In Warhammer, My System is Minecraft-Chapter 171: Poisoning Nurgle, The Mockery of the Chaos Gods (Bonus)
This is the bonus Chapter for reaching 500 Powerstones.
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"It’s over, it’s all too late. His eyes are watching us," Ku’gath cried out, pointing. "The Grandfather saw it."
Accompanied by a loud bang, the liquid sprayed directly out, breaking through the vortex, accompanied by a painful wail echoing from Nurgle’s Garden.
"What happened? Did it work?" Zeke felt that things couldn’t be that simple.
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Within Nurgle’s Garden.
Grandfather Nurgle suddenly shuddered, then painfully clutched his stomach.
"Grandfather, what’s wrong?"
The Lords of Nurgle swarmed forward, their faces written with panic. They crowded around Nurgle, extending countless rotting hands, wanting to touch Him and comfort Him.
Nurgle did not answer; He merely clutched His stomach. He had lived for billions of years, but He had never experienced this sensation before.
A stomachache. Was this something He could actually say out loud?
Another bout of severe pain struck.
His massive body curled up, a movement that made the surrounding Lords jump back a step.
The Grandfather’s condition reminded the Lords of the symptoms displayed by mortals afflicted by viruses when they unleashed their plagues.
But the entity before them was Grandfather Nurgle Himself! The Lord of Plagues, immune to all toxins! How could a situation where He was poisoned ever occur?
Logically speaking, that was true. However, Milk was not actually a poison, but a manifestation of a deeper rule conflict.
Nurgle was the Lord of Plagues, the King of all Toxins, an amalgamation of various buffs—or rather, He Himself was a giant buff. The rule of Minecraft Milk was to clear all buffs. The clash of these mutually exclusive rules was what caused this exact situation.
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The rift in the sky was slowly closing. Seeing this scene, Zeke became even more energized.
"You annoying fly!" Ku’gath cried tearfully, swinging his massive sword above his head and bringing it crashing down toward Guilliman.
Guilliman dodged to the side. The weapon missed him, smashing a wall to pieces and sending broken bricks flying everywhere.
"Blame me, it’s all my fault! Grandfather, it’s all my fault!" Ku’gath wailed. "I beg you to take a step back, mortal. Step back from the Grandfather’s cauldron!"
Guilliman tangled with Ku’gath, wielding the Emperor’s Sword. "Keep at it, Zeke! It’s working!"
Crack. Zeke saw a fissure split open at the bottom of the cauldron, which then rapidly spread upwards.
BOOM! The cauldron exploded in an instant.
Zeke was blasted away from the front of the cauldron, as if facing the shockwave of an exploding macro-cannon shell.
Guilliman intercepted Zeke mid-flight and caught him.
It was also at this moment that Nurgle’s reaction reached its climax. The ripples of His violent movements spread throughout the entire Warp, drawing the gazes of the four Chaos Gods.
From within the void, curious gazes were cast. Seeing Nurgle painfully clutching His stomach, they were immediately met with massive shock.
Tzeentch had not forgotten the grudge from many years ago when the other three Gods united to attack Him. Seeing the oldest and most ancient Nurgle suffering this kind of torment brought Him immense pleasure.
It was simply too entertaining.
"I knew leaving this human alive was the right choice. All according to plan."
The very thought that Nurgle, who spent every day giving others stomachaches, had today suffered a reversal of cosmic order and fallen victim to one Himself...
Dark laughter echoed from the depths of the Crystal Labyrinth, reflecting back and forth across countless mirrors, spreading further and further. Mingled within the laughter was a hint of profound, hidden meaning.
The Greater Daemon Kairos Fateweaver understood his master’s intent: an opportunity to shake Nurgle’s very foundations was emerging.
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The Brass Citadel.
Hah! A hearty roar of laughter erupted from the Brass Throne, Khorne flipping His massive battleaxe in His hand.
His laughter held no schemes or plots, only pure, naked mockery.
"Nurgle," His voice boomed like thunder. "I told you long ago: rather than spending your days scheming over those useless viruses, nothing is as straightforward and satisfying as battle."
Every single Bloodthirster joined in the maniacal laughter. The sound, mixed with the clashing of metal and roaring battle cries, shook the entire citadel to its core.
As for the youngest and weakest, Slaanesh, the Dark Prince withdrew their gaze from the Necron domain.
Slaanesh had recently been pondering a question: how exactly does a soulless race reproduce?
If the secrets within could be obtained, perhaps Slaanesh’s authority could be further elevated, perhaps allowing the Dark Prince to touch upon realms of pleasure that had never before been reached.
But at this moment, Slaanesh’s gaze was captivated by another scene: that ancient existence clutching His stomach, groaning in agony.
So beautiful.
The expression of mingled pain and confusion on that twisted face, that never-before-expressed weakness, that crumbling dignity.
All of this formed an exquisitely beautiful picture.
As for the Emperor.
His gaze pierced through the dome of the Throne Room, through the bulwarks of the Imperial Palace, through the boundary between reality and the Warp, landing upon that figure groaning in pain.
It is time. The matter He had informed Guilliman of during their previous summons could now proceed.
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Nurgle’s fury ignited, bursting through the Manse of Nurgle. The force of it made the Nurglings in the Plague Garden clutch their foreheads, not daring to look directly at the Grandfather.
Nurgle, who had always treated others with leniency and appeared before the mortal realm as a benevolent father, displayed anger for the very first time.
He was enraged that He had suffered such a humiliating disgrace. More importantly, He knew He could not wait any longer.
This human’s creation, known as "Milk," had long since been shaking His very foundations.
Ever since Milk appeared, the gospel of plagues He spread throughout the mortal realm had vastly diminished.
Once Milk fully circulated throughout the mortal realm, the title of the Lord of Plagues would cease to exist. In a world without plagues and viruses, the benevolent Grandfather Nurgle would inevitably perish.
He recalled His previous meeting with the other three Chaos Gods. He had taken the initiative to lower His status to converse, but what was the result?
That blue bird maintained His usual cynical, mocking demeanor, spouting nonsense about how "everything is according to plan," and how the changes Zeke brought yielded more benefits than harm for Him.
Khorne, that madman whose head was filled only with battle, had flatly rejected His proposal. Schemes, calculations, joint operations—to Khorne, these were all displays of weakness. He only wanted battle, only wanted blood, only wanted skulls.
Slaanesh went without saying.
No one would help Him.
Nurgle stood up. That massive figure burned with rage. Every breath He exhaled spewed gases potent enough to poison an entire planet; every heartbeat drove plagues capable of destroying worlds.
Then He would just have to handle this personally.
The destruction of the cauldron had caused Nurgle an unprecedented weakness. Even so, as the Chaos God with the deepest reserves of power, He was not an entity a mere mortal could easily provoke.
He was going to drag Zeke’s soul into Nurgle’s Garden, condemning him to eternal damnation, never to be reincarnated. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖
Nurgle extended a hand, easily tearing wide open the rift that was about to close.
Above Iax, an unprecedentedly massive tear fully unfurled, completely and entirely projecting the image of Nurgle’s Garden into the real world.
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Next Goal = 1000 Powerstones.
