The Nurgle forces on the battlefield were wiped out almost instantly after the Great Unclean One left.
Wearing protective equipment, the mortal soldiers laid out their fallen comrades' bodies separately, then raised their Flamers and set them all alight.
Against these Warp plagues, all mortals could do was burn everything.
As for the Astra Militarum's medics, they were utterly helpless. Most could only handle simple wounds and infections; the most they could do for an injured mortal soldier was roughly dig out a bullet or perform a crude amputation.
Afterward, they would follow the instructions on their issued medical supplies, spraying them onto the wounds or roughly stuffing them into the patient's mouth to keep them from dying.
As for treating diseases, that was a joke.
Even setting aside whether there were enough medical supplies, most medics had never received any professional medical training. They were either Back-Alley Doctors from hive cities or folk healers from various tribes, with nowhere near enough medical knowledge to deal with these terrible plagues.
Of course, some people of steadfast faith showed strong resistance to these viruses once their source of corruption was gone.
Provided they did not spend too long in plague-ridden areas, these diseases could inexplicably heal on their own without any medication. All they needed to do was sit in a Chapel, clutching a Scripture containing the Emperor's Holy Words, and pray devoutly before an Emperor Statue.
As thousands of bodies were consumed by the flames.
The mortal soldiers continued to hold their posts, fighting hard against the daemons and cultists attacking from every direction to keep the landing field safe.
Vashtorr saw it all.
The Lesser Daemons lurking in the shadows were Vashtorr's minions. Besides their usual unpaid drudgery in his Forge Palace, they also filled all sorts of miscellaneous