Prometheus' Flame (1)

There was not only war in the galaxy.

Yes—you might say that, perhaps with a faintly compassionate tone. Fine. Anyone who said such a thing was either a pampered scholar or a high-ranking Departmento Munitorum official pretending not to hear. The former truly believed it. The latter had no choice but to say it.

The truth was that there was indeed not only war in the galaxy, but war was everywhere in the galaxy.

It happened in the remote Octarius Sector, and naturally it would also happen in some blessed land of the Empire, some garden world, some world where war had not descended for a thousand years.

In short, it had come, and humanity was bleeding.

Bleeding, and diseased.

The swarming, reeking cloud of flies beat their rotten wings and circled in midair. With only a single command, they would throw themselves at the enemy without the slightest hesitation.

But the creature capable of commanding them did not do so.

"You are very interesting, human soldier."

It said in surprise, "The plague is ravaging your body, and yet you grit your teeth and pretend nothing is wrong. By all rights, the pain it brings you should exceed the limits of what your willpower can endure. What power is sustaining you?"

There was no answer—because the soldier was already dead. He had only been an ordinary Astra Militarum trooper, and this bit of defiance was all he had been capable of.

Mortals were truly insignificant before a Greater Daemon of Nurgle.

Nergus, the Maggot Butterfly, knew this, but it had no intention of showing it. The Astra Militarum had earned its respect.

Unlike most of its kind, Nergus was not especially terrifying in appearance. Yes, it was fat as well, but its skin was not rotting, there were no