Sweet Temptation

Basement.

This was originally the backup generator room for Granary Seven.

It has now been converted into a temporary "Alchemy Workshop."

The walls are lined with soundproof and heat-insulating asbestos panels.

Dim Lumen Ball lights flicker among the complex Brass Piping.

Before the massive cooling Water Tank.

Rovi holds a pocket watch, his eyes shifting slightly with the ticking of the second hand.

In front of him.

Priest Alpha swings three Mechanical Tentacles, sinking a lead-gray metal box deep into the tank filled with coolant.

Inside the box is sealed the Warp Crystal from the heart of the Nurgle Chosen.

To isolate the maddening whispers and contamination, Rovi designed a triple-layer safeguard.

The innermost layer is a Pure Silver Lining engraved with the Emperor's prayers.

The middle layer is filled with Sacred Oil consecrated by a High Priest of the Ecclesiarchy.

The outermost layer is an Industrial Grade Lead Plate three inches thick.

This is not born of faith.

But of dual considerations in physics and psychic science.

The lead blocks radiation.

The Sacred Oil neutralizes psychic fluctuations.

The silver layer serves as the final reactive barrier.

"Seal complete."

Priest Alpha's slightly trembling voice comes through the Voice Unit.

It is reverence for Forbidden Technology.

And excitement for this mad concept.

"Now injecting coolant... Heat Exchange Valve opening."

"Record the readings." Rovi says calmly, tucking the pocket watch away. "I want temperature rise data every ten seconds."

"Understood. T+10 seconds, water temperature rises 0.5 degrees... T+20 seconds, water temperature rises 1.2 degrees... T+30 seconds, rate of rise accelerating, boiling signs in the core area!"

The servo-skull behind the Priest flickers wildly.

The originally blue indicator lights shift to a warning orange-red.

From inside the Water Tank comes a low gurgling sound.

As if a beast is awakening in the deep sea.

The heat-conducting Brass Piping connected to the top of the tank rapidly turns from dull to glowing red.

It is proof of high-pressure steam surging wildly.

Rovi raises a hand and presses down in the air, signaling the Priest to stay calm.

He walks to a pressure gauge nearby, tapping the glass face lightly with a finger.

"Law of Conservation of Energy."

He speaks as if to himself, or as if preaching to this Adeptus Mechanicus follower.

"No matter how evil or unspeakable its origin, as long as it remains in the Material Universe, the way it releases energy must follow the Material Laws."

"Heat is heat. It has no alignment."

"But, Advisor..." Priest Alpha watches the climbing pressure readings, "This energy reaction already exceeds a standard small Nuclear Fission Battery. The crystal... it's 'breathing.'"

"Let it breathe." Rovi says coldly. "As long as it exhales hot air, not a virus, it's the boiler we need."

He turns and walks toward the Main Valve connecting to the Fermentation Workshop.

This is his true goal.

The underground fermentation tanks of Granary Seven, due to lack of fuel, have been kept at low temperatures year-round.

The Synthetic Protein Strain, which relies on temperature to multiply, grows at an abysmally slow rate.

And now, he holds in his hand a sun that never goes out.

"Start the Circulation Pump." Rovi orders. "Send this steam, carrying the crystal's 'body heat,' into the jacket of the Fermentation Tank. Don't let our strain go hungry."

As the heavy valve is cranked open, scalding steam roars through the pipes.

The entire basement trembles slightly.

Rovi stares at the white steam seeping from the pipe joints, his nostrils flaring slightly.

No smell of sulfur. No stench of rot.

Only the pure, scalding taste of steam.

His tense shoulders relaxed a fraction.

The first gamble paid off.

The dual filter of lead and Sacred Oil—physical and occult—had successfully stripped the "toxicity" from the Warp energy.

Leaving only the raw "heat."

It was scientific. It was also Warhammer.

Three hours later.

Rovi sat in his office, the freshly delivered sample set before him.

An aluminum lunchbox.

Inside, half-filled with Green Soup.

Normally, Green Soup smelled like moldy foot odor and tasted like chewing on a wet newspaper.

But today, it was different.

It was still steaming, its surface shimmering with an eerie, tempting sheen of oil.

Thanks to the constant high-temperature catalysis, the bacterial colony in the Fermentation Tank had completed in just three hours a reproductive cycle that normally took three days.

The proteins had broken down more thoroughly.

A caramelized color, reminiscent of the Maillard Reaction, had also appeared.

Rovi picked up a spoon and stirred.

The viscosity was perfect.

But he didn't eat right away.

He took a silver needle from a drawer and dipped it into the soup. The needle didn't turn black—no conventional toxins.

He then took out a strip of Litmus Paper. The pH was within a safe range.

Finally, he scooped up a small spoonful and brought it to his lips.

No expected stench.

Instead, as the warm paste slid across his tongue, Rovi was briefly stunned.

Sweet.

Not the crisp sweetness of cane sugar, nor the sharp bite of saccharin.

But the intoxicating aroma of fruit so ripe it was on the verge of rot.

Rovi swallowed the mouthful.

A wave of warmth slid down his esophagus into his stomach, then spread through his limbs and bones.

The fatigue was receding.

The dull ache in his temples from staying up all night had actually eased.

An indescribable sense of satisfaction stirred a powerful urge to take another bite.

Slap.

Rovi abruptly threw the spoon back into the lunchbox with a sharp clatter.

He stood up, walked to the washbasin, and splashed cold water harshly on his face.

The icy shock snapped him out of that eerie comfort.

Staring at his slightly pale face in the mirror, his eyes gradually turned cold.

"Sure enough, there's no such thing as a free lunch."

The physical filtration and Sacred Oil neutralization had indeed blocked the viruses and overt corruption.

But the essence of Warp energy is a reflection of consciousness.

That extreme concept of "abundance" and "vitality" had still seeped into the steam and entered the food, in the form of trace elements.

This "sweetness" was Nurgle's bait!

It wouldn't mutate you immediately. It wouldn't make you sick.

It would only make you feel happy, make you gradually slack off in contentment.

And finally, in your dreams, lead you to that eternal garden.

This was a chronic poison of the mind.

Rovi looked out the window.

In the square, tens of thousands of laborers stared intently at the cafeteria doors.

Their stomachs growled.

Their eyes were hollow from prolonged hunger.

If no food was given to them, there would be no need to wait for Nurgle to act—a riot would destroy everything tonight.

Between starving to death or being torn apart by a mob, eating a bit of sweet soup with side effects seemed like the only choice.

That was the survival logic of this fucked-up world:

Out of two cups of poisoned wine, pick the one that works slower.