You Don't Need Them-Plenty of Others Do

The shield blocked Gegula's attack. The Adeptus Mechanicus priest had his own methods of ensuring his safety.

Gegula lowered his fist. Faced with the priest's stubbornness, he chose to yield and explained why he had not deployed the degraded forms onto the battlefield.

"Because they're far too unhealthy!" Gegula complained. "These unhealthy things should stay here and recuperate properly, not go out and disgrace us Death Guard."

The Adeptus Mechanicus priest tilted his head at Gegula. Then a clump of blackened mushrooms grew from Gegula's armor, swelling until it pressed against his nose.

The somewhat comical sight made the priest sigh. He had gained a new understanding of the Death Guard's state of mind.

A pack of idiots...

The Adeptus Mechanicus priest turned and left. If Carl Bohar had not rewritten his biological brain, he would never have come aboard a ship filled with plague.

Their much-vaunted ship of life was, in the priest's eyes, nothing more than a cruel desecration of steel and technology.

The rusted steel and filth-encrusted cannons tormented the priest's metal heart without cease.

Abaddon was an idiot. Typhus was an idiot too.

Gegula swallowed a mouthful of phlegm in displeasure and muttered under his breath. Abaddon had traded vast quantities of supplies for Typhus's support. And that Plague Lord, obsessed with proving himself to Grandfather, had completely ignored the wishes of his subordinates and filled every plague warship's storage holds with these disgusting degraded forms.

Those holds had originally belonged to plague zombies and viruses. Nurglings would even set up playgrounds suitable for their amusement inside them. Now all of that was gone, leaving only rows upon rows of every kind of degraded form, arranged as neatly as bricks.

These degraded forms were too clean. Even soaking them in a swamp could not alter their