though his strikes had no formal pattern, every one landed true. Fire surged from the blade, cleaving away grotesque limbs and corrupted flesh.
Karama shrieked, his body faltering.
He could feel that each wound wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. His soul was being sliced apart. Regeneration was no longer possible.
That cursed blade—wielded by the Accursed One—was horrifying beyond comprehension. Not even the Plague God's blessings could fully shield him!
The synchronized onslaught from the two Primarchs gave Karama no room to breathe.
He was forced into a defensive spiral—on the edge of annihilation.
Eden's sword carved a perfect ring of fire, severing Karama's forearm, then his entire left wing, followed by his right leg.
"You cannot kill me!"
Karama screamed, trying desperately to regrow his severed limbs—but to no avail.
The areas scorched by golden fire were like dead flesh.
"You no longer have the privilege of choice," Eden said coldly.
With his onslaught, he had completely neutralized Karama's offensive capabilities, leaving the daemon sprawled on the ground, struggling and on the brink of death.
Together, Eden and the Regent suppressed the Plague Lord's favored servant.
At that moment, the Custodian Guard surged forward, binding the daemon in place with forbidden chains and collars.
These were silent containment devices developed over years by the Daemon Research Institute—now evolved to the third generation since the original collar.
The Fifth Favored of Nurgle was captured, now completely sealed within realspace.
"I cannot die! I am death itself!" Karama howled—gone was his arrogance, but the bravado remained.
Eden didn't bother mocking him. In this galaxy, who wasn't good at talking tough? It was basically standard at this point.
He jabbed the Emperor's Sword into Karama's flesh again, drawing another tortured shriek—one that could've been his execution…
But he held back.
"Who said I was going to kill you?"
Eden severed the connection between the daemon's body and the corrupted machinery and said flatly, "You'll live—forever. My researchers are going to love you. And you'll have the privilege of experiencing a wide variety of holy weapons."
An immortal, regenerating Nurgle daemon? That was the most elite, rare research specimen imaginable. The perfect test subject.
And since Karama had merged with the remains of the corrupted machine, they had to study him anyway. At the very least, the core of the corrupted machine needed to be extracted.
Eden sent a message to the Arch-Scholar of the Daemon Research Institute, Mao. The man nearly fainted with joy.
With a specimen like this, they could finally take their research to the next level.
After all, ordinary daemons usually died before experiments even began.
The Savior and Daemon Devourer made no attempt to hide his intentions.
Karama, perceiving Eden's thoughts, began to tremble violently. The cruelty of the Daemon Devourer's labs might be worse than the weapons of the Accursed One.
Worse still—they might use him to test those weapons.
The Fifth Favored shivered like a leaf, his gaze softening.
He looked at the Savior and tried to negotiate. "Perhaps we still have a chance to—"
"I refuse," Eden interrupted coldly. "You are unworthy of mercy. You will suffer eternal torment as penance for the humans you helped kill."
"You… sadistic butcher… executioner! May you be cursed!" Karama's last hopes crumbled. He shrieked in rage. "Just wait! Nurgle's legions are coming! The plague will drown this world—!"
He kept shouting, trying to buy time.
As long as he lived, the corruption network retained a faint connection. The Plague Arks and Ku'gath were on the way.
The plague could still consume this world!
"You're waiting for reinforcements, huh?" Eden said, voice dripping with disdain. "Too bad. They won't arrive. They don't dare come here—especially not with two Primarchs standing in their way."
"What…?"
Karama looked up at the void, horrified.
The Plague Ark nearest to Iax suddenly veered off course. The others followed suit—turning around and fleeing.
They had abandoned their invasion.
Ku'gath, aboard one of the ships, had seen the corrupted network collapse, Karama's miserable state, and the arrival of the Savior's fleet. Ever the pessimist, he abandoned his comrade and fled without hesitation.
He was terrified—terrified enough to never again set his sights on this world.
This was precisely why Eden had been so confident.
He knew Ku'gath well. That gloomy old daemon would never launch an assault when at a disadvantage. And Eden's fleet had just arrived—ready to join a new war.
The Custodian Guard poured several canisters of hyper-concentrated purifying agents onto Karama.
These couldn't kill him, but they dissolved the plague viruses in his body, weakening him further.
As he lost more of his plagues, Karama visibly shrank—his body growing frail and diminished.
Eventually, he was sealed inside a large container equipped with a stasis field and loaded onto a transport ship.
Along with him went the remains of the corrupted machinery and a fully intact miniature corrupted machine. All of it was bound for Black Abyss.
There, the Arch-Wizard Zaraphiston and the Tech-Priests of the Daemon Research Institute would study the materials—until they cracked the corruption network and found a way into Nurgle's Garden.
"If we succeed… it'll be a historic breakthrough," Guilliman said. He didn't know where the containers were going—but he felt hope.
He realized how valuable this rift network technology was.
It wasn't just a factor in winning the Plague War. It could reshape humanity's entire war against Chaos.
This tech might offer a path for humans to breach the Immaterium itself.
Eden nodded. "Exactly. If we can fully decipher this Warp-based technology, humanity will no longer be on the defensive.
We'll be able to tear open rifts into the Warp from realspace—enter their realm on our own terms."
For countless centuries, humanity had been beaten back—unable to strike Chaos at its source. With no method for mass incursion into the Immaterium, Chaos held an untouchable stronghold.
But now, thanks to Nurgle's massive invasion through the corrupted network, humanity had a rare opportunity to reverse-engineer Chaos' long-nurtured tech.
A true chance.
Ordinarily, the Imperium—deeply conservative and hostile to Warp tech and dark Mechanicus—would never gain access to this knowledge.
But Eden was different.
He had assembled a massive team of radical tech-priests, with assistance from the Machine-Goddess, the Black Mechanicum Empress, and a Thousand Sons sorcerer.
Not to mention his special advisor—the Changer of Ways, Tzeentch, who had generously provided dark-forge knowledge from hidden Warp-libraries.
Today, Black Abyss's dark-forge tech rivaled that of any forge world.
They were even guiding some dark-tech adepts toward paths akin to the daemon-engineer Vashtorr.
Eden had faith.
They would crack the corrupted network and master this veil-piercing Warp tech.
Of course, most humans couldn't survive the Warp's chaotic energies. Even with this tech, only elite troops could be deployed into the Immaterium.
But it would be a start.
Perhaps one day, he would craft armor that resisted Warp corruption—and forge weapons to counter daemons—so he could send wave after wave of human armies into the Immaterium.
Let Chaos know how it felt to be the one invaded.
Eden allowed himself a moment of future-vision—then returned to the present. First, the Plague War had to end.
Only then would they have time to grow.
He looked toward the Regent.
"We've secured Iax, a key stronghold. Now comes the counteroffensive. Humanity must reclaim the worlds consumed by plague."
Guilliman's expression was resolute. "The Indomitus Crusade is ready. We can strike at any time."
"Then let's begin. I'll see you on the battlefield."
Eden smiled. His legions were eager for blood—especially the Terror Legion.
He and the Regent would part ways, launching a two-pronged counterattack against the forces of Nurgle—reclaiming Ultramar and its neighboring systems.
Then they would push toward the Scourge Stars, bringing total defeat to Mortarion, the great moth-winged plague-lord.
Eden turned crisply and walked toward his shuttle.
But just a few steps in, he heard Guilliman's plaintive voice behind him. "Eden…"
He turned. Guilliman's gaze was fixed on the Emperor's Sword at Eden's hip—clearly wanting it back.
The Regent and the blade were symbols of imperial authority. He needed it with him.
"Ah, I almost forgot I picked it up," Eden said sheepishly.
He wasn't particularly attached to it. He rarely needed to use it—he preferred other tools.
To him, it was like a fancy toy.
Most of the time, it was safer and more effective to just throw holy bone-ash grenades at the enemy than to risk melee with the Emperor's sword.
Eden handed the sword back and reclaimed his own legendary power blade, Glory.
But when Guilliman took the Emperor's Sword, he felt something odd—the machine spirit inside seemed… displeased.
Or more accurately… disdainful.
???
Had the Emperor's sword—after just a brief time in the Savior's hands—started looking down on him, its official wielder?
"By the way," Eden added, "if there's time later, I'd like to borrow this sword for a quick scan. Maybe we can replicate the tech."
A weapon like this, even in a downgraded version, would turn every soldier into a daemon-slayer.
"No problem," Guilliman replied generously—though he felt the sword's machine spirit stir in satisfaction.
His heart ached a little.
Once Eden left, the Regent immediately ordered a full maintenance suite and the purest sacred oils.
He would personally oil and care for the sword—to soothe its machine spirit…
...
Aboard the Dreamweaver
The Savior's Sanctuary – Micro Garden
Sunlight bathed the verdant grass. Butterflies fluttered among the flowers. Peace and harmony reigned.
Eden lay reclining on a chair beneath the warmth of an artificial sun.
He flipped through the latest war reports. Most fronts were progressing well—several planets had already been retaken.
The only troublemaker was that "devoted son" and Lord of the Flies, Typhus—who kept sabotaging efforts and slowing the advance.
He needed to be dealt with.
But personally going after him was risky. It could be a trap. And if Eden got hurt, Nurgle's forces might go berserk in revenge.
So instead, he would go as his alternate identity—the Dark Prince.
He could defeat Typhus while gaining dark-side faith through theatrics.
Ding!
A message arrived from his adjutant. The plan to hype up the Savior vs. Dark Prince rivalry had been finalized.
According to Tarko's suggestion, Eden had begun releasing key propaganda.
Things like "The Savior has vowed to slay the Dark Prince," or "Only a Primarch can challenge the Dark Prince," or even "The Dark Prince may be more terrifying than Ka'Bandha the Exalted Bloodthirster!"
That's right—he was riding the hype while also stealing Ka'Bandha's traffic.
Eden stood up from the recliner and walked out.
It was time to stage his duel with… himself.
The show would be complicated—but worth it.
In the void, the Dreamweaver encountered the flagship of the Terror Legion—the Heart of Terror.
Ship cannons roared in mock battle.
Further away, Ka'Bandha the Supreme Bloodthirster was already on his way—swearing to behead the Dark Prince with his own claws!
(End of Chapter)
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