The great fire in the Plague Garden was finally extinguished completely.
Without the Emperor's power to sustain it, even pure flame capable of burning away corruption could not contend with the endless power of the Plague Garden.
The rivers and swamps that had once flowed with pus and bacteria had dried up, exposing cracked, parched sand. Pale, twisted bones jutted from the earth, creating an indescribably bleak and desolate sight.
The dense trees and flowers had withered completely. Wisps of green smoke seeped from within the damp wood, then rose into the gloomy sky and vanished without a trace.
Most of the flies and insects that sang delightful melodies and filled the garden with lively cheer had been burned to death. The survivors hid fearfully in their nests, still not daring to emerge even though the flames had gone out.
They were afraid. They were despairing. They lamented the miserable fate that had befallen them.
Yet it was not only the small creatures of the Plague Garden that suffered pain and despair. Even Nurgle, the garden's master and the embodiment of plague and despair, saw nothing but darkness ahead.
The Chaos God hid within his decaying cottage. Even Great Unclean Ones such as Rainfather Rotigus were unable to see Grandfather himself.
All they could hear were bouts of heavy sobbing and wailing coming through the cottage's doors and windows, as well as its tiled roof, half of which had been torn away.
"Alas, great Grandfather has been heartbroken."
"Those hateful humans, those cursed ones, have no sense of right or wrong. Again and again, they have struck mercilessly at kind and tolerant Grandfather."
Rainfather Rotigus wandered mournfully through the Plague Garden, bearing the important task of extinguishing the Emperor's fire.
Wherever Rotigus went, the dark clouds above his head followed.