"Aisha's presence?"
"Why? Why would Aisha appear here?"
"Even if those damned Aeldari brought their goddess of life to Cadia, she shouldn't be at the front lines of the battlefield. What difference was there between that and throwing meat into a wolf pack?"
Unlike the Nurgle daemons that went utterly mad the instant they sensed Aisha's presence, Typhus was a Daemon Prince who had ascended from mortality. His mind remained clearer and more rational.
During the Great Crusade, he had been the First Captain of the Death Guard Legion. Much of the Legion's affairs had been managed and handled by him, while the Primarch had often only nominally overseen the Legion. The wealth of experience accumulated during those years still served him well.
Driven by instinctive intuition, Typhus realized this was likely a trap meant to throw them into disarray.
But who had the ability to lay such a trap? Who could order Aisha to create a false image? And who possessed the ability and foresight to devise such bait and misdirection?
Typhus's bloated, rotting body suddenly jerked. He stomped a Nurgling rolling in the writhing flesh and pus on the Terminus Est's bridge, crushing it open with a sharp pop.
The half-dead Nurgling had not completely died yet. It wailed as it tried to stuff its burst intestines back inside itself, but it was utterly futile.
The little thing kept cursing Typhus before it was banished back into the depths of the Plague Garden.
Typhus did not care in the slightest about the tiny Nurgling's feelings. At that moment, he was frantically working his long-stiffened brain, trying to deduce who was behind this.
Soon, an icy wind seemed to blow in from the void, instantly piercing the layers of fog within Typhus's mind. A chill rose from the base