Fear of the Angel of Death
The demon experienced the meaning of "apocalypse" for the first time.
Right at the edge of Warp Rift from which filth constantly pours forth.
A newborn Plaguebearer, dripping with yellowish-green pus, had just used its short appendages to pry open the membrane of reality and reveal its head, which was covered in sores.
The call of Chaos burned within its simple consciousness, urging it to travel to the sacred land known as "Terra" to spread the Father's "gifts".
However, before it could even discern the color of the sky in the Material Universe, a large hand appeared, covered with a delicate purple shell like mother-of-pearl, yet riddled with cracks and scorch marks.
Suddenly, it reached out from the side and gripped its bulky body tightly!
The Plaguebearer writhed in panic, its slime splattering everywhere.
It "looked" at the attacker—a Slaanesh Keeper of Secrets, who should have been the embodiment of elegance and cruelty, the natural target of Plaguebearer's mockery and occasional predator.
But what this little devil's Chaos mind could not comprehend at all was the high-ranking being before him.
The face that should have been adorned with eternal mockery or blissful enjoyment was now twisted into an expression it had never seen on Slaaneshi Daemon before.
It was not the excitement of hunting, but a kind of almost... panicked concern, even tinged with a desperate "benevolence".
"Go... while you still have the strength... run away!"
The Keeper of Secrets's voice was no longer as sweet as poison, but hoarse and cracked, like a broken bellows.
Its massive body lay sprawled on the scorched earth at the edge of the crack, a truly pitiful sight.
The four arms that once wielded eerie blades are now reduced to broken stumps, flowing with pus that is no longer glowing with Psionic Energy but instead oozing dull, black blood.
The six long legs that made it move swiftly and gracefully, combining beauty and blasphemy, had also disappeared, as if they had been "erased" from the root by some absolute force.
The two remaining heads (the other had been mostly severed) gasped for breath, their four eyes fixed on the tiny Plaguebearer, burning with the purest fear.
Plaguebearer tilted its almost misshapen head and made a confused gurgling sound.
escape?
Why run away?
The Father's mission is not yet complete; Pleasure plague awaits its sowing.
It could not comprehend the concept of "escape," just as it could not comprehend the almost tangible despair emanating from its superior kin before it.
Looking around, similar scenes are playing out across the burning Terra.
Khorne's Bloodletter would grab newly emerged Horror of Tzeentch from the rift and push them away in a certain direction with their remaining, axe-less hand;
Tzeentch's alter psychic abilities will emit sharp but clear warning Psionic Energy fluctuations at passing Plague Zombie;
Demons from different factions might even huddle together briefly, trembling and cowering beneath the ruins, just to get away from the area being "purified."
Demons are not entirely devoid of individual emotions and thoughts.
They belong to different camps, fighting, devouring, and mocking each other. The madness and atrocities they display in the mortal world are driven by the nature of their respective Chaos Gods.
A deeper, more fundamental reason is that they are never truly afraid of "death".
In the Warp, defeat is merely a return to one's origin, awaiting rebirth and a renewed calling.
Destruction in the mortal world is merely the end of an unsatisfying game; consciousness will eventually coalesce anew in the familiar tides of Chaos.
They have never tasted the flavor of "end"—the absolute nothingness where existence itself is utterly negated, the Warp energy that constitutes its essence is violently torn apart, devoured, and annihilated, with no possibility of returning.
Even today.
Until they witnessed their companions firsthand—the mighty Greater Daemon, the cunning Champion, and countless legions.
Before that figure clad in blue and gold armor, burning with golden flames and draped in a blood-red cloak, they were disintegrated and shattered like fragile glass.
It wasn't just the disintegration of the material form, but also accompanied by subtle yet clear "crackling" sounds that seemed to originate from the very source of the Warp.
That was the sound of their connection to their respective divine realms, the "foundation" of their existence, being permanently destroyed by a force that combined extreme material violence with supreme Psionic Energy.
True fear, like the coldest venom, seeped into the core of these Chaos creations.
They began to tremble and cry out, their instinctive will to survive overpowering their fervent devotion to the gods.
They frantically rushed toward the Warp Rift that were still spewing forth reinforcements, wanting to escape back into the familiar, safe embrace of Chaos.
However, a deeper despair descended.
They realized they couldn't go back.
The entirety of Terra —no, the vast expanse of space centered on Terra— made the "walls" of the Realspace exceptionally solid and thick.
A certain stable and unsettling force of law enveloped this place, greatly suppressing their existence.
This further stiffened the Warp Rift that had been forcibly torn open earlier, making them difficult to close, and even causing them to shrink!
The fissures are no longer two-way channels, but rather like wounds that are slowly healing, trapping these "germs" inside the host!
Some audacious Space Marines, fueled by the Primarch's arrival, roared and charged back into the rifts.
On the edge of Warp, they slaughtered the demons that were trying to escape or had just peeked out!
The roles of hunter and prey were completely reversed after Guilliman's arrival.
The demon finally remembered the fear of being dominated by the Angel of Death!
This time, however, the fear is further marked by the imprint of "the end."
Thus, a bizarre and desperate form of "mutual aid" spread among the demons.
Perhaps it was to give those who came after a slim chance of survival, or perhaps it was simply out of the darkest of thoughts—to escape together, to die together, or at least to let those who came after also taste the despair of having nowhere to run.
Seeing that Plaguebearer remained motionless, Slaanesh the Keeper of Secrets grew even more anxious, his broken body trembling violently. "Quick... run!"
Use all your legs, all your strength!
Leave this place--
The Plaguebearer finally spoke, a muffled murmur with a bubbly, decaying sound.
Its small eyes glanced at the Keeper of Secrets's horrific injuries, then at a distant direction that instinctively sent shivers down its spine, seemingly expressing confusion and a hint of... sympathy?
The Slaaneshi Daemon understood this simple, Chaos thought. Its expression instantly changed from anxiety to extreme terror, as if it had heard the footsteps of Ynnead.
No... no! He's here!
He saw us!
The two remaining heads of the Keeper of Secrets simultaneously emitted a piercing, distorted scream. It frantically shuffled backward, dragging a foul trail across the scorched earth.
"Run! Now! Immediately--"