"BOOM! BOOM!!!"
The instant the Death Guard snorted, the delayed devastation arrived.
Large-caliber howitzer shells screamed down onto the heights, blanketing friend and foe alike. The explosions hurled earth skyward like a tsunami, their shock waves sweeping away everything.
Even someone wearing Terminator Armour would not dare weather such a dense Basilisk bombardment head-on, let alone ordinary Power Armour. The Death Guard had no choice but to abandon his observation of the mortal's transformation and dive into a sheltered corner of a shell crater, relying on his thick pauldrons to withstand the flying shrapnel and blasts.
Dust billowed into the sky, blotting out the sun. A gray-yellow haze of earth swallowed all visibility in an instant.
Behind cover, the Death Guard could not help feeling a flicker of irritation. Not because of the bombardment—mortal artillery of this caliber could not kill him—but because of his sword.
"That mortal must have been blown to a pulp."
He cursed inwardly. Beneath that barrage, the fragile body pinned to the earthen wall had no chance of survival. What worried him was that his Plague Sword might have been blasted into some unknown corner or buried beneath several tons of earth. It was a weapon blessed by Father Nurgle. Losing even one would be a tremendous sacrilege.
Just as he was planning to search for his weapon once the shelling eased, a strange sensation suddenly washed over him.
Darkness. Endless darkness.
Trevor felt his consciousness sinking rapidly, as though he were plunging into an abyss of cold and rot.
"Was this the end? I couldn't even trade my life for that thing's—"
Just as his consciousness was about to fade, he suddenly felt someone kick him hard in the ass!
The kick was astonishingly powerful, carrying an unquestionable fury and authority that booted him