Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 957 The Death of Typhon

Under Mortalian's leadership, this small but elite Eldar force is tearing through Typhon's battle lines with unstoppable force.

Their precise teamwork and efficient killing stood in stark contrast to the Death Guard's cumbersome and sluggishness.

Operating in the confined environment of a spaceship should have been the Deathguards' forte, but now they are being relentlessly attacked by the Eldar.

If humanity during the Great Crusade were to witness this scene: the Primarch of the Death Guard commanding the Eldar legions to relentlessly attack the Death Guard, everyone would likely feel that the world had finally gone completely mad.

Under Typhon's forceful orders and control, the organized Death Guard company, like undead awakening from a rotting dream, launched a desperate charge against Mortalian's elite Eldar with heavy, staggering steps.

They were once the pride of the Fourteenth Legion, personally molded by Mortarion into the most resilient and tenacious heavy infantry. Every Deathguard could endure any extreme environment, surviving and fighting amidst poison gas, radiation, and deadly plague.

Today, this resilience has become the tool that Nurgle uses to torment them, making them immortal in eternal decay.

Mortalian knew all too well. She understood the Death Guard's tactics, their habit of crushing enemies with unparalleled patience and heavy lines, or slowly wearing down enemies they couldn't defeat for the time being by dragging them into the quagmire of war.

Therefore, she calmly commanded the Eldar forces, using their superior mobility and devastating long-range firepower, far exceeding the Death Guard's reaction speed, to target them.

Commanding the Eldar legions, skilled in mobile warfare, even gave Mortalian a glimpse of the joy Chagatai Khan felt when he commanded the White Scars.

“The Death Guards rarely seize the initiative in a war; instead, they adopt a defensive counter-attack strategy. In comparison, this rapid guerrilla warfare combined with firepower coverage is the way to firmly grasp the initiative in a war,” Mortalian thought to herself.

With the white scar as a reference, coupled with the Primarch's extraordinary learning and adaptability, Mortalian's command abilities are improving at a visible pace.

The Dark Knight's Sunfire Cannon relentlessly unleashed plasma spheres. These weapons, which wouldn't explode due to overheating, were highly favored by the Primarchs. One after another, massive, blinding fireballs exploded within the dense ranks of Deathguards, vaporizing rotting flesh and rusted armor.

The Phantom Titan's pulse cannons and starlight cannons, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, swept a wide death zone through the crowd.

Meanwhile, the Howling Banshees and Assault Scorpions, like phantoms, precisely sliced ​​through the edges of the formation under the cover of heavy firepower, quickly eliminating any lone Plague Warriors.

Mortalian herself was equally hands-on, braving gunfire and plague clouds, leading by example for the tribe warriors.

Relying on Primarch-level reflexes, most of the heavy bombs seemed to have eyes, whizzing past the Pale King.

Those rare lucky bombs either shattered into dust upon impact with Mortalian's psionic barrier or were sliced ​​in two by her giant scythe, losing their kinetic energy.

Each swing of the Silent Scythe, each shot of the Lantern Pistol, carried a verdant arc of light that purified impurities and ended suffering.

Whenever a Death Guard falls before her, whether severed by a scythe or purified by the light of the lantern, Mortalian can feel a subtle sense of soul being detached.

She understood that it was Aisha's power at work; the goddess of life was forcibly snatching the fragments of souls imprisoned and twisted by Nurgle from that filthy body, preventing them from returning to the Plague Garden after death and suffering endless torment in the cycle of reincarnation.

These fallen souls can no longer return to the human network created by the Emperor; their only destiny is to completely dissipate in Elsa's embrace and return to eternal silence.

This is the greatest kindness they could show.

However, Mortalian could keep telling herself that her killings were a redemption for the Death Guard, but each time the soul of her offspring was taken away, her heart still felt a sharp pain.

Even after becoming a demon, Typhons continued to use the technology he possessed, along with a sliver of Nurgle's divine power, to continuously create Death Guardians Astartes. With the dilution of new blood, the proportion of veterans from the Legion era had long since become extremely small.

Even though these old Death Guardians were corrupted beyond recognition, covered in sores and scars, and their flesh had swelled to the point of bursting through their power armor, Mortalian could still recognize those familiar faces from the past.

They originally had different personalities and different hobbies, but at this moment they were all equally silent and stiff, uttering barely audible whispers.

Mortalian could tell that the Death Guards' whispers were definitely about her; they seemed to still be expressing their love and worship for the Primarch, but in the form of roaring chainsaws and venom-spitting bomb guns.

“Nurgle has warped your minds, children…”

“Your true selves are trapped in the illusions created by the evil god; what you do and what you think are completely opposite.”

Mortalian lamented that this desecration and manipulation of humanity and the soul almost made her furious.

Amidst the surging tide of Death Guards, an exceptionally tall Death Guard Terminator, braving the suppressive fire of the tribe warriors, roared as he charged through the barrage, wielding his massive chainsaw scythe as he hurtled toward Mortalian.

His boils kept bursting, spurting out foul-smelling fluid. His exposed intestines writhed like gray snakes. His helmet had long since fused with his flesh and blood, revealing half of his completely ulcerated and terrifying face.

But Mortalian recognized the remaining emblem on his armor, a unique crest belonging to a company of elite soldiers.

Badr Clarkson, a veteran of the Death Guard's First Company, a silent and reliable warrior, Mortalian remembered his name.

Mortalian did not hesitate when faced with this familiar yet unfamiliar offspring.

She sidestepped the powerful chainsaw slash, and the Silent Scythe in her hand, glowing with a chilling green light, gently brushed across Badr's bloated neck like a breeze.

There was no blood and gore as expected. The sickle sliced ​​through the air without taking away any sticky blood or maggots and rotting flesh, as if it had swept across nothingness.

Badr's forward charge abruptly halted, and the chainsaw scythe slammed heavily onto the deck with a loud clang.

His massive body swayed, but he did not fall down immediately.

Then, something shocking happened to Mortalian.

Badr's murky, pus-filled eyes twitched violently.

An expression of extreme terror and pain replaced the previous numb frenzy and reappeared on his rotting face.

Badr looked like a soul that had been asleep for countless years, trapped in an endless nightmare, suddenly forcibly awakened to face its terrible reality.

"Uh... ah..."

A hoarse, broken groan, almost inhuman, squeezed out of his throat. He lowered his head, his severed head still stuck together with rotting flesh.

He looked at his exposed entrails, teeming with maggots, at his hands covered in pustules and rotting flesh, and at the rusty armor that had once symbolized glory but was now fused to his body.

Unlike the other undead guards killed by Mortalian, Baldr seemed to retain more self-awareness under Nurgle's corruption.

Perhaps it was his stronger will, or perhaps it was the pure emotion he felt for the Primarch when he saw Mortalian that briefly broke through the corruption.

"No...no...what is this...I..."

His voice was filled with unbelievable fear and excruciating pain, not just physical pain, but also the mental shock that came from the sudden awakening of a soul that had been defiled and twisted, a shock powerful enough to shatter any being.

Fragments of memory flooded his newly cleared mind like a tidal wave: the suffocatingly sweet and putrid stench of Nurgle Garden, the endless torment of illness, and his father's "kind" whispers and twisted "care".

He and his brothers were on their way to the battlefield on Terra, where they were to declare war on the Emperor for their Primarch and help the Warmaster overthrow the Emperor's rule. But after entering Nurgle Gardens, everything turned into a terrifying nightmare.

Tears mixed with pus and blood welled up from his eyes, streaming down his rotting cheeks, but they couldn't get past the layers of rotten flesh before being absorbed cleanly.

Then he saw Mortalian standing in front of him, a familiar yet strange figure, like the only light piercing through his dark world.

“The… Primarch…” Baldr’s voice trembled, filled with endless regret and pleading.

He tried to lift the rotting hand, but it fell limply to the ground.

"Is...is it you? Lord Mortarian?"

Motali looked at him quietly, without saying a word, only nodding slightly.

“I…we were wrong…we were all wrong…” Badr’s words quickened, filled with the urgency of a dying man.

“The garden is a trap…Typhons…he deceived us…the benevolent father…no!It’s an evil god…”

Purified by Aisha's power, the Nurgle power within Baldr was dispelled, and he could feel with unparalleled sensitivity the pain of festering wounds, the blasphemous crawling of maggots in his flesh, and his own current state of disgrace.

“It’s too painful, sir. I… I don’t want to do this anymore… I don’t want to praise those plagues anymore… I don’t want to spread those curses anymore…” He choked up, almost crying.

“I…I have failed you…I have failed the Legion…Please…let me…rest in peace…true peace…”

His eyes were filled with pleading, the humblest yet most intense longing of a lost soul for final liberation after endless torment.

Mortalian's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an icy hand.

Even though she had prepared herself mentally, she still couldn't bear it when Bader spoke to her in his dying voice, expressing his most sincere feelings.

She stepped forward, ignoring the ongoing battle around her, and slowly extended her exceptionally fair hand, gently touching Badr's forehead, which was covered with terrifying scars.

Her movements were unusually gentle, a stark contrast to her previous fierce and ruthless killing style.

"Badl Clarkson".

Mortalian's voice was deep and clear, carrying a special power to soothe the soul, like a ray of sunlight piercing through Baldr's pain and fear.

"Your repentance has been witnessed, and your suffering... is about to end."

The lantern at her waist shone brightly, its soft emerald green glow enveloping Badr like a mother's embrace.

Badr's body trembled violently, and the extreme pain and fear on his face began to fade rapidly.

An unprecedented peace and relief appeared on his battered face. His cloudy eyes looked at Mortalian, no longer filled with pain and regret, but with a deep sense of gratitude.

"Thank you... Primarch..."

He used his last bit of strength to force out a distorted yet sincere smile.

"It's so good to see you again..."

Badr's words came to an abrupt halt, the light in his eyes dimmed completely, and his massive, tormented body finally lost all support, falling quietly backward and then dissipating like dust in the wind.

His soul, like a candle flickering in the wind, gently extinguished. He had obtained the true death he had longed for, escaping the endless decay and despair between life and death.

Mortalian stood frozen, staring at the dust Baldr had left on the deck.

“This is the path I must continue to walk. For all the Death Guards still trapped in Nurgle’s clutches, I must continue to wield the scythe until the last progenitor finds peace, until Typhon pays the ultimate price for his betrayal.”

The Primarch whispered, and as she raised her head again, the sorrow within her had been forcibly transformed into a colder killing intent, driving her resolute advance towards the core area where the culprit was located. Typhons, hidden in the shadows of the bridge, observed the battle through the numerous eyes and ears scattered throughout the ship.

He originally thought that relying on the Death Guard's attrition and the intervention of the Nurgle Archmage would be enough to wear down or even defeat Mortalian.

However, reality dealt him a heavy blow. The powerful Nurgle archdeacon he sent to intercept Mortalian—Scurvy, an ancient demon known for spreading a plague of decay—could not even delay Mortalian's advance in the slightest.

Septicemia's bloated, mountain-like body appeared before Mortalian, surrounded by a multitude of Nurgle spirits.

Its existence is extremely ancient; its echoes appeared in the warp when the first life in the galaxy died of septicemia.

However, Mortalian didn't even give it a chance to finish uttering a single blasphemous word.

Faced with the charging behemoth, Mortalian simply raised the hand that wasn't holding the scythe.

Within his palm, emerald green spiritual energy gathered and compressed as if it were a tangible substance, radiating a pure purifying power that made the septicemic soul tremble.

That was a new power she possessed, born from the fusion of Elsa's divine power and her own psychic energy.

How dare you appear before me?

"Who gave you the courage? Typhon?"

Mortalian's voice was icy, and the next moment her fingers tightened sharply.

It was as if an invisible giant hand had gripped the massive body of the septicemia patient, which was filled with pus and gas. Its tough skin and thick fat, which were strong enough to withstand the bombardment of a macro cannon, were as vulnerable as a ripe fruit under the crushing force of pure psionic energy.

With a short, shrill scream, as if countless patients were wailing at the same time, the septicemia patient's massive body was crushed.

The rotting flesh, shattered bones, and the twisted demonic essence at its core were all instantly purified in the dazzling emerald light, leaving not a trace behind.

Instant kill!

The whole process was breathtakingly fast.

Before the Eldar warriors following Mortalian could even react, the threat had been completely eliminated.

That was a warp entity of the level of a great demon. Even the most powerful psychic prophets among the Eldar would have to fight a fierce battle to banish it.

Their gazes toward the Primarch held a deeper reverence and worship.

Typhons witnessed this through his informant, and his rotting heart nearly stopped beating.

His trusted Nurgle was so utterly helpless against Mortalian? When did she acquire such powerful psychic energy? Wasn't she supposed to be devoid of psychic abilities?

This suppression at the level of power instilled in Typhon a long-lost sense of fear.

He realized that he might have really gone too far, considering that the "Destroying Hive" power within him was not much stronger than septicemia.

Finally, after clearing out the last of the stubborn Death Guard warriors, Mortalian stepped onto the massive and filthy bridge of the End.

This place is like a miniature projection of the Plague Garden into the real universe.

The thick, sticky fungal carpet reached up to my ankles, and the air was filled with a suffocatingly sweet stench of decay. The walls and ceiling were covered with writhing, heart-shaped sarcomas and eyes that opened and closed, oozing pus.

In the center of the bridge, Typhon's bulky figure awaited her.

Seeing Mortalian step in, Typhons tried to appear calm, attempting to force a smile that resembled his former self, but all he showed was ferocity and terror.

“Mortalian… my dear Primarch,” his voice was still thick and hoarse, “you’re finally back. Look at you, how radiant you’ve become. Those pointy-eared Eldar have taken good care of you.”

Mortalian ignored his clumsy rhetoric, her cold gaze dissecting every subtle movement and expression of Typhons.

He was afraid, Mortalian knew it.

Seeing that Mortalian remained unmoved, Typhons was not angry, but remained calm.

“Do you remember? Mortalian…”

His voice was deliberately softened, carrying a hypocritical sentimentality of reminiscing about the past.

"In the dense poisonous fog of Barbarossa, we fought side by side, together overthrowing the rule of those alien overlords. We were brothers, comrades-in-arms, and the closest partners..."

He described scenes from the past, trying to awaken Mortalian's memories of that era, a time when genuine affection had indeed existed.

Mortal listened quietly, her steps slowing and gradually coming to a stop, as if she were truly moved.

Typhons was overjoyed, thinking he had found a breakthrough, and continued to intensify his efforts.

"The Emperor doesn't love you at all. He never cared about you. He bypassed you and killed Nikel. He ruined your revenge. I know you've held a grudge about that all these years."

"The Emperor only values ​​your worth, your legion. You and I are merely his tools, but the Father is different!"

"Your loving father loves you! It's true, unconditional love. Even though you've left and entered the arms of an alien, your loving father still misses you every day and grieves for you."

His garden has dimmed a little since you left. Come back, Mortalian, return to your loving father's embrace. If you come back, He will surely forgive you and love you even more. We can be like before..."

Typhon paints a tender picture as he stares intently at Mortalian, hoping to see wavering and hesitation in her, or even a hint of longing to return.

He knew Mortalian of the past all too well—the Primarch who craved recognition and whose tough exterior concealed a soft heart.

Just when Typhon thought his words were about to have an effect and Mortalian's will was beginning to waver.

Mortalian's eyes, which had been shrouded in shadow, suddenly snapped open.

"The lies... end here, Typhons."

"How could you be so stupid as to think I'd fall for it again?"

Her voice was like a frigid storm from Fenris, instantly shattering all the false atmosphere that Typhon had created.

Before she could finish speaking, Mortalian moved.

Her figure left a blur in place, moving so fast that it exceeded the limits of Typhon's visual perception.

After arriving in Eldar, Mortalian not only integrated into the Eldar community but also learned many Eldar combat techniques, making her more agile and nimble than before.

The hypocrisy and seduction on Typhon's face instantly turned into extreme terror. He instinctively raised the scythe in his hand to retaliate, trying to unleash his strongest plague spell to stop Mortalian.

However, he was too slow.

The Silent Scythe descended with a soul-ripping shriek, its emerald blade flashing like thunderbolts of vengeance!

"Crack!!"

Typhons' seemingly resilient, Nurgle-blessed, bloated body was cleaved in two like butter being sliced ​​by a hot knife before the terrifying psionic and purifying power contained in the Silent Scythe.

Thick, putrid blood and shattered entrails splattered everywhere, and he let out an unprecedented, unbelievable, piercing scream.

Elsa's divine power is dispelling the evil within him, exposing reality starkly before his eyes.

The destructive honeycomb inside his body was now completely exposed to the air; it was a terrifying organ that was constantly writhing, composed of countless holes, and resembled a giant, rotting honeycomb.

Countless demonic flies carrying deadly plague surged out of it, emitting a chilling buzzing sound, and rushed towards Mortalian, who was right next to her, like a black storm, attempting a final counterattack.

Mortalian did not retreat at all; the lantern pistol in her hand burst forth with a dazzling green light like a supernova.

The warm and boundless life force expanded outwards like an invisible domain.

Those filthy flies, capable of devastating the planet, turned into pure ashes the instant they came into contact with the green light, like moths to a flame, making soft "poof" sounds.

The destroyed hive itself convulsed and shrank violently under the green light, eventually crumbling into pieces like dried mud, turning into a lifeless black residue.

Typhon's mangled body lay twitching slightly on the fungal carpet of the ground.

His face, which was still half intact, was filled with extreme pain and resentment, as well as a trace of utter bewilderment at defeat.

Mortalian walked up to him, looking down at this man who had once been her most trusted comrade-in-arms, and also the traitor who had brought her and the entire Deathguard eternal pain.

"There is no longer any affection between us."

"Only hatred is naked and pure. Your lies, your betrayals... I have long seen through them."

You are no longer worthy to mention the past, no longer worthy to tarnish the name of Barbarossa.

She raised her hand, and the light from the lantern's muzzle converged once more.

"This time, your soul... will be ended by my own hand. Nurgle cannot keep you."

In Typhon's desperate, silent roar, Aisha's divine power severed his last connection to Nurgle Garden, then utterly annihilated his sinful and tormented soul essence.

The culprit who led to the corruption of the Death Guard, the traveler Typhon, met his end aboard the End.

Typhons, who died under the purification of Aisha's divine power, could not be resurrected even by Nurgle. Even if he were resurrected, he would only be a copy with a similar form and the same name as Typhons.

Mortal stood quietly in place, with only the faint echoes of battle coming from afar on the bridge.

Now that she has avenged her great grudge, she does not feel the joy she expected.

She simply felt sorry and saddened, for in this dark galaxy, she and the Death Guard were not the only victims.

Perhaps only by completely eliminating the source of that chaos can we prevent such tragedies from happening again.

(End of this chapter)