Alexander felt a wave of dizziness as he looked at the sticky yellow pus on his fingertips.
A sharp pain shot through his stomach, a strong sense of nausea rose in his throat, and his skin began to feel hot and red.
Illness.
Alexander had contracted an illness.
It was the blade of the Screamer-Killer, the very blade that had cut Alexander's cheek, that transmitted the disease to Alexander.
It infected Alexander with Nurgle's plague—the plague from within Mont.
Alexander felt his legs go weak, and he couldn't help but retreat a few steps, leaning against a metal pillar and sitting down.
The discomfort intensified; his muscles began to ache, his bones subtly trembled, his nerves caused his limbs to shiver slightly, and his throat was full of thick phlegm.
Inflammation appeared faintly in the corners of his eyes, swollen pustules emerged on his body, and fat granules accumulated into sores from his pores.
"My apologies, Leman Russ."
Marquite's voice was filled with deep regret:
"This disease isn't fatal. Both Mont and I genuinely consider you a friend."
Alexander suppressed the pain welling up in his lungs and glanced at Mont.
His throat felt as if it had accumulated a lot of thick phlegm, making his voice hoarse:
"Is this how you treat a friend? By greeting me with disease and plague?"
"I didn't want to," Marquite shook his head slightly. "But you have too little trust in us."
"If you could trust us like family, we would have become good friends long ago, and could have saved Ashford together."
Marquite's voice was full of sincerity, seemingly without a hint of falsehood:
"Everything I do is for the salvation of Ashford."
"Salvation?" Alexander's throat let out a mocking laugh.
"Salvation!"
Marquite nodded gravely:
"The Tyranid are about to descend. How can Ashford be saved?"
"Is it the governor? The governor entrusted by the Emperor with the duty of guarding a planet?"
"Is it the Blood Angels? The Archangel's descendants, the Death Angels born to protect humanity?"
"Or is it the Emperor himself? That great divine being who claims to love all humanity?"
"No!"
Marquite's tone suddenly sharpened:
"The governor only cares about his own survival. The Blood Angels care more about their homeworld. Even the Emperor refuses to cast a shred of mercy upon the people of Ashford."
"Only the Angels are determined to save Ashford; they want to save every single person, even if they are quite weak."
"Since the Emperor is unwilling to save the beings of Ashford, then let us do it."
With that, Marquite turned to look at the Warp Engine. He said in a low voice:
"I often say I wish to openly share with you my intention to use this Warp Engine to open a gate to the Warp."
"The Father of All Beings' divine army will be able to enter reality, and ultimately bring the entire planet back into the Father God's domain."
"There, everyone will live."
As Marquite finished speaking, he turned to look at Alexander.
He found that beneath Alexander's slightly swollen eyelids, due to inflammation, were eyes that seemed to be looking at an idiot.
"So your salvation…"
Alexander's throat swallowed a few times, making his voice a little more comfortable:
"Is it to let everyone get infected with all sorts of messy viruses, bacteria, and parasites, and then all go butterfly stroking in the Warp cesspit together?"
"Help me tell the 14th Legion Commander, Typhus, that I have no intention of contending for his 10,000-year-held title of Cesspit Freestyle Champion."
"…You understand the Father God's domain very well."
Alexander's words made Marquite's eye twitch slightly:
"Then you should also understand that no matter how many viruses, bacteria, and parasites coexist, there will be no true death in the Father God's domain."
"You should also understand that in that flourishing domain, everyone will find happiness and joy, forever."
"As for the cesspit butterfly stroke… that's a matter of personal interest."
"Firstly, everyone being happy and joyful, I have to object to that. Have you asked Mortarion, the First Company Captain, for his opinion? I think he's quite depressed."
Alexander lay under the metal pillar, looking at Marquite with a deadpan expression, and retorted.
"No matter. Once you personally experience the Father God's blessings, you will know if everything is happy."
Marquite shook his head. After speaking, he stepped towards the roaring Warp Engine.
Marquite raised the scimitar in his hand high.
The triangular sword, which had been sacrificed by using the entire Old Eight District as a plague culture medium, was enveloped within it.
"Sevenfold Curse!"
Marquite shouted loudly, each word seemingly using all his strength, exhausting the energy of every single cell:
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
Seven syllables echoed in Marquite's throat, and sevenfold diseases writhed on Marquite's body.
In the First District, plague zombies were fighting genestealer on the streets.
Many humans and genestealer throughout the First District had been converted into members of this endless tide of corpses.
These patients infected with the living corpse virus had not died, but they certainly couldn't be called alive.
They, as if one entity, suddenly numbly raised their heads and looked towards the dome of the First District.
In the depths of this hive city, where the sky couldn't be seen, layers of dark clouds suddenly gathered from the "sky."
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
Rain poured down, black as ink, foul as blood, dirty as feces.
The viscous rain fell on the faces of every plague zombie, and equally on the remaining genestealer.
Thick sweet dew swept across the cheeks of every living being; the terrifying viruses contained within it corroded all life.
The sound of the rain was so great, like a thousand bells ringing, drowning out the painful wails of those infected by the virus.
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
Each raindrop enveloped countless diseases, sliding down their cheeks.
Each disease contained millions of living beings, multiplying within their bodies.
Each living being was filled with infinite joy, laughing among their flesh and blood.
A moment later, only plague zombies remained throughout the First District.
They raised their hands, welcoming this sea of rain that brought rebirth to all things.
The sky-high rain made their diseases even more severe.
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
In the Empyrean, within Nurgle's flourishing garden, the nurglings sang loudly.
They had succeeded; they were about to save a planet, bringing happiness to the beings on that planet.
A group of brand new members was about to join their happy big family.
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
Horticulous Slimux shook his boxwood branch, praising the nurglings' diligent work.
Typhus also looked up from his work of cultivating viruses, applauding the little nurglings.
Sepsis also praised joyfully, Typhus nodded repeatedly in approval, only Mortarion remained gloomy.
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
Marquite raised his scimitar.
The worms all over him writhed with joy, the viruses raged with happiness, and the bacteria multiplied with delight.
Marquite plunged the scimitar heavily into the Warp Engine.
"Sevenfold Curse!! Sevenfold Disease!! Sevenfold Blessing!!!"
In a deserted house in the First District, Joan slowly opened her eyes.
Her eyes glowed with a faint golden light, like a tiny sun.