2nd Primarch

Nalai, once a beautiful garden world, had now become a stinking wasteland under the ravages of Chaos.

The green poison gas, formed by the excessive use of chemical weapons, blanketed the skies so completely that it even obscured the light of the stars.

Amid the vast, toxic fog:

"Purify this world!"

Countless Fallen Space Marines surged forward, clad in black and green power armor. Unlike other Nurgle-aligned forces, these fallen warriors were eerily clean, devoid of the decay and stench typical of their kind.

They belonged to a warband of the Pestilence, devout worshippers of Nurgle, notorious for acts of biogenocide and the indiscriminate deployment of chemical weapons.

They specialized in slow, systematic poisoning of worlds, wielding toxic gases and other indiscriminate tools of death to eradicate all traces of life. To them, all life was a blight to be extinguished, and their ultimate goal was the galaxy's rebirth through annihilation.

As their forces marched, famine and plague followed.

"All living things in the galaxy deserve death!"

"Only then can the galaxy be reborn!"

The towering figure of Gerst, the blessed messenger of oblivion, strode forward amidst his forces. Even among the imposing Space Marines, he stood tall, his presence exuding dread and authority.

"The Imperium has fallen into irredeemable corruption," Gerst intoned. "The only path to purity is death!"

As he advanced, the Fallen Space Marines instinctively parted, creating a path for him.

Virulent toxins filled the air, and the excessive use of chemical weapons had created a miasma that would choke and kill any ordinary being. But the fallen warriors paid no heed.

"Foolish mortals who worship the False Emperor," Gerst sneered. "Your ignorance has brought this world to ruin. It is I who will purify it."

Stopping, he gazed at the massive fortress looming in the distance, its walls stretching for dozens of kilometers. The fortress's void shields shimmered faintly, a barrier between the defenders and his purging forces.

Despite its impressive structure, Gerst regarded it as nothing more than a futile last stand of weak imperial soldiers cowering behind steel walls.

The fortress stood like a lone, cornered beast in the poisoned garden world, a dying remnant of resistance.

"We have purified countless worlds," Gerst continued. "So many that I've lost count. And yet, each time, these humans resist. Their ignorance chills me to the bone. They fail to understand our great purpose."

Gerst's adjutant, equally indignant, spoke with venom in his voice. "These pathetic mortals, brainwashed by the False Emperor, cannot see the glory of our mission! Their resistance is an affront to reason!"

As far back as the end of the 36th millennium, the World Purification Army had denounced the Imperium of Man as a sham. To them, life itself was the source of sin, the root of all corruption. True peace could only be achieved through the equal death of all living things, restoring balance to the galaxy.

This belief was their supreme goal—a glorious endeavor to free all souls from the curse of life.

The fallen warriors seethed with righteous anger at the defenders' stubborn resistance.

Yet, Gerst tempered their wrath with compassion.

"These poor mortals," he said softly, "are deceived by the False Emperor. They reject our grace because their so-called god has taught them greed, selfishness, and cruelty. They do not see that life itself is their curse, the poison seeping into their very bones."

"I pity them," he continued, his tone laden with solemnity. "The righteousness they cling to is the root of all calamity. Their actions sow the seeds of their downfall. We must show them mercy, grant them true grace, and eradicate the source of all suffering."

His words calmed the fallen warriors, their anger giving way to understanding and empathy. They gazed upon their foes with newfound compassion.

In the giant fortress on Nalai, a group of Astra Militarum soldiers watched the advancing Pestilence warband with grim resolve.

Among the many Chaos-aligned forces, the Purifiers of the Plague were the most feared.

Behind the soldiers, the sounds of preparation echoed—orders shouted, firepower distributed, and final defenses bolstered.

They knew that if the fortress fell, the civilians in the protected zones behind it would be slaughtered. The Purifiers of the Plague left no survivors, exterminating every trace of life before abandoning the worlds they defiled.

"Emperor, if you are listening, please guide me," a political commissar whispered in prayer. "I am too unworthy to ask for your aid, but please grant me the strength to protect these innocent souls."

After finishing his prayer, the commissar turned and entered the fortress's command office.

Inside, a Battle Sister sat in battered power armor, her body ravaged by a heretical plague. Wounds deep enough to reveal bone marred her flesh, and pus-filled lesions dotted her body.

Yet, a translucent force field surrounded her, visibly knitting her wounds together at an astonishing rate.

The commissar hesitated but steeled himself. Her eyes, despite her injuries, shone with unwavering determination.

"Sir," the Battle Sister began, her voice resolute, "I'm here to request support. The Purifiers are preparing for a full-scale assault. My brothers may not hold for long."

The commissar studied her. This sister and her squad had saved his regiment before, but her claim of being from the Second Legion reserve unsettled him.

The Second Legion? The Imperium had long declared them lost to history.

And yet, she insisted that the Second Primarch had returned, leading an expeditionary force to liberate the galaxy.

Her words had initially struck him as madness. But what if they were true?

"I've received word that reinforcements will arrive within an hour," the commissar said.

"Leave the frontal assault to us," she replied confidently. "Hold the flanks until reinforcements arrive. Hold at all costs. Do you understand, Commissar?"

Her words, filled with a power that stirred his heart, banished the doubts clouding his mind.

"One hour. At your command, Sister!"

He didn't know if the promised reinforcements would truly arrive.

But the hope, courage, and strength he felt in that moment were undeniably real.