Alexander's eyelids twitched slightly as he watched Marquite get sent flying by the genestealer patriarch's tail.
Marquite had roared so loudly, Alexander had thought he was about to do something big.
He didn't expect him to just take a massive dump.
The genestealer patriarch seemed a bit bewildered too.
It looked like it hadn't expected to send Marquite flying several meters with just an instinctive tail whip.
Marquite picked himself up from the ground, looking confused, and then, with some surprise, glanced at the Screamer-Killer currently fighting Alexander.
"Mont," Marquite murmured softly.
Before he could fully recover, the genestealer patriarch pounced on him like a giant Tyranid.
Marquite hastily raised the curved sword in his hand to block.
Corrosive venom flowed from the laughter-filled curved sword, clashing with the genestealer patriarch's claws.
Damn!!
Puffs of white smoke rose, and the genestealer patriarch's chitinous claws began to smoke.
"Agh!!!"
The genestealer patriarch let out a low growl, fiercely swinging his arm to block the corrosive venom flowing from Marquite's curved sword.
Marquite pressed his advantage; from the festering wound on his chest, fly grubs and eggs were secreted.
These fell to the ground, and in the blink of an eye, a swarm of flies, black as mist, hatched with a buzzing sound, rushing towards the genestealer patriarch.
The genestealer patriarch extended a hand, raising a finger to its massive, triangular head—
An invisible ripple spread through the air, psychic power transforming into waves that surged towards Marquite and his swarm of flies.
Sparks flew from the bodies of the flies, and the entire swarm was engulfed in flames in the blink of an eye.
Marquite was too slow to dodge and was hit head-on by the psychic wave; scorching flames began to ignite on the rotting flesh all over his body.
For a moment, the air was filled with the stench of burning putrid flesh and sizzling sounds.
Alexander, who was fighting the Screamer-Killer, couldn't help but glance back at Marquite.
If he were to fall here so quickly, Alexander would have to face both the genestealer patriarch and the Screamer-Killer, two Tyranid Behemoths, alone.
And...
Alexander glanced at the Denkōmaru in his hand.
It was running low on power.
However, the Screamer-Killer's situation wasn't good either.
Its eyelids were swollen, secreting foul-smelling fatty deposits.
There were several faint abscesses on its body, and maggots seemed to be wriggling beneath its skin.
Purplish-red pus oozed from the cracks on its back; it seemed to have an internal inflammation.
It was sick.
This Tyranid Behemoth had contracted some kind of supernatural disease.
Alexander could basically guess what had happened.
It was Mont.
Mont had done something, but he had left his supernatural virus inside this Tyranid Behemoth.
Alexander wielded the Denkōmaru in his hand, deflecting the four blades the Screamer-Killer swung at him.
Now, it was a race to see if the Denkōmaru in his hand would run out of power first, or if the Screamer-Killer would be brought down by the disease.
Changes also occurred on Marquite's side.
Marquite, whose entire body was burning, did not cry out.
It was as if the flames caused him no harm at all.
He spread his arms, and charred, rotting flesh, still alight with flames, peeled off his body in chunks.
The insect eggs hidden deep within his flesh began to hatch; yellowish-white maggots crawled out, filling the gaps left by the shedding flesh.
These maggots intertwined to form muscles, secreting pus that solidified into translucent skin; in the blink of an eye, Marquite was restored to his original state.
This new layer of flesh and skin seemed even more robust.
Marquite leapt, swinging his curved sword again at the genestealer patriarch.
The genestealer patriarch tried the same trick again, swinging its tail, intending to send Marquite flying.
However, the moment its tail touched Marquite's skin, Marquite's flesh instantly disintegrated into maggots, which bit fiercely onto the patriarch's tail.
Marquite seized the opportunity, raising his curved sword high.
The genestealer patriarch was too slow to dodge, only managing to turn its head to avoid a vital spot—
Slash!!!
Purplish blood gushed from one side of the genestealer patriarch's face, a hideous bloody gash slicing through its eye, and corrosive venom clung to the wound, burning off white smoke.
"Agh!!!"
A sharp roar erupted, and a fierce psychic wave directly sent Marquite flying.
Marquite was flung away like a rag doll, crashing to the ground.
The genestealer patriarch clutched its eye, pus and blood gushing from it like a torrent.
It was first enraged, then the thought of fleeing arose.
The current situation did not seem very favorable for it.
The genestealer patriarch roared, and powerful psychic energy surged from its massive head.
Then, dozens of powerful psychic hammers slammed directly into Marquite, crushing half of his body into a pulp.
But very quickly, the maggots within Marquite crawled out, devoured the smashed half of his body, and twisted their forms to create new flesh.
In Marquite's mind, the cheers of the angels were incessant.
In Nurgle's Garden, many tiny nurglings gathered together.
One after another, they channeled power to Marquite, through the barrier between the Warp and reality, doing their best.
When one nurgling's power was depleted, another would take its place to continue bestowing blessings.
As time passed, more and more nurglings were drawn in, all joining the ranks of those channeling power to Marquite.
Even the most colossal figures in Nurgle's Garden couldn't help but cast their gaze, curious about what these innocent little nurglings were doing.
Marquite took a deep breath, his fingertips brushing the curved sword in his hand.
"The Father's grace is with me."
"The angels' care is with me."
"The brothers' sacrifice is with me."
"Alien! What do you have?"
A rotting stench emanated from Marquite's body, and the genestealer patriarch recoiled a step with a hint of fear.
It looked towards the Screamer-Killer and Alexander, seemingly seeking the Screamer-Killer's help.
The Screamer-Killer roared, swinging its blades, but each attack was effortlessly parried by Alexander with the Denkōmaru.
And on its own body, the signs of disease became increasingly obvious, and nauseating pus began to secrete between its muscles.
Beep-boop-boop—
Suddenly, the Denkōmaru in Alexander's hand began to flicker, and its light turned red.
The Denkōmaru was about to run out of power, but the Screamer-Killer did not seem to be completely debilitated by the disease within it yet.
It's just that its movements were becoming slower and slower.
The Screamer-Killer's blade clashed with the Denkōmaru once again.
But the Denkōmaru flickered and turned gray.