May We All Stand Beside the Emperor

"Let us begin, and bestow the Grandfather's blessing upon these commoners deluded by the Corpse Emperor," Gurlo said, striding forward as the other Plague Warriors parted to let their lord pass.

The Plague Warriors' armor oozed with foul-smelling liquid, stretched tight over their bloated frames and covered in a layer of fat, green flies, radiating a nauseating stench and sickly green mist from within and without.

"Let us bring the Grandfather's gift to those fools," Gurlo's second-in-command spoke as well, his voice carrying the rot-choked, decaying rasp of one whose throat had long since withered.

He followed closely behind Gurlo, walking toward the battlefield while clutching a power hammer overgrown with raw flesh, the distillation equipment and experimental Blight Grenades on his person clinking with every step.

It is worth noting that Gurlo's second-in-command was a Plague Surgeon, capable of creating horrific plagues by concocting different germs and viruses, easily poisoning entire worlds of the Imperium and even spreading to other realms, bringing forth endless suffering and death.

The threat posed by a Plague Surgeon was far more terrifying than that of other Plague Warriors; they would poison the Imperial worlds they touched and even orchestrate sacrificial rituals to offer up those worlds, transforming them into a Garden of Nurgle.

"Praise the Grandfather."

"Gifts, bring them gifts."

"The Grandfather's love."

"Destroy the Corpse Emperor."

The other Plague Warriors waved their rusted Bolters, blades, heavy hammers, and Plague Sprayers equipped with Corrosion Sprayers, cheering as they followed Gurlo, preparing to launch the final wave of their assault.

Walking at the very front, Gurlo raised his massive plague battle-axe and let out a hoarse, terrifying war cry: "We are the sons of Mortarion; we are the embodiment of plague and death."

The other Plague Warriors echoed the same war cry, and the thunderous roar of artillery erupted as Daemon Engines and traitor-manned cannons resumed their bombardment of the fortress.

Plague shells flew toward the fortress's flickering shields, blooming with malicious petals of fire upon them; vast clouds of toxic plague spread with the explosions, only to be held back by the barrier.

The fortress's Void Shield flickered erratically, clearly pushed to its limit.

Under the continuous bombardment, the Shield Generator was on the verge of overload; a few more volleys would leave the fortress stripped of its protection.

Without the shield, the fortress would be like fish on a chopping block, ready to be slaughtered at will.

"Release the Grandfather's gift," Gurlo commanded.

Soon, a massive horde of Plague Zombies was driven in from the distance.

They had once been living people—residents and defenders of the planet—but now they were nothing more than puppets and playthings of Nurgle.

Many of the zombies still wore the uniforms of the planetary defense forces, with weapons and equipment hanging limply from their bodies.

They retained only the simplest instincts and could not use weapons.

Gurlo did not need them to use weapons; the Plague Zombies relied primarily on the plagues they carried to inflict damage upon the enemy.

These creatures stared blankly ahead, walking forward in a daze, green slime dripping from their snarling, toothy faces.

Their rotting flesh and writhing tentacles emitted a stench of decay, and the whimpering of lost souls echoed in the air.

Driven by the Plague Warriors, the Plague Zombies walked numbly toward the fortress, serving as expendable cannon fodder.

Tens of thousands of the undead swarmed through the ruins, stumbling toward the Imperial fortress's defensive line.

The Plague Warriors followed close behind, herding the zombies like shepherds.

Behind them, Daemon Engines like the Plagueburst Crawler continued their relentless bombardment, causing the fortress's Void Shield to flicker with increasing instability.

As the enemy entered optimal range, the defenders' firepower flared to life; Heavy Lascannons and cannons roared, reaping rows of plague-ridden mutants.

Under the thunderous barrage, countless zombies were blown away, exploding into clumps of rotting meat that scattered across the landscape.

Massive Flamers unleashed torrents of fire, burning the plague flies attempting to approach the defensive line into charred husks.

Laser beams shot from the bunkers, striking the Plague Zombies and causing them to sizzle as they collapsed into charred corpses.

The defenders shouted slogans of the Emperor, killing as many enemies as possible while trying to conserve ammunition, hoping to repel the enemy once more.

The Plague Warriors returned fire in kind; their Bolters precisely locked onto the heavy units and primary fire points of the Imperial defenders, triggers pulled again and again.

Bolter rounds easily shattered the bodies of ordinary soldiers, destroyed heavy units, and neutralized key defensive positions, allowing them to continue driving the Plague Zombies forward.

Daemon Engines like the Plague Spreader also advanced, releasing terrifying plague shells and toxins that corroded the human defenders and suppressed their fire.

The Imperial defenders fought with all their might, even resorting to strapping Melta Bombs to their own bodies in an attempt to halt the enemy's advance.

Yet, no matter how hard they tried, they were forced into a steady retreat in the face of the Plague Warriors' fierce assault, losing position after position as their defensive line was continuously compressed.

The Plague Warriors deployed their Dreadnoughts and Daemon Engines, and the terrifying firepower of these behemoths made the situation even more miserable for the under-equipped defenders.

In several previous defensive battles, they had lost a large number of artillery pieces and tanks, leaving them with virtually no heavy firepower while trapped in the fortress.

"Merciful Emperor, we are truly done for this time," Dzansk said, holding his binoculars as he watched the terrifying, flesh-covered Dreadnoughts emerge from the sickly green mist, following behind the Plague Zombies. He knew that without a miracle, the fall of the fortress was only a matter of time.

The Plague Warriors also possessed Dreadnoughts, and they were models from ten thousand years ago—better in performance and blessed by the Chaos Gods, making them even more formidable than the Imperium's own.

Those Dreadnoughts strode past a burning Chimera Transport, which looked insignificant before their massive frames.

One of the Dreadnought's arms hung with a massive cannon, firing wildly, while the other was a limb covered in barbs; on the chest cavity where the remains of a Plague Warrior were housed, a giant mouth sat, surrounded by a cluster of blinking, unsettling eyes.

Dzansk had seen these Dreadnoughts in action several times; when facing the Imperium, it was a total, crushing rout that the defenders simply could not block.

He had witnessed with his own eyes how those Dreadnoughts easily blew apart a super-heavy tank—a Baneblade—with their terrifying firepower.

"We don't even have a Knight; how the hell are we supposed to fight this? Get a squad to act as a suicide team and see if they can get close enough to use Melta Bombs to take it out," Dzansk said, attempting a desperate struggle to see if he could trade lives for that Dreadnought.

Soon, a squad ran out, with other units providing covering fire as they charged forward, Melta Bombs strapped to their bodies.

The tactic was simple: get close enough to detonate the Melta Bombs, or have teammates detonate them remotely if they died; as long as they could deliver the payload, it would suffice.

It is a pity, for while courage is a rare and precious thing, it cannot change anything, especially on the battlefield, and it is even less capable of turning the tide of war.

"What a shame, a failure." Watching the last soldier of the suicide squad get shredded by relentless long-range fire while shouting the Emperor's name, Dzansk smiled; having lived for over thirty years, today was the day he would answer the Emperor's call.

"It is these civilians." Dzansk turned his head to look toward the depths of the fortress, a trace of sorrow in his eyes, for he knew all too well the consequences of the final line of defense falling.

Chaos never knows the meaning of mercy.

Dzansk looked up as the shield flickered unsteadily, as if it would shatter the very next second; through the barrier, his bionic eye could see the grey, sickly green plague mist already shrouding the entire sky, the planet had fallen, and their resistance was now utterly futile.

They had done their best, but the ending had already been written.

Facing an invincible enemy, they had no chance of victory, and all that remained was to shout the Emperor's name and charge toward death.

Suppressing the sorrow in his heart, Dzansk drew his command sword and laspistol, opening the all-army comms channel, "It has been an honor to fight alongside you, my colleagues. May we all be with the Emperor, and may your souls be accepted by Him. The glory of humanity shall endure forever, and the light of the Emperor shall shine for eternity. We shall fight until the very last moment; Chaos shall never make us bow."

As Dzansk's words faded, the overburdened shield flickered a few times before vanishing completely.

Plague bombs rained down upon the fortress, unleashing explosions and toxic miasma, while screams and wails erupted from within.

The desperate cries of the civilians echoed throughout the entire fortress.

Everyone knew that their final moment had arrived.

Plague Zombies and Plague Warriors broke through the defenders' line of fire, beginning a frenzied slaughter on the final front.

The defenders attempted to use melee combat to hold the last line, upholding the final dignity of mankind.