"Abnormal casualties detected. Red alert."
Commander Hill keenly noticed the slightest changes on the battlefield. The display before him constantly refreshed with battlefield updates, the most important of which were the vital signs of the Astartes.
He could coordinate troop deployments across the entire battlefield at once—where the enemy was particularly troublesome and needed more support, where Space Marines had suffered mortal wounds and required reinforcements and Apothecaries.
And now, to his horror, he discovered that Space Marines on one fringe of the battlefield were suffering abnormal casualties.
In barely ten minutes, more than ten Astartes had already died. Among them were White Scars, Ultramarines, and even an Iron Hand providing long-range fire support from the rear.
"How did an Iron Hand stationed at the rear of the battlefield die? Strange. This is deeply unsettling."
But the flood of signals pouring through the communications channels soon answered his question. The Space Marines and mortals watched in horror as their own warriors, after killing an enemy, began to mutate and melt, transforming into the likenesses of the dead foes.
This plague of death was spreading without cease. Whoever killed him would instead allow the enemy to be reborn through their body.
The Astartes saw familiar faces among their former comrades, writhing in extreme agony atop that malevolent armor.
They had once trained together, saved one another's lives, drunk and laughed together, and spoken of their dreams for after all the traitors had been slain. But now, it was all gone.
They had defeated the enemy, yet the enemy was reborn through them in an unimaginably grotesque manner.
This was unparalleled blasphemy, an unforgivable hatred.
"That is evil psychic sorcery. These traitors who have cast themselves into the embrace of the Warp are best at such methods," Lox said.
At the very