I'm a magnetic field madman

Mortarion circled Kugas's Plague Factory, and as he passed through the Plague Guard's campfire, smoke billowed out with his arrival...

He then landed amidst a thick smoke and a stench, followed by a group of Nurgles who jumped out from under his cloak and staggered across the floor as if it were their territory.

Some of them had wings and dragged chain-like incense burners that hung like skirts on Mortalian's body.

He brought with him his own unique mist, a fog that mingled with the swamp.

“Kugas, I bring my grandfather’s orders.” Mortarian used his massive scythe as a staff, stabbing it into the overgrown factory, his heel shattering the dirty glass.

He turned a skull, its surface stained a bluish-gray by fungus, over with the toes of his boot, hissing approvingly.

“We need to attack Altramar. Let’s drop everything. This is Grandfather’s top priority—we need to bring my half-dead brother to join our family!”

“As long as it is the Father’s command,” said the Great Impure One, lowering his enormous head slightly and squeezing out his swollen thyroid gland, which swelled like a toad’s throat, speaking in a muffled tone.

“But my Primarch, I must remind you that the problem is not whether we can do it, but how we should descend there.”

“I know!” Mortarian said impatiently, twirling his scythe. He paused, then said with utter disgust…

"Typhons has gone to find that scumbag Eribus on my orders. Then I will also set off for Sicarus to visit my charlatan brother. He will solve the problem of our arrival, and we will attack Alteramar together."

"Oh, like a reenactment of your Battle of Kos?" Kugas tried to force a smile onto his ugly face.

"Just follow my orders," Mortarion said coldly, silently fanning his blade to send the Primarch into the air before disappearing into the clouds.

"That guy is so annoying!"

Kugas muttered, “You just have to obey my orders!” He mimicked the swamp, as if they could comfort him.

"What does he take me for, his butler?"

He sighed. 'Fine. Get me water! Start a fire!' he roared angrily. 'Obviously, I haven't finished my work yet.'

A single, greasy, thick, slow tear rolled down his cheek.

His loose eyes then fell out, and he disappeared into his cauldron with a plop.

He dipped his hand into the liquid, searching for his eyes. The filthy cauldron was filled with a bright green broth.

Its light illuminated Kugas's decaying face. But the lightning played with the light, mischievously scattering it, making Kugas look like a black and white statue.

Kugas groped around in the pot, stretching his arm deeper and deeper. The broth was clearly effective, even dangerous; as he swirled his arm around in the pot, the flesh on it was peeled off.

But he used every ounce of energy he could to draw more energy from the warp, rapidly reshaping himself as his body melted. He relished this pain. It burned and itched in the most exhilarating way.

“Where? Where is it?” he murmured.

"I need my eyes, I must... What is this?"

His hand grasped something hard, something spinning underneath. He pulled on it. But he couldn't budge it.

“What is this?” he roared.

Then he roared, "What is this?"

He pulled, he lifted;

His stomach slammed into the cauldron, causing the thick legs to wobble. Thick sludge gushed from the rim, the stench of which made the Nurgle scream.

Their minor stampede went unnoticed by him... even though hundreds of Nurgles died under their brother's claws.

The flames steamed the broth. Its smell was truly repulsive, but Kugas was too furious to enjoy it for the moment.

“There’s something else in my soup! There’s something else in my pot!” he roared.

"Get out, get out, outsider!" He yanked hard.

It didn't move at all. He pulled hard, and then it moved. It moved too hard. It pushed Kugas. He let go of it.

Things, soup spilled onto his back, sweeping away the ruins of the hospital, and then his sponge-like back fell into the swirling dust, sitting down on the wet rubble.

An object rose. It surfaced from the broth, first an antler. Then came a filthy hood, followed by evil eyes, a nose, and a mouth that curved upwards with a smug smile. A warty hand slapped the edge of the cauldron, then pushed down, and a shoulder emerged from the pot.

Another great impure one emerged from the carefully prepared potion by Kugas, a creature Kugas knew all too well.

“Rotigus,” he said, panting.

Rainfather Rothigs, Nurgle's second favorite Archmage, rose from the broth, splashing the precious liquid across the rim of the pot in somber waves.

"No! No! Stop!" Kugas shouted.

But as he tried to run back to his potion, he stood up again and tripped over his own loose flesh roll.

His own claws tore his internal organs and ripped his skin, but he was too angry to notice.

“My kind father lent me this crucible! It’s mine, not yours!”

Rotigos coughed, and a drop of Kugas' precious elixir spilled from his mouth.

He tried to speak, but only made gurgling sounds. Then he roared, spitting a clump of maggots and slime into the soup, and cleared his throat.

The rain was now pouring down harder. He coughed again and again, vomiting clumps of mixture. Finally, the putrid mess in his mouth was all in the soup, and he laughed even harder, then spoke.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my festering relative.” He extended a hand.

A shimmering sphere spun in his hand. "Your eye fell out."

Kugas grabbed his eyes and twisted them back into place—"I'm not happy to see you at all. Now get out of my pot."

“Ah, ah, ah!” Rotigos warned.

“This is not your crucible, rotten brother; it is the Father’s crucible.”

"He gave it to me to use!" Kugas shouted sternly.

“Well, he also allowed me to show myself in it. What do you think?” Rothigs grinned, dipped his finger into the soup, and then put it in his mouth.

"The most unclean thing, the most contagious thing. What are you making?"

“None of your business, you piece of trash…” Kugas roared.

“It’s a plague, isn’t it? This is what you and that half-baked guy were planning to use to kill Guilliman.” He took another bite.

"It's a bit too strong..." he said.

Kugas's rage made his brain boil, so much so that steam was billowing from his ears and mouth. 'Get out! You're ruining it!'

“You mean to make it better…” Rotigos said.

He leaned back in the large pot and sighed contentedly. "I have to admit, this stuff you made is quite invigorating."

“Yes, we all received orders from the Father to kill a Primarch.” Rotigus scratched his swarming skin and sighed in disgust…

“But why should we listen to that arrogant idiot? That so-called cursed son?” he mocked. 'Oh, shut up. What is he? A man? A fake demigod?'

"This is our loving father's command, and we cannot refuse!!"

“Of course, of course, we certainly can’t refuse a loving father,” Rotigos scoffed. “But we obviously can’t get that loving father’s love from Motalian’s own little schemes either…and do you really think that arrogant idiot will succeed?”

"Should we salvage Mortalian's plan?" Kugas pondered for a moment, then asked somewhat naively...

"Make amends? Of course, but only after that arrogant idiot has messed everything up himself," Rotiglus laughed wildly.

“I will help you, Kugas, to add a new hue to your poison,” he said, producing a strange glass bottle containing a drop of scarlet blood.

“This is the blood of the new god who challenged Khorne and now resides with Slaanesh,” Rotigus said with a sinister tone.

“Interesting. Guess what we can do with it? Make your Plague more interesting, deadly, and stealthy.”

"Why did you come with me?" Kugas asked, annoyed.

Rotigus rested his head on the iron ring of the cauldron. "Kugas, let me be frank with you. I understand why Father Nagle loves you more than all of us. It's because your complaints are so charming."

He likes you. I like you too! You probably don't know it because you're an old, tragic joke, and you always think everyone hates you because you're so self-centered. "Oh dear, everyone's thinking about me, everyone hates me."

Rotiglus mimicked Kugas's voice, dramatically rolling his eyes. "But nobody really cares. They won't think about you, and when they do, you're a joke."

He patted his chest with a wet, human-sized hand.

"However, you're a bit naive. You really believe that arrogant idiot will share the credit with you? No, he'll just tell his loving father that it's all his doing, and you're just the cook hiding behind the scenes."

Kugas's teeth were grinding together. He hated Rotigus and he hated Mortarian, but if you asked him who he hated the most right now, it would definitely be Mortarian!

“We’re not like that idiot, we’re family.” Rotigos burst into laughter.

“We won’t fight each other, including tripping up that idiot! We don’t need to do that. We just need to see him stumble again because of his recklessness and stupidity.”

"And when he falls, that will be our moment."

After saying that, Rotigos sank beneath the surface of the water. Huge bubbles rose from the cauldron and burst.

Kugas reached into the mixture, searching for his opponent, but Rothigs was already gone.

“Flattery…” Kugas said.

“Indeed!” His mood worsened as he experimentally licked his hand, discovering that Rothigs was right: the broth worked much better.

Kugas, the father of the plague, lamented the evils of life and picked up his oars to stir things up again.

75. Crowned Eternal...Queen?!

As the waves of destruction seep through the cracks in the heavens...

When that terrifying radiance had completely obscured the light emanating from the black sun in the sky, the entire Comoros region was suffocating.

I wonder if the Imperial Guard had similar thoughts when Magnus destroyed the Emperor's Web with a psionic phone call.

Or perhaps, the Spirit Race, about to be blasted apart by the spiritual energy erupting from the heavens, are thinking of the scene from the Great Fall.

Destruction is imminent and unstoppable.

The cunning and ever-changing master used all the variables to create a result that directly destroyed Comoros... and this was merely the goal he successfully achieved.

Of course, not every Eldar was in such a panic.

Inside the Serpent Palace, Marles, who had tidied herself up and dressed impeccably, had returned to her quarters sometime earlier. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grumbled…

"Is this all you've prepared? A joke that insults all of us Idas?"

"Hee hee hee!"

Stop laughing and tell me the answer!

"Hehehe, isn't this fun?!"

The reflection of Marles in the mirror concealed her face with a fan wielding a knife... but the smile peeking through the gap was chilling.

"A racist joke, hahaha, this kind of meme will never go out of style!!"

The reflection of Males in the mirror was utterly insane; even though her face was obscured by a smile, the overflowing madness was still palpable.

Malus was unusually expressionless, because although she prioritized self-interest, she was a racist just like the other noble Eldar.

Her ability to appoint people based on merit doesn't mean she can so calmly accept such a strange situation—

She knew that the gods in the mirror didn't care about race at all... What difference was there between these Idas and humans and these gods?

They may be the gods worshipped by the Eldar, but they have absolutely no connection to the Eldar race.

If you insist on mentioning a deity who can distinguish between different beings, then you must mention Slaanesh, the one who stands in opposition to the human emperors and our Eldar…

However, Males still couldn't accept what was about to happen...

Because what was about to happen was like the British in 1901 learning that their next king and queen would be two black men...

Males found it difficult to accept psychologically, but she was still sensible enough not to cause any trouble.

Because perhaps next, they really will need to rely on the race they despise to get through their difficulties.

"I sincerely hope your joke doesn't backfire." Males sighed, took two steps back, and stepped into the mirror behind her...

"The big clown..."

Comoros is trembling, and the subspace colors in the sky are becoming vibrant and varied... which represents a scene of completely chaotic winds!

At such times, the demons ravaging the Comoros almost all disappear.

But this is not a good thing, because it means that even the demons who still have some semblance of order think this place is too chaotic.

A massive amount of disordered subspace energy surged into Comoros like an overturned sea!

Ahriman's psionic phone call did create a gap in the network... but it was just too powerful, causing the counterattack of the warp torrent to completely destroy the Kane Gate.

Their original goal of sealing off Comoros failed, but now they no longer need to worry about the minor problem of demonic invasion—after all, they are about to be crushed by the influx of countless psionic energies!

Beneath the Thousand-Faced Scarlet Helmet, his face was deathly pale. He gripped the Howling Sword tightly in his hand and turned his gaze to Evelynn behind him. What would his apprentice, the chosen one of Death, do at this moment?